Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The cool sea breeze pulled Ford away from the knots he was tying for the mooring buoys. After 3 years aboard the Stan o’ War II they were finally headed back to Gravity Falls to spend some time with their grand niece and nephew while checking in on the shack. Over the years, they had discovered numerous new anomalies and contributed a large portion of their findings to various academic programs for further study. 

As a result, Ford had begun conducting lectures on supernatural phenomena for multiple universities remotely and Stanley had applied himself to finally obtain his GED and obtain an associates in mathematics through a program at Backupsmore. After building the portal, the curriculum didn’t seem nearly as intimidating. Their time at sea had given both men further perspective on their dimension and brought them closer as a family. 

Despite the thrill and peace the twins had found through their adventures, they knew it was time to reconnect with everyone back in Oregon. As they inched slowly towards port, Ford couldn’t help but smile at the thought of being back in one of the few places he had called home.

“Hey poindexter!” Stan called from the helm, “Keep an eye on the bow, I don’t want to pay for any unnecessary repairs because you were daydreaming.” 

Stanford rolled his eyes and headed toward the front of the ship, carefully watching to be sure they didn’t scrape up against the side of the dock.

Once the ship was within distance, Ford hopped off the bow onto the dock feeling his knees crack as he steadied the side of the ship and began to guide it into a spot safely at the harbor. Stan then cut the engine and went below deck to grab their things. 

The twins made their way from the dock once the process of storing their ship was complete and headed to where Stan’s car was being kept nearby. Stanley took a deep breath, taking in the Oregon summer air. 

“Can you believe we’ve been out at sea for three years?” Stan inquired as they made their way to the garage, bones creaking as they walked uphill.

“I can, with everything we discovered and the amount of ground covered, it’s a miracle we only took three years to accomplish it all.” His twin scoffed at the thought. They had become renowned researchers for all things ‘weird,’ it’s only natural that they would accomplish so much in a short time. 

“Still, time flies when you’re getting attacked by giant squid,” Stan remarked. 

“Architeuthis, Stanley,” Ford corrected as he shook his head. 

Finally, they reached the garage and loaded their bags into the trunk before hopping in the front seats to head home, finally getting back to The Mystery Shack. The winding roads of Gravity Falls brought back an overwhelming wave of nostalgia. Passing Greasy’s Diner, Ford noticed Lazy Susan in the window refilling a patron’s mug and Dan and his family enjoying pancakes at the counter. 

“Looks like Wendy’s out with her family today,” Ford mumbled to himself as they passed by the parking lot. 

“Yeah, her job at the shack doesn’t start for a few weeks - she’ll start around the time that Dipper and Mabel’s bus comes into town,” Stan replied, his eyes focused on the road. 

They drove by the various shops around town, heading down the main strip and passing the public pool with a sign out front stating they’d be open for the summer starting next week. Through the trees, Ford noticed various flora that had thrived since he had last studied it and made a mental note to investigate to update his previous findings. Seeing the forest in a blur as they navigated to the shack, Ford was also reminded of something else he needed to check in on.

As they pulled into the parking lot of the mystery shack, the twins felt a sense of warmth. It had been ages since they had seen the shack in person - the feeling was different when they saw photos or when Soos would FaceTime them to show off a new exhibit he had come up with. The building was just as they’d left it, with only minor differences like the cardboard cut out of Soos in the window and a fresh coat of paint on the sign. As Stanley parked and both men started to get out of the car to grab their bags, Soos and Melody came out onto the porch to greet them.

“Hey dudes! Long time no see,” Soos called out as he came down the porch steps. Stan met him halfway, suitcase in hand, to give him a hug. 

“Hey, absolutely - how have you both been holdin’ up here?” As they parted, Soos replied, 

“Good, Melody and I have been holding down the fort here and keeping in touch with the lil’ dudes back in California,” His smile is contagious.

Stan smiled wide, “That’s good, I’m sure they love hearin’ from you.” 

As the two began to chat in front of the shack, Ford made his way over to the porch where Melody was perched on the top step, hands around a warm mug of coffee. “Melody, it’s great to see you - how have things been while we’ve been gone?” Ford asked as he met her at the top of the stairs with a warm smile.

She gestured for him to take a seat with her and led them both over to the worn couch. “Things have been good, just hectic. We’ve been looking for a house nearby to keep the shack intact while we stay in the area to keep things running. It’s been a bit of a challenge since tours are always going.” 

Ford took his seat next to her as she spoke, mulling over everything. “Ah yes, Soos had mentioned you both were looking for something in the area, hopefully you’ll have more time now that we’re docked for a while. Stan and I can take over running the tours and exhibit maintenance while you’re both settling in. Especially since Dipper and Mabel are coming later this month.” 

Melody nodded and took a sip of her coffee, “Yeah, I’m hoping we can get it figured out quickly so the kids don’t have to cover for us for too much of their summer.” 

Ford chuckled softly, “Trust me, I don’t think they’ll mind.” 

Over the past few months, Ford and Stan had been in contact with the younger set of twins and their parents to coordinate their stay this summer. The kids seemed so excited to come back to Gravity Falls and get right back into the swing of things as if the last three years had been yesterday. Dipper had already begun running all his theories by Ford over the phone and Mabel had called Stan and Ford for weekly updates at the minimum on things they would want to do together once everyone was back in Gravity Falls. 

Ford looked out over the yard, at Stan and Soos catching up and thinking about the twins coming soon, Wendy’s shift for the summer about to start and Melody beside him on the porch. Everyone was here…almost. Ford’s expression faltered at the thought of the one other person that had inhabited this place they all called home who wouldn’t be here for the summer. 

He felt an ache in his chest at the choices that led them all here, nothing short of a divine miracle and yet he wished some of the choices were different. He couldn’t bring himself to think of His name, at least not yet, but that didn’t stop his conflicting feelings. Ford hated him. He hated the being he had become, or Ford supposed the being he always was when he was manipulating the scientist into doing his bidding and worshiping him. It was a complicated set of feelings, to love a lie, but Ford felt them all the same all at once while thinking about the Shack.

He turned slightly to Melody, his voice slightly strained, “Is…is everything the same as we left it?”

Melody contemplated the question before realizing what Ford was asking, “Yeah..other than the exhibits and the paint…the forest is the same.” 

Ford released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and attempted to pull himself together. “Alright, after lunch I may go take a walk..see how much of the area I still remember.” 

Melody hummed in response and moved to stand, “How about I help you both get settled in first, maybe you’ll have time to go before lunch.” 

Ford nodded in response as Soos and Stanley made their way over to the porch. The group headed inside, and both Stan and Ford realized everything really was just as they had left it, besides Melody’s sweaters draped over the couch, the video game console hooked up to the TV and a puzzle on the back table that the couple had been working on. 

Melody let them know that they had been staying in the storage room in the basement after clearing out the space. Stan headed to his old room off to the right, while Ford headed to his old bedroom in the basement. It felt odd to head to his room again and not straight for the lab or his office. Ford knew if he headed there first, his melancholy over the past might just overtake him and stop him from checking the forest at all. As he opened the door, the scientist’s eyes scanned over the room. 

Everything was more or less where he’d left it, with a sheer level of dust over the shelving and his old desk. Setting down his bag, Ford wandered over to his shelves, his fingers brushing over the various trophies and framed photos that he hadn’t been able to take with him on his journey abroad. His eyes then surveyed his desk as he walked over to recall what he’d left behind. Though as his fingers slid over his old artifacts and mechanical components, he froze.

A box on the floor had caught his eye, filled with empty canisters for specimens, old blueprints and binders of notes but among those things was something Ford thought was long gone. An iridescent glass prism sat amongst the various trinkets. Ford shakily reached toward the box like a man possessed before quickly pulling back as if burned by the object upon touching it. 

What has gotten into me? He thought to himself as he shook his head. 

Ford promptly used his foot to unceremoniously shove the box under his desk as he turned and left the room to find the others.

They all met in the kitchen to discuss lunch plans and settled on turkey sandwiches, making idle conversation about the twins' various adventures abroad. Ford let Melody and Soos know that he would be continuing to give his remote lectures and would be driving out to Backupsmore to give some in-person lectures over the next few months. 

After lunch, Ford and Stan helped clear the table as Melody and Soos put the leftovers away. Stanford turned to his brother as they finished up the dishes. Ford cleared his throat nervously, fiddling with his hands, “I’m heading out to the forest to check in on a few things, are you able to call the kids to let them know we got in safe?” 

Stan’s skeptical expression as he used the dish towel to dry his hands had Ford wary that he realized what the scientist was up to. Stan responded, his gaze firm, “Alright..but just be careful, we aren’t as agile as we used to be.” 

Ford scoffed and with a roll of his eyes said, “ You’re not as agile as you used to be, I keep up with my training from my days dimension hopping.” 

His twin chuckled and pat his brother on the shoulder, “Whatever poindexter, just be careful - the kids would rip me a new one if I let you get hurt.” 

Ford shouted after his twin as he left the kitchen, “You wouldn’t be ‘letting’ me - I can handle myself!” He sighed, and hung his own dish towel over the edge of the sink before heading to the door and sliding on his boots.

The brisk air as Ford trekked through the forest helped him clear his head. If he didn’t have a clear mind when he did this, the scientist may just fall apart. Ford’s feet took him the same route he had taken countless times before, it had become muscle memory. 

One of the things that had been ingrained in his mind, other than the route, was that grief didn’t have a timeline, no clear beginning or ending. It just was or wasn’t there at a given moment and that moment could last a few minutes or a few days. Ford hoped the latter wouldn’t happen this time, he wanted to be stronger than that feeling, than the finality of his mourning. It also felt absurd to him, to grieve someone that had brought him so much misfortune and strife. 

At that thought, he saw the parting in the trees up ahead for the clearing he had been slowly working towards. Once there, he saw exactly what he had been looking for - there in the dirt at the edge of the opposing tree line was the closest thing Ford had to a headstone. 

The energy in the clearing suddenly felt different as Ford's chest constricted at the sight, his breathing shallow while making his way towards the statue he considered a makeshift grave. 

Bill . 

Looking at him, arm outstretched in wait made Ford feel as though the past three years were a blip in time. He carefully sat in the grass before the statue, staring as if he may move. Ford should hate him. He should loathe the very image of Bill Cipher. He should destroy the statue and walk away from this clearing and never come back. However, this wasn’t his first time sitting here in the quiet, and it wouldn’t be the last. 

In the back of his mind was the small part of him that couldn’t let Bill go, could never let him go. If the statue was gone, Bill would be gone too - not just the dictator and tyrant but the one that made Ford feel like he was everything , that he was loved deeply and proudly - despite his abnormality and ego. Even if that was never real, the voice in the back of his mind couldn’t discern between the two, they were intrinsically linked as his Bill Cipher, his muse, because Ford couldn’t tell where the truth ended and the lies began. 

He knew Bill at one point had made him feel safe and loved but he also knew the deeply rooted fear and pain Bill had brought him. Untangling the warring feelings felt like an unobtainable possibility, so for now Ford just cried. At first, only a few tears fell but soon they began to stream down his face, pooling at his chin and down his neck. He felt like an infinite well of tumultuous emotion - every time he thought he had emptied the well, a new stream flowed into the basin and the process would start again. 

His breath came out in hiccups as he attempted to calm himself. “Why did you do this to me? Why did you choose me? I could have lived a full life, I could have become a great scientist, I could have had a wife and children and never met you.” Ford’s breath came fast as he sobbed out, “Why is it that even if I could have gotten away from you and never wasted my life in that portal that I would have still looked for you in every person I met, every stranger in passing?” He clutched his chest, doubling over as he openly grieved. 

“Thirty years I wasted. Thirty. Long. Years! You showed me the universe, things I could never discover before and will never see again, infinite possibilities and then discarded everything we built for the prospect of a momentary high! Why couldn’t I be enough?! How could I ever love deeply again after experiencing you?!” Ford was screaming now, his throat raw as tears flowed over. They weren’t enough to expel his pent up emotions he realized as he clenched his fists and pounded them on the ground before the statue.

He continued screaming and sobbing and displacing the dirt around his knees from where he sat, but the statue stayed motionless. As if mocking him further. He was talking to no one, screaming at no one, questioning no one. It reminded Ford why he hated Bill. 

“You took so much from me, my youth, my ambition, my love and you gave me nothing in return. A string of honey sweet promises that went rancid once they left your mouth. I hate you. If you’re listening, I hope you know I hate you and I hate that you let me love you, I hate who you made me become!” Ford's hands, now scraped and caked in dirt, paused in their fruitless tirade as he brought them to his face as he continued to cry. 

Loud open sobs wrenched from his throat until his voice was rasping out, his hands grasping at his hair attempting to pull himself together. The past three years of running from the feelings associated with his former muse hit him like a freight train, barreling through Ford’s body in a violent stream of consciousness. 

Suddenly he felt a shift in the air, Ford looked up with tear soaked eyes, he saw that the birds overhead had slowed to a stop and the breeze flowing through the trees had ceased. Despite the fact that the wind had stopped, the trees continued to sway. Confused, his bloodshot eyes flitted over the clearing eventually landing on a being materializing at the edge of the tree line. 

The scientist scrambled to his feet and his hand reached down to find the quantum destabilizer in its holster. Haphazardly, he attempted to scrub the tears on his face with the sleeve of his trench coat. He took a few tentative steps forward toward the being as it materialized - a large creature resembling an animal of some kind. 

Ford’s brow creased as he attempted to recognize the creature, in case it was someone attempting to collect him for one of his inter-dimensional bounties from the wanted posters. He approached cautiously as not to startle the creature as it finally settled its corporeal form before him. 

“Dr. Stanford Filbrick Pines?” The creature bellowed, its voice echoing through the forest and ringing in Ford’s ears. 

“Yes, and who might you be?” Ford was able to keep the trepidation from his voice as he straightened his posture. 

“You may call me The Axolotl, I come bearing news about a creature currently being held in my care,” The being said, eyeing the hand Ford had placed on the handle of his gun.

Stanford’s hand slowly fell from the holster at his hip, as he peered up at the creature, “What creature?” He asked skeptically. 

There weren’t many beings from his dimension hopping days that came to mind in terms of needing his help or looking for him - other than the authorities of course. 

“William Cipher - you may know him as Bill,” The Axolotl stated. 

Ford’s heart began to stagger in its beating, becoming erratic. “…Cipher? He’s dead,” Stanford attempted to conceal his rapid breathing, “I know he’s dead because I killed him..”  His voice wavered, grappling with the news. 

Cipher was dead, he was dead because Ford killed him. How could he have mourned Bill Cipher all this time if he was alive? He was alive and he didn’t tell him, he was alive and he could do every awful thing all over again. The scientist was hit with a wave of nausea staggering where he stood. 

Bill could torture me all over again, Ford thought to himself. He could destroy my home, my family, and ruin my mind. In spite of this train of thought, the small voice in the back of Ford’s head also knew one other thing to be true - maybe he would love me for real this time . 

He mentally recoiled at the thought, he shouldn’t want Bill to love him, to choose him and yet the thought persisted. Like some sick twisted joke stewing in his mind that he could never seem to shake. 

The Axolotl tilted its head, pique by its own curiosity, “You killed him and yet you mourn him. You would mourn the creature that tried to destroy your dimension?” 

Ford flinched as if he had been hit, “I don’t mourn the monster that tried to destroy my home, I mourn the being that I…considered a partner and a friend.” He looked up at the creature meekly, regarding his opinion on Ford’s inability to let go of such a heinous thing. 

The Axolotl gave him a curt nod as it continued on, “Dr. Pines, allow me to explain my reason for coming here. Bill Cipher did die after the aftermath of his path of destruction in this dimension. However, as he died he called out for help. Our facility, the Theraprism, will never turn away a creature who genuinely seeks out our assistance. As such, he was taken in for rehabilitation.” 

Despite the nauseating feeling in the pit of Ford’s stomach, he scoffed at the idea of Bill Cipher being rehabilitated. “Cipher? Rehabilitated? I highly doubt that is panning out well.” 

The ethereal being before him showed no sign of offense at his reply, “It has been a slow and steady process as time functions differently in the prism, for the patient it has been three centuries since he first called for help.” Stanford’s head snapped up to the creature's face in disbelief, surprised at the stark difference in time. “In his three centuries at the facility, Bill Cipher has made progress - though slow. Our therapy team has come to the conclusion that he may improve further with exposure therapy.” 

Exposure therapy? Ford turned the idea over in his head as if it were a Rubik’s cube he was trying to solve. Then it hit him. Ford swallowed thickly, his voice feeling rough in his throat, “What do you intend to expose him to?” He asked the question even though he already had an inkling of the answer. 

“We believe he has unfinished business here Dr. Pines, I have come to request your compliance with allowing him to reside here in Gravity Falls while attending weekly therapy sessions to monitor his progress,” Its voice rang in Ford’s ears.

He immediately recoiled from the creature, his hand returning firmly to his holster, “ No. No, he cannot come here. I will not allow him to harm my family again or destroy this dimension.” 

Ford did his best to articulate his point by moving to remove the gun at his hip, however the Axolotl remained neutral as a binder thick with files materialized between them. The binder floated over to Ford as he eyed it warily.

“Dr. Pines, please consider our proposition. You do not have to accept, but the patient would have to undergo this treatment with another caretaker on Earth regardless of what you choose to do,” The creature stated.

His six-fingered hands clenched around the spine of the binder tightly, his knuckles white. He glared up at the creature, “How long do I have to make my decision on this?” 

The creature regarded him solemnly as if deep in thought before answering his question, “We will allow you one earth week to inform us of your answer. Once decided, there is a phone number listed in the binder. Call us once you have made your choice.” 

With those words, the being dissipated from its form until time flowed once more and Ford was left alone in the clearing. He turned to see his former muse’s statue, hand outstretched in wait, his all seeing eye piercing into his former apprentice. There he stood as the last reverend at the altar, unsure of his fate.

Chapter Text

Sterile. That’s how Bill would describe the room they kept him in when he wasn’t in a therapy session in Theraprism. The doctors have come to the conclusion that he can’t be trusted with any utensils as they’ve learned the hard way that he would turn anything into a weapon once he felt cornered. 

So the pencils he draws with, the paints and markers he uses during his art therapy sessions stay in the art room. His journal and pen stay on a shelf with his main therapist’s assortment of knick-knacks and books from all across the cosmos. His personal belongings from when he first arrived three centuries ago stay in the locked room behind the receptionist desk. 

As if they’d let me get that far from this glorified light box. Bill thought idly, his brow creasing as he walked the walls of his enclosure for seemingly the thousandth time that day. 

He had lost his abilities from before entering Stanley Pines’ mind, so his options to pass time outside of scheduled therapy were limited. Bill was the same triangle he was before he destroyed Euclydia. He wasn’t used to feeling so weak.

The room he stayed in to “reflect,” as his doctors had claimed, was simple: a bed, a bathroom - no shower curtain and the bed could not be taken apart (not for lack of trying) - as well as a large window made of industrial glass built specifically to keep Bill in no matter how hard he pounded on it. And he had tried, though his attempts were futile.

The first century had been the most difficult, Bill had expended all his energy repeatedly trying to either escape or obtain even an ounce of his power to reduce the large floating ship between time and space to rubble. He was a creature of habit after all, and old habits die hard. 

Once the anger and his fighting spirit were gradually sapped out of him by the guards, the medication and the doctors, Bill finally started to open up about the carnage of his dimension and his family. 

However, after three centuries, he couldn’t bring himself to talk about the one person he’d loved and lost - Stanford Pines. He couldn’t discuss the Pines family as a whole, but bringing up Stanford yielded the worst results. 

He was the real reason this room was barren. The doctors had attempted to tackle the Stanford Problem, as they had begun calling it, but at every turn Bill would become inconsolable. 

When it came to thinking about his former apprentice, the demigod would become irrational: screaming, crying, throwing anything within arms length, attempting to harm either the doctors and patients in the room or himself. 

Bill knew he hurt Stanford, he knew he destroyed any possibility of having his Ford again after Weirdmaggeddon and the betrayal of his trust over three hundred and thirty years ago. But oh did he wish he could take it back.

Bill wished he could do it differently, knowing the empty, desolate feeling that losing Stanford had left at the very core of his being. It tore him apart from the inside out, like a rotting septic limb slowly infecting the rest of his body. 

The feeling manifested itself in a string of cracks along the right hand side of his body. Web-like in their pattern, they were a wound that would never heal despite the pharmacist’s and doctor's attempts to fix him. 

In his mind, it wasn’t necessarily Bill’s choices that should have been different, but Stanford's. If only he’d joined him, if only they had taken over the universe together, if only the scientist could have seen things Bill’s way. 

However, the pain that had become an ever-present blossoming contamination within his soul was something he felt in more than just his body. It also clouded and haunted his mind. He’d been hearing the blood-curdling screams of Ford in his nightmares. 

He was reminded nightly of torturing him in the penthouse, clawing at the portal room door in Ford’s lab and beating his hands on the steel barred door in a crazed frenzy until they bled. Bill would never forget the sound, he couldn’t. 

Not only the sound of his apprentice's agonizing screams, his shrill begging to cease the madness, but the sound of his bones crunching as he struck the door leaving bloody six-fingered handprints in his wake. The sound of Stanford’s broken sobs as Bill left his body on the roof of the cabin, taunting him to jump and end his misery. The popping and tearing of his joints as he’d pulled them out of their sockets. 

It was ingrained there in his mind, cataloged with the screams of his parents as he ripped them from the very fabric of their dimension. A consistent wailing in his ears. 

No matter the combination of medication, Bill could hardly sleep more than a few hours at a time without waking drenched in sweat, panting. His throat raw from screaming in their place as if to avenge that no one could hear them but their tormentor. He’d wail and screech, but no one would come to check on him. Bill suffered alone, in constant agony in a never-ending purgatory.

Lately, his therapist had begun to attempt to make progress with this issue, but was making little headway as he would need heavy sedation from the meltdown that would ensue at the briefest prodding into the topic. However, they had let Bill know that a solution to his dilemma may be on the horizon, so for now he attempted to think of anything other than Stanford Pines as he paced the length of his holding cell. 

There was no way to tell time within his room, the only semblance of the passing hours he had was his vigilance of the guard rotation day to day and the intervals between his sessions and meals. He had tried using the constellations, but would get confused if he stared too long. Since they were in a state of limbo, the constellations would move and change at random intervals. No clear rhyme or reason. 

Bill was never allowed to roam the ship on his own, he always had to be escorted by at least two guards due to his violent track record. It was frustrating, but he couldn’t fault them for doing their job to keep him in line.

Today was no different, as like clockwork a loud knock could be heard on his door right before it swung open. Two guards stepped in first followed by his main therapist, Dr. Tseyvar. This was his fourth therapist this century, he barely paid any attention to these doctors as they came and went. They were nothing more than insignificant pests.

Bill had never bothered to learn the woman’s first name, the only reason he remembered her last name currently was due to the haphazardly placed name card on the lapel of her pristine white lab coat.

“What’s the point of knocking if you’re going to barge in anyways?” Bill grumbled, turning away from his path along the wall towards the open door.

“Would you answer if I did knock and wait?” The doctor asked nonchalantly, seeming to pay little attention to Bill’s attempt to get under her skin. Her hands were carefully folded behind her back.

“Hmm…nope, probably not!” he decided with a shrug, his cheerful tone grating as his eye crinkled into a smile.

Dr. Tseyvar then gestured with a nod of her head for Bill to follow her and the guards out into the hall. He followed suit, stuffing his hands into the pockets of the bright orange jumpsuit he wore. 

His perspective of the facility was skewed, since he was so close to the ground. They had put a blocker on his powers so he couldn’t float or make himself any bigger than the small triangle he’d been when he died. 

The fluorescent jumpsuit was stretchy and would probably be comfortable if he weren’t forced to wear it upon his arrival. He felt the same way about the thick, heavy work boots they had him wear. They were clunky and made each footstep much louder than it needed to be - in his opinion. He knew their purpose was to make him easy to find if he tried running.

Gone were the days in which he could wear his preferred top hat and bowtie. Now he had to be easily identifiable for the guards. As if they could mix me up with another patient, I’m literally the only triangle here, Bill thought to himself as he followed behind the therapist down the hall. He had to walk twice as fast to keep up with the other beings since their legs were longer.

The group then made their way to her office, passing by various group therapy rooms and other therapists personal offices. As they walked, Bill peeked into the rooms with windows they passed noting which patients were in the various sessions. He had gotten a vague understanding of the others residing here by now, but he always looked in case one of his henchmaniacs made it into the facility. 

He had gone all these years hoping they would come to bust him out of this place, but as the days turned to weeks and weeks turned to decades, his hope for rescue was running thin. Not to mention his drug addled brain could barely remember what they looked like anymore. They had become nothing more than shapes and colors, blotching across his mind. His closest friends, reduced to blurry images in the back of his mind. 

The only memories that he could recall in vivid detail were the ones the therapists had brought to the foreground once they had decided which damaged portion of Bill to attempt to reconstruct. One shattered piece at a time.

Eventually, they made their way to Dr. Tseyvar’s office. The two guards stood watch outside, but Bill knew by now that all it took was a graze of the doctor’s fingers over the panic button for them to come barreling in to stun and sedate him. He didn’t feel up to a fight today, at least not yet. He wanted to get this session over with, even if he had nowhere else to go.

He struggled slightly to pull himself up to sit in one of the chairs, wishing Ax’s cronies would give him at least some of his power to make the ordeal less annoying. 

As he plopped down into the plush couch across from the therapist’s desk, she reached up on her tall shelf for Bill’s notebook and pen before passing them to him and taking her seat across from him. He began to fiddle with the edge of the worn notebook, nails prodding at the edge of the paper. Bill didn’t write in the notebook often, but it was good to have as a reference point if he needed it.

He leered warily over the desk meeting her gaze as he waited for her to decide what part of him she would dissect today. 

Clasping one hand over the other, she began their session. “Now, Mr. Cipher, how are you feeling today?” He watched her click the pen in her hand and flip open her own set of notes.

The doctor at one point had tried to become more familiar and comfortable with Bill, but had given up after a few years. She’d realized he was beyond any semblance of normalcy and diverted her energy elsewhere in terms of his treatment options. Now she was far more formal and clinical.

Bill rolled his eye, “Fine, other than the whole being locked in a therapy prison for nearly half a millennia.” He crossed one leg over the other, trying to relax. These sessions always put him on edge and today wasn’t any different.

Her gaze remained unfazed at his weak attempt to flip the power dynamic. “I’m glad to hear you’re doing fine, did you reflect on the things we discussed last session?” 

Bill began to fiddle with the paper again as he became annoyed, “Not particularly, I don’t think it’s entirely necessary.” 

In the past few sessions, he’d been working with the doctor on handling his deeply rooted trauma. They had made attempts at finding acceptance for his past, so he could grow into a new future. It didn’t seem to be working. 

All the process had done was traumatize him all over again as he would get stuck in a memory. Like a record catching, he’d get stuck on something and would need someone else to forcibly pull the needle away. Usually this was accomplished by sedating him because he’d become violent. He’d lose all sense of control and go back to his basic instinct. To kill or at the very least, maim.

Her gaze remained fixed on Bill’s movements and his expression, “I think it’s a great place to start. Were you able to come up with some of the reasons your actions may have negatively affected others in your life?” The doctor started taking notes in earnest.

He averted his gaze and began folding the corners of the paper’s edges, listening to the ambient sound of her pen scritching roughly against paper. She always wrote with a ballpoint pen, it made the most grating noise since it always seemed to be low on ink. 

“Obviously annihilating the second dimension, more specifically Euclydia, negatively affected a lot of people.” He couldn’t look at her when he thought about his dimension. His home, that he’d destroyed.

One second it was there, the next second there was nothing but empty space and blood on my hands, The subconscious thought floated to the forefront of his mind. He had to forcibly shift his attention to something else. The sound of Dr. Tseyvar’s pen rolling against her notebook paper was a simple distraction. He took what he could get.

She regarded him calmly, coaxing him into the desired train of thought. “That's a great observation, and do you believe that had a negative effect on you as well?”

Bill sat in silence for a moment, mulling the question over. Obviously destroying the entire dimension was negative, but was it a negative to him ? “I..I guess so…” He mumbled in response. 

His eye skated over the various tomes on her bookshelf, he couldn’t read a portion of them but the majority of them were in languages he knew. He’d learned plenty in his years of never-ending immortality. It was easier than being bored, it was also an easy distraction. The pen sound wasn’t helping.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

Pride and Prejudice, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Great Gatsby, One Hundred Years of Solitude, at that, he scowled with a squint of his eye. A bit too on the nose.

“What are some aspects of that situation that negatively affected you?” She asked, her pen starting up its scraping over the page once more. 

The doctor transitioned smoothly from one subject to the next, not allowing Bill to think too long between answers. That’s how they’d made any progress, she had to bulldoze her way into Bill’s mind.

He paused again for a moment, debating the ways in which he’d not only hurt his parents but also himself. He didn’t mean to tear the fabric of their dimension apart. He just wanted to show them the stars. He wanted them to see he wasn’t just making it up. He wanted them to believe him. 

“…I just wanted them to take me at my word, I wanted them to see what I could see..” His throat felt tight as he released a shaky breath, “I didn’t mean to hurt them.” Why didn’t they just believe me? His expression grew agitated as his mind weaved its way through the question. “I wouldn’t have needed to show them if they had just believed me the first time.” 

Bill was still looking at the bookshelf, but he wasn’t seeing it anymore. He had dissociated from the conversation, not quite talking to the person in front of him. He was speaking to ghosts that judged his every move.

The doctor hummed in response, feigning agreement with his thoughts. Continuing to write something down. It was starting to echo in his ears, that incessant scratching sound. It reminded him of something, but he couldn’t quite place what it was. The memory nagged at the back of his mind, taunting his forgetfulness.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

Bill’s voice trembled as he tried to shake the growing anger in his tone, squinting harder at the bookshelf.  “If they hadn’t attempted to medicate me for 'making up’ the stars I saw. I wouldn’t have needed to prove anything to them.” 

The therapist nodded along with him, continuing to scribble more on a post-it note on her desk. “Would you say that being taken at your word is important to you?” She was watching him closely, scrutinizing his movements. Knowing the breaking point may be approaching.

He tore a small corner off one of the pages of the notebook. “I suppose so. It just…didn’t feel fair.” He mumbled, mostly to himself. 

He was preoccupied with thinking about his parents, his home, that infernal scratching noise.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

His therapist mulled over his statement intently before asking her follow up question, “Do you think that affects how honest you are with others?” She stared at him intently, waiting for the rubber band to snap.

Honesty . His throat constricted, “I don’t know.” 

The mental pressure was debilitating. Bill felt overstimulated, thinking of too much at once. Her voice sounded like he was hearing it from inside a fish bowl, warping and distorting through every word. The only thing he heard loud and clear was her pen.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

She patiently waited for him to continue, but when he stayed silent she attempted to rephrase her initial question, “How does honesty make you feel? Are there others you wish you had been honest with?” 

The doctor was probing him with too many questions at once. Trying to overload his senses so he would lash out and offer more scraps of information. It was a risk she had to take as she constantly toed the line between what Bill was and was not willing to open up about. She’d do anything for the sake of progress.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

Yes , he knew exactly who he wished he had been honest with. One of the only people he wished he could convince that there were some things he said that were the truth. That it wasn’t all a lie. But he wouldn’t tell the doctor that.

“We’ve had this discussion before,” His voice firm as he grit his teeth with a glare, his eye finally landing back on her face. “I’m not talking about this.” 

He had avoided talking about Stanford as much as possible. He didn’t want to think about the mortal, if he did he’d be miserable. The stress was already getting to him, Bill’s mind felt sluggish. Trying to remember something that evaded his reach. Where did I hear that sound before? His irritation was palpable, but Dr. Tseyvar knew she had to press on.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

She regarded him solemnly, her resolve firm. “William, it’s my job to help you navigate these feelings and help you understand that wanting to be honest with others can have an effect on being honest with yourself.” 

Scratch, scratch, scra-

She finally set down her pen, fixing her gaze on his fingers as they made more minor tears at the notebook paper, “Do you feel as though you are honest with yourself ?”

He remembered where he’d heard that sound from with sudden clarity. 

Bill could recall the snowy winter days spent with Stanford in his office. Empty coffee mugs strewn about. Sat at his thick wooden desk, candles lit, calculating measurements for the portal. The mortal would write with a fountain pen, and it always got caught on the paper when there wasn't enough ink in the nib. 

It would sound just like that.

Anyone else using one would make a mess, but Ford was always fluid with his pen strokes. Each one had a clear purpose, Stanford always knew what he was doing. So sure of himself once he got started with a project.

The mortal would be up for days at a time, sat in the same spot, scritching away in one of his journals. He’d write or draw in notebooks, on post-it notes, across blueprints. His sketches and doodles took up most of the pages, always adding a diagram to show off what he was referring to. 

When he wrote, he wrote in cursive. Bill always thought the mortal had beautiful handwriting. Maybe on account of the extra finger, or since he wrote with his left hand Ford was more careful with his strokes. His script was like cutting through water; it was met with no resistance from the paper he was writing on. The equivalent of slicing through melting butter.

Occasionally he would take a break from portal sketches to draw other things, like oddities he found around town, his moth collection or his muse. 

Bill felt his chest constrict at the memory.

That’s what he drew the most in his free time, over and over for hours that would bleed into days and days that would bleed into weeks. Stanford was obsessive and a perfectionist. A match made in Hell. Two years of drawings of Bill from every possible angle, every possibility for the form he would take when they inhabited the same space. 

He burned them all when he left me. Every. Single. One. Bill thought to himself. He felt hollow, finally remembering that something was missing. He’d completed the puzzle, but at what cost?

Another memory bubbled up of its own volition showcasing one of Bill’s favorite moments when watching Ford handle a pen, when the mortal had signed his name in beautiful script at the bottom of their marriage license over three centuries ago.

Abruptly, he stood from where he sat. Pushing the chair and scraping the legs harshly against the hardwood floor from the force. Slamming the notebook and pen on her desk, he turned to leave. “I told you already, I’m not doing this.” 

As he attempted to head for the door, Dr. Tseyvar stood and made a final attempt to get through to him. “Do you wish you were honest with your husband, Stanford ?” Her voice was full of trepidation, “Would you be honest with him now if given the chance?” 

The doctor knew that would get her a response, she just wasn’t sure if she was prepared to deal with the consequences of invoking the mortal’s name.

Bill stopped in his tracks, the blood hot in his veins threatening to boil over. He slowly turned back to the therapist’s desk, his body beginning to glow red as his eye bore into her. Raking over the details, trying to decide what he’d destroy first.

“I was honest with Stanford.” He could feel the shackles around his power contract further, trying to reign him in. Forcing his compliance.

She did her best to remain calm as he stalked toward her desk, a predator sizing up prey. “Were you always honest with Stanford?” The doctor attempted to sound confident, but her voice was laced with fear.

Bill’s form attempted to shift into his nightmarish visage, all teeth and limbs. Pushing and prodding at the confines of the magical barriers stopping him. Trying to bend the rules, but mostly hoping they’d outright break.

He wanted to rip the woman’s voice box from her throat just for having Ford’s name in her mouth. His Ford . His name sounded wrong in her mouth, but then again to the demigod it always sounded wrong in someone else’s mouth. Bill was overcome with the compulsion to defend his former apprentice, more-so than defending his own terrible choices. 

No one could ever understand his Sixer the way Bill did. That was a vow, not a promise.

“Do not talk about my husband any more.” His voice a low growl distorting as his harsh footsteps brought him closer. Blood rushed through his veins, adrenaline spiking as he glitched and morphed trying to use his powers to decimate the therapist.

Mentally, he was banging on the proverbial door holding him back. Bill wanted to lacerate every piece of this woman’s body, even if it was the last thing he ever got to do. 

The desire to feel each tendon and ligament as it snapped like a cut guitar string and shredded between his fingertips was overwhelming. The squelch of her organs as his claws punctured them like water balloons. Plucking her eyes out, tearing out the entire optic nerve like the thick cheese filling of a mozzarella stick. He wanted nothing more than to paint this office with the doctor’s disgusting blood, to coat every surface. Down to the fibers of the carpet under his boots.

So she'd be beneath him, right where she belonged.

As he began to enclose into her space, she dashed to the other end of the desk and pressed the panic button. Guards burst in and stunned Bill where he stood. He hit the ground hard, twitching from the electric current. One of the guards approached, snatching his arm and injecting him with a sedative. 

“Do not talk about him. Do not mention him. Do not even think about him,” Bill grit through chattering teeth behind his eye, using the last ounces of his strength to thrash in the guards hold. “If you even vaguely remember his name, I’ll kill you. Do you hear me?! I’ll kill you!” He screeched, his voice carrying down the barren hallways, “I will tear out your organs one by one and eat them directly from your dying corpse until it kills you!” He spat as he was carried away, “Once I’m done with you, I’ll peel the skin from your bones in ribbons and decorate the walls of this god-forsaken facility!” 

Despite his violent, futile attempt to shake the guard’s hold and screaming at anyone who would listen, the sedative began to take effect. 

Dr. Tseyvar called out to him before he fully lost consciousness, “Think long and hard about honesty before our next session William, you may need to confront it sooner than you think.” 

Bill’s vision became clouded and he passed out before being tossed onto the bed in his cell. Cloaking him in darkness. He’d have to try again next time.

Chapter Text

Ford eventually wrenched himself away from the statue, the sensation of being watched mingling with the shame washing over him. The scientist could hardly wrap his head around someone seeing him openly mourn Bill. Let alone an all-mighty being. Especially because he knew he shouldn’t. After scrubbing the stray dirt and tears from his face, he clutched the binder in his trembling hands before starting up a gradual pace back to the shack.

His mind was reeling, attempting to catch up with this newly obtained information. Cipher is alive , the thought all encompassing as he continued on. Cipher is alive and in therapy.  

Everything felt overwhelming, his breath quick and shallow as he walked. The scientist went to pinch himself before realizing the absurdity of the action. He knew he couldn’t allow Cipher to escape the confines of the facility. If anything happened, Ford would be responsible. Feel responsible. 

Bill Cipher was his cross to bear. Of course, no matter how far I go, I’ll always be tethered to him. He attempted to stop himself from wandering by digging his nails into the plastic material of the binder between his fingers, his knuckles white from the pressure. 

He quickly glanced at the deep scarred skin of his hands, reminding him further of the myriad of reasons the fallen god should not roam free.

Cipher was an overarching shadow in Ford’s life. A mouse trap the scientist sprung time and time again, never quite learning his lesson. The creature was lingering in his mind, holding him hostage despite the worn metal plate. Echos of their past haunted him, he saw him in every corner and felt his presence in each moment of silence. Stanford’s former muse had left behind a never ending string of vile insults and sickly sweet promises whispered in his ears.

The map of marred flesh littering Ford’s body from their time spent in the throngs of torture and ecstasy alike. Memories of the ghosting soft touch of black fingertips tracing his six fingered hands in the mindscape. The scientist shuddered at the thought, hoping to cast it from his mind. An everlasting cycle of pain and pleasure, permanently etched in his mind.

The tattoos left behind on his skin like a searing brand. At least the most painful of the three. ‘If lost, return to Bill,’ permanently disfiguring him along his spine. 

Ford’s hands felt clammy at the memory of Bill attempting to carve the words in the demon’s native tongue himself one night while possessing him. Sat between two mirrors with a small whittling knife before giving up from the blood loss and having the symbols inked over later to finish the job. Marking him like he was cattle. Ford remembered having to throw out the blood soaked rug. He could never look at the whittling knife the same again.

When his brother had first seen the strange symbols in contrast to his scarred body, he’d asked what it meant. Ford could barely muster the courage to tell him. As a result, Stan tried to convince him to have the tattoo removed - years ago when they first set off on their adventures. All these years later, the tattoo remained - marking Ford as his .

He couldn’t allow himself to part with the ink, no matter how painful the memories that were tied to it. The phrase had become ingrained into his body and indented into his soul. Intertwined with the way he saw himself. Not to mention, he wasn’t sure removing the ink would do anything for the severe scarring left from the knife.

Despite his averse thoughts to the process as a whole, the tattoo functioned as a reminder that he was wanted at one point in time. He had been claimed in the most gruesome ways imaginable, but he couldn’t admit that he’d once wanted it that way. There was a fleeting moment in his life that belonging to his muse meant everything to him. 

He’s no longer my muse, Ford deflected, He’s a monster. He scowled, realizing he was preaching to the choir.

Ford understood his emotional response on a fundamental level, but he couldn’t use logic to explain his feelings for the fallen god. Misery loved company, and his ex-muse made sure misery found him at every turn. The phantom Bill left behind held him in a vice grip, he would hold Ford exactly where he wanted him and wait for his desired reaction. Ford could hold out as long as his pride would allow, but eventually his mind and body had to give in. 

They didn’t need to inhabit the same space for Ford to feel like he was trapped in place, frozen in time. He knew that when he was defeated in these battles of ego, he would drink Bill in like water - relaxing easily into the soothing ways in which his former muse would forgive his transgressions. It came to him as innate as breathing. He’d choke on his apologies and stumble through whatever his naive mind thought Bill wanted to hear. To please him. 

Ford swallowed thickly, Can I outlast the demon this time, if he tries his tricks again?  

Typically, no matter how strong his resolve, he could never deny himself the string of kind words and fleeting touches. It was routine: Bill would push Ford to do something he didn’t want to do, Ford would adamantly not do it. In response, Bill would apply pressure until Ford couldn’t hold out any longer and would fold like a house of cards. The demon would teach him the lessons as many times as necessary until Stanford knew them by heart.

He would anticipate the acknowledgement and affection from the demigod - no matter how empty the words, and Bill would grant him that reward once he complied every time without fail. The copious praise from his muse was his own personal strain of heroin, a treacherous high that caused severe withdrawal. He’d found that out the hard way.

Ford shuddered while reminiscing over his behavior from that era of his life. On his knees in reverent worship, praying for the smallest of gestures. A true disciple. The shrine he had built for the monster’s approval. Ford had even built his home in the creature's image. It had only been two years, but the experience had left decades of damage. 

He had believed unconditionally that Bill was the Sun of his galaxy and the moon to his stars. He didn’t realize until it was too late that in actuality Bill was an ever-expanding black hole, snuffing out Ford’s light and absorbing anyone that got too close into his insatiable ego. An unstoppable force consuming an immovable object because the force couldn’t destroy it the old fashioned way.

The scientist knew he couldn’t allow himself to fall into those habits again. He had to be strong and keep Bill at a safe distance, both physically and mentally in order to endure this entire ordeal. If he gave in, it could be fatal for his family and Ford wasn’t going to let that happen a second time. 

After weirdmageddon, Stanford had tried to clean up the broken pieces of his life and start anew. Although a lot of the challenge came with his body wanting to stay in survival mode after all the torture and being a wanted criminal in various dimensions. Sleeping through the night had been a journey in and of itself, and Ford hoped that having Bill around wouldn’t cause the scientist to revert to his unhealthy insomniac tendencies. Stanley had gotten him through the worst of it, so all he could do was put his trust into his twin to tackle the next issue.

Eventually, he’d made it to the porch steps. Noticing the faint flickering glow in the window from the TV, Ford figured that Stan was still awake. 

How long have I been gone? He wondered idly.

Glancing up at the sun now hanging lower in the sky, Ford estimated a few hours had passed. He attempted to steady his breathing before entering the house. 

How the hell am I going to tell Stanley? Ford asked himself, suddenly on edge.

The knowledge that Bill was alive, in therapy and needed to be transferred to Gravity Falls wasn’t something Stanley was going to be happy about. He’d either disagree outright or agree to let Bill come if only to kill him a second time. Ford set his shoulders and steeled his gaze as he made his way inside and removed his boots.

“Hey, Ford - that you?” Stanley called from his recliner, turning the TV down a few notches. 

Ford’s fuzzy sock clad feet padded into the living room to see Stanley sat back in the chair in front of the TV in his white tank top and boxers. He discreetly wiped the dirt and blood from his hands on his jacket, hoping Stanley wouldn’t notice. Just from the dialogue of the film playing, he deduced Stan had been watching ‘The Duchess Approves’ again. An old favorite, Good, maybe he’s in an amicable mood. 

“Hello, yes I just got back,” he tucked the binder under his arm waiting for the right opportunity to broach the topic, “Did you end up calling the kids?”

Ford did his best to hide the apprehension and nerves from his face, trying to be as neutral as possible. He wanted to hold out on needing to say anything about their newest dilemma until the last possible moment. Always the procrastinator.

Stanley turned to him slightly, his head turning before his eyes did. He then paused his movie, “Yeah, they were glad we got in safe and couldn’t stop talkin’ about how excited they were for this summer.” He took a moment before continuing, hesitation clear across his face, “They…asked how you were holdin’ up and about where you were.” Carefully, Stan leaned over the edge of the arm rest to get a better look at Ford’s expression. “Where did you go anyways? You were gone for quite a long time,” Stanley noticed the smudges of dirt left behind on his brother’s coat and the subtle twitch of his hands.

Stan squinted slightly, scrutinizing the details of his brother’s state more harshly. He could obviously tell he’d gotten into something given the mud and grass on his clothes and the residual tear stains across his cheeks. His eyes were puffy and he couldn’t seem to look Stanley in the eye.

His twin took a deep breath and tried his best to steady his racing heart, “I…I went to the statue…” Ford’s tone indicative of his defeat, knowing he couldn’t hide any longer. Any confidence died on his tongue as he explained to Stan what had happened in the clearing that afternoon. 

By the time he’d finished, Stanley had leapt out of his chair, the anger palpable from where Ford was standing. “They can’t make you do this! It ain’t right!” Stan exclaimed, throwing his hands up in frustration. 

Ford sighed, “Stanley, they’ll just turn him over to someone else - what if they aren’t watching him carefully and he’s able to hurt someone.” He rubbed a calloused six-fingered hand over his eyes, suddenly exhausted, “We can’t let him hurt the people of this town again.” 

Stan turned to him, fear and anger intermingled in his eyes, “I can’t let him hurt you again!” 

The scientist wrapped his arms around himself reflexively, flinching at his brother's words. The binder was crushed up against his chest as he tried to figure out how he would get Stanley to see his perspective. 

“What if he hurts the kids? They’re already going through enough with their parents’ divorce.” He placed his hands firmly on his hips, wanting Stanford to see reason, “What do you expect me to do if he hurts you again? I see the scars he left - physically and mentally, anyone worth their salt can tell he messed with your head all those years ago.” 

Stanford winced, somewhat embarrassed by the amount of torture he’d let slide in the past, “I’m responsible for this, Stanley, I have to be the one to fix it.” 

Stan crossed his arms in defiance, “No you’re not! He is a dangerous inter-dimensional con-man - and I would know! What if this is all some elaborate long-con that he's attempting to trap you in?” His brother sighed, wanting Ford to understand his fears.

Stanford knew his twin meant well, he’d seen some of the lowest points of his and Cipher’s relationship. Right after he’d learned that Cipher was planning to take over the world and when the demon had begun taking his anger out on Ford. In the aftermath of the apocalypse, recounting all the torture he’d gone through for the equation to revert the weirdness barrier around the town. Through all his night terrors about Cipher possibly returning, Stanley had been there. 

And Ford had the audacity to ask him to let the demon back in.

He knew it was wrong, everything about their current options were wrong. That didn’t stop him from asking anyways. Asking to open their home to his abuser. 

Ford just didn’t want someone else to endure what he had gone through. He also held onto the smallest sliver of hope that his partner would return and could get better. That he was truly apologetic for all those awful moments that his mind couldn’t stand to linger on.

“I can’t let him hurt more people, at least this way we can stop him if he tries. Stanley, I can handle this.” He held the binder out in between them, “I think these are the terms and conditions, the creature gave me this file before leaving. Can we at least look through it before deciding anything?”

Stanley held out his hand for the binder, “Fine, hand it over. If it’s a con - I’ll spot it better than you will.” Ford passed the thick set of documents over to his brother, hoping this was the key to Stanley’s approval. His twin sat back down in the recliner, displacing a cloud of dust from the chair before flipping the binder open. 

“ Whew , whoever put this together must’ve wasted an awful lot of time,” He remarked as he skimmed and flipped through the pages. He read out the terms and conditions listed in the binder to Stanford, as well as the information listed on what the demon’s condition would be when he arrived. 

In essence, the terms were written as follows: once the caretaker approves harboring the patient, they will be summoned to retrieve them from the facility. An initial session will be held with the patient, caretaker and primary care physician to gauge the items that need to be addressed for long-term treatment.

Once the patient has completed their sessions throughout the year-long program, they will be re-assessed by the director to obtain clearance to be discharged and re-enter society in the dimension of their choosing. The patient will lose all abilities prior to the beginning of the program and will be transferred into a vessel that blends in with the respective society. At any time, the caretaker can revoke their hospitality and the patient will be relocated. 

Ford paced fruitlessly around the living room as Stanley read out the general guidelines. The binder also mentioned vivid details about Cipher’s sessions and observed triggers, such as his dimension, family and past grievances. Ford assumed he was the past grievances since Stanley wouldn’t read those aloud. The scientist could barely believe this facility had made any progress with Bill, let alone enough to warrant further treatment. He’d considered Cipher a lost cause a long time ago. It also felt outlandish that he would share enough information about his life to require such a large set of documents. 

“A whole year stuck with that triangular megalomaniac?” Stanley sneered, “Is this a punishment for him or for us ?” 

Ford scoffed at his tone, “At least we can alert the facility to retrieve him at any time. If he tries anything, we can just send him right back to this place.” 

Stan flipped through the various pages, he hadn’t fully read into the details of whatever Bill was working through. He didn’t really care, he just wanted to be sure his brother wouldn’t be burned by this monster again. Physically or mentally. 

Trying to help his twin through his parasomnia and general paranoia after Weirdmaggedon had been quite the challenge. Ford was already wary of others, but reintroducing him into society had its fair share of kinks to work out. His brother was finally doing better and Stanley didn’t want to jeopardize that.

However, his eyes landed on one small detail that made his stomach drop, “Ford…it says here your relationship with the patient is marked as ‘spouse’.” Stanley’s eyes flicked up in a panic, “Are you married to him?!”

“What?” Stanford asked, walking over to peer at the documents over his brother’s shoulder. There, printed plainly in black and white was his name under ‘patient relation: spouse.’ Ford ran a hand over his face, his stomach churning at the realization. “...I didn’t think that was legally binding…” He mumbled, mostly to himself.

Stan immediately swiveled around to throw an accusatory glare in his twin’s direction, “You didn’t think what was legally binding?”

Ford averted his gaze as his face flushed slightly at the memory, “There was one night he and I were talking over drinks…one thing led to another and he suggested we get married since our partnership was a scientific miracle.”  He scratched awkwardly at the nape of his neck, “I was drunk and said yes, we saw a priest in an adjoining dream dimension and I thought it wasn’t like a real marriage - just something Cipher thought was amusing…”

His brother sighed, “Ugh, of course you did…well we’ll need to get that figured out too. Y’know for one of the smartest guys I’ve ever met you make some of the most boneheaded decisions.” 

Clearing his throat, Ford did his best to feign nonchalance at the jab. “Yes, I know. It was a strange time, alright? But I’ll get it sorted out.”

Stanley shook his head and continued looking through the pages, now paying more attention to detail. “It lists you as the sole caretaker for the program on these documents, so you’d be the one to make the call,” Stan had to squint to read the fine print, despite his thick lenses. 

“It sounds like he won’t be a threat as long as we don’t allow him around anything dangerous - no weaponry or poison,” Ford talked through the doubts that sat heavy on his shoulders about this process. He was weighing the potential outcomes of outbreaks of violence, trying to figure out if he could really stop them all from coming to pass.

Stanley sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, pushing his glasses up onto his forehead, “Poindexter, he’s never needed a physical weapon to hurt you - he does it all up here,” Stanley exaggerated his point by gesturing to his temple. 

The scientist swallowed the anxiety brewing like bile in his throat, “Stanley, I know that - but we will have the upper hand. One word, and he’s gone.”

Stanley stared hard at his brother, knowing intrinsically he’d do this if it was the last thing the man would ever accomplish in his lifetime. “Fine, but don’t let him get to you Stanford. Just remember he might not apologize for the shitty things he’s done,” Stan dropped the binder on the small table next to the recliner, flipping it closed. “Even if he apologizes, if he’s not really changing then he’s just trying to manipulate you again and I’ll be damned if I let that happen,” Stanley said before he walked off towards his bedroom, patting his brother on the shoulder as he passed by. 

Stanford stood in the living room, dim light from the TV washing over his features as he opened the binder and copied the phone number into his cell phone for later. He would have to brief Melody and Soos in the morning, and figure out what to do with Cipher once he arrived. Explaining the situation to the twins and Fiddleford would probably be the hardest task. 

Preparing for the worst usually worked in his favor, so Ford had begun mentally preparing for whatever might ensue over the course of the next year. He knew this had to be done, he just hoped it wouldn’t be the death of him.

Stanford knew he couldn’t spend all night loitering around the house, his nerves were antsy to do something. Ford decided on getting the office ready for Bill to live there, since every other room in the house would be occupied. Without further ceremony, he turned and headed for the vending machine to his old office.

It had been years since he’d last been down there, Soos and Melody had no use for it or the lab since it’s not like they could hold tours down there. The furthest they went was the lower level of the house that didn’t require a secret passcode. He remembered the code by heart, it was muscle memory at this point since Stanley hadn’t changed it in all the time he’d been gone.

The dimly lit stairway let him know the power grid was still functioning as intended, but he’d definitely need to replace the light bulbs. As he made his descent, his mind wandered to all the memories these walls held.

The countless hours he’d spent cooped up in his dreary laboratory, awake for multiple days at a time calculating ways to turn on that god-forsaken portal. Ford had used two years of his life to create this thing, his presumed magnum opus, just for it to nearly be his demise. Three decades spent running from inter-dimensional authorities and the monster that stalked him at every turn.

Bill treated it like a game. He made the board, set up the pieces, and invented the rules while Ford was essentially chained to the desk and puppeteered to play along. At first, he was a willing participant, thinking he would eventually surpass his teacher. He didn’t realize until later that since the other player could see his moves as he thought of them he would never be able to come out on top.

Once he arrived in the elevator, he was relieved the old, rickety thing still worked. He stepped inside, cautious it may break. The doors creaked shut and he pressed the button for the secondary basement level. 

Stanford hadn’t been down here since before he’d gone into the portal, when he returned there was so much going on that he needed to stay in the lab to do as much testing as possible. However, that didn’t mean he had forgotten what it looked like. As the doors rolled open, he was greeted with the most painful set of reminders from those years he had been manipulated.

In a frenzy, before he’d left this place behind, he had tried destroying anything and everything that had resembled Bill. Glass shards littered the floor from his artifacts, half melted candle wax was strewn about, torn tapestries draped across the floor. Cipher’s post-it notes asking to talk. Notes and blueprints still sat on his desk from whatever he was working on before he abandoned this room.

It was like he’d walked into a time capsule, containing nothing but relics from the worst moments of his life. Ford almost felt ill just from looking at the destruction, especially knowing he’d have to touch everything. To throw it all away. 

The smell alone was a major hit to his heart. The air was thick with vanilla incense. With the room being underground, there was no way to air the office out without coming and going from the elevator. As a result the scent hung in the air, a palpable reminder that withstood the test of time.

Back then he used to only buy vanilla-scented soap, shampoo and conditioner. It was disturbing to think about. 

It was Bill’s favorite, never did figure out why but Ford would douse himself in it. He’d always favored vanilla and Ford’s campfire scented cologne. A subtle way of trying to get his muse’s attention. Bill would smell it on him and lean in as they talked, rearranging the mindscape to keep them close. It was addictive, the demon’s undivided attention.

He realized with abject clarity that he still owned and restocked those things. It had become a habit, he’d been pavloved to buy and use it. Expecting some kind of sick reward. Nausea overcame him, Maybe I should buy new soap.  

However, he knew he wouldn’t switch it - he was too picky about those types of things. Always the same soap, always the same textured fabric for clothing, always the same brand of toothbrush. 

He tried distancing himself from that train of thought, throwing himself into the next set of problems.

A large computer still took up one whole wall, but now after all these years the technology had become obsolete. Fiddleford had built that so many decades ago for their research, and now here it sat. A monolith of everything that could have been.

I’ll have to remove that, in case Cipher breaks the screen and tries to stab someone with the glass shards, He thought solemnly to himself. 

He didn’t want to remove or discard these things, their relationship had died here. Even if it was painful, it was his. He thought harder about everything they’d done together in this room, all the work they’d put in meditating and calculating over the portal, Cipher watching him pin up his moth collection, falling asleep in his desk chair to spend time together in the mindscape.

I guess we got married here, He realized numbly, feeling a pang of disappointment in his chest. When did I get so sentimental? He wondered, taking a deep breath. It had to be twisted nostalgia.

Ford set his shoulders and got to work with clearing the room out despite his mental protesting. He swept up the glass shards across the floor and gathered up his notes and schematics to re-organize later. He collected the tapestries and posters before shoving them into a trash bag, barely wanting to touch them. 

He tried to clean up as much of the candles and incense ashes across the room, but anything of the sort that had fallen on the rug was permanently glued down. He gave up with it and figured if Bill was that determined to have it, he could just take it. At least they couldn’t be used as a weapon.

The mortal cleared out the rest of his desk before taking stock of the rest of the room. He’d cleaned up the worst of it, all that was left was the computer, a large mirror and his desk and desk chair. We’ll need to move a bed down here, He realized, making a mental note to figure out how to get the mattress downstairs. I suppose he’ll also need clothes.

For a moment he sat and thought about what clothes Cipher would need. He didn’t know what his form would look like and he really didn’t want to waste money on things that he’d only use for a year max.

I could just give him my old stuff, He decided. Then he wouldn’t have to buy anything. Hopefully it fits.  

He gathered up the various trash bags and headed back upstairs to discard them outside and go through the clothes he didn’t wear often. He’d also have to find a set of drawers for everything to be placed in. It was a lot to handle, but he wanted to stay busy. If he was busy he wouldn’t have time to be apathetic.

Sifting through his clothes wasn’t as daunting of a task as he’d thought it’d be. Ford had never been the materialistic sort, only keeping what he needed and regularly got rid of anything he didn’t use often enough. It was easy to go through and find things that either didn’t fit anymore or that he hadn’t worn since he’d been gone. He did his best to grab a plethora of options for Bill to choose from since he didn’t know if the demon would bring anything with him from the facility.

Eventually he had a few boxes of clothes set aside for Cipher and thought it was enough clothing to carry downstairs by himself before his eye caught onto the sleeve of a sweater peeking out of his closet.

Ford hadn’t seen the article of clothing in years, convinced he’d donated or lost it ages ago. Holding it up to the light, he realized it was an old sweater from his university days. He glanced back at the boxes of clothing, debating whether or not he should give the sweater to Cipher. It had sentimental value, but he hadn’t been wearing it. 

It might as well be put to good use, He decided before tossing it amongst the other clothing.

Once he’d brought the boxes down, he sat down at his old, worn desk and began to work out the logistics of bringing more furniture down into the room and attempting to get the computer out within the next week. He’d need Soos’ help carrying everything, despite his own strength he knew he couldn’t do all the work on his own.

Doing things solo had only given him more trouble than it was worth. If he’d learned anything within the last few years, it was that. He sat back, looking at everything he’d drawn up. It felt better having a clear plan in place, even if Ford was still apprehensive about allowing Bill back in. Maybe it would be a good thing. He’d have to find out the only way he knew how: first-hand experience.

Chapter Text

It had been two weeks, at least that’s what Bill could gather from the guard rotation. Slowly but surely, Dr. Tseyvar had gotten Bill to open up about Ford, but she never said his name out loud again. Just referred to him as ‘the scientist’ or his past apprentice. Whether it was out of fear or respect, Cipher was unsure. He didn’t think he cared either way, as long as the name stayed out of her mouth.

In the sessions that followed his previous melt down, Bill had given scraps of information about what had happened between the estranged pair. After all this time spent in these sessions, the woman had worn him down - sharing wasn’t as anxiety-inducing as it once had felt. He had given vague details about how Bill felt during their time together and after their falling out. 

Through drawing, writing and talking about how the events of his life made him feel, they were able to make some tangible progress. The response to thinking about their time apart garnered a more visceral reaction. As a result, his therapist had been grasping at straws to discern what had happened in the time before their connection took a sharp turn. Dancing around the details she wanted to know helped to be sure she wouldn't scare him off. 

Despite her best efforts to help the demon through these issues, Bill’s nightmares persisted and he was convinced these talks about Stanford were not helping. They just made everything feel worse. It was as if all his feelings regarding his former protege were amplified. Like they were blaring music through blown speakers, warping and distorting from the damage but never ceasing to play. 

Now that Ford was at the forefront of his mind, he couldn’t break away from every good experience that had guided them together. He also couldn’t stop himself from recalling every awful action that had driven them apart. The memories were muddy, flowing into one another. That didn’t make them feel any farther from pure torture. 

Intrusive thoughts about the days in which Cipher was once a revered muse felt like mental daggers. Remembering the look on Stanford’s face as he clung tightly onto every word as it left Bill’s lips. The way the scientist would write down anything and everything he liked about Bill. The copious artwork of the demon, which gave Bill lingering thoughts hoping Ford would make him look pretty. 

All those beautiful memories would begin to rot as they would morph into reminders of the bad ones. Bill’s irate destruction of Ford’s body, bloody prints left in his wake. The smell of charred flesh as he burned Stanford in the fearamid. The sound of Ford telling him that he would never join him. That he’d destroy every trace, every lingering wisp of Cipher. Even though these thoughts hurt, Bill knew the intent behind them, at least on his end. He just couldn’t figure out the intent of Stanford's. 

Bill had a hard time telling what actions Ford would consider good or bad. One thing was clear though, he had begun to realize that some of his behavior hadn’t exactly helped the situation, and that his feelings on the matter had only exacerbated the problem. 

Stanford and I can’t see eye to eye because we barely know what we’re looking at, Bill thought to himself while pacing the edges of his enclosure once again, we just need to find a thick pair of glasses to see everything more clearly. He’d hoped that in the last couple centuries, the two had figured out how to come to some sort of agreement. It may just be wishful thinking.

The pair stood in a proverbial stalemate. Both knew what they wanted but they were bad at expressing it so ‘negotiations’ were at an everlasting standstill. Neither wanted to be the first to apologize since it would be a hit to their ego. 

Bill knew deep down that he needed a new foundation to stand on. He couldn’t have Ford and be unsure of where things were headed, he needed to clear his mind and figure out what he really wanted. What they both wanted. Otherwise if he ever saw the scientist again, it would be a nightmare.

Maybe one day, if I ever make it out of this dump. The thought of whatever knee-jerk reaction Ford may have toward Cipher made him outwardly cringe, G ood thing I don’t have to deal with that anytime soon. He was interrupted as there was a loud knock at the door right before it loudly swung open.

“Ah, Doc, again with this knocking but immediately coming in anyway,” He jeered toward the door, trying to hide the way the slam of the door against the wall startled him, “Torture time already?” 

She regarded him flatly, wasting no time with words as she gestured for him to follow her and the guards into the hallway. Bill followed suit as he rolled his eye, heading down the hall to her office. The same routine for three centuries, broken on a random Tuesday. 

Upon entering the therapist’s office, Bill saw something he had never seen in the room before in the last 300 years. Another person. Bill knew immediately this wasn’t another patient. 

The messy wisps of brunette hair that had long since started to gray and the tails of the dark trench coat pooling on the floor beneath the plush chair told Bill everything he needed to know. That was all it took to recognize him. Stanford Pines. Bill froze where he stood as he stared into the back of Ford’s head, the door clicking closed behind him. Trapping him in. The mortal was faced away from him, but Bill would know the back of his head anywhere. He would know any piece of His Ford . 

He stood stock still as Dr. Tseyvar made her way around the desk grabbing his notebook and pen from the shelf. She set both gently on the edge of her desk and outstretched her hand to coax Bill to sit in the plush chair next to Stanford. 

“What is this?” Bill asked, his tone accusatory as he glared at the pair in front of him. His eye flicked between the therapist and Ford. Like a deer caught in headlights. 

Suddenly Cipher felt nauseous as his stomach turned at the thought of confronting the consequences to his actions all those decades ago. Being in the same space as Ford made Bill feel as if any progress he’d made in the Theraprism didn’t matter, like he hadn’t actually left Ford’s side at all. That they never parted, like they were here for another reason. As if he could fall into step beside his mortal. As natural as breathing. 

As he blinked back to reality, dread settled into his bones. Ford’s probably not here for that. He closed his eye tightly. Why is he here? Cipher didn’t work well under pressure or cope well with surprises. Typically the facility wouldn’t set one up on account of his ongoing violent streak, but this was a clear exception to the rule.

Ford visibly bristled at the sound of his former muse’s voice but sat up straighter to try to hide his reaction. 

“Mr. Cipher, our team has deliberated over your treatment and has come to the conclusion that the best way to face your issues may be to deal with them head on,” The therapist explained while taking her seat, “…Dr. Pines has offered to assist with your rehabilitation.” 

Bill could feel the cogs physically grinding in his head. His blood ran cold, like ice in his veins. He wasn’t sure how to act with his (former) greatest love and (now) sworn enemy sitting in on his therapy session, or whatever this ordeal was turning into. 

He squinted over at the therapist, his gaze sharp, “Doc, already forgetting about our little discussion?” Bill asked as he stalked over to the only empty seat left in the room, his eye never leaving her frame, and sat with his hands folded over themselves in his lap. 

Cipher’s gaze was calculated as a warning from where he sat. The being projected nonchalance and anger but his panicked mind moved a thousand miles a second. Erratically trying to regain control of the situation. Bill’s gaze eventually shifted, scowling down into his lap where his hands sat. He didn’t know if he could handle seeing Ford’s face, at least not yet.

His mind began to zip through every possible anxiety-inducing question: does Stanford look the same? How much time had passed? Did he miss me? Why would he come here if he didn’t miss me? 

Despite trying to keep his concealed anxiety in check, his mind began to wander. Bill’s gaze traced the four fingers on each hand, his hands were odd - just like Ford’s six fingered hands. My Sixer. Together they made two sets of normal hands. If only everything else about them functioned normally. In a strange, beautiful way they completed each other. They were just always struggling to get the pieces to fit. 

Dr. Tseyvar’s shoulders shrunk slightly as she tried to smooth out her features at Bill’s comment, “It will be an easier process to discuss this directly, William. Part of that includes addressing the other person in the room by name.” 

Ford raised an eyebrow, an unspoken question as he wasn’t “in” on the conversation. The scientist also seemed intrigued at the way she used his full first name as opposed to the demon’s preferred nickname. The therapist dismissed him with a clipped shake of her head and a look meant: don’t ask before she attempted to regain control of the situation. She readjusted in her seat to expel her excess nervous energy and hoped Ford wouldn’t be scared off. 

Bill rolled his eye, but still refused to meet his former apprentice’s gaze directly. Even though their eyes didn’t meet, Bill knew Ford was watching him. He’d trained his senses to know Ford’s attention intrinsically, no powers needed. The therapist briefly began to explain the purpose of this visit and the next steps that would ensue for the new therapy program.

Once she had finished speaking, Bill sat buzzing in the plush chair. He was calculating all the ways this could pan out, even with his abilities being unusable. He was still a creature of science - probability and game theory were right up his alley. The new program was a chance to prove to Stanford that not everything was a lie from their time together. A chance to start again.

Cipher hadn’t been able to look at Ford while the therapist was talking, but he could imagine the ways in which the scientist would feign a casual demeanor. As if he wasn’t also interested at the prospect of clearing the air. Starting anew.

Bill had listened with rapt attention, his mind racing to conjure up the possible outcomes. He knew that some timelines would turn out bad, Ford killing him, sending him back, refusing to visit him again. It could be very bad, but Bill didn’t care.

The math on this didn’t lie, and if there was one thing they both knew - it was mathematics. He wasn’t always one to take a gamble, but today he felt like a betting man. His eye crinkled in contrast with the uninterested demeanor he wanted to project. How could he not be excited for some quality time with his human in the home the man had built in his image?

Ford cleared his throat, “Cipher, don’t take my acceptance as a kindness to you . I’m taking you in so some other poor soul isn’t stuck with you.” His voice was rough but held firm in spite of the anxious feelings that rushed through him.

Bill felt a slight disappointment at this, but he wouldn’t let Ford know that. Of course he’s not here for me, he thought to himself bitterly, That’d be too good to be true . 

He quickly dismissed the thought, once again returning to the preferred end games scenarios. Ideas flooded his mind of all the best outcomes: the pair lounging on the porch of the Mystery Shack, playing 4 dimensional chess in the mindscape, tinkering away at new contraptions in the lab, dominating the planet. Such mundane activities sounded exciting to the triangle after centuries of confinement. 

Bill knew that this ‘exposure therapy’ was the perfect method to convince Ford to join him once again. Rule at his side. Shared immortality. Explore the multiverse together, the way he’d intended to centuries ago. However, he knew that if he came off strange in any way, Stanford may get spooked like a startled animal and foil any plans before they began. 

The mortal was quick to jump to conclusions where Bill was concerned. He knew he had to get this right - no nerves, no hesitation. He could feel a tremor start in his hands then travel through his bricks, rattling softly with excitement. He knew that even if this was painful, he hadn’t met much pain he couldn’t take without finding some joy in the sensation.

Bill attempted to throw himself back into the persona he had created centuries ago to hide his true feelings. A showman. One thing all his past humans had in common was how easily they were impressed with a good performance. If he was flashy and flourished about, then no one could see the ways in which he was falling apart at the seams. They wouldn’t know the deeply rooted fear and the insecurity of rejection that lay beneath the surface.

“Oh Fordsy, I just knew you’d come to rescue me! Just couldn’t stand to be apart, could you?” Bill sighed with a bat of his eyelashes, finally glancing up to see Stanford’s face after 300 years. 

If his heart was anatomically correct for a mortal, the balloon-like organ would definitely be beating wildly in his chest cavity at the sight of Ford. His “blood pressure,” as the humans had called it, would be rocketed sky high. In Ford’s old age, despite the worry lines wrinkling his face from all his scowling and his five o’clock shadow, Cipher still thought Stanford was the most beautiful being in the multiverse. Truly second to none, other than perhaps Bill himself. 

He’d kept his lean yet sturdy frame from their younger years. All muscle and worn skin over his bones. The old frames of his glasses were still cracked, which let Bill know the man was still just as stubborn as he had been 300+ years ago. 

Still the only meat bag worth my time eh, Fordsy? He thought to himself casually, taking in the sight of his brightest pupil.

One of his six fingered hands set over the armrest of the chair, clad in a black scuffed glove. Bill mentally sighed in relief that the man’s hands were still intact, though he wished he could see them without the gloves. They were his favorite aspect of Ford after all, what made him special. 

He wore all black, similar to his days dimension hopping which brought back its own slew of memories of their cat and mouse games. Nothing was more invigorating than catching Sixer in a trap. Bill’s eye roved over Ford sitting across from him, drinking him in. A dehydrated man seeing an oasis, so excited to see water for the first time in ages that he may just drown. Even with the skewed perspective, he knew Stanford had aged like a fine wine. 

His neck tattoo was covered by the turtleneck of his sweater, same with the others that Bill knew littered the mortal’s body - ah, what a shame - but the coverage only made Bill more curious to know if the rest of Ford matched the snapshots in his mind. He’d have to check again soon, make sure the mental photos lined up. Being sure to investigate thoroughly from every angle.

Even if he couldn’t remember much about his life, the memories of his favorite mortal were chiseled permanently into his brain. Vivid in detail as if he was experiencing it all in real time. Some memories were better than others, but he didn’t need to think of those right now. 

He pushed the worst of their relationship to the side and threw himself into his personal greatest hits. If he lingered on the negative for too long, he’d blow his cover and ruin the facade. Too much was riding on this for the plan to fail.

I’m sure everything is exactly where I left it. I just know all the bells and whistles still work. ”I know you just can’t wait to get me home,” Bill chirped, the corners of his eye crinkling into a grin.

Ford scowled at him in response, “If it were up to me, you’d rot here. That would be exactly what you deserve.” The former apprentice crossed his arms as he glared over at Cipher. 

“What I deserve Sixer, is an instant replay of our fun from before I ended up here,” Bill casually leaned over the arm of the chair he was sitting in. He slowly ran his pointer finger over the edge while his other hand propped himself up, “If I recall correctly, you and I happened to be in the middle of quite the fun set of activities…are you still a fan of-“ 

Before he could finish his statement, Ford bolted over the edge of the chair to cover his enemy’s eye with his hand to silence him. Oh, he remembered. How could he forget? That didn’t stop the shame he now associated with those moments, it was nearly too much to bear. 

“That-That’s enough Cipher, I’m not here to reminisce about the past with you,” He stated coldly despite the pale blush across his face. 

There’s my bells, Bill thought to himself, feeling smug. 

Suddenly, Ford snatched his hand back in shock as the creature opened his maw, his bright blue tongue lolling out to generously lick the expanse of Ford’s palm. A moment after Ford drew his hand back, the appendage hung from his mouth, jagged teeth visible from where the scientist sat across from him. Slowly lapping over his teeth and lips to gather every lingering taste. 

Ford watched in horrific fascination at the action he’d seen and studied countless times before. He snapped himself out of the string of embarrassing memories that ensued at the scene. 

“What the hell was that for?!” Ford remarked, wiping the thick alien saliva off his hand and onto his jacket.

“Come on now, IQ, when have I ever turned down a taste of you?” Bill replied, blinking his maw closed and rolling his eye back into place. The corners of his eye crinkled in a way Stanford knew to interpret as a smile, “Mmm…still as good as I remember, though I’ll have to conduct further tests to be sure,” The demon hummed to himself, a faint glow emanating from his body. Ford’s blush deepened despite his mental protesting. 

And my whistles, Bill thought triumphantly. 

Ford rolled his eyes as he scoffed at Cipher, “Of course, you’re still the same pompous show off I remember. It seems that this place taught you nothing.”

The statement made Bill pause, tilting his body slightly in thought. He wasn’t sure why, but the implication that he hadn’t changed at all bothered him. Despite the attempts he made to come across as unaffected by the doctor's efforts, there were parts of him that were fundamentally different. Forever changed. Could Ford really not tell?

In his time in the prism, the doctors had begun to take away small chunks of his armor. He knew they were waiting for that one final blow to destroy the barriers keeping him from truly taking responsibility for his behavior. The walls he built kept others out, but they also trapped him in. A maze with no exit, a game with no prize. 

Bill felt a blossoming pang of disappointment at the notion that Stanford didn’t understand just how close he’d gotten to the finish line. He pouted with a downturned crinkle of his eye, “Hey, you can’t accuse me of a lack of progress yet - Doc hasn’t told you all about the great strides I’ve made!” 

One inky black hand swept over to his therapist still in her desk chair. He hoped that Ford wouldn’t pick up on the deflection in his tone. Cipher knew the fundamentals of these tactics, if the ‘magic’ was happening in one place the real trick was happening somewhere else. In this case, the hidden trick in question was Bill attempting to calm himself and disassociate from his overwhelming need to convince Stanford he was better. The ‘magic’ was Dr. Tseyvar notating something on a post-it note. 

She jotted down a few more notes as Ford tried to subtly cover the blush on his face with the edge of his sweater. Somehow, they’d become so caught up in each other that Ford had fully forgotten the therapist was still in the room. Dr. Tseyvar coughed lightly to school her own awkward expression, “I apologize, but I didn’t want to interrupt your…discussion.”

Ford fought the urge to cover his face with his hands while the crinkling of Bill’s eye tilted into a sadistic grin at Ford’s apparent anguish. The widest grin he could manage to display without his maw. Teasing Stanford was too much fun to pass up.

The doctor did her best to stay professional, “William has made quite a bit of progress since being enrolled in our program.” She flipped through her notebook, skimming for the most important details. “We have been able to bring him out of his shell and he’s able to discuss past trauma. His responses are becoming less…violent but we still have a long way to go before he can be fully discharged.” Her gaze then fixed back to Ford’s face.

Eh, I suppose that’ll do, Bill thought to himself. He would have preferred the therapist to sing his praises a little more but the fact that she said anything positive at all was a win in his book. He peered at Stanford out of the corner of his eye to gauge his reaction. 

The mortal looked unimpressed, but was obviously more preoccupied with saving face from his earlier shows of familiarity.

“See, I’m making great progress! I’m basically a new triangle, Six,” Bill replied. He earned an annoyed sigh from Ford but no further comment.

“Before we begin the vessel transfer process, our team is required to conduct an initial consultation with the both of you.” The therapist continued, turning over a page in her notebook as she continued on, “Today, I will be assessing the state of your relationship before undergoing the process outlined by the director.”

Stanford sat up a bit and somehow managed to get his expression under control. Bill leered at him warily from where he sat, but did his own mental tidying to ensure he remained calm. He couldn’t afford to make mistakes at this juncture - he had to make this work, no matter the circumstances. Carefully she reviewed whatever question she had prepared before squaring her shoulders to ask in earnest. 

“Now, Mr. Cipher, Dr. Pines,” She nodded to each of them respectively, “What would you say are some of the issues you both experienced in your relationship?”

Bill was slightly taken aback by the question, he’d known her in the past to be more subtle with her approach. He didn’t think she’d ask outright what their issues were. 

Stanford stifled a chuckle at the abrupt line of questioning, “Where do I start? The manipulation, the intended destruction of my dimension, trying to scramble my mind so I’d go mad?” The scientist’s features hardened as he attempted an upbeat, sardonic tone, “Or maybe when you tried convince me to kill myself?” At this, Ford had turned to ask Bill directly.

“Oh don’t be so dramatic! That was one time, and I knew you didn’t have it in ya!” Cipher responded cheerfully, “Not to mention, you weren’t nearly high enough to do serious damage, let alone die - I know you’re familiar with the rules for this, gotta be five stories or above, IQ!” 

Bill’s response was fully for show. There was no way he could let Stanford know just how much that incident haunted him. There was the briefest moment that Bill thought he might just jump, out of spite. When reflecting on the ways in which his pupil had tried to make things work between them, he felt sick to his stomach. 

The pleading and begging for his muse to see some form of reason. Doing everything in his power to convince his god for some form of salvation. The sticky, bloody footprints in the snow from his continued efforts to turn the portal on. Kicking and punching at the door, hoping to either break it down or disable the retinal scanner. The bruises and gashes littering the mortal’s body from his wild benders of taking him for a joyride. 

Bill hadn’t felt anything then, but he sure as hell felt it now. However, he didn’t want Stanford to know that.

Ford rolled his eyes in response, “I’m an author, we’re all dramatic and that doesn’t change the fact that you still did it.” The scientist was exasperated, turning back to the therapist, “ This behavior is the exact issue. He sees nothing wrong with all the torture and strife he inflicts on others.”

The therapist hummed and nodded slightly as she took quick notes, “And William, what are some issues you experienced?” 

Stanford scoffed at the question, he couldn’t fathom what Cipher would think their issues were short of something ludicrous. Bill regarded her calmly as he thought the question over, What issues did Ford and I experience?  

He crossed his arms under his eye before answering her question, “I’d say our biggest issue is that you don’t listen to me, Fordsy. If only you’d followed my original instructions to the letter! Then we wouldn’t have ended up here in the first place.” 

Deep down, he knew that he wasn’t sure if that was true. What he did know was the fact that if Stanford had just built the portal like Cipher had told him to, they could have ruled the world. Taken over the multiverse. Been partners. If he had listened, Bill wouldn’t have needed to hurt him, he wouldn’t have needed to create weirdmageddon, threaten anyone or ask Ax for help and ended up in his shiny prison. It seemed very cut and dry. Their eventual circumstances were reactionary on Bill’s part - Ford wouldn’t listen and so he had to teach him the hard way.

Ford threw his arms up in frustration, “Of course that’s all you took from it! You never think you do anything wrong,” Ford was approaching his limit in trying to make the situation tolerable, “When is it going to be enough for you?” 

Bill turned toward Stanford slightly, he hadn’t expected such a reaction at that comment, “Enough of what?” 

Ford stared down the bridge of his nose to glare directly into Cipher’s eye, the hurt mingling with the anger in his gaze. “My suffering, when will it be enough?! When will we reach the conclusion to you raking me over the coals so I can finally be rid of you?” 

Bill’s eye widened in shock at the question. He wasn’t sure if he should be upset or angry at the jab. 

Sixer should know by now that I wouldn’t want him to suffer, he thought to himself, panicking at the prospect of his actions being misconstrued. I never gave him anything he couldn’t handle. I only did what I had to do for us to succeed.  

That’s what gods do, right? They give these tasks to their followers to make them stronger, more confident, better . If they think they’re doing it right, their faith never wavers. 

He wants to get rid of me? Cipher couldn’t continue thinking about that, if he did this entire thing would really go off the rails. A downward spiral. It was already getting rocky.

Bill just wanted to help Stanford be the best version of himself - albeit he wanted that version at his side - but that's besides the point, “Now be reasonable, Smart Guy! I didn’t give you any task I didn’t think you couldn't manage! Honestly, if I had chosen any other human they would have failed far more than you did. You always were eager to please - that’s one of the reasons I married you!” 

Bill hoped that complimenting his former apprentice would set things back on the right track. Ford had never been opposed to strokes to his ego before. Or strokes to anything else for that matter. 

Stanford brought a hand to his face, pushing his glasses up to the crown of his head as he rubbed his eyes. “Cipher, just because I got to the end of these trials doesn’t mean I was handling them. It just means I somehow survived.” Ford’s gaze fell back over the triangle, “I have no idea how you got me to believe you were better than this behavior, let alone convince me to marry you.” 

Bill’s expression fell, a crack in the illusion, “I’m not sure what you mean. My ‘behavior’ was meant to better you. To better us. We were supposed to take over your glorified dirt ball and travel the multiverse together.” His tone grew paranoid and frantic as he continued, “You were able to complete every trial and tribulation I threw at you. Stanford, you were perfect to rule at my side. I truly don’t have the slightest idea why you were so opposed to that.”

Cipher’s fingers twitched where they were crossed over his body. He could feel his anxiety rising despite his mental protests. If he had a meltdown with Stanford present, his gamble may not pay off. Not to mention his innate desire to save face, his pride wouldn’t allow such a blatant show of emotion.

Ford’s pinched expression regarded Bill coldly, “You wanted to destroy my home and kill my family. Why would that sound appealing to me?” 

Bill threw his arms up, his eye fixed on the mortal beside him, “I wouldn’t have needed to do that if you didn’t push me to!” His tone much more severe, his anger boiling over, “None of those meat bags appreciated you! News flash, Brainiac - that family you’re defending so incessantly abandoned you! Those people were out to ruin your legacy, tarnish your reputation and belittle you!” He was shouting now, “Those useless, insignificant heaps of flesh couldn’t hold a candle to you! I thought you wanted to teach them a lesson, just like I did.” Bill was fully shaking now, his breathing labored.

Stanford did his best to hide the surprise from his face. Bill wanted to teach them a lesson? The perplexed look in his eyes gave away his train of thought and Bill pressed himself against the chair in a feeble attempt at hiding from what he’d just said. 

Why did I say that? Bill was internally panicking, he knew he had said too much about his true feelings on the matter, but now he couldn’t take it back without it being obvious. At some point in the conversation, his careful facade had fallen away. 

The therapist noticed that this conversation may be heading in the wrong direction and did her best to pivot their attention. She knew any other questions wouldn’t give her any more information, but she’d learned quite a bit from their interactions thus far, “Thank you both for answering honestly, this is a great beginning of working through the issues you’re both experiencing.” 

Dr. Tseyvar then closed her notebook and grabbed a slim manilla folder from her desk drawer and slid it across her desk over to Stanford, “In this folder you’ll find further information about the vessel Mr. Cipher will be inhabiting and guidelines for caretakers. If you have any questions or concerns once the patient is released into your care, you’ll need to call the helpline listed on the first page.” She then made to stand and gestured to the office door, “Dr. Pines, please wait out near the receptionist desk, the staff there will give you Mr. Cipher’s belongings while he is transferred to the vessel for discharge.” 

Ford gave her a curt nod and cut Bill a quick glance as he snatched up the folder and headed out of the room. 

Bill’s attention then hazily focused on the doctor in front of him. Looking through her. Disassociating. His own thoughts drowning out her voice in his ears. 

How could he have let himself be so vulnerable around Stanford? Had the doctors really broken him down enough that he’d subconsciously let his walls slip around Ford? His pupil moved slightly as he frantically glanced around the office floor, trying to collect his thoughts. Static rang in his ears. He’d never let Ford in like that, at least not in a long time. When their relationship was at its best, he had given small bits of information but those days were long gone. 

Now, he wasn’t sure why he’d felt comfortable enough to say how he really felt. Maybe his persona started to unravel because Stanford had insinuated that Bill didn’t do things in the mortal’s best interest. 

Why would that bother me? He thought to himself. He’d never cared about any other being in the multiverse like he cared about Ford. Cipher cherished him like a prized possession. He’d never needed to say it outright before, Ford would intrinsically understand. 

Doesn’t he know I do these things because I care, or maybe he just sees through the act? His mind wandered through the questions, He just doesn’t seem to get it. He shook his head slightly in an attempt to clear his mind and focus on whatever nonsense the quack was spouting this time. 

“Mr. Cipher, did you hear me?” The therapist called out. In Bill's ears, it sounded like being in a fish bowl. Once he had finally tuned into whatever she was saying, the woman had gotten up from her desk and was gesturing for him to follow her out into the hall, “We need to head over to the transfer room to complete the procedures for your transfer paperwork.” 

Her brow was slightly creased as she did her best to hide her impatience. Cipher stared blankly for a moment before getting up from his chair to silently follow her out into the hall. 

For the first time in centuries, Bill didn’t look into the other therapy rooms or offices. All he could muster was watching the feet of the therapist in front of him as they made their way through the winding corridors. Listening to the clicking of her heels on the linoleum floor. His mind was both reeling and silent as they walked, he wasn’t sure where his thoughts lay in terms of the upcoming process and Stanford as a whole.

That can’t happen again, he decided. If I let Ford jerk my emotions around, I’m not going to be able to control the situation.

Trying to figure out how this would work without him taking a loss to his pride was seemingly difficult to grapple with. So instead he tried to clear his head and focus on his footsteps as they arrived at a locked door. The therapist swiped a key card to the scanner and entered before instructing Cipher on the next steps. Bill steeled his mind, attempting to stay calm and prepare for the long road ahead. It was going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

With the slim folder crushed between his fingers, Stanford made his way back to the Theraprism’s waiting room. He hadn’t yet glanced at its contents as he had stormed away from the therapist’s office. Ford felt like a live wire, intense and chaotic. 

He was trying to make sense of everything Cipher had said during their session, Why was Bill so insistent about his progress? Why was he trying to explain and defend his actions so incessantly?  

Ford was unsure of how much of what Bill said was true. Back then, was Cipher trying to stick up for me in his own distorted way? 

He could barely trust himself where Bill was concerned. Ford’s mind had been scrambled beyond repair, the years of torture, lies and manipulation catching up to him in his old age. The switchboard of his mind was lit up like a Christmas tree but all the wires had been crossed to the wrong output. The lights were on, blinking erratically, but no one was home. Threatening to start an electrical fire and burn everything to the ground.

Seeing Cipher again after all this time, hearing his voice, being in his presence. It all made Ford’s head feel fuzzy and his hair stand on end. Like he was disassociating but vividly aware at the same time. Bill looked just like he had all those years ago, other than the scarring over his eye. A crack in his bricks that stretched the expanse of his body. Curiosity nearly overcame him in the therapist’s office as Ford wanted to study the series of scars further but did everything in his power not to stare. 

The feeling of Cipher’s tongue licking over his palm made trying not to react increasingly difficult. It was almost impossible not to marvel at the appendage. He shuddered involuntarily at the memory from the office and the others from their past that followed in its wake. That hadn’t been the first time Bill had done that, but Ford hoped he was strong enough for it to be the last. 

It had been decades since he’d last smoked a cigarette, but Ford currently craved one as if his last had been this morning. The stress Cipher left in his mind made his hands twitchy. Reverting to old habits.

Their paths crossing again was either some fated curse or a divine miracle. Would it be a miracle if Cipher created it? He snorted out loud at the thought, Anything Cipher creates is a hellish nightmare.  

He only returned to Stanford’s life to steal, kill and destroy. Bill strove to pervert Ford’s resolve and devour any remaining strength in an attempt to ensure permanent residence under his thumb. He wanted nothing more than control.

Knowing this on an intrinsic level did nothing to dissuade the opposing feeling Ford felt in his presence. It was like walking into a church as a former believer. You could feel the presence of a higher being throughout the room, but you didn’t feel as though you could connect with it. Being in Bill’s orbit felt holy. It felt like a warm embrace without physical hands. It felt like serenity. It felt like security. 

Ford knew better than to think so highly of Cipher, but those thoughts were subconsciously ingrained in his mind. Even Lucifer had once been one of God’s trusted angels. After such dedication and worship, it was hard to turn those feelings off. 

Ford was Icarus, unable to stop himself from getting as close to the Sun as possible, whether it would burn him alive or not. He could barely acknowledge that this being was now attempting to patch the rift between them after all these years.

Just the idea of him trying to fix things between them seemed surreal, but Ford didn’t want to accept his bubbling emotions until he was sure they were out of the woods. 

Eventually he rounded a corner and arrived in the wide waiting room, various supernatural creatures littered the chairs at the edges. A short, three-eyed being sat behind the white receptionist desk, her name tag reading: ‘Hello, my name is Techa!’ In messy handwriting, written in pink glittery ink. 

Ford slowly approached the desk, sliding past various entities as quietly as possible, “Hello, Miss Techa - I was told by Dr. Tseyvar to meet with you for Bil- William Cipher’s belongings.”

The scientist quickly cut himself off from calling the demon by his preferred nickname, lest the staff think they were too familiar. As if we could be mistaken for strangers. If only they were, then Ford wouldn’t get caught in Bill’s hurricane again and again. 

He reflected on the name, William. It sounded strange to call the demon by his full name. Not quite wrong, just odd. He hadn’t called the demon by his first name in years, sometimes he didn’t even use his name at all. It was an acquired habit after he was presumed dead.

“Ah, you must be Dr. Pines! Yes of course, let me grab his things for you,” The receptionist was cheerful and upbeat, Stanford wasn’t sure if her demeanor fit the rest of the staff. 

Up until now, everyone had been very clinical about this process. Nothing but clipped responses and barely a glance before handing over paperwork. She swiftly rose to swipe a keycard over the scanner next to the door behind her before entering and rummaging around for Bill’s stuff. 

While waiting for her to return, Ford flipped open the folder and reviewed its contents. It was a general run down of the abilities Bill’s new body would have - which was basically none. He’d be a human man, no descriptors were left of what the body would look like. That didn’t stop Ford’s mind from running wild.

I wonder what parts of his regular form will be consistent with the new one, He wondered idly to himself, If any…he won’t really blend in as he is.

The scientist then reviewed the instructions for himself, they matched up with the initial information in the binder. Don’t kill the patient or severely maim, therapy sessions were mandatory, and make sure the patient received sufficient nutrients. 

Easy enough, although Stanley wasn’t a fan of that first rule. There also wasn’t a guarantee that Bill would make it easy for them to keep him alive. Especially given his track record with how he treated human bodies.

Eventually Techa returned with a small cardboard box marked ‘patient #323322’ in thick black marker. Ford quickly flipped the folder closed and tucked it into the large pocket inside his trench coat before carefully taking the box from her. 

“These are all his things, he didn’t come in with much,” She remarked as she slid a clipboard over the counter, “We’ll just need your signature on these forms for discharge of your husband and his items.” 

Ford winced internally but nodded as he shifted the weight of the small box to one hand while he grabbed a fuzzy pen from the colorfully decorated jar to sign off on the various forms. 

I really need to do something about the whole ‘husband’ situation, at least I never legally changed my name so I don’t have to correct that too,  He thought to himself. He could hardly believe he was actually doing this, actively choosing to take Bill in. Go to therapy with him. 

He didn’t even go to therapy for himself, not for Mabel’s lack of trying. She believed that if her Grunkle talked to someone, he may feel better about all his regrets. His time in the portal, the years with Bill, trying to re-enter human society. 

It was difficult to explain to her that there wasn’t a therapist on earth that wouldn’t have him institutionalized for telling the truth about the last 30 years. Not to mention, there were some things about those lost years that Ford didn’t think could be resolved with talking. 

It was like he had been altered on a chemical or molecular level. Permanently different. Surviving was all he knew for the longest time, undoing that entire process felt exhausting just to consider. Though, with the prospect of an inter-dimensional therapist there was now a chance at resolving the paranoia and indignity that threatened to bubble over every time he was reminded of that era of his life.

Once all the forms were signed, Ford thanked the receptionist and walked over to an empty chair to wait for Bill to be ready to head home. Home, the scientist was taken aback at the thought, Will it still be home if Bill is there? He had spent so much time pushing away the thought of having the demon at the house, that he hadn’t realized it was something he wanted until he was forced to face it head on. 

He had just been lamenting on the porch, wishing his partner would come home. The thought was more wistful when Stanford thought he was dead. It was easier to idolize a dead person, to think at any moment they could open the door and fall right into step with you. He wanted nothing more than to be with his family, to go back in time and see the ending where Bill chose him. 

It felt like Wendy waiting by candlelight for Peter to return to the window all grown up. In Ford’s case, Bill was coming back as the same person he’d been when they first met. No growth whatsoever. The revelation left a sour taste in his mouth.

He shook his head to perish the thought and decided to take a peek at the box that now sat in his lap. Inside was Bill’s top hat and bow tie, still sized for his smaller triangular body, his slim black cane and a small black box. It was no bigger than the palm of the scientist’s hand. Out of curiosity, Stanford gently lifted it from the box to examine, soft like velvet. He removed the lid to the smaller container to find a thick band. 

Inside the material was bright hues of purples and blues along with flecks of small stars. Set at the center was something he barely recognized at first. The last particle of Euclydia, Bill’s home dimension. He was momentarily in shock, Cipher had only shown him the last piece of his homeland once. The scientist was too nervous about offending his muse at the time to ask to see it again. 

Usually it was kept in the top hat, but Ford guessed it wouldn’t stay tucked away once it was placed in storage. Seeing the way it was preserved reminded him of their conversation in the mindscape when Bill had shown him the object under the false sky he’d created in Stanford’s mind. 

“I guess you really can never go home again, can you?” Ford asked, his expression pained at the thought of his muse losing his home. The mortal could barely begin to fathom what that would feel like - to lose Stanley and his parents. Even if they weren’t on the best terms, he still would be gutted if they were truly gone.

“I sure can’t! My dimension was entirely burned out of existence. Wanna see the only thing left of it?” Bill chirped despite the heavy subject matter. He had been somewhat dismissive of the topic throughout their conversation. Somehow making light of such a massacre.

Removing his top hat, Bill pulled a small object out to Ford. It was no bigger than a speck of dust. He cradled it gently between his fingertips, looking lost in thought before tucking it back into his top hat.

“What?! Your entire home dimension?…Destroyed? How?…By what?” His apprentice’s curiosity had gotten the best of him as he tried to discern what could have caused such damage. His brow was pinched, unaware that his muse could hear him thinking through the possibilities. Trying to imagine such a heinous creature.

Bill’s features morphed slowly, suddenly he looked like he was mentally very far away, “By a monster,” he stated simply. His voice sounded distant and hollow, no longer feeling up to his normal chipper tone. As he looked at Ford, the scientist felt as though he was staring through him. Like neither of them were really there.

“That’s…that’s unimaginable. Did you ever track the beast, for revenge? I could help you…I could hunt it down!” Stanford made a naive attempt at cheering his muse up. He couldn’t stand for something to have wronged his god in such a severe manner. He didn’t want to upset him further with this topic of discussion.

The demigod’s eye became clearer as his gaze settled back on his apprentice, seeing him once again, “Sixer, it would eat you alive.” His tone was soft, one of the times when his love for the mortal had really shown through the haze of his tricks and games. Eye crinkling into one of his smiles.

Ford realized with abject clarity that Bill hadn’t lied, it did eat him alive. That monster chewed him up, spit him out and then had the audacity to come back for seconds. The scientist hadn’t lied either it seemed, he did track the beast for revenge. 

He’d hunt Bill down as many times as necessary until his family was safe. Even if Ford wasn’t safe, they would be safe and that was all that mattered. He could handle being a casualty in this war he’d accidentally started, he’d mentally been preparing for it for the last 30 years. 

Stanford hadn’t realized he was scowling down at the box in his hand until he heard someone clear their throat to get his attention. His head snapped up as he snapped the lid closed and shoved it back into the box amongst the other trinkets to see a set of guards trailing behind Dr. Tseyvar. 

There was someone else behind her, but he couldn’t see past the doctor's frame from where he was seated. Ford then made to stand, holding the box on his hip as he attempted to restore his composure. 

“Doctor, I apologize - I hadn’t realized you were standing there,” he straightened out the edge of his jacket with his free hand and hoped she didn’t notice his nervousness. 

The therapist gave him a soft smile, “It’s fine, Dr. Pines. I could tell you were somewhat lost in thought. I’m just here to pass Mr. Cipher over into your care.” 

Ford’s heart felt like his heart was caught in his throat as he struggled to swallow down his apprehension. Knowing it was too late to back out now. “Right, of course,” His response was clipped as she stepped aside for the scientist to take in Bill’s new vessel.

Stanford had half a mind to be embarrassed at the blatant way he appraised and borderline fetishized the man in front of him. The other half of his mind couldn’t care less. Ford’s six fingered hand twitched in anticipation of sketching the form before him. The need to feel the vessel for himself was also overwhelming. He wanted to study every inch in its entirety. 

It was especially interesting, because there were elements he recognized from his own idealized sketches all those years ago. He wondered if Bill had made requests for the body based on the ideas he had drawn in their youth.  

He remembered my drawings? Ford noted the feeling associated with that idea as one others may classify as butterflies in his chest. Recalling the days in which he had brainstormed ideas to build a human body for Cipher. He’d made countless blueprints of all the possibilities, but Bill seemingly had combined his favorite aspects for suggestions for the body he currently inhabited. 

His long hair, tanned skin, the pitch black coloration that spanned up his arms from his fingertips. He was only a tad shorter than Ford, lean and fit. He even seemed to have aged similarly to Ford. As if the same amount of time had passed for them both. It was uncanny. It wasn’t odd to him that the being still only had one eye, the left socket was empty save for the milky white eye that was obviously non-functional and surrounded by the crackling web that had been present before the transfer. 

Interesting, Ford couldn’t stop his insatiable need to study something new. He mentally began debating if he should build Cipher a prosthetic for the socket. 

Anyone else in the room was filtered out of Ford’s mind, as he had tunnel vision for the being in front of him. Cipher still wore a bright orange jumpsuit with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, but that didn’t stop the scientist from imagining every possibility of what lay underneath. 

Vividly his mind remembered other…aspects about his artwork causing a light flush of color to overtake his face. He could feel his face heating up further at the memory. At the time he hadn’t settled on anything specific, but he had drawn up multiple possibilities. 

He had to wonder what Bill would have preferred since he was making requests…or if he’d made requests based on what he thought Ford would like. Get it together, Stanford, He tried snapping himself out of the haze, He’s just a guy. A guy you hate. No big deal. 

The longer he stared, the more he realized Bill was in fact not ‘just a guy’ and that this was turning into quite a ‘big deal.’ He was literally made in the images of every fantasy Ford had ever conjured up. Stanford’s custom built doll. A shiver went down his spine, causing a phantom pain where he knew the tattoo lay. 

Did Cipher give himself any tattoos? If his mind lingered there for too long, they’d stand in this lobby forever. 

“Dr. Pines, are you alright?” The doctor asked, confusion written across her face. The scientist swallowed thickly, realizing he needed to reign in his thoughts and properly respond. Now I really need a cigarette. Desperately wanting the comfort of something familiar. A better distraction from his own wandering mind.

Vaguely realizing he’d been silent for far too long. “Yes, I apologize. I was momentarily distracted. The body is…fully human?” His nonchalant projection fell flat as he was truly at a loss for words. At least for words that didn’t give away his blatant pining. 

“Yes, everything has been created as one to one with a typical human body. However, there are certain medications he will need to take to maintain this form,” Dr. Tseyvar responded, seemingly unaware of Ford’s mental dilemma. 

She then gave him a run down of the medication and vitamins Bill would need to take while in the scientist’s care. He was only partially paying attention as he kept stealing glances at Bill and trying to control himself. 

It shouldn’t be this hard, he’s literally the worst person I’ve ever met, Ford thought to himself while half-listening to the therapist. 

A hand slipped into one of his pockets as she spoke, fishing for a lighter he knew wasn’t there. Thirty years ago it would’ve been in that pocket along with his brand of choice. However, he’d been forced to quit cold turkey when he fell into the portal. Never could find Virginia Slims while dimension hopping, he thought idly.

As she discussed the various medications and their importance, Bill seemed to have caught on to Ford’s gawking. Across his face was a smirk that was gradually becoming a wide grin. Ford’s brow furrowed at the realization that he had been caught, but he tried his best to stay on track until the doctor was finished talking. 

She had also passed him a bag of the aforementioned medications and an instruction booklet for the dosage frequency. Finally, Ford turned fully back to Cipher - it was time to head back to his dimension. 

However, Bill seemed to have slightly different plans upon seeing Stanford’s weak attempts to feign disinterest, “Well, do you like what you see?” 

His hands gesture over his body casually, a wide smile still taking over his features. The first thing Ford noticed was that he still had four fingers on each hand as opposed to a typical humans’ five. 

So he did make requests, the scientist noted to himself. His voice also hadn’t been altered, which Ford was debating on whether or not that was a positive. His eyes began to scrutinize more over the details, to see if there was anything else just for him. As if the whole rest of it wasn’t for him. 

“Don’t worry Fordsy, they were able to preserve one of your favorite parts in the new body,” Bill mused as his thick, blue tongue unfurled from his mouth and licked over his lips. Drawing out the action for theatrical effect. His sharp canines slightly visible just passed them. Regardless of his own mental protesting, Stanford could feel his face heating up once again at the display. 

He’s just trying to get a rise out of you, he tried rationalizing. You can think about it more once you get back to the house and he’s nowhere near you.

Unfortunately for him, Bill’s little show was working. Ford could barely stop himself from imagining that tongue in other places and the bite marks those teeth would leave in their wake. Drawing blood, only deep gashes remaining. 

God, am I really this starved for affection? He wondered to himself. Trying to reign in his lingering feelings was difficult enough. He cleared his throat, “Would you quit that? You’re irritating other people, and me for that matter.” 

He tried to sound stern as he chastised Bill before setting the small box in the bag of medication. The only response he received was a small frown in place of the wide grin Bill had been previously sporting. 

He turned back to the therapist, “Thank you for the medication and the schedule. We’ll see you in a week’s time.” He addressed her while trying to hold his composure. He could only hope that his face wasn’t as flushed.

The therapist nodded before saying her goodbyes and set off back to her office with the guards in tow. Ford then turned back to Bill, glaring over his head in a last ditch effort to keep himself from becoming flustered further. 

“Alright Cipher, let’s head out. Keep up or I’m leaving you here,” Ford’s response was short. 

Without further ceremony he turned on his heel and headed for the wormhole gate that would lead them back to dimension 46’\ and the Mystery Shack. Bill scrambled behind him to catch up with the swift pace. Obviously not expecting Ford to resist and dismiss him so easily. 

Once the pair made it through the portal, they ended up in the clearing with Bill’s statue staring into them. Seeing both the statue and his former muse’s new body in the same place was bizarre. Stanford tried not to focus on it too much. This place was somewhat sacred to him, he wasn’t sure how this new arrangement would change that. 

After grabbing a small device from the grass, he turned back to Bill’s human body, his tone strict, “We need to lay down some ground rules before we head to the house.” 

There was no way the demon could run amok all over town and Ford knew if he was too bored he’d find entertainment in the worst places. 

“Yeah, yeah of course we do, IQ - you always were such a stick in the mud,” Bill’s tone was light as he shoved one of his hands in the pockets of the orange jumpsuit, “What’s that little thing anyway?” He pointed with his free hand to the device Ford was currently setting in a small case. 

“It’s the wormhole gate key for the Theraprism - it only goes one way, if you were thinking of trying to escape,” Stanford’s squared expression projecting authority on the subject. Cipher shrugged in response, as if that wasn’t what he was thinking. Ford couldn’t be sure, but he wouldn’t put it past the other man to try something. If only to mess with him further.

Let’s get this over with, then I can go to sleep and go into town in the morning to grab a few things, he mentally sighed.

“While you’re here you’ll be staying in the office above the lab. Lab access will be strictly prohibited unless you’re accompanied by someone else,” Ford said, his gaze holding firm, “Any days that you aren’t in therapy you’ll be helping around the shack - that means managing the register, cleaning, and helping with exhibits as needed.” 

At the prospect of having to work Bill outwardly groaned, “Ugh, seriously?! It’s already bad enough I have to inhabit this meat suit, now I have to do manual labor?” 

In response Ford rolled his eyes, “You can do as you’re told, or you can go back to the Prism. Take your pick.”

Cipher’s gaze fell to the grass at Ford’s feet as he seemingly contemplated his options, as if he actually had any. Stanford could barely believe he was hesitating at all. He squinted slightly before responding, “Fine, manual labor it is. At least I get nice eye candy while I work!” His features lit up as he made an attempt at winking despite only having one working eye. 

Stanford did his best to ignore the comment. If he started overthinking every little compliment Bill gave him, it would surely go to his head. Though he knew for sure that he’d start working on a prosthetic for the strange socket once they got back. Seeing Bill attempt to wink while leaving it open was somewhat jarring.

“Dipper and Mabel will be here later this summer visiting. They’re going to be aware that you’re here, so they most likely will avoid you. Under no circumstances are you to harm or harass them,” He said, taking a step forward and slightly opening his jacket to flash the gun in the holster at his hip. “You take one step out of line, and I’ll know about it. Do you understand?”

“I hear ya’ loud and clear, Sixer - leave Pinetree and Shooting Star alone. Any other dumb rules I should know about?” His unimpressed tone caused further creasing to Ford’s brow. 

The way this conversation was going, Ford had begun to feel irritated. “They have names, it would be a great start if you could call the kids by their actual names,” He said. 

Bill responded with a roll of his eye, the opposing socket attempting to mimic the action, “Yeah I get that, Brainiac - it’ll just take some getting used to.” 

Stanford’s glare only deepened. It was as if Bill wasn't taking his threats seriously, “I have a name too, you know. That also would be a better start - instead of those god-forsaken nicknames.”

“You used to love my nicknames for you, don’t try lying to me now!” Bill said, his tone teasing as a grin spread across his face.  

Ford felt like he was losing this battle. He didn’t want to fall into some disturbed song and dance with his former muse. The way he was acting made it seem like he had the upper hand. As if Stanford wasn’t the one in charge. The entire situation was already a handful, but if Bill was intent on being difficult, he’d have to be put in his place.

“Listen Cipher, just because you’re knowledgeable and pretty and were once one of the most powerful beings in the multiverse doesn’t mean you still have any weight to throw around.” Ford said, his anger palpable throughout the clearing, “I know you’re used to getting away with things in other dimensions but I want you to realize that your actions had major effects on this planet, and the fact that you can’t see these things makes you a horrible person.”

The words fell from his lips like venom, meant to poison the man they were directed toward, “You’re a bastard and you need to be held accountable, and if you can’t take accountability then you shouldn’t have been released for this program in the first place.” He scowled at Bill standing across from him, readjusting the bag on his arm.

Cipher paused, staring into Ford’s face. “…You think I’m pretty?” Bill replied, his expression shifting. His eyes wide in shock. His jaw slack and face flushing.

Shit, what did I say? He’d let his emotions get the best of him and must have said something he shouldn’t have. Stanford was mentally combing back through his statement to figure out what had happened. I did say he was pretty, his mind turned over the realization in abject horror. Of course that’s all he took from what I said.

It reminded Ford of all the moments in the mindscape when he’d be sketching Bill and his only request would be: ‘Make sure you draw me pretty, IQ.’ He’d drawn the demon hundreds if not thousands of times, detailing him from every angle. The triangle had been displayed proudly on every surface of his office and laboratory where he had prayed to him. 

He’d enshrined art of the creature throughout his home, on numerous occasions in his physical and mental journals. Worshiping him. Bill always wanted to be pretty, or at least that’s what he had insisted. And Ford always obliged his muse. 

It must have been a reflexive thing. A mistake. I was just used to saying it before and didn’t realize, he thought to himself trying not to panic. How do I take it back?

He didn’t really want to take it back - if he did, it’d be a lie - but he couldn’t let the demon have the upper hand. In their everlasting battle of ego, Ford knew he had to win out, no matter the cost. 

“That’s not the point. The point is you need to be taking this seriously,” He tried to play off his rising anxiety, hoping his slip of the tongue would go overlooked. 

Cipher frowned slightly at the response, “I am taking this seriously, why do you think I came all the way out here to begin with?” He asked, defiantly holding Ford’s gaze.

The scientist sighed, partially in relief and partially in frustration. He’d successfully pivoted the subject away from his personal thoughts on Bill’s new form but now he had to deal with the credibility in the response he received. The distraction was a double-edge sword.

“Hell if I know, this could all be some elaborate escape plan, or a scheme to screw me over one last time,” It took everything in him not to start shouting. “Did you learn anything in that facility?” 

He was trying to stay calm and keep the situation under control. However, at this point, he was sure they had long since passed the initial incident of failure in that regard. 

Bill rubbed a hand over his face, clearly frustrated, “Of course I did! I’m not here to screw you over. I’m here because the doctors think this will help me get better or something,” His eye returned to Ford, “What’ll it take for you to realize that? What would make you believe I want this to work, huh? A heartfelt apology?” 

Stanford could feel the laughter bubble up in his throat before he knew it was happening. “A heartfelt apology…from you?” He was fully laughing now, unable to control himself, “Cipher, you don’t have a heart! Or I guess you have one now but it’s one those doctors gave you since I know there’s no way you had one before.” He’d finally calmed himself as he continued, “Cause if you had one before, you never would have taken such joy in breaking mine.”

Ford realized what he said a second too late. He’d definitely said too much and there was no way he could take any of it back. Was that too far? Was there such a thing as ‘too far’ when it came to Cipher? He thought to himself. 

The look on Bill’s face had him increasingly conflicted. After everything they had gone through, Ford wasn’t sure if there were lines either of them could cross anymore that would make a difference. Their relationship was built on destroying boundaries and pushing each other’s buttons. Neither would give up the fight for anything, or at least they wouldn’t have decades ago. Before everything got complicated.

Too far, He decided as tears welled in the demon’s eyes. 

They began to pour from his eyes, since there was nothing he could do to stop them from flowing over. His face was scrunched up in an emotion Ford couldn’t place and his hands were shaking at his sides. 

Stanford wasn’t sure if he was just upset or truly angry, but he vaguely remembered that the therapist’s notes mentioned frequent meltdowns. He didn’t initially think the tantrum could be anything that Ford couldn’t deal with. Now he wished he would have heeded that warning, but hindsight was 20/20. Whatever happened next was the consequences of Ford’s own pride.

Bill clenched his fists at his sides as a flicker of light filtered through the scars over his face. The tears continued to flow over as he averted his eye to stare off into the trees. 

“For the record, I’m not doing this to escape or con you into anything. I’m doing this because the doctors and Ax told me to,” He said between grit teeth, his body tense, “Up until a few hours ago I didn’t even know I’d have to return to this shithole of a dimension and see you again. But for whatever it’s worth, I am sorry about how things ended.” He continued through sniffling and attempted to wipe the tears from his face.

Ford could barely believe what he was hearing. He couldn’t trust the way his mind was wired to blindly follow behind Bill’s agenda. His knee-jerk reaction was to go on the defensive. “Your word is worth nothing to me. Do you seriously think that after everything you put me through that your credit would be any good in my book?”

The question was rhetorical, but that didn’t dissuade Bill from answering it. “I thought that if you knew I was trying that would be enough,” His expression was slowly morphing into panic. The cracks in his visage shifting a myriad of colors throughout the clearing.

“Cipher, you literally tortured me for years. Do you have any idea what that did to me?” Ford was beyond trying not to raise his voice, “It ruined my life! You rewired my bodily functions, branded me like cattle - you made me forget my own name!” He was shouting now, his hands in a fist as he stalked toward the demon. He could feel his heart racing, adrenaline spiking. “That’s just the tip of the iceberg. If you think I’m going to forgive you for that, let alone everything else, before you even properly apologize then you’re more deranged than I thought.”

In his mind he could see flashes of that night. When Bill truly lost it and Ford thought he was going to die. After his futile attempts to stop the monster that had taken over his life, having to watch all the torture back on tape and in photos was just as bad as experiencing it firsthand. Then came the climax of Bill’s rage.

Where was I? My body is paralyzed. I could feel my bones being pulled slowly, slowly out of their sockets. It was excruciating. I tried to scream, but nothing came out. All I could hear was the screeching laughter of the monster that tormented me. Day in and day out.

“Think, Sixer,” Bill’s voice pierced through the agony, “You let me. In. Your. Head. Do you realize what I can do in here if I want?” The demon appeared in front of my frozen face, “I can flip a switch that makes every neuron burn with pain beyond imagination.” He snapped his fingers, causing excruciating pain. I think I was screaming, or at least I was trying to. The pain blocked out all my senses.

“I can rewire your optic nerve so the sky is below you,” He snapped his fingers again and my vision flipped. My right eye burned with the sensation of the tendons and ligaments being torn and reconstructed, rearranging my vision. I could feel the thick stream of blood as it rolled down the side of my face. Bloody tears coagulating at my chin before dripping on the rug under me. Sticky and metallic, I could almost taste it.

“Play a tone that gets louder and louder until you bash in your own skull just to make it stop,” He snapped his fingers again, and an ear-splitting ringing began in my ears. I could barely hear myself think, all I could feel was the pain.

“I can delete memories randomly, just for fun. Maybe I already have. What do you want to remember - your mother’s face? Your own name? Who are you, anyway?” The demon taunted, his maniacal laughter echoing in my head.

I could imagine my mother’s silhouette in piercing detail, but I couldn’t see her face. Cloaked in shadows, like she’d never had one at all. Scrambling, I tried to remember. I just wanted to remember.

“That’s ridiculous!” I shouted, my voice returning, “I’m…I’m…” I panicked. 

I couldn’t remember my name. I began to shake. No matter how badly I wanted to, it was just out of my reach. Perched on the tip of my tongue.

He flipped his fingers like he was turning on a light switch, and it came to me.

“I’m Stanf-“

Flipped again. My mind went blank. Bill started laughing again, high pitched and glibly nihilistic. I felt my sockets start to strain as he began to pull at my limbs once again. Any second my tendons would pop, my bones would splinter. To tear me limb from limb. Leave nothing but scraps of flesh, as if I’d never existed at all. I fell to the ground, on the verge of vomiting.

No one knew I was here. No one was coming to get me. No one was going to save me. 

“You’re my property, don’t forget it.”

Stanford’s own emotions began to swell over. He’d done everything to try to keep those memories locked away, an onslaught of their worst moments. When he was closest to death. Yet here he was, confronted with the past in the form of the man whose space he was encroaching upon. He couldn’t stop the tidal wave of rage that coursed through his veins.

Once he was close enough, Ford snatched Cipher up by the throat and lifted him slightly off the ground. Both hands contracting and crushing Bill’s windpipe. 

He held his body up to see eye to eye as Bill struggled to breathe, “Do you want to know what life feels like after everything you did? It feels like anything I might enjoy is actually a ticking bomb. I’m constantly waiting with baited breath to self-destruct at any moment. Always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Never knowing peace.” 

His fingers gradually tightened around Bill’s neck. The sounds of Cipher attempting to gain even the smallest amounts of air were disturbing. He was choking and wheezing, but all Ford could hear was the echoed screaming of their past. The past a fresh bloodstain on the white shirt that was his mind.

“You want me to believe you? That you are taking this therapy stuff seriously ? You can start with figuring out how to apologize to even a fraction of the people you’ve hurt,” He said, his towering rage overloading his senses. His arms jerked as he spoke, twitching and shaking Bill violently.

He watched on as Bill frantically clawed at the gloved hands around his throat, tears rolling down his face. He writhed in Ford’s unforgiving grip hoping to find the smallest amount of extra space. For just a little more air. His legs kicked frantically, hoping to throw the mortal off balance. It was no use, Ford was determined. It was as if he wasn’t seeing Bill in his hands, like it was a rag doll he was manhandling. Not a person.

“F-ah…For-d…” Bill tried to reason with him, his futile attempts stifled by the hands firmly wrapped around his neck. Squeezing three decades of pain and suffering into Bill’s body as he began to go limp.

The light starting to leave Bill’s eye was the only reason Ford finally let go. Cipher was nothing more than fear and resignation. Accepting that this moment may be the end. 

Ford realized who he was choking. That he was actually strangling someone, nearly killing them. He released Bill’s throat, disgust and apprehension written across his face. Cipher’s body crumpled to the ground, wet coughs and labored breaths leaving him as he dry-heaved into the grass. 

“Don’t bother starting with an apology to me, because I don’t think I’d believe you were really sorry. Start with someone else and if you really mean it - I’ll know,” He wiped the residual tears and spit from his gloves and jacket sleeves onto his pant legs before walking past Bill’s trembling body as he retched. “Now, pull yourself together. I’m heading back and I’m not slowing down because you can’t keep up with me.”

He paused only for a moment, waiting to see if Bill would follow him into the woods. Cipher slowly stood, attempting to control his breathing as he quietly trailed behind Stanford to the house.

The walk back was in complete silence other than Bill’s occasional sniffling. Ford could feel the lingering buzz from the adrenaline start to wear off, and he wondered once again if he should have pushed the issue so hard. It was difficult to be sure when he only knew the visceral reaction that those memories triggered inside him. He wasn’t in a position mentally to feel remorseful about what had transpired, he only had the energy to get back to the house. 

Then I can pass Bill off to someone else and take a break, he thought to himself, Or just ignore him all together. Maybe there’s a spare pack of cigarettes in my room.

Once they arrived, Ford passed the bag with Bill’s medications and belongings over to him and walked with him over to the vending machine.

“This is the door code, try not to go down here when customers are around,” He said, punching in the code. The door swung open revealing the staircase to the off limits basement levels. “Take these stairs to the elevator, your room is the one on floor 2B. The elevator won’t let you go to floor 3B where the lab is without an approved retinal scan,” He said plainly, before gesturing for Bill to head down the stairs. “Breakfast will be in the morning, either I’ll come get you or someone else will.” 

Without waiting for a response, Stanford headed out of the gift shop to find Stanley and have a smoke. He hoped his brother could find some way to handle the situation and calm Ford down fully.

Chapter Text

Bill couldn’t make it stop. The leaking from the hole in his face, the shaking of the meat suit, or the panic that overwhelmed his senses. Trying to identify what was happening had become increasingly confusing, it was like the reasonable part of his brain shut off entirely and only the emotional mess was left.

He knew he couldn’t stand in the gift shop all night, crying and hyper-ventilating. He had to move. He could feel the sobs stuck in his throat, threatening to bleed over. 

It took more strength than he wanted to expel to put one foot in front of the other and start heading down the stairs. The heap of flesh wasn’t listening to him properly, which was apparent since he couldn’t will himself to stop acting so pathetic.

Typical human body, unable to handle the simplest of tasks, He scolded himself as he descended the stairs. 

Cipher had been doing his best to look as uninterested as possible during this entire ordeal. He just needed to survive the onslaught of emotion until he was alone. That was the goal, and yet this sack of flesh and bone wouldn’t comply.

It wasn’t every day you returned to the planet you tried to conquer, but this had turned into a worse situation than he’d originally predicted. Most people didn’t get nearly choked to death by their ex-husband (if Ford could be considered that, since they were still legally married) and visit their tombstone on the same day. If they did, they’d probably feel the way Bill felt right now. Physically and emotionally exhausted.

Once he was in the elevator, he pressed the button for the second floor with a trembling hand and took small steps back from the doors as they closed. Staring into the control panel, his eyes fixated on the 3B button. Knowing he wouldn’t be going there anytime soon. The place he knew best. 

He’d never been one for claustrophobia, but with his synapses rapid firing from the aftermath of the day he suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe. Bill’s hands reached up as he tightly hugged his body, attempting to console himself or at the very least stop the tremors wracking through him. He could see the faint light pouring from his scars reflecting in the elevator doors.

Well that’s new, He begrudgingly realized, Great, more strange problems, exactly what I needed.

Eventually the elevator creaked to a stop and the doors rolled open, a loud rattling that startled him at first. Bill took a tentative step out of the box into one of the few rooms in the house he had been most familiar with. Stanford’s office. 

The mortal had once covered every surface of this place with artifacts and effigies of Bill, he’d meditated and prayed on the rug in the middle of this room. Burned incense and candles, giving offerings he thought would persuade his god to grant him favor. 

Now it was bare. The tapestries and statues had been disposed of, the candles that had once littered the room were gone. All that remained from Bill’s memory was the maroon and gold rug in the center, Ford’s worn cherry wood desk, leather desk chair and the lingering smell of vanilla incense.

Vanilla had always been my favorite, His knees weak at the memory, Simple and sweet, just like my Sixer. In that moment, he wished he had appreciated those types of things when he had the chance.

The scent used to hang off Ford like his shadow, even in the mindscape. Thick and heady, always quick to draw Bill in. Now, it followed Cipher around the room like a phantom he couldn’t exercise. Haunting every surface that it had come into contact with as if to lull him into a false sense of security. 

Just like the smell of his menthol cigarettes. They’d intertwine with his cologne and lure Bill in. His personal marshmallows over a campfire, ever burning and sickly sweet.

A bed had been haphazardly placed in one corner along with a small dresser. The bathroom was off to the right. A large object sat at the other end covered in a dark sheet. Unable to stop himself, Bill wandered across the room. He ran his hand over the desk as he passed it, brushing against every groove and knick with his fingertips. 

Bill then turned his attention to the strange, towering piece of furniture in the corner and pulled the sheet off to reveal a full length mirror. He hadn’t gotten a chance to see himself properly now that he inhabited the new body. 

He definitely looked worse for wear. Caked in dirt and grass from Ford discarding his body after nearly strangling him. His eye tracked up his frame, taking in the damage sustained. His nails had splintered from clawing at the mortal’s hands, thankfully they weren’t bleeding. His jumpsuit was scuffed and slightly torn around his knees and elbows from his initial fall. A few scrapes marred his joints, not enough to bleed freely but enough to feel the sting. Bill didn't mourn the piece of clothing though since he wouldn’t be wearing it much longer. 

Probably best to burn the cursed thing, momentarily angry over being forced to wear it in the first place.

His eye then skimmed up to see his throat. At the sight of the deep, angry red bruising in the shape of six-fingered hands, more tears started to fall. He couldn’t stop the way his lip quivered at the sight as he took in shaking breaths. Bill wanted to scream, to cry out - but he knew better by now. He bit his lip harshly to quiet himself. Chest feeling tight, a star preparing to implode on itself. Waiting for an inevitable end.

No one was going to help him. No one was going to comfort him. There was no one here to save him. The safest he had ever felt was with Stanford, and now he knew he wouldn’t be safe anywhere ever again.

Finally, his eye flicked up to his face. Tears had streaked and dried across his cheeks while a new set fell. The puffiness around his eyes was noticeable, along with the blood on his lip from how hard he had bitten it. His hair was tangled and mangey. Otherwise, he looked just like the blueprints he’d drawn up with the doctors earlier that day. 

When they told him they could tailor make the body, Bill knew exactly how he wanted it to look. He had somewhat of a photographic memory for all things Ford, so he remembered all his favorite pieces. The ones that appeared in a majority of the drafts, of the 6,849 sketches the mortal had done of a possible human form. He also remembered the aspects that made the ventral striatum of his brain light up like fireworks. 

Everything about this vessel was made to lure Stanford Pines in, and yet he had failed right off the bat. 

At least it felt that way. He was the most hostile creature in the multiverse. Well, he was when he had his powers and inhabited his own body. Manipulation and exploitation were his bread and butter. However, these skills seemed to have failed to transfer over since he couldn’t even get Ford to repeat what he’d originally said.

He thinks I’m pretty, despite the steady stream of tears and the umbrella of dread that had settled over him, the revelation that his former pupil would find him pretty pulled him into a soft smile.

Gaining any affection or attention from Ford felt like cloud nine, to the point where it nearly negated the rest of their experience. Almost. His gaze then fell back to the deep red bruising at his throat, knowing it was only going to get worse over the next few hours. He’d have to wear a turtleneck or a scarf to hide the marks from the facility staff.

What if they consider that maiming and force me back? The realization hit him like running into a brick wall, I can’t go back there.

His hands returned around his gradually trembling frame as he tried his best to hold himself together. Blood dripped from his bottom lip, a harsh laceration made while he was distracted. Further sullying his jumpsuit. Everything felt like too much, he could feel himself coming apart at the seams. His mind was in ruins. Usually when a meltdown like this would start, someone would sedate him. 

It was odd that he wanted to be sedated. Usually he resisted, screamed and threatened anyone and everyone who tried. Right now, he wanted nothing more than a sedative, to turn off the never-ending stream of consciousness that was his brain. With shaking hands, he snatched up the sheet from where it’d fallen and re-covered the mirror.

If I look at that anymore I’m really going to lose it, he decided. He could feel his emotions begin to overflow. It felt like drowning, he couldn’t find any reprieve as everything boiled over.

Bill gasped for air in the middle of the rug, in front of the now covered mirror. Like he was slowly sinking beneath stormy seas, desperate to breathe deeply. To regain his footing on a raft and paddle to secure shores. However, it didn’t matter if the mirror was hidden, he’d already seen the swelling lesions and the panic written all over his face.

Damaged goods. That’s all he’d been reduced to. One of Ford’s broken, misfit toys. His arms squeezed himself as he sobbed harder. Throat tightening around the terror lodged there. He tried to be as quiet as possible, to not inconvenience anyone further. For fear they would return him to the desolate cell. I’d rather be hated here than isolated there, Bill thought to himself as he struggled to breathe. 

His lungs were working overtime to keep up with his erratic panting. Shallow puffs of air leaving him, wanting more but not having the strength to take it. His heart thundering in his chest, threatening to break free of his ribcage. Almost as if Ford’s hands were still around his throat. Trapping him in.

Bill stood in the center of the office frozen in place. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t sit or lay down and he couldn’t stop crying. His throat was tightening further like a cobra, his shoulders tense as he held himself up. 

Locked in a fear response with no way out. Held hostage by the labyrinth of his mind. Staring into the clothed mirror, looking through it. Like it wasn’t there, and that he wasn’t either. His mind had been snagged in a distant memory.

Bill created an infinite galaxy in Stanford’s mind for him to wake up to. Stars and supernovas iridescent across the blue and purple hues of the universe. The perfect setting to rope in his newest pet. Bill was always specific with the details, the more vivid the colors the more likely the mortal would be in awe of his ability. 

He’d waited centuries for this very moment: to be summoned once again.  

As the mortal started to come-to, Bill could feel himself alight with excitement. A soft glow over his features. They waltzed through the typical song and dance once the mortal woke up - who are you? What do you want? Why are you doing this? Etc.

“Bill…can I call you Bill?” Ford had asked, his voice filled with naive optimism.

Bill’s eye crinkled into a smile, “You can call me anything except late for dinner!” High-pitched laughter leaving him like a wind-chime. “That’s a joke because I don’t have a mouth!”

The young scientist peered up at his triangular body unable to hide his curiosity, “Are you…real?” He was clearly skeptical of the entire ordeal, but the demon knew most humans were at first. Ford’s face contorted, trying to comprehend the situation, “Or just an isolation-induced hallucination? Should I finally do what my college guidance counselor always said and…seek therapy?”

Stanford honestly looked shocked to reach such a conclusion. 

Which was perfect. Hook, line and sinker! The best way to get these types of guys under your thumb was to make them think that being beneath you is their idea.

“Sure, take life advice from a guy who sleeps in his office at Backupsmore.” Bill feigned nonchalance as he reeled in his newest ‘genius.’ They were all so gullible, “Like most teachers, he was just intimidated by your talent and was trying to curb it to feel less insecure about his own failings!”

“My talent?” Ford asked, his eyes brightening at the simplest of praise.

Bill could see that this would be easier than he originally thought. Not only was this mortal the smartest sack of flesh he’d met in this dimension in centuries but he was so malleable. Impressionable. He’d probably lick Bill’s boots if the demon told him that’d make him special. (Note to self: try that later).

“Ding, ding, ding!” Bill cheered, summoning bright blinking signs around him. Arrows flashing with ‘ winner ’ splayed across them. “Guys as smart as you come along once every other century, and they scare the pants off authority figures! Trust me, I’ve met ‘em all!” He said, wrapping a stretched out arm around Ford’s shoulders and gestured with his other hand to conjured images of fame and fortune. “I see you on the cover of every magazine one day - but only if you make the right chess moves in the game of life, Slick. Can I call you Slick?”

Ford’s face flushed at the pet name and he averted his eyes, “You can call me anything except late for dinner.”

This would be child’s play, Bill would get through that portal in no time. The beginning of the end.

When they first met, Ford had the ego of a king and the insecurity of a circus freak. Bill wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. 

He was the best partner Cipher had paired up with in the last millennia, and losing him had left a void deeper than the Mariana Trench. It felt like amputating a limb, no matter what medication he took he always had that lasting phantom pain. Excruciating in nature. It affected every part of his body, eroding him into a shell of what he once was. 

All he could feel was the agony of missing a crucial part of himself, over and over, every single time he thought of Stanford’s face. The sound of his voice. Vanilla Incense.

Bill could feel the searing pain of the cracks around his face as he began to fully lose control of his emotions. It snapped him out of the panic enough for him to rush to the adjacent bathroom, flipping on the light. He quickly threw himself onto the ground and retched into the toilet. Saliva thickly coagulated, sticking to the roof of his mouth like chewing gum as it mixed with whatever residual bile was left in him. It dripped down the sides of his mouth, catching blood from his lip in the process. 

It’s not like he had much to expel since he’d already done this when Ford had strangled him. That didn’t dissuade his body from dry-heaving in between deep stuttering breaths. Choking on nothing. He had nothing left to give, and yet more was demanded of him.

Eventually, Bill was able to breathe consistently enough to stop his reflexive gagging. Finally, he was able to lift himself off the floor and rinse his mouth out in the sink. He then started running the shower, remembering how he’d taken care of Ford’s body all those years ago when the mortal was too exhausted to take care of himself. 

Bill couldn’t get out of his clothes fast enough, shucking them off like the fabric was on fire. Dumping his clunky boots onto the hard tile floor. Displacing mud and clumps of grass as they fell. He was shivering even though he wasn’t cold. Steam rose up around the bathroom, fogging up the glass and the mirror above the sink. He didn’t dare to look into it, afraid it would trigger another memory. Whether it would be good or bad, he wasn’t going to risk it.

He stepped into the shower, and was met with scalding hot water. It burned, but he didn’t care. The heat put a match to the paper thin ties holding him together. As they melted, his cries took a sharp turn. He was screaming now, coughing as labored breaths left his body. He couldn’t hear his own voice over the sound of the water pounding onto him, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the overwhelming paranoia and terror that burrowed deep into his bones. An infestation he couldn’t exterminate.

Wanting nothing more than to scrub the invisible six-fingered hands off his body. To make it as if Ford had never touched him to begin with. Cipher never thought there would come a day in which he wanted to wash off the feeling of Ford touching him. But this experience was all about firsts.

I wish I could call my mom, Bill felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. I wish I could call her, and she would come get me. That she’d cut the crusts off my sandwiches and listen to me talk about the stars. Even if she didn’t believe him, it was better to have her there and entertaining the idea than for her to be completely gone. Permanently erased from existence.

Everyone he’d ever loved was a long forgotten relic, broken down by the sands of time. All Bill could do was cling to the scraps he still had left. He couldn’t remember his mothers face, or her voice, or even the ribbon she liked to wear. But he knew she used to wear one. That was something, it had to be enough. He knew she used to be so patient, she was always so full of life, and she loved her son. Despite him being…different.

As he sobbed, Bill thought about all the things he wished had ended better. He wished he’d never killed his family or tried to take over the multiverse. However, he knew deep down that those things were necessary for him to meet Ford. He wouldn’t have met the love of his life without letting heads roll. Cipher didn’t realize he was screaming, torn between wanting his parents and wanting his husband. Knowing he couldn’t have either.

Both had hurt him, but that didn’t dissuade how badly he missed them at that moment. If only his parents hadn’t tried to blind him, to maim him until he stopped spouting nonsense. If only Ford didn’t try to kill him or said any of the awful words that Cipher could never unhear. 

Bill didn’t think he ought to feel bad about how others treated him. Maybe his behavior wasn’t a reaction to these situations in his life. Maybe he deserved it. Like the abuse was his birthright. A never-ending strain of pain and mistrust that had ebbed and flowed into every crevice of his body. All he had ever known was visceral hate, so it was all he could give back to the multiverse. Disdain and confusion.

When he’d showered like this with Stanford’s body in the past, warm water had been a god-send. Right now, it was only making things physically worse. The water cascading down his neck was like a white-hot branding iron. Isolating each of Ford’s finger imprints in piercing clarity. He could feel his throat contracting as the injury’s swelling worsened.

His voice was hoarse from screaming, but that didn’t dissuade him from continuing. He could feel the intense strain on his newly obtained vocal cords as his wailing persisted. The light from his fractured face reflected off the foggy glass of the shower walls. An iridescent glow that would be mesmerizing if it weren’t the product of his mental anguish.

He stood under the spray, shaking and wailing until the water went cold and his voice gave out. Finally, he turned off the shower and ceased his vocal crying. It had died down to occasional sniffling. 

Stepping out of the shower, a thick layer of steam hid the mirror and fogged his vision. With a towel wrapped around himself, Bill sauntered out of the bathroom. He hadn’t bothered to grab his clothes or shoes off the floor before ending up in front of the dresser. 

Bill sifted through the drawers, vaguely curious to see what, if anything, was inside. He found various pairs of pants, shirts, socks and underwear in the top three. Grabbing a set of clothes, he then checked the bottom drawer. 

Inside was only one item of clothing. Bill was convinced it had been placed there by mistake. Surely it wouldn’t have been left for him. 

One of Stanford’s sweaters. It was a worn gray with a high neckline, sporting the BMU logo. He vaguely remembered seeing the scientist wear this over three hundred years ago. Before their relationship became the tatters and scraps of what it had become.

Carefully, he pulled the sweater out of the dresser, holding the garment up to his face before taking a deep, solidifying breath. Vanilla and menthol.  

Just when he thought he was too dehydrated to keep crying, it started up again in earnest. He didn’t have the lung capacity to keep shouting, but he had an overwhelming need to press his face into the fabric. To breathe his Ford in, maybe for the final time. Taking in the pure nostalgia of the man he used to know.

Bill’s hands clutched onto the sweater for dear life. It was as if the piece of clothing was the only thing tethering him to the ground, his personal gravitational pull. The knit jumper was soft to the touch, despite the obvious years of wear. Sixer always takes such good care of his things.

In that moment, Bill would have given anything to have Stanford with him. Holding him, consoling him, loving him . He was grieving someone who was only an elevator ride and a 5 minute walk away. Though, he knew outside of this stolen moment in time he couldn’t show it. Never act on it, because Ford wouldn’t have him. Didn’t want him.

Their time in the Sun was over, and Bill had no choice but to find some way to cope with the eternal night that followed in its absence. 

How can I get as close to him as possible? His mind wandered. He decided to wear the sweater. Slipping on the jumper, he was careful not to stretch it out. It was baggy on his frame, wrapping around him and cradling the welts across his throat. Hiding his plight. He then slipped on the rest of the clothes and glanced over to the bed. 

It hadn’t been there when he was with Stanford. It was new. But the rug was old, worn and the scents of days long past clung to the shaggy fabric. Cloying and sickly sweet. Collecting the blankets and pillow on the bed, he settled down on the rug. His fingers raked through the fibers as he took large gulps of air. Taking in the nostalgic reminder of the best of their days. Trying to calm his racing heart. 

At some point he’d managed to fall asleep and for the first time in three centuries, he didn’t have a nightmare.

The next morning, he was groggy and his neck was in immense pain. Just holding his head up gave him difficulty. Bill came to the conclusion that he didn’t want to leave the safety and security of the rug. It wasn’t comfortable to lay on the ground since the carpet was only so thick, but it was the closest he could get to a sense of peace. He knew he wouldn’t be moving anytime soon.

There wasn’t a clock in the room, just like his cell in the Prism. However, unlike his stint in the Prism, Bill had no desire to leave his enclosure. Since he was underground, there were no windows. Time ceased to have a meaning to him - all that mattered was running his hand across the plush texture underneath him and breathing into the collar of Ford’s sweater.

His fingers grazed over each fiber of the rug, finding forgotten candle wax and incense ashes as he went. Caking his hands in remnants of the past. The texture was strange, he’d never been able to feel these things before since he didn’t have a corporeal form. Oh, how times change.

Cipher knew eventually the scent would dissipate, but for now he grasped at whatever straws he could get his hands on. Desperately clinging to snippets of the best of their days. Bill wasn’t sure how long he lay there, staring at nothing but at some point it had to come to an end. Knowing his time in the quiet was over when he heard the groaning and creaking of the stairs. 

Bill’s body flinched, which only made the lancing ache in his throat worse. He did his best to let his body go lax, but it was a useless venture. He was far too high strung to relax even a single muscle. Anxiety set in as he remembered that he was still in Stanford’s clothes. He wasn’t sure who was coming to retrieve him, but he didn’t think he could face the mortal again after last night. 

Tremors washed over him, Bill couldn’t escape the panic. Irony settled in him, after everything he’d put other people through now he was afraid of what they might do in turn. I can’t let them see me like this. I have to get it together, He steeled his resolve and got up from the floor.

It felt like he’d been run over by a bus, his head and neck were aching but he’d be damned if Ford knew that. Bill tossed the pillow and blankets back onto the bed, lest they realize his affinity for the rug. Then rushed to the bathroom to try to fix his hair and winced once he looked in the mirror. 

His eyes were sunken, deep circles underneath. His tear-stained cheeks were also apparent. He haphazardly splashed cold water on his face and made a feeble attempt to scrub off the tear marks. Pinching at his cheeks to try to look less pale. He also was quick to brush his teeth with the spare toothbrush and toothpaste on the counter. 

Bill then checked the cabinets under the sink to find a hairbrush and a scrunchie to tie his hair back with. It vaguely reminded him of the days when Ford’s was longest and he’d put it up in a bun or ponytail. At one point the mortal tried to teach him to braid, but that was always easier with six-fingered hands. 

Shaking his head to clear the image from his mind, he secured his hair back into a low ponytail, mostly to keep it out of his face. It was long enough to sway around his hips and would most likely give him trouble, especially once he had to do manual labor. Bill then lightly pulled the sweater of the collar away from his neck to assess how severe the bruising had gotten.

It was bad. Dark blue and purpling markings intricately spanned across his throat, shaped like a set of six-fingered hands. A lattice of violets, grown in the worst of conditions. He couldn’t allow himself to take them in further as he heard the doors to the elevator squeak open. He sharply tugged the collar of the sweater back in place. There was no use in trying to wear a different shirt, he had to cover the damage.

Tentatively, he left the bathroom. The second he set one foot out the door, he’d turned his persona up to the max. He had to be confident and cocky, otherwise he’d crumple under the pressure. Bill then looked up to see Stanley idly standing outside the elevator doors.

Stan looked more or less how he’d remembered him, other than having gotten a haircut. He was still in his pajamas and already looked irritated to have to come down in the first place.

Bill mentally sighed with relief, Good, it’s not Ford. He took a steadying breath before dialing up the charm. “Well, if it isn’t the lesser of two evils! Your brother send you down here to do his dirty work?” He remarked, a wide grin lighting up his features. He did his best to mask the broken rasping of his voice, shattered from the night before.

Stanley regarded him with blatant disdain, an eyebrow raised in a silent question. He then looked Bill over in subtle amusement, “Ford doesn’t need to do anything with you, but I can see that you found his clothes.” A small smirk formed on his face.

Bill mentally sputtered, his face heating up before trying to divert the twins’ attention, “Actually, he does! It’s written in the fine print, wise guy - I didn’t know you’d both gone senile in your old age,” Bill said, looking at his nails like he wasn’t interested in whatever Stanley had to say. “For the record, it was this or nothing - and I highly doubt the two of you would want me walking around stark naked.” He tried to covertly clear his throat to sound somewhat normal.

Stan’s voice was grating as he responded, “Fine print says he’s just gotta keep your sorry ass alive and go to therapy with you once a week, everything else isn’t his problem.” Amusement was still painted across his features, “Y’know, if you did decide to go streaking around the property, it might be good for business - a genuine freak among the exhibits!” His laughter echoed in the office.

Rising agitation welled up in Bill’s mind, the insinuation that he was a freak left a bad taste in his mouth. Not to mention he had hoped this arrangement would force himself and Stanford back together. Even if he was nervous to be around Ford at the moment, he still held out hope that their connection would spark again. He’d never been able to let go of anything without leaving deep claw marks all over it.

“Whatever, it’s not like this will be any different from the Prism,” Bill’s voice was curt as he slightly frowned in Stan’s direction. “I assume he sent you down here to get me for breakfast?”

“Yeah, and to go over everything you’ll be doing while you live here -  grab your meds and let’s go,” Stanley responded, returning to the elevator and holding the doors open.

Bill had nearly forgotten about the bag of medication and his belongings from the night before. He glanced around to figure out where he had left it, trying to be as covert as possible. His eye landed next to the elevator. 

Bingo. Must’ve dropped it on my way in, he thought to himself.

Scooping the bag up, he followed Stan into the elevator to head upstairs. Knowing that he would most likely see Ford up there. Bill could feel how clammy his hands were at the prospect and was maneuvering the bag around between his hands to blow off excess steam. A rhythmic swishing from the plastic started up as he passed it back and forth. Trying to calm his nerves.

“Would you knock that off?” Stanley asked, obviously annoyed.

Bill regarded him sardonically, “I’m surprised you could hear that, did you turn your hearing aid up just for me?” He smiled wide, projecting the confidence he wished he had.

Stan rolled his eyes, “You wish, if I had it my way I'd sooner throw the damn things in the lake before I bothered to listen to your ceaseless chirping.” He dismissed Cipher by returning his gaze to the elevator doors as they ascended. 

Out of the numerous things Bill hated about humans, blatant dismissal and disregard for their superiors definitely made the top 10. It was just plain rude, to see a deity of his caliber and pretend to be above him.

That was one of the things he liked most about Stanford, he was desperate to hear every word that left Bill’s lips. Like it was gospel. In this instance, despite being twins, the apples hadn’t followed each other very closely when they’d fallen from their parental tree.

“Fez, tsk tsk…always the pessimist…you and Sixer ever figure out how to cooperate, or are you still holding a knife to each other’s throat?” The barbed jab was meant as an insult but Stanley regarded him like a petulant child asking a stupid question.

“We did actually, that’s how we’ve been sailing around the world gaining notoriety all over. What were you doing during all that?” Stan asked, sarcasm coating his tone. He rubbed his chin like he was deep in thought before pointing up like he’d made a groundbreaking discovery, “Ah, that’s right, you were in therapy jail.”

Bill frowned over at the mortal next to him, “Yeah, well at least I went to therapy for my issues. I know a mentally unstable set of twins that need to see a doctor just as much as I do - maybe more.” Shoving his hands in his pockets with the bag looped around his wrist, Bill figured he needed to stick a pin in this. “Plus, I wouldn’t be the first out of the three of us to get arrested. Hell, I wouldn’t even be the second.”

Before Stanley could respond, the doors creaked open for the stairway. Stan cut Bill a quick glare before starting the climb up. Cipher trailed behind him, thankful for the moment of reprieve from prying eyes. Each step brought him closer to Ford’s orbit, he was the moon to the mortal’s planetary pull. Not quite there, but always close behind.

Stanley spoke, not bothering to look back as he ascended the stairs, “Cipher, let me make one thing abundantly clear.” They reached the landing as Stanley swung open the vending machine door. “You do anything to upset my brother or sabotage his progress, and I’ll kill you again. I don’t care what the paperwork says, you fuck up and all bets are off. Understand?”

He turned around at the top of the stairs to stare down at Bill. Swallowing around his swollen throat, Cipher did his best to respond, “I hear you loud and clear - let Sixer fuck stuff up on his own.”

Stan rolled his eyes before stepping back for Bill to reach the top of the stairs. “If you do anything out of line, I’ll know,” His voice was stern as he stepped back and slammed the vending machine door shut. His lack of care let Bill know that the shack was either closed for the day or it was too early for tours to start. Bill did his best to seem unphased, but it had been centuries since he’d seen the inside of the cabin. He squinted and nearly covered his eyes as sunlight poured in.

The gift shop was exactly how he remembered it, filled with useless trinkets and knick knacks. The living room was also nearly the same, the only difference was the more modern technology scattered about and feminine sweaters strewn across the couch and the floor.

Did one of them get remarried…or have a girlfriend? Bill’s mind tried to wrap around the question. Stanford said Shooting Star and Pinetree wouldn’t be here for weeks, so they can’t belong to the kid. Bill felt simmering anger at the implication that Ford was married to someone other than him. There’s no way he remarried, or is dating someone…even if he was, I know it wouldn’t be with a woman.

In spite of the fact that their relationship was a series of unfortunate events, there were things Bill had learned about the mortal that couldn’t be mistaken. He’d spent two years nestled among the synapses and neurons of Ford’s brain, you couldn’t hide anything when someone was literally living in your head.

Bill did his best to work out who the items belonged to while they rounded the corner and headed into the kitchen. His bare feet were padding on the hardwood floor. The room was slightly bigger than the last time he’d seen it, obviously having been renovated within the last few decades and the appliances updated. At the table sat a young woman Bill didn’t recognize and the repairman - Question Mark. 

That stuff must be hers then, and she’s too young for the con-man and Sixer. Bill realized, internally sighing with relief.

His eye then fell on Stanford over by the stove, paying Bill no attention as they entered. Cipher could feel his heart-rate pick up at the sight. Whether it was due to fear or excitement, he was unsure. Though, it didn’t really matter. He had an image to uphold, a standard to meet. One nasty fight with Ford shouldn’t be the thing that decimates years of meticulous curating.

“Hey, dude! Looks like you’re finally up,” Soos said with a wave in Bill’s direction. Despite knowing who was joining them for the foreseeable future, he seemed to be taking the news well.

“Yeah, it was a late night,” Bill tried to come across casually, he hoped no one had heard his psychotic break from the night before. “Who’s your friend?” He asked tentatively, wanting to put a name to the face. 

Walking over to the table as Stanley took a seat adjacent from them at the large wooden dining room table. Stan lounged back in the chair, his arm thrown over the back of the one next to him as he watched on.

“I’m Melody, Soos’ girlfriend,” The young woman replied, her voice soft. “You must be Bill, I’ve only heard about you in passing but it’s nice to meet you.” 

Cipher was momentarily thrown off. No one was ever happy to meet him, and once they met him they usually didn’t want to interact with him again. They must have fed her some lie, he decided. It was slightly unnerving how cordial she was, but Bill wouldn’t be outright rude. He was trying to gain something from this entire fiasco.

“Nice to meet you too, Melody,” Bill said, giving her a crooked smile. For the first time in a while, it was a smile he genuinely meant. He hoped it would be a consistent habit. “These geezers better not be giving you trouble.” He feigned sarcasm at the twins' expense as he leaned his arms over one of the empty chairs. His back-handed comments were a fail-safe coping mechanism.

Melody laughed in response. It bubbled out of her, sounding light and airy, “They do sometimes give me a run for my money, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. Someone’s gotta keep these guys in line!” She smiled over at Soos and Stan at the table, both returned the gesture. She regarded him with a warm smile, “Is it alright if I call you Bill? Sorry if that’s informal.”

Oh, I like her. She doesn’t seem to take slack from anybody, Bill mentally appraised her resolve before responding, “You can call me anything except late for dinner.” He joked before realizing that it wouldn’t make sense since he now did have a mouth. She looked slightly confused, with a tilt of her head. “Sorry, bit of inside joke - yeah, Bill is fine,” He chuckled a bit to himself she nodded simply in response. 

As he peered over at Stanford out of the corner of his eye on the other side of the room he took in the way his shoulders were tense. So he remembered that one, he thought to himself.

Other than his pinched expression staring into the pan of seemingly eggs in front of him, Ford hadn’t moved or said anything. Bill could see the various scars scattered across his forearms. A painful reminder of his past misdeeds. 

The mortal’s hands were visible, deep scar tissue wrapped around his knuckles. Bill could feel his stomach churn at the memory, pounding on the portal room door until they bled. Displacing chunks of flesh as he banged against the hard steel with reckless abandon. He had to blink harshly to clear the memory, in case it triggered him to throw up again. Sick from his own twisted actions.

He took in the rest of Ford’s body, his hair was wet which let Bill know he’d just taken a shower. Bill wondered if he still used the soap he liked or if Ford had stopped since it was something he originally did for Cipher’s attention. He hadn’t realized how shaggy his hair had gotten, not that Bill was complaining.

Though his shirt had a higher neckline, Bill could see the edge of his neck tattoo peeking out. He could also see the first character of the little message Bill had originally tried to carve into multiple layers of his skin. Two out of three ain’t bad odds…glad to see he kept some of the tattoos. He’d have to check later if the tramp stamp was still there, his final parting gift.

Ford had on a plain black shirt and jeans, his socks multicolored with a funky pattern. Typical, still one for the flashy socks huh, IQ? He mentally chastised the mortal. 

The funky sock trend was something he did when they first met. Bill had somehow convinced him to at least make sure both feet matched when he wore them, but he couldn’t stop Ford from buying them altogether. It was just one of those quirks he had, part of the reason he liked the mortal so much. He admired the little things.

Bill realized he had been momentarily lost in thought and caught himself daydreaming. “What’re you working on, Brainiac? I’m surprised you know how to cook at all. The only thing I ever saw you eat was peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,” He remarked in Stanford’s direction, fully turning his head.

Ford scowled into the pan, “I always knew how to cook, I just didn’t have time.” His response was short, obviously trying to avoid acknowledging Bill altogether.

The demon mentally shrank away from the insinuation. He didn’t have time to cook because he was too busy working on the portal for me. His chest felt tight, he could feel a sensation similar to hands squeezing around the organs in his chest. One at a time, cutting off his ability to breathe properly. He hoped the apprehension wouldn’t show on his face as he tried to shove it to the back of his mind. “Well it’s good to know that you’ve learned something valuable after all this time. Here I thought you were just toiling away at nothing and wasting the potential of that big brain of yours.” Bill said, doing his best to gauge Ford’s reaction. 

Stanford was unpredictable now, back then he could be read like an open textbook with all the important bits highlighted. Now he was a forbidden tome in the restricted section and Bill didn’t have access.

“You would think most things are nothing, wouldn’t you?” Ford replied, his tone bitter. The tension that seeped into the room was so thick you’d need a chainsaw to hack your way out. 

It took only a moment for Bill to discern that the growing, tightening pain he felt in his chest was fear. Afraid that what happened last night was going to happen again. Afraid that Ford wouldn’t stop short this time, and might hurt him more severely. Leave a permanent scar Bill would never be able to hide.

Cipher had never been scared of another being before, other than when Stanley had killed him the first time. But that was a one time exception. In this body, he was weaker than Ford. He’d be no different than a fraying ragdoll for his former partner to toss into the junkyard.

Bill stayed silent for a moment, trying to figure out the best way to circumnavigate the situation. He had the intense desire to defend himself, but he also needed to de-escalate their conversation. And needs came before wants whenever his life was on the line. Knowing he had to bend when he got the chance and could only let himself snap when he had no other choice.

“Six, I just didn’t know you had it in ya’ - that’s all I meant. Nothing more, nothing less,” He responded simply, his tone gentle. He was treating Stanford like a spooked animal, trying to coax it back into a pen.

Wanting to leave it at that, he pulled out the chair he was leaning on and sat down at the table. He peeked at Ford out of the corner of his eye and noticed he had paused what he was doing, obviously thinking.

Knowing Stanford he probably assumes it’s some kind of trap, Bill's disparaging stream of consciousness flowed through him. Like Hell he’d ever believe anything I say…I barely believe anything I say.

Bill was mentally beating himself up over it but did his best to hide his feelings. He stretched his arms above his head, wanting to release some of the tension in his body. He could feel his joints pop slightly and did his best to ignore the way his throat hurt with the movement. The sound was audible over the noises of the stove, but abruptly Bill heard a strange clang.

He looked over at the stove for the source of the sound to see Ford’s tense frame shaking. His hands holding the edge of the counter in a vice grip. This is it, I made him mad and he’s going to grab me again, A horrific thought weaseled into Bill’s mind. He’s going to storm over here, and strangle me until there isn’t a drop of air left in my lungs.

 Stan looked up, before realizing what had happened, “Shit… ” He stood up quickly and headed over to his twin, mumbling something in his ear. The scientist gave him a curt shake of his head in response as he breathed deeply. His eyes screwed shut in obvious concentration.

As confusion creased Bill’s brow as he tried masking his visceral fear, Melody leaned over to whisper in his direction. “It’s best not to crack bones around Ford, he can be a bit jumpy about it for some reason,” She was softly informing him unaware of the horror that replayed in his mind. Realizing why Ford would be so freaked out.

Swallowing thickly, Bill tried to quell his nausea before nodding. His brain trying to catch up with the rest of him. Cipher tried his best not to think about the sound of Ford’s joints crackling and splintering as he pulled them out of their sockets all those years ago. It was easier said than done.

Before he knew it, Ford was stalking out of the kitchen as his twin took over what he was cooking. A scowl creasing his features. Bill had the urge to chase after him, but figured that would cause more issues than help. He wasn’t sure what Ford would do now that he was already on edge. So instead he sat at the table in silence as Stan cooked and Melody chatted with Soos.

The rest of their meal, Bill didn’t utter a single word. He decided to only speak if he was spoken to, for fear he’d say something out of turn again. After they finished up and set dishes in the sink Stanley made sure Bill took his medication and began to give him the run-down on everything he’d be doing around the Shack.

“Basically, whatever Soos tells you needs done, you do it. No questions asked, ya got that?” Stanley finished up speaking before handing Bill a small box. “This is a cell phone, Melody and Soos will show you how it works but it’s to communicate with us if you need to. All the numbers you need are already saved.”

Bill gently took the device and set it in his bag of medication to fiddle with later. “Don’t worry, Fez - I know how a phone works. All-knowing being, remember?” He replied, tapping his temple.

Stan rolled his eyes, grumbling to himself, “Yeah whatever…just know if you break it you’ll have to buy a new one yourself - don’t expect any handouts from me.”

With that, he waved Bill off in Soos’ direction to get him settled in his new role. They spent the remainder of the day going over the basics. Soos showed him how all the repair equipment worked and how to conduct standard exhibit maintenance. He didn’t have to go over how the register worked since Bill knew its general functions from its similarity in other dimensions. 

As Soos talked, Bill kept subtly looking over his shoulder. Wondering if he would get a glimpse of Stanford again that day. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to or not, especially if Ford was still angry. As the day stretched on, he didn’t get to find out how much he cared to see his mortal because Ford was holed up in his room.

Avoiding him.

Bill shadowed Soos throughout the day, and by the end of dinner he was exhausted. Despite his tiredness, he tried to make good on the request Ford had made of him the night before. Even if he had said it in anger. He pulled Soos aside before heading to bed and gave the opening act of his apology tour.

“Hey, I just..um,” He started to speak. Bill had never really apologized before. At least not to a real person. 

Soos looked over at him, curious about where this was headed. “What’s up, dude?”

Twiddling his fingers, Cipher tried to dispel his nervous energy. It really shouldn’t be this hard. I don’t know why this skin puppet doesn’t do what I want it to, He mentally scolded himself before trying again. “Listen, I wanted to…apologize for-” He started and realized he wasn’t sure what to say, “For what happened, you know - before.”

The other man looked over at him, his gaze softening, “Ah, yeah that was…unfortunate. But it’s good to see you’re making progress with your whole therapy thing.” Soos gave Bill a small smile, “Thanks for apologizing.”

Relief washed over Cipher as he returned the smile, glad to have at least something tangible under his belt. He knew this was a first step up a very tall staircase that he was forced to climb. He just hoped he could make it to the top without any hiccups. 

Waving goodbye, Bill started to head for the vending machine. His eyelids felt heavy, most likely from his lack of sleep the night before. He tried to stay out of the way as much as possible, grabbing the bag with his medication and a bottle of water to take before he tried to sleep.

As he unpacked the bag, Bill noticed the cardboard box of his belongings. He’d been so distracted all day that he hadn’t gotten the chance to look inside. Peeling the top open, he was relieved to see his signature accessories intact. They were far too small for his human body, but he wanted to be sure they didn’t get damaged before he got his own body back to wear them again. He set them inside the bottom drawer of the dresser along with Ford’s sweater.

His eye then fell on the small velvet box tucked away in the corner. Bill could feel the deep ache in his chest. Ford’s wedding band, he carefully lifted the lid to peer inside. And home. Bill hadn’t seen the item in 300 years. 

When he thought he was going to share the same space as Ford, he realized he’d never properly given the mortal a wedding ring. Using the last remnant of his dimension, he fashioned the band for Ford. Though, he never got the chance to give it to him. Cipher wanted to spend the rest of eternity with Stanford. He never doubted they would share immortality, so he made the ring with Euclydia. It was the closest he could get to having his family together. Everything he loved in one place.

A shudder left his body as he closed the ring box and tucked it into the bottom drawer along with his other things. Bill couldn’t stop the tears that welled in his eyes and cascaded down his cheeks. He could feel his lungs and heart kicking into overdrive as he began spiraling again.

Is every day going to be like this? Bill asked himself. I’ll feel the loss of them over and over. Everyday, for the rest of my immortal life? His sobbing picked up as he began to panic again. I shouldn’t have asked Ax for help. I should have just let them kill me. Let them put me down like a sick dog.

“What’s wrong with me?” He whispered to himself in the empty room, staring into space. I know something is broken but I don’t know how to fix it.

Bill realized this year was going to feel like the longest he’d experienced in his entire life. He wasn’t sure if he could handle this, the onslaught of emotion. But he supposed it didn’t matter. He had no choice but to go along with it. Strapped in for a ride he never wanted to go on.

Chapter Text

Ford wasn’t sure where he was headed, he just knew he had to go anywhere but his own kitchen. In his mind was the echoing of his own breaking bones as they splintered and cracked under invisible pressure he couldn’t see nor cease.

It was almost as loud as his own screaming from days long gone, and the laughter, that maniacal laughter mocking him as he struggled to stay lucid. The visceral memory of the pain was so intense he wanted to vomit, he'd do anything to make it stop. It was like there was some kind of poison in his system he could never seem to expel. 

To the point where Ford had turned to asking the heavens for assistance. He was begging for respite or desperately hoping for a savior of some kind. Although he knew deep down that his prayers wouldn’t be heard, because god was the one torturing him day in and day out.

With the memory of the sound followed the phantom pain that always accompanied it. They were an interlinked pair in his memory. The searing agonizing burst of his blood vessels and his limbs swelling around his fracturing bones. His blood profusely internally bleeding and clotting throughout his body as his system tried to mitigate the damage. Ford could recall the way it took months the first time around for his bones to fully fuse back together.

Ford was just lucky - if you could call it luck. Lucky that he didn’t puncture any internal organs. Lucky he didn't burst any major arteries. Lucky his heart didn’t give out from the fear of what was happening to him. He would have internally bled out long before he could even figure out how bad the damage was if anything had gone awry in the slightest. Ford had survived by the smallest of margins, but he didn’t feel as though that process had been worth the strife.

When he’d been imprisoned in the fearamid and Bill had broken and rehealed his bones for fun, the process had taken mere moments. Which only made every aspect all the more painful since his body wasn’t used to that kind of speed when healing itself. He’d retched for hours, dry heaving up nothing but acid at the pain. The feeling of bone marrow coagulating and veins gradually stringing themselves apart and then back together. Ford had been coughing up blood and hoping Cipher could heal fast enough that he’d somehow survive. The reminder alone was nauseating. 

Ford stormed out of the house letting the screen door swing wide and slam loudly behind him. Wildlife in the trees startled by the sound but Ford didn’t seem to notice. It echoed out as he started running blindly. Rushing into the forest like he knew exactly where he was headed with his hair still dripping from his shower. He hadn’t even bothered to put on his boots, he’d slid on a random pair of slippers in his disoriented panic.

In a haze, he ran through the underbrush without any clear rhyme or reason. Ford’s anxiety was made worse by the twigs snapping and leaves crunching under his feet. His lungs were working at max capacity as he was hyperventilating like he’d never be able to breathe in enough air. Ford was swinging his arms wildly to move low hanging branches and tall bushes as he hoped nothing alive in the forest would jump out at him.

Hearing the skittering of wildlife around him as it tried to evade his path only heightened Ford’s stress. He was unable to know for certain that what he was hearing was a herd of deer or Bill and his henchmaniacs chasing him. In his view as he ran, the edges of reality ebbed and flowed as the forest morphed into a sickly reminiscent golden pyramid with endless spindly hallways. Hallucinating the thunderous footsteps of Cipher’s nightmarish visage as he drifted around corners and skittered across the ceiling to chase Ford endlessly. Unable to help himself from laughing at Ford’s expense as he did so.

In his peripheral vision, Ford could swear he saw hundreds of yellow eyes blinking back at him. Each one crinkled into a sadistic smile he knew all too well as they watched on as Ford descended into madness all over again. As he whipped his head around, trying to catch the eyes peering at him in the canopy, they’d disappear from view. No matter how badly he wanted to face them head on, they evaded him incessantly. Though in the back of his mind, Ford wasn’t sure that proving they existed to begin with would change anything about his current predicament.

They’d catch up to him eventually, those eyes always did. Ford could never outrun them, the secret stalkers that lurked in the shadows of his mind. Combing through the filing cabinets of his brain to bring things to his attention or throw them away at random. He was waiting for the day they lit the entire thing on fire and left him stranded in the embers.

Feeling as though he was losing his grip on reality, Ford began second guessing his own panic induced marathon. Running from the things he couldn’t quite see that were always out of his reach. He could only feel them, and for the panicked side of his brain that was enough.

Eventually, he ended up at the lake. Stopping on the edge, he tried to catch his breath as he looked out onto the water. It was calm and without a ripple in sight, the complete opposite of how he felt as he gasped to catch his breath. Ford wasn’t sure how long he stood there, looking but not seeing, before he sat down in the dirt and fished out the lighter and a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

Thankfully he’d found a spare pack in his closet when he got back last night after talking with Stanley. Their…incident from yesterday weighed heavily on his mind. The lighter he’d had for decades was also still working, more ways in which he’d gotten lucky. The luckiest he’d been this week by far even if he didn’t feel like it, especially since he was expecting it to run out sometime soon.

With trembling hands, Ford grabbed a smoke and held it in his mouth as he repeatedly tried and failed to light it. C’mon…c’mon, just fucking light. Ford could feel his heart-rate pick up again as he panicked and became frustrated. Trying to keep the flame burning over and over just for it to be snuffed out again. He was exasperated and trying to control himself, the more he got mad at the inanimate object, the harder this process would be.

It took a few more tries before he could stop shaking enough to bring the steady flame close and light the end. Fucking finally, he mentally sighed. Inhaling deeply, he shoved both items back into his pocket and tried to still his racing heart. Watching the smoke pour from his lips in an attempt to relax.

You’re not in danger, it’s fine. Everything is fine. He tried regaining control of his mind, even if he knew what he was thinking wasn’t true. It’d be a lie as long as Ford lived and breathed.

Everything was not fine, everyday that he woke up after making that deal with Cipher wasn’t fine. Things would never be fine because Ford’s body didn’t know how to be fine anymore. All it knew was how to be afraid, to be terrified of the monsters that skulk in the night and prey on the innocent for amusement. The creatures that derive all their enjoyment in life from the continuous misfortune of others.

It would be a valid fear if he didn’t have it all the time, especially when nothing was actually trying to hurt him. Hearing someone stretch shouldn’t stop him from living his life. He didn’t want to exist that way, but he had no choice. Ford had been forced into a coping mechanism he could never turn off as he was trapped between crippling anxiety and exhaustion. No matter how much he begged, pleaded and prayed - he’d still be the same broken man he’d become when Cipher dropped him like a toy he didn’t want to play with anymore.

Unsure on if he should be ashamed for feeling that way, his mind wandered to recall all the times Stan had snapped him out of it. Distracting and reassuring him that trauma responses were normal after a life like his. He’d been diligent about studying up on what was happening, figuring Ford would feel better if he understood the why behind it. 

Even if he understood it now, Ford didn’t want that to be his normal. He wanted the same normal as everybody else. He was deeply craving even a semblance of a normal life.

Ford wanted to be able to listen to white noise at night when he went to sleep, to get a full night’s sleep for once in general. He wanted to be able to sit on his roof again and enjoy looking at the stars instead of them being a painful reminder. He wanted to be able to go swimming without the looming fear of drowning.

Eyes flicking back to the water, his mind replayed the voicemail Cipher left for Stanley all those years ago. The night terrors he’d orchestrated of Ford drowning over and over. His lifeless body floating in the lake, waiting for his brother to come and find him in order to shove him in a box and forget he ever existed in the first place.

Trying to think of something else, he took another deep drag. Feeling the nicotine travel through his lungs alleviated some of the stress on his mind even if it was beginning to wander again.

Should I have even done this? He contemplated the question. Obviously now, he couldn’t undo it. There was no going back, he’d signed on the dotted line and agreed to the terms and conditions. It had only been one day, not even a full day - and he already wanted to back out. When he agreed, he hadn’t realized the ways in which it would upend his life though it’s not as if he really had one to begin with.

Even if he sent Cipher back to the facility, Ford had already opened Pandora’s box. Now he knew Cipher was alive. Now he knew they were legally married. Now he knew there truly was no escape from this fear. Since he’d been given that knowledge, he could never unhear it, it just played in his mind on repeat at all hours of the day and night. Whether or not Cipher inhabited the same space as him wasn’t going to change anything about that.

One day, Bill would get out again and come find Ford. Cipher would use his extensive network in the multiverse to seek him out all over again. There wasn’t a true way to exist in peace knowing the hunt could start at any time when you least expected it. The predator that stalked him for sport was always waiting for his guard to be down, that was the fun of it for Bill - the lingering torment he incited when he wasn’t even around.

It was the little things that made daily tasks difficult, and most of them were in his own head. He’d be overthinking all the ways in which the rest of the world wanted to sabotage his progress. Ford’s brain was his own worst enemy and he could never seem to find a strategy to vanquish it.

Over the past few years he was starting to carve out a path for success but he always seemed to fall short somewhere along the line. One slip up would have severe consequences and his brother usually ended up having to be the one to fix them.

Ford felt guilty about that - the fact that he couldn't handle his emotions by himself, like it wasn’t his own mind Ford was fighting with. He should know his brain inside and out and be able to discern all strengths and weaknesses. Instead, it felt like things were the other way around and Ford never could keep his head above water for long. Up until now he’d only survived by the skin of his teeth.

Since he hadn’t gone to therapy before, his twin had read up on various mental health books and psychology information in an attempt to be helpful. However, it ended up serving as a consistent reminder that something was wrong with him. A cruel reminder that Ford broke into a million shards of the person he used to know a long time ago. Now Stan was trying to recreate and rebuild him even though some of the pieces were missing from their initial fall.

Living life to survive instead of living to thrive took every ounce of energy from his body. Draining him until Ford was nothing more than a husk of himself. All he could do was hope something would pour into him so he could enjoy things again.

Mitigating his emotions and stressors was easier when they were nowhere near him. Ford was now second-guessing if he could handle them if they were right under his nose, though the sentiment was too little too late. Now, Cipher was constantly cramming into his space. It wasn’t in a physical sense, but Ford always knew he was there and he didn’t appreciate the feeling of being perceived. Even if they weren’t in the same room or on the same floor of the house, Ford couldn’t relax fully because he knew Bill was loitering around somewhere.

Ford had made so much progress with handling stress, but less than a day with Cipher had already brought back his old thought processes with a vengeance. Less than a day, I couldn’t even last a day. Chastising himself as if he could help it, he wasn’t even sure if he should apologize about strangling his former muse or if Bill even deserved an apology after everything he had put Ford through. 

Every second of torture he had endured had made him viscerally afraid of repeat offenses and as a result, his body took drastic measures to ensure it didn’t happen again. Blurring the lines of what he should and should not do in the face of fear. Which is why strangling Cipher yesterday felt natural, like breathing or tying his shoes.

The surge of adrenaline that coursed through his body as he tried to crush Bill’s windpipe like cardboard was something he hadn’t felt in years. It felt good and right. Like he was meant to strangle Bill last night, to desecrate his body and leave him there to fester and rot beside his headstone. 

Apparently that rush was an occurrence that was few and far between. It was something only Cipher could give him it seems. Making Ford question his sanity and morality, to ask himself If he hurt Cipher back, was that truly the right thing to do? Or did that make Ford no better than the monster he’d vowed to destroy?

Maybe this whole therapy thing will help, he weakly considered. I obviously have reached the limit of trying to handle this stuff by myself.

It had taken years, and he was essentially back where he started, a longstanding loop between the person he wanted to be and the person he had been decades ago. Bouncing between those identities but not feeling as though he truly understood either one. Ford was someone entirely new and he wasn’t sure what to do about that.

What would this new version of himself do? What would the old version of himself have done? He couldn’t remember, everything melded together in one congealed amalgamation of time. There was barely a version of him that hadn’t been tainted by Cipher and as a result he didn’t know how to be the person that was healthy and had everything together.

All Ford had was regret as he mourned the version of himself that was forced to exist. The version that couldn’t go for a walk in the forest without being mindful of his steps. The version that was wary of every person he came in contact with. The version that couldn’t go swimming.

As he stubbed out his cigarette in the dirt behind him, Ford’s mind wandered back to the lake. The one he never swam in, at least not in reality. He only ever entered it to drown in his own head as he listened to Cipher’s incessant cackling. Body floating aimlessly as he waited for someone to discover his molded corpse washed ashore. 

Nothing gave Cipher more joy than Ford’s misfortune, at least it felt that way in hindsight. It seemed like there was a clear moment, a point of singularity in which things went askew. Like Cipher was some kind of sleeper agent and Ford had said the activation phrase by mistake. His mind wandered as he tried to consider when that moment would have been.

They had plenty of fights throughout their time together, that part wasn’t out of the ordinary, but which one set him off? Ford asked himself as if the answer really meant anything. Those days were long gone, even if they felt like yesterday every time he woke up and went to bed, there was no fixing or undoing the past. The only thing that had any merit was the ever-present future that towered over his head.

That didn’t stop the question from nagging at him. All the chess games that had ended in confrontation. The nights poured over notes and calculations when tensions were high. The incident with the first portal test. A lot in their time together had gone wrong and a lot of their relationship didn’t have a pretty rose-colored tint to it. Anything could have set him off, and Ford wouldn’t have any true way of knowing which altercation was the icing on the cake because it took him far too long to figure out what they had been baking to begin with.

Deciding he couldn’t remember, at least not in a way that was tangible proof, Ford stood up from the ground and kicked a rock into the lake, then another, and another. Until he didn’t realize he had started crying as he kicked at the ground displacing stones and soil. Through wet, labored breathing, Ford coughed at the dust, frustration gradually overtaking him. He then reached down and started throwing the rocks into the water, chucking them as far as he could.

The waves rippled as the serenity was broken, a perfect example of more actions Ford had followed through with and couldn’t undo. Just like chess, moving any of the pieces changed the functionality of the entire board. Once you moved your piece, you had to stick with your strategy. Each of his moves in this never-ending match with Cipher had led him here. He’d always been put in check and just barely skirted by to stay away from checkmate.

It’s just not fair, he lamented to himself. Everyone else gets to be normal and keep everything together. Why do I always have to be the one that falls apart?

Ford felt like screaming. He wanted to wail, shout, cry, raze this planet to the ground and then salt the earth behind him to start over somewhere else. Desperately wanting to find a place where he wasn’t a freak of nature and didn’t feel like he was in constant danger.

As if he hadn’t spent thirty years traveling across the multiverse only to find no such place. Everywhere he went, he was an outcast. Everywhere he went, he was threatened with the prospect of death. Everywhere he went, he struggled to survive. These near-constants followed him like horsemen of the apocalypse as they waited with baited breath to announce his inevitable end.

He just wanted to be safe. To be safe and to be at peace, he’d settle for not even being happy. Just safe , he wanted to sleep and explore the multiverse and not be looking over his shoulder constantly. Ford had always wanted too much, always begging and pleading for more and more. Never feeling satisfied with the lot he was given.

Ford wanted more time, there never seemed to be enough of that anymore either. After wasting so much of it on Cipher which he had made his life purpose now twice over. Once to do his bidding, and once to kill him.

And where did that get me? Ford asked himself, bitter as he continued throwing stones. Nowhere good, obviously. If he spent all day trying to figure out where he went wrong, he’d be standing on the shore for the remainder of his mortal life. Heaving in a few breaths, Ford tried to calm down enough to go back to the house.

Brushing the dust and dirt from his clothes, Ford turned away from the water and started a gradual pace home. For the most part, he remembered the forest’s twists and turns by heart and it was muscle memory that eventually brought him back to the well worn couch on the porch.

Dropping down into it, Ford decided he needed a second smoke. He had less of a guilty conscience about it by deciding it was a reward for making it back in one piece. As he grabbed another out of his pocket and began to light it, the porch door creaked open. Stanley stepped out in his pajamas with a Pitt Cola in his hand.

“Where’d you go?” Stan asked, trepidation in his voice as he made his way over to the couch to sit beside his brother. “It’s not the best idea to go runnin’ off like that, no matter how fit you think you are.”

Ford sighed as he exhaled and looked back out at the treeline. “I went out to the lake,” he replied simply. “Didn’t really mean to, just…ended up there, I guess.”

Eyeing him warily, Stan took a sip of his drink before looking out at the forest. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t get in…that water is filthy,” he cringed at the thought. Waiting to see if it would melt Ford’s icy exterior. “Though I’m sure you’ve already tested the bacteria and compared it to all of Oregon's other waterways.”

Cracking a small smile, Ford could feel a tangent forming on his tongue on the topic. “I did, actually. It’s quite fascinating to see just how different even the water in this town is on a molecular level to the entirety of the rest of the state, let alone the country,” he started up, easily switching topics and becoming happily distracted. “I think I still have my documented findings if you’re interested.”

Crossing his ankles over one another, Stan relaxed knowing he’d successfully pivoted his brother’s attention. “Sure, just as long as I get to read them myself and don’t have a five hour long lecture to go along with it,” he quipped.

“Stanley, that’s the most thrilling aspect,” Ford replied, sarcasm lacing his tone. “How will you know what you’re looking at if I don’t explain all of it in vivid detail?” He turned back to see his brother’s joyful glint in his eye, knowing this was the closest he’d get to that calm of the lake.

Hiding his smile with his soda can, Stan replied, “I’m sure I’ll manage just fine.” Then he took another drink and let the pair fall back into comfortable silence.

Watching the breeze travel through the trees, listening to the ambient sound of wildlife skittering through the forest, the muffled sound of the TV on in the living room. Even if Ford couldn’t have true peace, this was a close second. The closest he’d ever get to normal.

Deciding to take what he could get, Ford let himself relax against the couch as he took another drag. Trying to be grateful for the small things since he never seemed to get the big things he wanted. At least he had a home to come back to after their travels. At least he had his family to rely on when he needed them most. At least he got to do the things he liked most of the time like exploring, sketching, researching. Anything to keep him busy, to hopefully give him a sense of contentment.

Ford just couldn’t let his mind return to the thing he’d originally been running from, otherwise he’d have to start this process all over again.

Chapter Text

Bill felt like Sisyphus. Pushing the boulder up the steepest of hills before it would roll back to the bottom and he was forced to start again. Everyday he woke up and got ready. Took his morning medication. Went to work his shift in the gift shop or fixed up things around the shack. Tried to eat something. Took his evening medication. Then looked at the ring box in the bottom drawer of the dresser and cried himself to sleep. 

Every. Single. Day. Rinse and repeat. Like clockwork. Inevitable and unavoidable.

All he could hope for were fleeting glimpses of Ford, but so far he’d come up empty handed. At least in terms of normal interactions. Since Bill couldn’t see Ford in a typical sense, he’d settled for the more…creative options. 

Most of which involved looking into his window at various times of day, trying to pin down his patterns. Tracking his smoke breaks, which were few and far between. Usually he’d just crack the window to exhale from his room, doing everything to stay inside. Bill would track when Ford slept, when he ate, what he was working on. He hadn’t quite figured out that last one.

Nothing could stop him from trying to see his mortal. He’d make petty excuses about helping with chores or feigning illness to peek into Ford’s windows. Sift through the laundry baskets, hoping to find Ford’s clothes. Open every drawer around the house to try to find one of his journals. He’d nearly reached the stage of rifling through the trash to see what he was up to. It was entering into stalker territory and he didn’t want to think about it too hard.

Outside of those moments, Bill was otherwise well-behaved. It made him sick to realize he was hoping for a reward for following instructions. The general assumption was if he just went to work, took his meds and didn’t start trouble that Ford would interact with him again. As if that would be enough. Bill didn’t want to admit to himself that Ford couldn’t care less if he was trying. He’d made that explicitly clear in the clearing nearly a week ago.

Just the reminder of Ford strangling him made Bill shudder. In the last week his bruises had faded somewhat, but the purpling splotches were still there. Blurred around the edges. Everytime he glanced in a mirror and saw them, he had to stop himself from breaking down all over again. He truly hates me, Bill’s mind would echo, He actually tried to kill me.

Bill tried to avoid mirrors now. He was afraid of looking into one and getting trapped in his memories again. No matter what the memory was, the sensation made his stomach churn. Every good memory was tinged with nostalgia and longing. Every bad memory was stained with pain and regret. He couldn’t stand to think of them, his near photographic memory was a curse just like his immortal life.

It felt more restless to follow his little routine than he had felt during all the centuries in the facility. More than he ever had in the nightmare realm. He found himself unsure if his body knew how to be at peace, unsure if it could handle not having something he was running from or trying to solve. 

Cipher was living to die. He’d been dead on arrival the second he’d stepped foot on this glorified dirt ball. Day in and day out he’d been hoping something in the forest would kill him so he didn’t have to do it himself. He was tempted to wander, specifically to get attacked. However, he couldn’t go far without Stanley coming to look for him.

Stan watched him like a hawk despite being busy with tours. Always checking to see what Bill was up to, making sure he wasn’t getting into trouble. It also meant he wasn’t getting hurt again. Whenever the twin would come around a corner, Bill would shrink away. Tense at first, thinking he was Ford. His body reacted as it assumed Stanford would be the one to kill him.

He knew if it was Ford’s hands he died in, it’d be painful and gruesome. The mortal would draw out Bill’s suffering until he succumbed to his injuries. Even if Bill wanted to die, he didn’t want to go out like that. He wanted it to be quick and efficient, as if he actually had autonomy. Bill wanted to pretend his life was really his own.

Selfishly, he wished that were true, though he knew deep down, it wasn’t. Bill lived for other people. He lived so the doctors at the facility felt good about themselves. He lived to be Stan’s proverbial punching bag. He lived for free labor for the shack. Never did Bill get to live because he wanted to.

As a result, Bill had settled into the mundane of a routine. He went through the motions day by day, putting on a show for everyone but himself to save face. The words that left his lips were sarcastic quips and backhanded compliments. A bright smile plastered on his face that never reached his eyes. It was exhausting to keep pretending all the time.

Cipher would go through his motions like a toy train on its track and head back to his room to fall apart. Crumpled like a discarded piece of paper under the pressure, he’d find himself wishing for days long since passed. Clinging to them like a lifeline as if they tethered him to the ground beneath his feet.

Today, he held back tears as he got ready to work and took his medication. He wasn’t entirely sure what the pills were supposed to do, but they didn’t stop him from sobbing everyday. Useless junk, that’s what they are. He sneered to himself as he swallowed the handful of pills. Bill wished they could turn off his brain entirely so the monotonous days would flow together a little smoother. Passing without him being aware of it so he could get this “exposure therapy” over with.

Thankfully today he was only set to work in the afternoon so he got extra time to lounge around and wallow in self-pity. Once he was ready and headed upstairs, Stanley was waiting for him. Loitering in the gift shop in his suit scrolling on his phone without a care in the world. He looked up once the vending machine door swung open. “Cipher, just the basket-case I was looking for,” Stan said as he shoved his phone into his pocket. 

Walking over, Bill eyed him skeptically. “What do you want now, Fez?” he asked, his tone condescending. Assuming Stanley would give him a new slew of chores and tasks to complete for the day. 

Pulling a small case out of his pocket and holding it out for him to take, Bill recognized it as the wormhole key for the facility. “I’ve been notified that it’s therapy day, use this key out in the woods and bring it back when you’re done,” Stan said simply. “Try not to fuck anything up, and if you skip - I’ll know.”

“Sixer’s not coming?” Bill asked immediately. He didn’t want to seem too eager to see Ford, but he couldn’t help it. Now that Ford was so close, he wanted to stick to his side like glue. No matter how much Ford hated him. “It’s mandatory that he goes to these sessions.”

Shoving the box into Bill’s chest, Stanley’s brow creased in annoyance. “He already let the doctors know he couldn’t make it today. In case you weren’t aware, Ford has better things to do than listen to your bitching and moaning,” Stan replied. “Just go to your appointment, you’re lucky I’m letting you off the hook from working today for this.”

Clasping his hands around the box, Bill stood dumbstruck. He hates me so much he’s not even coming? Bill could feel the melancholy bubble up within him. Washing over his senses as he tried not to let it show on his face. “Alright, whatever - but he’s the one that agreed to do this. It’s pointless if he doesn’t show,” bitter and jaded, Bill shoved the box in his pocket. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Yeah, yeah, he’ll come to another one - unlike you he’s actually got a life,” Stan responded before turning on his heel to head back into the house. “Try not to get yourself killed in the forest.”

Before considering if he should change clothes, Bill used the scrunchie on his wrist to tie his hair back before heading out to the clearing.

Bill did everything he could to keep his mind from wandering as he walked. Attentive to every rustling bush and snapped twig. In case today was the day. Maybe I should have changed clothes, he considered, if only to look nice when they found his body. If they find it. If they even bothered to look.

The creatures of this forest couldn’t hurt him before, but they could now. As much as he wanted to die, he wasn’t too keen on being torn limb from limb. So he picked up the pace, lightly jogging to where he was headed. 

Without paying the statue a glance he took the wormhole key out of its box in his pocket before opening the gate and stepping through. Closing it up behind him. Dr. Tseyvar and her guards were waiting on the other side.

“William, it’s good to see you. Follow me back to my office,” The therapist said with a polite smile. Once Bill nodded in acknowledgment, they headed down the winding halls he had once been confined in.

And to think, I once believed that the worst I would ever feel was within this place, he thought to himself, glancing in various rooms as they passed by. Little did I know things actually could be worse.

Stepping into her office felt different, maybe because Bill was taller. Maybe because he had a full range of human emotions. Maybe because he didn’t expect to re-enter this room alone. 

Regardless of what it was, Bill wandered inside and took a seat feeling a sense of sadness. Like he mourned the triangle that sat in this chair before and was unaware of how miserable he could be. Three hundred years he spent in this chair, sat in this room, rehashing the same awful memories over and over again. Making no tangible progress, Sisyphus with the boulder.

It made him disgusted, the time he’d wasted here. Like it meant nothing, the only thing he’d ever wanted out of it was Stanford and that had been a bust. Plus, he couldn’t even roam far from the shack without being reprimanded for slacking off.

The therapist slid his notebook over and took her seat across from him. Just as she had thousands of times before. Opening her own notebook, she attempted to start. “How has the transition been?” She asked, feigning casualty.

Rolling his eye, Bill crossed his ankles over each other and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s fine, just a lot of manual labor and chores. Very boring stuff, Doc,” he replied simply. Looking over her head because he couldn’t handle looking her in the eye. Bill was afraid she’d ask about the bruises. “Though I see everyone is making excuses since IQ isn’t here and you guys let him off the hook from attending,” he added, bitterly looking over at her shelf.

She jotted something down before following up on that statement. “Do you feel upset that Dr. Pines isn’t joining us today?” Dr. Tseyvar asked.

“It just seems unfair is all - I’m required to be here and so is he but I’m the only one in the room, aren’t I?” Bill asked, eye twitching at the way she said his name. Too familiar, like she actually knew him. His brow was creased in frustration. It’s not about him going to therapy, it’s about him showing up for- Bill cut off his stream of consciousness. Even so, he knew what he meant.

It was about Ford showing up for him. For them. To try.

But Ford wasn’t trying. He wasn’t even pretending to try. He was just ignoring Cipher altogether. Like a bug smeared across his windshield, so far in the corner he didn’t bother to clean it off. Leaving it to fester and rot until it eventually took care of itself.

The therapist nodded in agreement. “I understand what you mean, it can be difficult when you feel present in the process but as if your partner isn’t,” she replied. “Have you come to any conclusions on handling those feelings? Of being angry or sad when Stanford isn’t available to make time.”

It’s not that he isn’t available to make time, it’s that he outright doesn’t want to. Bill thought to himself. Ford would set aside all the time in the world for his shitty family or his damn moth collection but not for me. He just couldn’t be bothered it seems, and Cipher wasn’t sure what to do about that.

Fidgeting his feet stretched out in front of him, Bill tried to come up with some kind of answer. “I haven’t, but once I do you’ll be the first to know, Doc - scouts honor,” he replied sarcastically, holding up his hand in a mock salute.

“Do you think you deflect from your emotions because you’re unsure on how to process them?” the therapist asked abruptly. Pressing for details. “Do you think you can endure through the difficult period to make it to the other side?”

Suddenly, Bill was much more uncomfortable with this conversation. He wasn’t a fan of being put on the spot, but everyone was hopping on the bandwagon to drag him to rock bottom. It was right where they all assumed he belonged. “I process stuff just fine, it just is what it is - nothing I can do about it but wait this out,” he replied. “If there’s another side of the fence with that Brainiac that’s got greener grass, I’ll either make it there or die trying, I suppose.”

Humming in response, Dr. Tseyvar wrote something else down. “I think it takes a very strong person to persevere in their relationships, even when things get hard,” she said simply, waiting for Bill’s reaction. “If you keep a positive attitude, I’m sure you both can come out on the other side of your long standing disagreements. Based on the way you’ve talked about him in sessions in the past, it sounds like you care about him a great deal.”

Bill could feel his face twitch in irritation. “I wouldn’t classify myself as a strong person, per say. Maybe just…persistent,” he corrected her, looking back to where she was seated. “I get what I want, when I want it. That’s just how things are and if it isn’t given to me, I take it.” 

Because no one would help me if I asked, so I have to do it all by myself. He didn’t have the courage to say the last bit out loud. He didn’t want to seem weak in comparison to what should be miniscule problems. Bill didn’t want to draw attention to the petty squabbles that he just so happened to keep losing. No matter how heavily built up over time. I could shout what I needed with a megaphone from the rooftops, but no one is ever listening. They hear someone screaming and go on about their day.

“Why do you feel as though you need to take things?” She asked, leaning her head on one of her hands. Watching with rapt attention. “Do you wonder if you’d get better results if you tried a different strategy?”

Letting his hands relax in his lap, Bill felt slightly defeated. He hated having to explain why asking nicely never got him anywhere before.  At least not anywhere worth hanging around for long. “If I don’t take things, I get shitty results. At least when I take things, I get the stuff I wanted to begin with. Otherwise I end up with a whole lot of nothing,” he replied. “And nothing is the most useless something can be.”

She nodded, obviously building to some profound point that Cipher couldn’t see yet. “Does Dr. Pines make you feel like nothing when he doesn’t come to the session?” The therapist asked the question like they were friends out for coffee. Talking about ambient boy troubles over lattes when they should have been studying for exams.

The response on the tip of Bill’s tongue was trapped in his throat. Much to his dismay, she’d somehow hit the nail on the head. A broken clock is right twice a day, he considered idly. Trying to disassociate from the way the question twisted in his stomach and warped his mind he chewed at the inside of his cheek. Bill knew he had to respond, he had to rebuke her words. To dissuade and convince her that his Ford would never think that. 

But if he did, that would be a lie and he didn’t have the energy to lie today.

Sighing, he leaned forward to set his elbows on his knees and rub his face with his hands. Combing through his brain for something - anything but the cold hard truth he couldn’t swallow. In his own mind, he came up short. “Dr. Pines,” he started, somewhat mocking her forced formality. Lashing out instinctively for his own shortcomings. “Is the best mortal in the multiverse at making someone feel like nothing. Once you’re nothing to him, you may as well have never existed to begin with.”

Nothing, useless, clutter. That’s all he was now, leftover junk in Ford’s backward. Growing vines and planting roots, not knowing Ford was coming with a weedwacker to chop everything up and throw it away. Like trash.

“When we got married, I essentially had a portrait in the most gorgeous hues that couldn’t be picked up by the naked eye. Displayed on the walls for all to see. When we parted ways and he kicked me out, I lost the masterpiece we’d painted together and was only left with the broken frame,” Bill condescending in the way he spoke to her. Annoyed he had to say something to that effect in the first place or to have to correct her at all. “To Ford, that frame never existed because I was dead to him. He got to keep the blindingly beautiful colors and I got to keep a destroyed symbol of what used to be there.”

That’s all Bill was now, an empty frame. Nothing worth displaying there. Hung up on the wall as a cruel reminder.

“I see strength in your acknowledgement of the way he makes you feel, you can see these things to point them out and discuss them when he does attend a session,” she tried to put a positive spin on the situation. Knowing that just may be the thing to set him off. “Acknowledging and understanding can be the first steps toward accountability for past actions we may regret. It’s perfectly fine to feel this way.”

If she had bet money on it, Dr. Tseyvar would have made every dollar back tenfold.

Clasping his hands together, Bill nearly drew blood as he dug his nails into his palms. If he had to hear one more blatant, ridiculous, sappy, lie he was going to fall off the deep end. “You keep saying I’m strong, I’ll get through this, I’ll be fine - but I’m not. I’m weak and that’s entirely the problem,” Bill didn’t realize he was raising his voice as he began hyper-ventilating, shaking as he spoke. “I’m weak, I’m not fine, I’m not healthy - I’m fucking unstable! I just wish I was-”

Leaning further over the desk, the therapist eyed him curiously, “Wish you were what?”

“I just wish I was dead. Then it wouldn’t matter how weak I was or how unstable I am, I’d just be gone. And then this nightmare would be over,” he panted out, trying to catch his breath. Wanting to calm down, he hadn’t even processed what he’d just said out loud, not yet understanding the severity of his words. “The one time I ask for help, it blows up in my face and I end up stuck in purgatory and then have to deal with Ford again! A nightmare!” Manically giggling to himself, Bill could feel himself losing it. “Everything is just one big fucking nightmare that repeats a hundred times a day! I’m no better than Sisyphus, suffering forever for a slew of stupid mistakes that I can’t undo!”

Bill didn’t realize he was crying, he couldn’t feel the tears. All he could feel was mania injecting itself into his veins as he tried to cope with the full scale of the dilemma he was in. Or maybe it was adrenaline. There was truly no way out this time, all his cards had been played and he couldn’t even go out with a bang.

Closing her notebook, Dr. Tseyvar stood from her chair, snapping Bill out of the start of an episode. “William, I hope you are aware that I am required to report suicidal ideation to staff and notify your caretaker. Your medication will need to be adjusted,” she stated calmly.

When she’d poked the bear, she’d expected it to lash out and attack her. What she didn’t expect was for it to curl in on itself and try to rip itself to pieces.

With wide eyes, Bill slumped back into the chair. He let his hands fall into his lap, releasing his clawed grip. Shock and confusion took over in the place of his misguided anger. Everything he’d said felt like a blur, trying to remember the words that had just come out of his mouth in a panic.

Cipher had forgotten that rule, about being suicidal. It just came so naturally to him, as easy as breathing to want to kill himself. It was the type of thing you didn’t say out loud, that you kept close to your chest and hid until it was already over. Something just snapped and he had to say it. Bill wasn’t sure why, but he just had to.

Maybe it was one last attempt at trying to stay alive. Some selfish, deranged portion of his brain wanted to live. To see Ford, to sit on the porch and watch the sunrise, to travel through galaxies again. To really live this time, no schemes or plans. Just live .

Even if he didn’t deserve it. 

Bill could go through his immortal life span a thousand times over and never deserve Stanford. Never deserve his acceptance. Never deserve his forgiveness. Never deserve his love. Cipher would never be worthy, and he knew that. He just couldn’t stop himself from wanting it.

Resigned to admit defeat, Bill tried to collect his composure. “I…yeah, I’m aware. Just give me whatever meds and paperwork and let me out of here,” he replied. The only good thing about this session was that afterwards he wouldn’t be in a white, sterile room. Cipher watched as the therapist grabbed some documents from a drawer in her desk and passed them over. He took them carefully as he wiped his face and stood to follow her out into the hall.

They went to the pharmacy first, refilling his previous medications at a higher dosage and handing him new ones. Bill gained a rundown of what they were supposed to do, when to take them, etc. before heading back to the lobby with the guards following close behind.

“You’ll need to give Dr. Pines these documents and continue taking the medication. If any suicide attempts are made, we will come to retrieve you for a mandatory holding period,” she stated simply as they walked to the wormhole gate. “Please be sure to follow up with us if needed, that should be your first call before you do something drastic.”

Attempting to remain neutral, Bill nodded in response and let her know he’d follow her instructions before heading back to Ford’s dimension. As he stepped through the wormhole, closing it up behind him, his eye fell on the statue.

Once again, it was surreal to stand before your own grave. Wondering if you’d been given a funeral or if they’d just shoved the hunk of rock over your decaying body and called it a day. He hoped Ford gave him a proper funeral at least, if not for Bill, then for him.

To mourn the person he fell in love with. The person he was so sure was completely gone. A person he believed was nothing more than ashes discarded on the wind and lost to time. Maybe Bill was still that person. Maybe he was the person he’d been before he met Ford to begin with or the person that got to see his parents everyday.

Or maybe he was someone new.

Shaking himself out of his train of thought, Bill shoved his hands in his pockets and started heading back to the shack. Mindful of whatever cryptids may be lurking in the shadows since it was starting to get dark. Stepping into the house, he noticed the lights were off and a note was taped to the bannister of the staircase. Gone to the store, be back soon. Don’t touch anything. - Stan

Letting the note fall from his fingertips as it was still taped up, Bill decided to just leave the paperwork somewhere and spend the rest of the evening in his room. Wandering through the halls, he tried to decide where it would be best to leave the key and the paperwork. Eventually, he stumbled on an office.

Vaguely he remembered Sixer and Fiddlesticks covering this room in whiteboards and bulky computers to run calculations for the portal. Now, it looked like Stanley had turned into an office for the shack. Of course he did. Always just taking things Ford puts together and tearing them apart, he criticised as he walked over and set the papers and the key on the desk.

Then he had an idea. For the past week he’d been looking for any of Ford’s old stuff since he couldn’t access the lab. He’d checked nearly every room in this house except this one and the twins' respective bedrooms. I might as well take a look around since Fez isn’t here to stop me.

Rummaging through the drawers and papers on the desk, Bill mostly found stuff for the shack. Ledgers, bills, promotional material drafts. Lame, none of it’s Ford’s. Then in a drawer he seemed to find some of Stanley’s personal belongings. Like photos of him over the years, fake IDs, information about their ship. Cipher was careful as he found a photo he hadn’t seen before - at least not in person. Of him and Ford as children, playing in a shipwreck. There were a few along with pictures of them both in high school and some of them as younger children.

Before Bill knew him. Before he derailed Ford’s life and ripped him away from what could have been. So neither of them would have a family, but they’d have each other. Each other was enough for Bill but he wasn’t sure if that was enough for Ford - then or now.

Tucking the photos back in their drawer, trying not to think about it too hard, he looked through the remaining ones. Not really expecting to find any of Ford’s stuff or anything interesting for that matter.

Much to his surprise, Bill found something he hadn’t been looking for. At the bottom drawer of the desk was an unopened bottle of bourbon. Carefully, Bill picked it up to read the label. It looked semi-expensive, he wasn’t sure which twin it belonged to but he didn’t feel like being a good samaritan and putting it back.

I work here for free, I’m entitled to a few perks to the job, he reasoned to himself as he used his foot to close the drawer. Bill decided the best place to drink it was the roof, then he could look at the stars. Maybe if I’m lucky I’ll get drunk enough to fall to my death and not even feel it. Bill hadn’t had a drink in centuries, and he’d never been one for human alcohol. Usually he needed something stronger, but he hoped in this body the bottle of Angels Envy would do. 

Fully intending to down the entire bottle in one sitting, he didn’t bother grabbing a glass as he headed up. Taking extra care to step through the house quietly, as if the ghosts that haunted his past were listening.

The brisk, cool air hit him as soon as he stepped out onto the roof. It was calming, the ambient sounds of the leaves rustling in the wind. Bill sat on one of the lawn chairs before cracking open the bottle. Smelling it experimentally, he figured he couldn’t be picky as he took a long swig.

It burnt on the way down, but warmed his body as he swallowed. Pushing stray strands of hair back from his face, Bill took another drink. And another. And another. His mind reeling as he continued, unaware of how much alcohol he was consuming as he gazed up at the stars. The reason he’d ended up here in the first place.

I should have just kept my mouth shut, then I wouldn’t have gone through any of this. Bill lamented to himself, wallowing in his own self-pity. I could have ignored those stars and I’d probably be having dinner with my parents right now.  

Even if he never met Ford, maybe things would have been better that way. Ford could have gone about his life perfectly fine without him. He didn’t need Bill for anything and he wanted to keep it that way. Intent on pretending he was still nothing more than a headstone in the woods.

As he drank, Bill almost didn’t feel the tears that pooled in his eyes and fell down his face. Sticking to his neck and dripping into his lap as he hiccuped around the lip of the bottle. He wasn’t drunk enough to jump yet, but he was getting there. He was building up the courage to try, even if the voice in the back of his mind knew he wasn’t high enough for it to kill him. Only to maim, but he hoped he’d succumb to his injuries or die from alcohol poisoning. Especially since he knew no one would care to look for him. They’d just scrape him off the ground and throw him away.

Maybe I should head to the lake, his mind began to wander. It was ironic, thinking of drowning. As if he hadn’t left Stanley that voicemail all those years ago threatening to do the same thing to Ford. He almost started laughing at himself.

Except back then he had been completely sober, gaining enjoyment from the prospect. Bill took another swig as a distraction, feeling the liquor spill from the sides of his mouth slightly. He licked his lips and tried not to think about his ridiculous past attempts to kill his husband.

Mentally too far gone to consider his surroundings, Bill didn’t hear someone join him on the roof. He didn’t realize anyone was up there with him until they plopped down beside him in the other lawn chair. Startled, his eyes flicked over beside him to see Stanley still in his suit. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone.

Busted, he thought to himself. “Ah, alright Fez - ya’ caught me,” Bill said, a smile stretching across his tear stained face. He held his hands up in surrender, one still firmly clasped around the neck of the bottle. “Found this by accident and couldn’t help myself, not sure if it’s yours or Sixers but whoevers it is - they’ve got great taste.”

At this point, Bill glanced at the bottle, noticing it was about half empty. He could feel the scorching heat of the alcohol coursing through his system as it tried to burn him alive from the inside out. Hoping this interaction would be quick, he decided afterward he’d head to the lake. It was fitting to go out that way, Ford’s final act of revenge even if he didn’t get to do it himself.

“Cipher, what are you doing up here?” Stan asked, exhaustion lacing his voice. He leaned forward and gently pried the bottle from his hand before taking a long swig of his own.

Bill was confused for a moment, “What do you mean?”

Sighing as he looked out across the expanse of trees in front of the house, Stanley replied, “No one drinks like that unless something is wrong - let alone drinking on the roof.” He turned to glance back at Bill. “So, what brought you up here?”

Averting his gaze, Bill could feel the tears pour over again. He wasn’t sure why it made him feel so emotional, the simple act of someone asking what was wrong. But it did and he couldn’t help it. “I- nothing…it just kind of happened I guess,” He mumbled into the night.

He could hear Stan tilt the bottle to drink again, alcohol sloshing forward and then back again. “Didn’t you have therapy today?” He asked. Bill could feel his eyes staring into him. “If it was rough, you can just say that - I won’t judge. It’s not exactly easy to dredge stuff up all over again.”

Despite the nagging desire in the back of his mind to not open up to anyone, the words just kind of fell out of Bill’s mouth. He started rambling before he could think it through, “Yeah, it was…rough. I’m just trying to get through this year and avoid thinking about the shit that messes with my head but that’s hard to do in this meat suit that doesn’t listen to me.” 

Frustration was firmly lodged in his throat. He wanted his normal body back so he wouldn’t feel these things. So he wouldn’t be so pathetic, longing for something that had never been his to begin with. Watching phantoms go through the motions, not realizing they had died a long time ago. Permanently suspended in a moment of bliss as their corpses disintegrated beneath their feet.

With his hands on his knees, Bill stared off at nothing. “I can’t really avoid my past mistakes when they’re under the same roof as me, and I hate that,” his voice warbled as he wrapped his arms around himself. “I just missed Ford I guess, and it was easier to miss him when I didn’t have the option to see him. Now he’s right there all the time and I still can’t see him. Nothing appeases him. No matter how hard I try…my efforts are always going to be second-rate in his eyes,” Bill’s breathing picked up. “I’ll always be less than.”

“You just gotta give it some time…Stanford’s always been the stubborn sort,” Stan replied as he took another drink. “He’ll see what your intentions are eventually and then you both can talk it through, that’s how he was with me.”

Bill looked back at Stanley’s face, noting the far off look in his eyes. “Is that how you both worked it out?” He asked, hopeful there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

Stanley hummed, “Yeah, it took us awhile, but eventually we sat down to talk about everything. Realized what we were misunderstanding about each other and figured things out.” Stan set the bottle down on the roof between them, settling his hands in his lap. “Ford just gets lost in his own head sometimes…you should know that better than anybody.”

Blushing at the reminder, Bill nodded before turning back to the open air. Trying to attribute his flushed face to the alcohol kicking in. “Yeah…I guess so,” He murmured. “It’s just been a long time.”

Picking up the bottle again, Stan stood and offered a hand to help Bill up. “It may have been a couple of decades, but it’s never too late to try to fix it. There’s still time,” He replied simply as he pulled Bill to his feet. Clasping a hand over his shoulder, he coaxed Cipher inside from the roof. “And next time you feel like drinking, just ask me first instead of stealing my good stuff - I hid the bottle for a reason.”

Chuckling to himself, Bill followed Stan down the stairs. “Alright, next time I won’t take the good stuff,” he joked. As they walked, Bill had the urge to say exactly what came to mind. Thinking there may not be a better opportunity than this moment. “Stanley…I’m sorry about what happened,” he started as he followed behind Stan. “I’m sorry about all the stuff with Six and the stuff that went down during the apocalypse,” he felt awkward as he stumbled through what he wanted to say.

“How ‘bout you try apologizing again when you’re sober?” He asked, despite his words Bill could hear the smile on his face. Even if he couldn’t see it. “Though I appreciate the sentiment.”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Bill felt like that was as close as he could get to a win. “Noted,” He replied as they continued to walk in silence. 

Once they made it to the vending machine, Stan punched in the code and swung the door open. “Can you make it downstairs in one piece?” He asked, teasing him.

Bill took a step forward, a real smile on his face for the first time in awhile. “Yeah, I think I can manage,” He said before turning back to face Stan. “Fez?” He asked up the stairs.

“Yeah?” Stan replied, propping the door open with his foot.

Flashing a wide, crooked grin, Bill showed true gratitude for the first time in centuries, “Thank you for listening.”

Chapter Text

It had been two weeks, and Ford couldn’t bring himself to look at Bill again. 

He’d been skirting around Cipher’s orbit, never letting their paths fully cross. He had also made thinly veiled excuses to the facility. Saying that he was under the weather or that he had other commitments in his dimension that kept him from attending sessions. So for the past few weeks Bill had gone alone.

Maybe it was the guilt of strangling him, or the fear of Cipher possibly finding some new way to torture him. Ford didn’t really care, he just knew the thought of being anywhere near his former muse put him on edge.

Cipher hadn’t mentioned anything about the incident, at least not to Stanford or anyone else in the house. The only person that knew what happened was Stanley but only because Ford had outright told him right after it happened. He’d sauntered into Stan’s room, exhausted and defeated and came clean right away.

His twin didn’t seem too worried about Bill in the typical sense, mostly concerned that Ford would be reprimanded by the facility staff for injuring him. He was also wary of the fact that his brother had snapped like that. Ford hadn’t needed to act that way since his days dimension hopping, when the only way to live was to kill or be killed. No exceptions.

He also was afraid of any other emotional outburst he might have if he saw Bill. Ford knew once he started keeping an eye on Cipher again, it would snowball into something much more severe. He’d never been able to be slightly interested in anything, he had to be a specialist and Bill’s current body was brand new. 

Undiscovered territory. He wanted to study him, hoping he could reverse engineer something similar. He wanted to test capabilities for better graphed prosthetics or organ donations. But that train of thought was for another day, he had to focus on the problem at hand.

Instead of trying to clear the air, Ford did the one thing he knew best. Threw himself fully into a new project.

After their incident, Stanford had started tinkering with a prosthetic for Bill’s eye socket. He originally wanted to create a bionic variant for Bill to have limited visibility. At least shapes and colors in the vaguest sense.

He knew there wasn’t a way to restore Cipher’s visibility of colors to what it was before. For him to be able to see colors that the human eye couldn’t pick up. However, He’d need surgical experience and despite his twelve PhD’s, Ford was no medical doctor.

He had never built such an intricate object of this size, it was proving to be challenging. He’d never been one to back down when he was cornered though. Ford just hunkered down and tried to figure out how similar devices worked to the best of his ability.

Since he was avoiding Cipher, he couldn't work in his lab. He was nervous that they’d run into each other in the elevator or the stairs, so for now he worked solely out of his bedroom. His desk was far too small for a project of this caliber, but the churning of his stomach at the thought of confrontation drove him to work under such conditions.

Stanford would stay in his room for days at a time, melding components and drawing up schematics. He was hoping he could bypass needing specific measurements and materials. Since the project was physically on such a small scale, he had to build everything under a large magnifying glass hooked onto his desk. Using miniature pliers and tweezers to maneuver the polymer and sheer plastic. Calculating everything was the hardest part, especially since he now didn’t have a lab partner to bounce ideas off of or check his work. 

He’d debated asking Fiddleford for help but remembered the visceral reaction he’d had just from the mention of Cipher. He blew a gasket when Ford told him the demon was returning to Gravity Falls and told the scientist to stay as far away from him as possible for the next year. 

Although he’d been disappointed with his former lab partner’s reaction, he couldn’t fault him for it. His entire life had been derailed by this monster, it was only natural he’d steer clear of him.

Ford had no choice but to tackle this alone. He’d also requested a copy of their marriage paperwork, hoping it was something he could annul with ease. They’d let him know it’d be awhile to gather everything, so for now all he could do was tinker with the prosthetic and wait.

Stanley was obviously concerned about him, shutting himself off from the world was a long standing coping mechanism that his brother had been working on dissolving. Now it was back in full force, the only way he could stand to inhabit his own home. Not to mention, he’d quit smoking years ago and now he was buying them again. Ford wasn’t finishing packs like he used to, but Stan was anxious that he’d start to rely on them heavily.

His twin would bring food up so he’d at least eat and drink water, not that Ford would really eat much of it. The entire situation made him physically ill, it had thrown off any semblance of his appetite. Not to mention the last time he’d been in the kitchen was the last time he saw Bill.

Cracking and popping his bones. Just the reminder of the sound made him shudder and made his mind replay heading to the lake. It was a cruel reminder of what had happened in his youth. He’d never been able to shake the panic that overtook him when hearing it. No matter what he was doing or where he was, it would activate his fight or flight response. Terrified that his bones would be pulled from their sockets once again.

He did his best to mitigate his reaction, at least until he was alone and could let himself mourn the person he used to be. The man he could barely remember anymore. That man had been murdered by the monster living in his basement. The strange creature he had married.

Ford knew he didn’t marry the abusive man he was now forced to live with. He married his muse, the only person in the world that didn’t think there was something wrong with him, his partner. He’d never cared so deeply for someone like that before, and he wasn’t sure if he could ever let himself relax enough to do it again.

Figuring out how he’d been deceived was confusing, an equation that had no clear solution. Trying to discern if the man he loved was ever real or if he was just an amalgamation of everything Ford had ever wanted. He was surrounded by fleeting glimpses of what could have been.

Maybe Stanford was just stupid enough to step right in the center of a bear trap and then had the audacity to wonder why his foot was missing.

Everything about Cipher was intoxicatingly intense, he knew exactly how to lure his prey in. A viscous predator in the most beautiful clothing. The glow he emanated was blinding, and as a result his glaring problems weren’t visible to the naked eye. They lay hidden in plain sight as they waited for Ford to notice.

It was just hard to believe that the guy Ford fell in love with and cherished was the same guy that physically and psychologically tortured him. Cipher hunted him for sport and was never content to just leave Ford be. Cipher was obsessed and possessive and as a result he didn't like the idea of others touching his things.

That’s all Ford was, a thing. He was Cipher’s favorite toy and he would break his disciple into a million pieces before he dared to share with anyone else.

Snapping out of his train of thought, Ford shook his head and attempted to focus on his latest blueprint mockup. He was trying to figure out the correct dimensions for the prosthesis without being able to measure or map out where it would go. 

That would involve asking Cipher to measure his eye socket. Which would mean they had to see each other and speak to each other. It would mean he’d have to touch him.

Abruptly, there was a loud knock at his door, startling him out of his stupor. He cleared his throat as if he’d been saying these things out loud before he called out, “Come in, it’s unlocked.”

The door carefully swung open, to reveal Stanley entering with food. He glanced around the room, taking in the scattered papers and discarded metal and plastic strewn about. Remnants or current and older projects littering the floor. His eyes then fell on the half-eaten sandwich from the day prior next to an ash tray that was far too full to be perched so close to the edge of his nightstand.

“Stanford, you need to eat,” Stanley said, sounding exhausted. He walked over to Ford’s desk to hand him a tupperware container of spaghetti and a fork. “You can’t keep working yourself to the bone like this, it ain’t healthy.”

Ford sighed as he turned away from his desk to take the food, knowing deep down that Stan was right. He’d burn out if he kept up this streak, “I know, I just want to finish this schematic and then I’ll take a break.”

Stanley’s raised an eyebrow in response, “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before. If you’re looking for a good excuse you’ll have to be more creative than that.”

“Ugh, fine …I’ll eat and take a break,” Ford conceded, not really feeling up to a fight. He removed the lid to the container and plopped down in his desk chair. Holding the food over his lap, he noticed that Stan was holding something under his arm. “Any mail come in for me?” he asked. Usually Stan wouldn’t bother bringing the mail up. Not unless it was important.

His twin held up a single wide envelope, the return address wasn’t in any earthly language. It was written in Euclidean script. A shiver ran down Ford’s spine at the realization. That must be the marriage paperwork, he thought to himself.

Stan looked over the address and return label, “Yeah, this weird letter came in…it’s pretty thick, whatever it is.” He held it horizontally to show the thickness of the documentation inside. “Maybe it’s one of the warrants for your arrest,” He chuckled to himself before setting it on one of the only free corners of the desk.

Ford made sure his mouth was full so he wouldn’t accidentally put his foot in it. He hadn’t told Stanley that he’d requested a copy of their marriage agreement, he hoped he could take care of it on his own. Lately he’d had to rely on his twin so heavily that he wanted to alleviate some of the pressure.

“Hmm, maybe…I’ll take a look at it later,” He tried to play it off as being disinterested as he continued to eat.

His brother looked skeptical, but he was more preoccupied with making sure Ford ate all his food. Stan nodded as his eyes glanced at the blueprints littering his desk. “What are you even working on in here, anyways?”

Ford could feel his face heat up in embarrassment, since the thing he was building was for Cipher. “Just something new I thought of…it’s not really finalized enough to explain,” He tried to dispel the shame coursing through him.

“Well you must have a very good idea, these are awfully specific measurements. Not to mention you’re already starting to work out prototypes,” Stan responded. He knew there was no way Ford didn’t know exactly what he was building and for what purpose.

His twin sighed, “I’m building a prosthetic eye.” After so many days with little sleep and food, he didn’t have the energy to properly keep the secret. Knowing Stan would continue to push the issue he gave in with little protesting.

Stanley raised an eyebrow before looking back over his desk. Obviously thinking through why his brother would be building such a device. His eyes flew back to Ford’s face at the realization, “You’re making an eye…for Cipher?” He asked even though he already knew the answer.

Stanford winced, “I am, the socket is…jarring.” Just the memory of Bill winking with the socket wide made him cringe.

“It’s not like you see him enough for it to bother you,” Stan retorted. He could feel a smile ghosting his lips before he could school his expression.

Since they hadn’t seen each other in weeks, Ford hadn’t really thought that part through. He had been working on the idea while trying not to imagine where it was going to or who it was for. Things were easier that way. If his mind wandered over the intricacies of Bill’s newest vessel he may not get any work done. 

Ford would get swept up in a fantasy instead, do something drastic and then Stanley would really think he’d lost it.

Considering a valid excuse besides ‘I’m afraid of trying to control myself around Cipher,’ he decided it was better to say he just wanted something to do and he knew he couldn’t work on anything he had already started in the lab. “I haven’t but I know I’ll have to eventually,” He replied.

Stanley sighed, “Yeah…about that.” He looked somewhat conflicted, knowing he had bad news to relay. “The facility called the house this morning, they said you have to attend the session today or else we’ll get fined.”

“What?!” Ford exclaimed, finally finishing his food. “How high is the fine?” He secretly hoped they could pay the fee and he could stay holed up in his room.

His brother rubbed the back of his neck, averting his eyes. “Very high…” He knew they couldn’t afford something of this caliber, the conversion rate for earthly currency in their alien economy was astronomical. “Not to mention, you should probably give this a chance. We also got some pretty serious paperwork about his mental state a while back.”

Stanford sat back in his chair, feeling slightly defeated. He knew they couldn’t blatantly waste money like that, especially since the kids would be here soon. He tried to ignore the fact that Stan had just made a casual attempt at sticking up for Cipher to begin with. “Alright, I’ll go. When do I have to be there?”

“In about two hours,” Stanley replied. Glancing back in his brother’s direction he took in his disheveled state. It was overtly clear that Ford hadn’t showered or brushed his hair in ages. Wearing the same clothes he had on three days ago. “You should probably go shower and change, I’ll leave that paperwork for when you get downstairs if you want to review it.”

Ford looked down at himself, figuring Stan was probably right. “I should get ready, thank you for the food,” He replied as he handed the container back to his brother. He then stood up to look for clean clothes. 

Stan took that as a sign to head out, patting his brother on the shoulder before leaving. “I’ll let Bill know to wait for you at the statue, try not to strangle him this time,” he called over his shoulder. The door promptly shut before Ford could defend himself.

Sighing, Ford started to scrounge up something presentable to wear to the session today. He made a mental note to review the paperwork before he left as he made his way into the shower. The warm water helped clear his mind, melting the underlying anxiety and guilt. He wasn’t one for long showers, always wanting to get to the point and keep things clinical.

The only time he’d taken long showers was when Cipher would possess him. He’d take extra care with Ford’s body, making sure he was methodically clean and relaxed. Not even a hair out of place. It wasn’t something Ford was able to emulate on his own, he just wasn’t as pressed with the logistics. Bill on the other hand would do anything and everything to spoil Ford when he took over his body, at least before their destructive end.

He could recall the days in which silky, black fingers would press against his temples in the mindscape to dispel even the smallest of headaches. Thorough massages of his mind and body while Cipher would take care of him physically. Patiently scrubbing every inch of him, brushing and pulling back his hair, making sure he was fed with only his favorite foods. Bill wrapping him up in a warm sweater and blanket in their snowed-in cabin to then ask Ford to talk about whatever new, strange thing he found around town that week.

Almost domestic. As if they really were some normal married couple, sitting down after a long day to catch up and be close. As if they were burrowing in the blankets together for warmth and enjoying each other's company.

Ford closed his eyes and tilted his face under the spray of water, trying to come to his senses. Nothing about them was domestic, nothing about them was normal, and nothing about them was ever going to be. 

Cipher wasn’t capable of domestic, he only knew how to terrorize everything that came in contact with him. Chaos incarnate. Stanford didn’t feel like trying to reason with someone who didn’t think they were doing anything wrong. At least not anymore, those days were long gone. A terribly vivid injury that left a lasting scar.

Finally feeling up to moving, Ford got out of the shower and got ready to head out. He threw on a black t-shirt and dark jeans, it was far too warm for one of his sweaters and if he was lucky he’d be back in time to keep working. He snagged the envelope from the table before ripping the top open to pull out the paperwork to review as he made his way out of his office.

As he walked, his eyes read over the document. He was only half paying attention to his surroundings, mostly relying on muscle memory to get upstairs. Ford’s mind was reeling reading over the paperwork. It was all in Euclidean script, so he had to translate everything and then think about what it legally meant.

It had to be the single most iron-clad contract Ford had ever read. 

William Cipher and Stanford Pines were legally married in every dimension in the multiverse. The Bill Cipher and Ford Pines whose meeting originated from dimension 46’/ were legally married in every timeline that at least one of them inhabited. Even on planets and worlds long since gone, they were married. The contract stipulated that Cipher still owned him -  mind, body and soul - as long as the document was valid, and that neither could ever remarry without specific paperwork. They could only be separated by Cipher’s magical signature. No other way out.

Once again, Ford found himself in a mouse trap. Struggling under the pinch of the spring as he wanted to claw himself out but knowing he couldn’t do it without a certain set of hands - the ones of his captor.

He felt sick, suddenly regretting eating anything at all. Ford knew he couldn’t let the nausea overtake him, Stanley would be worried. He had to swallow thickly and slow his breathing to try to keep from retching as he made his way to the door, patting his pockets for his smokes and his lighter. Ford saw a stack of papers left by the door and figured that’s whatever Stanley had been referring to early that morning. I’ll read them in a bit. Shoving them in his inner jacket pocket, he slipped on his boots before heading to the clearing.

Trying to think of anything else, Ford began running through the calculations for his original bionic eye concept blueprints in his head. Running the numbers over and over as he walked. Eventually, he grabbed a cigarette from his pocket and his lighter. Stopping to take a deep inhale. Trying to calm his chaotic mind as he started up again, wandering through the underbrush. 

Ford didn’t want to think about the fact that he was married anymore. This one drunken mistake that had plunged his life into the creature’s endless tirade.

In the moment, it was fun. He had laughed and celebrated and been overcome with bliss and relief. As if he’d found the one. Now he knew all he found was an insatiable leech, draining the life out of him at every opportunity. Out of anyone I could have ended up with, I chose the biggest asshole in the multiverse, He thought to himself.

Past Ford was happily enjoying the quirks of a haunted house that Future Ford was trying to exercise ghosts from.

As he walked, he decided to glance at the documents Stan left him. Ford slowed to a halt as he read the header: Patient #323322 has been flagged for exhibited behavior of suicidal ideation. Extra monitoring is required. If attempts are made, contact our team immediately for the patient to be detained for the mandatory holding period based on severity. Below is a list of new medications prescribed, please review and call xxx-xxx-xxxx with any questions.

It was surreal that Cipher was suicidal. Ford wasn’t sure how he felt about that. The ashes from his cigarette fell as the wind weaved through the trees. At the forefront of his mind, Ford felt guilty that he’d been absent and left Stanley to deal with the issue. But he also felt…sad that Bill would feel that way. Even if Ford had told him to kill himself all those years ago. Ford hated him and celebrated when he died but somehow he still had lingering hope for some kind of future. 

Maybe things were just simpler when Cipher was gone. Trying to shake the conflicting feelings from his mind, Ford shoved the papers back into his pocket before continuing forward.

Once he arrived, he saw Cipher standing idly at the edge staring into the statue at his feet. Ford hadn’t been back here since their incident, no matter how badly he wanted to be there. For some reason, it was easier to talk to the proverbial headstone of his dead husband than it was to deal with the very much alive guy he actually married. Maybe because dead husbands don’t talk back.

Clearing his throat as he dropped and stomped out his cigarette in the dirt, Ford did his best to get Bill’s attention, “Cipher, are you ready to go?” He asked.

Bill was startled at first, jumping slightly where he stood before turning back to look up at Ford’s face. His expression was neutral, but it only made the mortal more curious about what he may be thinking about. “Yeah, we can head out when you’re ready,” He replied, his eye staring into Ford intently.

His former muse wore one of Ford’s old button down shirts with the sleeves rolled up and khaki pants. His neck was partially visible and Stanford couldn’t help but to look. To see if his finger imprints were still etched into his skin. His voice sounded significantly less warped in comparison to a few weeks ago and the bruises had faded to dull splotches. He wasn’t sure what excuse Cipher had given for the marks, but he hadn’t been reprimanded so he didn’t dare to ask. Best not to draw attention.

Ford pulled the warp key out of his pocket to create the door for them to travel through. The lobby looked exactly the same as the last time he’d been here. Dr. Tseyvar met them at the gate with two guards in tow.

“Dr. Pines, it’s good to see you again,” She remarked. Surprise laced her tone, assuming he would pay the hefty fine before he showed up again.

Stanford did his best to hide the slight embarrassment at the fact that he’d been actively avoiding this process. “Yes, Dr. Tseyvar I apologize for my inability to join you both,” He replied trying to save face from his own cowardice. He glanced at Bill from the corner of his eye, trying to see if he’d call Ford’s bluff. However, Cipher remained uninterested, not even looking in Ford's direction.

The therapist nodded, “I understand you’ve had a lot going on, but I’m glad you could make it. Mr. Cipher, it’s good to see you again as well.” She turned slightly to look Bill in the eye.

He remained unimpressed as he responded, “Of course, Doc - always a pleasure.” He sounded much more annoyed with this entire process than Ford did. As if he really had something else he’d rather be doing. Bill stood slightly too far away from him, as if he was on edge just being in Ford’s vicinity.

I guess that makes sense, the last time I saw him I literally tried to strangle him. Ford hadn’t decided yet if he felt guilty about that. What could he possibly rather be doing that he’d value over a chance to harass me? Ford wondered to himself. Maybe he gave Cipher too much credit and in reality he just didn’t like being in the facility to begin with.

“Please follow me back to my office,” She stated, paying Bill’s tone no mind as she turned on her heel. The guards trailed behind her and diligently watched Bill over their shoulders.

Their serious expressions tipped Ford off further to how difficult must have been during the rest of the years Bill was at the facility. Although, it could be because Cipher had been flagged as a risk by staff. They made their way through the barren hallways in silence. His eyes wandered, looking through various windows and into open doorwars. There were a large number of patients being harbored here, more than Ford would have originally predicted.

As they weaved through the twists and turns to reach the therapist’s office, Ford’s mind began to wander. What has Cipher been talking about in these past few sessions? Maybe how he’s been adjusting to being in the house, He thought idly. I wouldn’t know how he’s doing though, since I never see him.

He was inclined to feel bad about that. Ford was supposed to be watching Cipher like a hawk, making sure he didn’t hurt anyone. He hadn’t expected such a visceral reaction to seeing him again. Ford naively believed he was better than that. 

Obviously, he had been wrong since Stanley was basically taking the reins on his care and discipline. He probably should have asked how that was going before he left. The paperwork burning a hole in his pocket wasn’t helping his lingering concern.

Upon arrival, they entered the office while the guards stood outside. Everything was the same as the last time he’d been here. They really must not change much in this place, He thought. 

Ford took a seat in the rightmost chair while Cipher took a seat in the one next to it. Casually sitting back with his ankles crossed over one another and his head leaned on one of his hands. Ford crossed his arms over his chest and tried to relax, if he was tense and jumpy this would drag on much longer than it needed to. The therapist slid a journal over the desk to Bill but he didn’t bother to grab it.

She gave that to him last time, too. I wonder what it’s for, Stanford’s curiosity piqued. Maybe he’d ask about it later.

Dr. Tseyvar opened her own set of notes skimming over the page before looking back up at them both, “How have you both been?” She asked, her tone light.

“Alright, though I haven’t gotten as much eye candy as I’d like,” Cipher responded sarcastically. His eye glanced at Ford with a lick of subtlety. Hinting at their lack of interaction.

And so it begins, Ford rolled his eyes, “Yes, well I’ve been busy. It’s been an interesting couple of weeks to say the least.” He didn’t want to start off arguing with Cipher, but that might just be where this was headed.

Bill’s mouth spread into a sly smirk, “Don’t worry, Fordsy, I won’t hold it against you.” Fully turning his head for the mortal to see the smug look on his face. “I know it must have been very difficult to miss out on seeing me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, I have no desire to do anything of the sort,” Ford’s response was curt. As if I’d voluntarily spend time with you. After how icy he’d been earlier, Stanford was surprised to see him turn up the charm. He’s probably showing off for the therapist.

He was overtly enjoying teasing Stanford, “You’d rather hear me? Or do you miss when we both were living in your head and all you had to do was think about me to get my attention?” Bill’s tone was coy as he continued.

“Ugh…Cipher you’re such a freak,” Ford spat from the chair he sat in. Already done with Bill’s attitude. It really didn’t take much to set him off, he’d been far gone in that department before they even stepped in the room.

Bill’s face lit up with another cheerful smile, “That’s never been a dealbreaker for you before, don’t start lying to yourself now, IQ!”

Dr. Tseyvar knew she needed to interject before things got too far off track. She cleared her throat in an attempt to gain their attention. “Today we’ll be discussing accountability and acknowledgement,” she said looking at them both. “One of the most important aspects of a solid relationship is trust, and it can be difficult to build trust if there are longstanding disagreements or concerns about honesty.”

Cipher tensed from where he was sitting but took a few discreet deep breaths to stay calm. Ford watched the rise and fall of his chest out of the corner of his eye. Of course he’s worried about that, he’s the one that can never tell the truth, Ford lamented to himself.

“Now, what can you both tell me about how trust has factored into your relationship?” She asked, flipping to a blank page in her set of notes.

Ford sat for a moment, he wasn’t sure if he should say something first or if he should wait for Cipher to slip up and say something outlandish. Both waited with baited breath leering at each other in their respective chairs before the therapist pivoted to a different approach.

“Stanford, do you feel as though you can trust William as your partner?” She asked directly. No longer beating around the bush for the sake of progress.

Ford was slightly taken aback at the question, thinking it was obvious what his stance was on the matter. “Of course not, he was manipulative and violent. There’s no way I would trust him after all the things he put me through,” He replied. 

Cipher chimed in to defend himself, “Now, be reasonable - you trusted me a great deal back in the day. Things just got a little…out of sorts toward the end.”

“That is me being reasonable. The awful things you did are the moments I recall in detail, all the other stuff just fades into the background. You know - all that stuff you think you should get a pass for,” Ford clarified, barely paying Bill another glance.

Bill sighed, “I didn’t say I should get a pass for it, I’m just saying we had a lot of good memories together.” He leaned over the arm of his chair watching Ford closely. Sizing up his prey. “We had quite a few firsts, didn’t we, Fordsy?”

Finally meeting his gaze with a glare, Ford replied, “Yes, how could I forget?…first stabbing, first time breaking half my bones, first time going clinically insane, first time bleeding from my eyes. The list just goes on and on.”

Frowning, Bill regarded him with disappointment, “That’s not what I was referring to and you know it. Sure I made a few…mistakes…along the way, but that doesn’t mean the good stuff never happened.”

“Ah yes, your mistakes that you never apologize for or acknowledge,” Ford’s tone was sarcastic. They were both becoming increasingly irritated. It was only a matter of time before one of them lost their cool and really let loose. “You want to know why I don’t trust him?” Ford asked, gesturing to Cipher with his thumb. “I don’t trust him because all he ever does is lie.”

At that, Bill sat up in his chair, “I don’t always lie.” His tone was strict. “I only occasionally lied, but not everything I said was a lie.”

Ford turned back to face him. “You don’t always lie but the stuff you lied about was pretty egregious. And you would lie by omission more often than not.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

Dr. Tseyvar interrupted them to ask a follow up question, “William, do you often feel the need to lie?”

Bill cut his gaze back over to her, glaring in her direction. “I lied when it was necessary. It was a means to an end, not to mention there were things I told him outright but he didn’t believe me,” He sneered.

“I didn’t think you meant obliterate and enslave the dimension when you said take over the world, I thought you meant we’d be renowned for scientific discovery,” Ford corrected him. “From my perspective you were being facetious.”

Bill scoffed at him, his annoyance apparent, “If only you just listened when I told you something, then you would have realized exactly what was going on and none of that other stuff would have happened.”

Ford threw his arms up, “None of it should have happened to begin with! You shouldn’t have done any of the things you did. I don’t understand why you’re avoiding that.”

Still leaned over the chair, Bill responded, “I’m admitting some of that stuff was a mistake. Isn’t that what you wanted? For me to say it was a mistake?”

“Just because you admit what they were doesn’t mean you’re understanding why you shouldn’t do it again. You never seem to learn from these mistakes you make.” Stanford said, leering at Cipher across from him. The longer this conversation dragged on, the less he could control his anger.

Bill’s tone was flat as he responded, “Well you keep coming back, so obviously I’m not the only problem.” He crossed his arms over his chest. Both of them were reaching their limitations where patience and cordiality was concerned.

Better late than never, Ford thought to himself. He couldn’t wait any longer to ask about the documents burning a hole in his pocket. Pulling the marriage paperwork out of his jacket pocket, Ford waved the stack of papers in Bill’s direction. “Speaking of your never-ending mistakes, are you going to explain anything about this? The scam you call a marriage agreement?”

“I don’t remember you saying it was a scam when you signed it,” Cipher stated, sitting back and crossing one leg over the other. “Check the last page, it has your very large, very dramatic signature of your full, legal name stating you wanted to marry me.”

Stanford’s brow creased as he responded, “I was drunk when I signed this, I didn’t even sign it with my actual body - I signed it in the mindscape.”

Cipher chuckled to himself, it sounded hollow in his throat, “Why do you think that would change anything? You have the proof in your hand that it’s still a legally binding document. It’s right there in black in white, written in bold letters.” He gazed over at Ford silently pitying him, “Maybe you need to have your glasses prescription updated.”

“I’m going to request the divorce paperwork for you to sign, so we can be done with the ridiculous notion that we should be married at all,” Stanford threatened. He could feel his frustration overtaking him. Slowly traveling throughout his body as he waited to explode.

Cipher twitched, his face pinched in an expression Ford couldn’t pinpoint. “Go right ahead, I won’t be signing it. You can spend all day, every day in your room staring at it for all I care,” He scolded Ford as if he were a child disobeying an order.

Ford was exasperated, “You know, I don’t even know why I married you…” The idea felt absurd enough that he nearly started laughing, “Why I let you chain me down to play these stupid games and believe your lies.”

“Yeah? Well that makes two of us. I wouldn’t marry me either, Six,” Bill was becoming increasingly short with him. He was obviously becoming upset. “You play stupid games, you win stupid prizes.” 

With a roll of his eyes, Ford scoffed at him. “I mean these documents are ludacris, it accounts for every dimension - even the ones that no longer exist! It lists every possible timeline we inhabit, any planet in every solar system.” Standing, he tossed the papers down on the therapists desk across from them. As if she hadn’t already seen them. “If you don’t sign those divorce papers, I’m going to find some loophole to get out of this.”

“Sweetheart, that paperwork is air tight. I know cause I wrote it out myself,” Bill’s tone was clipped, finally showing his true colors. He regarded Ford nonchalantly, watching as he towered over him, “There isn’t one corner of the entire multiverse where you’re not my husband and I wouldn’t have it any other way. The only requirement to break that contract is my magical signature and I’m. not. signing. Shit.”

Ford scowled at him, “Why did you even do this?!” He couldn’t comprehend why Cipher would go to such lengths to claim him, to force the two of them together in every universe. Tie them together in every timeline, wrapped like a present with a blood-soaked bow. “Why did you bother to marry me if you don’t actually care about me?!”

Bill’s expression fell, cracks in the facade. “I married you because I-” He cut himself off mid-sentence unsure about what to say. “Do you really think I don’t care?” His voice was laced with apprehension, even if he tried to hide it.

“What about your actions would ever make me think you care?” Stanford’s anger boiled over. Was it not glaringly obvious why he wouldn’t want to stay married to a maniacal war criminal? That had no less made his life a never-ending nightmare. “You can’t just erase what you did. You never take accountability for your actions.”

Cipher looked conflicted, the first time Ford had seen him ever look remotely guilty. “I’m not erasing it, I just…” He started the sentence without knowing how it was supposed to end. “I’m not that good at this whole ‘apology’ thing.”

Ford snorted in his direction, “Oh, really? What would give you that idea?” Blatantly mocking him.

“I’m just not sure which parts I’m supposed to be apologizing for,” Bill replied. 

Stanford could barely believe what he was hearing. He doesn’t know what to apologize for? “You’ve got to be kidding me…” He pushed his glasses up to his forehead, “If you don’t know, then nevermind. This is such a waste of my time and energy!”

Bill leaned forward to settle his elbows on his knees and rub his face with his hands, brushing stray strands of hair out of his face. “When we were together you only ever kissed the ground I walked on. From my perspective other than the very end, I don’t know what else you want me to apologize for.” He leaned his chin on one of his hands looking back up at Ford’s face.

“What else? Cipher, you didn’t even apologize for the end!” Stanford was shouting now. “You purposefully hurt me. You literally tried to kill me and you never apologized for that!” He was continuously raising his voice. The panic was rising in his chest like he was drowning. 

He’d spent far too many years living in a burning house and now the only way he knew how to survive was to believe the rest of the world was on fire.

“Stanford…I,” Bill’s voice was strained, his emotions written on his face. Loud and clear.

Ford continued shouting, “Look! You can’t even do it.”

Cipher glared up at him, “Would you shut up for five minutes and listen to what I have to say?!” His temper threatened to spill over. He took a deep breath before continuing, “I am sorry for how our relationship ended, toward the end I definitely got carried away.” His expression softened as he tried to gauge Ford’s reaction, “I wish things didn’t get so…complicated between us, and I feel bad about how we turned out.”

Rubbing a hand over his face, Ford tried to figure out how to face the music. That he’d waited all these years for an apology, and he finally got one. But he was afraid to give in and pay the price if he was wrong for accepting it at face value.

“Of course you don’t apologize until I’m trying to walk away,” Stanford deflected. If he forgave Cipher, then he’d be losing. If there was one thing he wouldn’t do, it was lose without a fight. “If you actually care, you should sign those papers and leave me alone.”

Bill met his gaze, a blazing inferno in his eye. Ford couldn’t help but shrink back slightly from the intensity. Cipher would never willingly give up one of his favorite toys. They have to be forcibly taken from him, He thought to himself as a shiver went down his spine.

Bill stared hard for a moment before responding, “When else would I have been able to apologize? It’s not like I’ve been able to easily see or speak to you.” He finally seemed to lose it and raised his voice. “You wanted an apology, I gave you one. I couldn’t give it to you earlier because I haven’t seen you in weeks! You can’t blame me for things I can’t control.”

“I may not be able to blame you for things you can’t control, but I can blame you for the things you could. I’m glad you apologized, that doesn’t mean I forgive you.” Ford responded. His words lost some of their weight from the trepidation in his tone.

Bill sighed out in frustration, “Stanford, I’m trying to rectify this. I’m apologizing for the shitty way we left things and I want to try to fix that. Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it, the only thing I’m not doing is agreeing to a divorce.” He ran a hand through his hair, averting his gaze. “I’ll apologize a million times over for whatever else you want me to but I’m never going to apologize for marrying you because I don’t regret doing that.”

He doesn’t regret marrying me? Why is he being so candid about this? Ford asked himself. His mind was running 100 miles a minute trying to figure out the next course of action. Talking to Cipher took a lot out of him mentally. It was hard to believe, but Ford wanted nothing more than for what he said to be true. That his partner cared, something so simple that brought him some joy.

He didn’t want to get his hopes up again. It wouldn’t be the first time Bill lied to him.

Ford mumbled, mostly to himself, “I’d like to see you actually make an effort at this.” He sounded bitter and jaded, he wasn’t going to bother with sugar coating anything. This was a sink or swim moment. A final stand. “If you can’t prove actual progress by the end of the year, I want you to sign those divorce papers.”

Bill sat back in his chair, putting on a brave smile and finally starting to calm down from their fighting. “Fine but you might as well shred those now, cause there’s no way in hell I’m going to sign them without a fight,” He quipped, confident. “I’m not sure if you remember, but the house always wins.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Ford chuckled to himself, returning the gesture. He eventually sat back in his respective chair.

They were somehow coming full circle, back to their playful banter. As if they didn’t nearly get into a screaming match in the middle of this office. Like there wasn’t anyone else there. It was disturbingly easy to be with Cipher, at least when he wasn’t actively trying to kill him.

Dr. Tseyvar had been taking notes, listening intently to their discussion. Once she wrapped up whatever she was in the middle of she continued their session. “On the topic of your marriage, what was your wedding day like?” It was the type of question someone meeting them for the first time for coffee would ask. Like they were the average marriage couple, doting on each other and in love.

“Well I was out of it for the most part,” Ford responded. “But we were drinking in the mindscape, working on equations for the portal and Cipher out of the blue suggested we get married. Said we were a partnership that only came once in a millenia, a scientific miracle. I was drunk and stupid, so I agreed. We eloped that night.”

He was clear and succinct about it. It wasn’t some whirlwind love story, it was a freak accident you couldn’t look away from. Stanford didn’t want to reminisce over his mistakes.

Cipher had a soft smile at the memory, Ford caught it even if he was trying to hide it. “You know, he used to say that was one of the happiest nights of his life.” He was clearly caught up in the nostalgia of the night he trapped Ford in for good.

Pretending to ignore Bill’s fond tone, Ford responded, “The past tense of that sentence should be the emphasis, because not long after was when everything turned for the worst.” Ford pushed his glasses off his face and rubbed his eyes.

A frown replaced Bill’s small smile as he was deep in thought. “It wasn’t immediately all bad…” He started, warily looking over at his former partner.

“I didn’t say it was immediately bad, it’s just that the honeymoon period on that idea was short lived. Not long after that was the first test of the portal, the incident with Fiddleford and the day I figured out you were betraying me,” Ford responded. He had to keep his description short, he didn’t have the energy to get into all the logistics and dredge up every associated feeling with those memories.

Dr. Tseyvar spoke up before Bill could respond, “So you both have been married nearly 35 years? That’s quite an achievement.” She stated the fact as if it should be celebrated, not the beginning of their downfall. “When is your anniversary?”

Ford thought for a moment, he was so drunk that night and heavily hungover the next day. He realized he couldn’t remember the date, but then again most dates from that era were scrambled from how often he’d black out and Cipher would take over his body. He was too exhausted and delirious back then to look at a calendar.

He was surprised when Bill took a deep breath, and detailed everything he could remember. Every aspect carefully tucked into his memory, engraved into his skull.

Chapter Text

“June sixteenth, 1982 - the day after Sixer’s birthday,” Bill responded nearly immediately. He said it like it was common knowledge because the answer came easily to him. “Honeymoon phase was about…seven months give or take.”

The therapist jotted the date down before continuing, “Mr. Cipher, would you also consider that a happy moment?” She asked and regarded him calmly before setting her pen aside. Dr. Tseyvar was shocked that Bill was so forthcoming with information in the first place. Typically, he was cagey and would have been vague with his response but Ford’s presence apparently changed the board.

Bill’s mind felt far-away as he replied, his eye was glazed over and distant. “It was one of the best moments in my trillion years of life, I remember it like it was yesterday,” his voice was gentle. He felt as though he had to be careful with even the delicate memory. If he held it too tightly, he may just tear away at the edges like tissue paper he was folding into flowers.

It was a clear moment of vulnerability, to talk about their elopement and he couldn’t help himself but feel it fully. Even if Ford didn’t see the value in their little courthouse, shotgun wedding, Bill did. It was special because it was an occasion that belonged to just them. Sure there were other random people around and the officiant, but they weren’t there for them. 

Ford and Bill showed up that night for each other. That was the point.

Ford just didn’t seem to understand it anymore. Bill felt hollow as he mentally retraced their steps. When they were so infatuated with each other that they didn’t need grandiose gestures and flashy things. All they wanted were sweet nothings, and back then Ford had them in spades. Maybe that was why he was so intent on staying married to Ford, he wanted sweet nothings and fleeting touches. 

Ford gave him a purpose that didn’t revolve around keeping everything under his control. He turned Bill’s purpose into just existing in the same space as him and losing that would probably plunge Bill into the deep end to drown. He’d be fully submerged in the severity of what his life had amounted to - wasted time and potential. He’d have to admit that his desecration of various planets the multiverse over had ultimately led to nothing. 

If he didn’t end up with Ford, what was the point? Every awful thing he’d ever done was an exclusive path to finding his partner. 

If he wouldn’t have seen the stars and gone through all those procedures, Bill wouldn’t have ripped Euclydia from the multiverse. If he hadn’t ripped his home from the multiverse, he wouldn’t have aimlessly wandered until he met his henchmaniacs and terrorised any galaxy they came into contact with. If he hadn’t met them and destroyed worlds, he wouldn’t have been confined to the nightmare realm. No nightmare realm meant no manipulation of the beings in dimension 46’/ to build the portal. No portal meant not finding Ford. Which meant not feeling his own overwhelming adoration for him.

Everything he’d ever done was to find this one thing. If he didn’t get it by the end, then he’d done it all for nothing. All that sacrifice would be wasted. All that time - gone. Deep down he knew it wasn’t just the death toll he lamented over. It was also the fact that he craved Ford’s sugary adoration more than anything in the multiverse. Bill wanted to have it until he felt sick to his stomach. He’d never felt truly important or essential until he had Ford, and as a result he wasn’t planning on letting him go any time soon.

Trying to return to the memory they were focused on felt laborious. It was such a high that just remembering it in the context of their current circumstances was a low that left him in the trenches. He knew he had to press on, otherwise she’d just ask him again.

“I remember how many drafts I made of that marriage agreement, and I remember the vows we wrote out of the spur of the moment,” Bill took a steading breath and tried not to let his emotions bleed through. Staring into nothing, his voice sounded like wind chimes echoing in the office. “Sixer kept stuttering through his as he read them out, like he was too excited to get to the part where we were married. He had the biggest smile on his face,” Cipher said, pain laced in his voice. Feeling as if the memory was a beautiful flower barbed with the sharpest of thorns. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him light up like that…other than maybe when I asked him to begin with.”

It was the happiest day of his life, and he couldn’t see it without rose tinted glasses. But those only were effective if you didn’t know you were wearing them and Bill had put them on all by himself. Wanting so desperately to remember that day as a good thing he wouldn’t allow his mind to harbor a drop of regret. It was a moment he chose something that wasn’t destructive. An authentic, genuine connection he never wanted to let go of.

That day, nothing else mattered because Ford wanted him. He’d seen a glimpse of what the multiverse had to offer, but he didn’t want it. Ford had told him that he had all he needed right where they were. And all he needed was his partner.

Now, Ford just wanted to leave. Abandon him like the slew of bodies Cipher had discarded behind him as he trekked toward what he thought was supremacy. He craved control because it was the closest he could get to blind adoration and unconditional love. At least he did until Ford gave it to him whenever he asked for it.

Before he met Ford, Bill wanted to be at the top because he thought he had every right to be there. He didn’t realize there was only one throne in the loneliest palace atop the mountain before it was too late.

Ford briefly interrupted him, “I don’t remember writing or reading vows, I just remember getting there and being with you and the officiant pronouncing us married.” He sounded almost in awe of the fact that Bill could recall the day in such blinding clarity. Obviously unaware that he’d kept his near photographic memory after all these years.

Bill could remember pouring him a drink and leaning in close to ask Ford to marry him like it was yesterday. He’d set up all of Ford’s favorite constellations in the mindscape that night. Kept Ford within his orbit by speaking in hushed tones, hoping that would bring him just a little closer. Bill had lied initially to say it was for his birthday. 

Only lying when I needed to. 

Cipher was so nervous that night, he knew he wouldn’t be able to do it without a few drinks first. It took every last ounce of his courage. He was so familiar with rejection that if it came from his closest confidant he may just cease to exist. If it had been anyone else, he would have just forced them to do it but he couldn’t bring himself to force Ford. Even if he pushed Ford’s morality and sanity to its limits after the fact, he couldn’t do it then.

There was no margin for error. There was no changing his mind. There was no going back to before Bill became far too fond of him for comfort. One seemingly insignificant mortal born on a planet he’d manipulated for his own personal gain and amusement was the only important being left to Bill in the entire multiverse.

The apple of his all-seeing eye. A beloved confidant. The only vice that could bring William Cipher, feared throughout multiple galaxies for his carnage, to his knees. 

It used to make him angry to have a perpetual splinter in his side. A continuous weakness, that husband of his. It made it difficult to want to rule with an iron fist, because he didn’t want the harsh material to scrape Ford’s soft demeanor. 

At one point, Bill had regarded interacting with Ford as playing with his food. He wasn’t sure when that had changed, Cipher just saw him one day and knew he had a problem. When his eye lingered too long and he leaned in too close to listen to Ford speak. 

One moment he was the god Ford reverently worshipped and the next Cipher was at the altar on his knees praying for just five more minutes with him.

Blatant infatuation was something he just couldn’t seem to shake, after their messy end Bill couldn’t help but plot and scheme about how to get Ford back under his control. Which was easier said than done because even if Bill was a demon scorned he wouldn’t do lasting damage, at least nothing more than maiming. Bill wanted to leave his favorite thing intact as much as possible. Even as he chased him to the ends of every galaxy in existence, he couldn’t kill him. Cipher just let Ford think he got lucky all these years to survive. A chess game he didn’t realize was rigged from the start for Cipher to lose.

Bill realized he was getting distracted in his own train of thought. Wandering mentally back to their elopement, he smiled softly to himself. The way Ford looked up with the widest grin on his face, truly overcome with euphoria and excitement as he suggested they go right then. Cipher had said that there wasn’t a better time than the present, that’s what made it a gift. It was cheesy and stupid, but Ford laughed anyway. He could listen to that sound for the rest of his immortal life and never get tired of hearing it. Bill could recall snapping his fingers to take them to a nearby officiant before writing out their vows. 

Stanford’s vows were simplistic because he was inebriated and wanted to get to the part that came after the ceremony. The memory played behind his eyes like a movie theater screen as his mind echoed Ford’s vows in surround sound.

“I, Stanford Pines, take you, William Cipher, to be my husband.” He started, giggling to himself with a manic smile on his face. “When you need someone, I vow to be your best friend. When you need help, I vow to be there for you. When you need care, I vow to support you. When you want to try something new, I vow to encourage you,” Ford read off the paper he’d scribbled on before they started. 

“And when you do the same for me, I vow to appreciate you. But if you don't…I’ll forgive you,” he teased lightly. “Every day. For the rest of my life."

Then he remembered his own. He’d written them ages before he asked Ford to marry him. There were so many drafts of that document, the nightmare realm nearly had a paper shortage before he remembered he didn’t need paper to write on. Rewriting and revising them over and over until he was sure it was perfect. Wanting to remember them and hoping the words were worth remembering. He had one shot, he had to make it count.

Bill’s eye crinkled into a smile, nervously clutching the paper between his fingertips. Hoping he got it right. It had to be special for Ford, he deserved special. “I, William Cipher, take you, Stanford Pines, to be my husband,” he started, anxiety and excitement bubbling under the surface of his bricks. “You know, I started writing this ages ago, but goodness how these words have changed in the past few weeks,” he joked lightly, glowing at the way it made Ford smile brighter. 

“This is the first of many decisions we will make together. Before I met you, I never truly believed in the concept of unconditional love. I had never experienced it, and so I thought it was a myth,” Bill said, emotion overwhelming him. He tried to keep it together, to not sully the memory with his tears.

“Now I’ve learned that it’s real, that we have experienced it. That we can experience that feeling for eternity . Ford, what we have transcends anything I ever thought possible in someone to have by my side. In you I found a partner in life, a lover, a friend, a safe place,” trying not to get choked up, Bill tried to finish strong. “In you I found someone who supports me, who inspires me, who respects and honors me. Thank you for embracing me for who I am.”

Then he remembered dragging Ford in for a kiss. Bill barely remembered whatever the officiant had said, he had tunnel vision after finally getting the thing he wanted. The person that gave him purpose. Cipher also recalled the rest of their…activities afterwards. 

Bill didn’t want to think about that part, that wasn’t the point. 

The point was that Ford had vowed to support him for the remainder of his mortal life and had essentially lied to his face. Ford had given himself fully and then a few months later took it back. Now he doesn't even remember it. Cipher winced, the insinuation of Ford’s earlier words hurt him. That Ford would forget something like that. “Don’t think about it too hard, IQ, I’ll keep a record of it for the both of us,” He replied, doing his best to hide the disappointment welling up inside himself.

Chest aching, he tried to push it to the back of his mind. He didn’t want to have this conversation anymore, not when Ford wanted to leave him. That he didn’t remember the reason he fell in love with him in the first place. That he didn’t know Bill cared.

Although, if anything - Bill deserved it. If everything he’d done really had been for nothing, then there was no justification for his actions. The thing that drove him this far was a figment of his imagination and he was deluding himself into thinking it was real. 

At the time, he thought he had to do those things - all the awful things he could never take back. His mistakes as Ford had called them. Despite their…struggles, Bill did care. Even if he was shitty at showing it, he knew he cared. The only way he knew how to express the feelings inside him was to emulate the ways others had expressed their emotions to him. 

His parents had cared about him, but they had also subjected him to extensive experimentation. He’d been forced to undergo one medical procedure after another. His henchmaniacs had cared about him, but he heard the whispers behind his back and the ways in which they attempted to undermine his authority. Everything was backhanded or said out of fear, so could their connection truly be considered love? The slew of exes before Ford that had cared about him and hurt him just like every other close connection he’d ever made. A fleeting game of pretend that went on for just a bit too long.

Cipher had given everything he ever had to the wrong people. Over and over, giving his all and it had never worked out in his favor. He was always giving unconditionally in the wrong ways because he couldn’t comprehend the parameters people placed on their affection. Bill just didn’t understand which moves were the right ones and which moves were derogatory traps he emulated by accident. So all he did for his entire life was love and lose.

Ford sighed slightly, “I’m not saying I remember nothing, just that it’s a little fuzzy.” Running a hand through his hair, he was obviously deep in thought. “I just haven’t thought about it in a while, that's all.”

Making excuses for seemingly no reason, Ford seemed almost guilty - it was perplexing. If he doesn’t remember and he doesn’t think I ever cared in the first place, why is he correcting himself? Ford never liked to admit he was wrong or less knowledgeable about something. He’d swear up and down that he understood something fully like he was being held at gunpoint.

Raising an eyebrow in slight confusion, Bill was trying to see where this was going. “I get it if you don’t remember. It was a long time ago in terms of mortal lifespans,” he said, skepticism lacing his tone. Baiting him into revealing what he did remember.

“I mostly meant that I was more focused on being with you than whatever else was going on,” Ford corrected him again. “The priority in the moment was being with you, the rest was just fluff, that’s the part I remember. Not to mention I was heavily intoxicated - which would make it more difficult to recall the details.”

Such a simple statement felt so profound. That Ford only thought of him when he remembered marrying him. All the other people fell away, every sound and word spoken, none of it mattered because all Ford was focused on was him. It didn’t matter how perfect or how much flourish was in his speech that night, all that was important was that Bill was there.

Smiling softly over at him, Bill kept his tone upbeat as he tried to cover for his face heating up, “Aw, Fordsy - you spoil me.” Leaning against the arm of the chair he let his smile widen. “Glad to know which parts stuck, obviously only the important bits - do you still remember the part that happened after?” His voice was smug as he watched Ford’s brain lag like dialup in real time.

Cipher remembered that just as clearly as the ceremony. Since it was just the two of them, they were somewhat…creative with how they chose to celebrate. The part he enjoyed recalling the most was how Ford sounded that night. Unwavering devotion in Ford’s voice as he let Bill have his way with him. The perfect disciple, submissive and agreeable. A perfect husband.

There was nothing Bill valued back then more than control and Ford let him have all of it. A willing sacrifice for whatever Cipher deemed necessary, it was as intoxicating as it was dangerous. Bill’s power trip had a high price and Ford unknowingly paid the toll before he knew what was on the other side of the bridge.

Then Ford was blushing profusely and trying to hide in his chair, shrinking back as he felt embarrassed at the memory. Let alone the fact that Bill was essentially telling another person about it. So he does remember… Bill felt significantly more confident at the realization. “Mm, yeah, Doc I think that discussion may be a bit above your pay grade…all you need to know is that Dr. Pines is a freak in the bedroom,” Bill glanced over at her as she tried to awkwardly rearrange papers on her desk, using the title to mock them both. “You know what they say - it’s always the quiet ones, at least until they get into the bedroom - then they're louder than anyone else.”

“A-alright, Cipher, that’s enough. I’m sure she didn’t need the extra details,” Ford interrupted his apparent reign of terror. Flushing further at Bill referring to him with his official title. “Please continue, Doctor.”

Tucking that snippet of information away for later, Bill agreed to let him have this small battle. He’d won out in most of their others thus far (if you could call it winning) and he never could stand to crush Ford’s spirit too much.

Wanting to pivot the conversation in a better direction, their therapist looked over her notes. “Would you say you value marriage as a concept?” She asked, slightly turning to Ford.

At this, Bill was curious. He supposed he hadn’t really thought about that part before. That the idea of marriage in and of itself had value. Not just them being together in general but that there was a fundamental difference. Was there a difference?

Bill truly wasn’t sure, he valued being married to Ford because he valued owning him. Mind, body and soul. Ford was all his and he’d made it so nothing and no one in the multiverse could take Ford away from him. Ford’s adoration was now only meant for Bill and Bill alone, just the way he’d wanted it. So I presume it would.

Deep in thought, Ford paused for a moment. Glancing up at the ceiling to really think it through. “I suppose so, in the sense that I understand its intrinsic value and societal implications,” he replied. “It’s a customary development in most romantic relationships.”

Of course, he tackles it like a thesis paper, Bill thought to himself. Once a nerd, always a nerd.

The therapist hummed in response, jotting down his response before asking her follow up question. “How does your relationship with William make you feel in relation to that definition?” She asked. Leaning onto her hands, appreciating that she got farther if she talked to Ford directly.

Cipher, on the other hand, decidedly did not appreciate how interested she was. It was far too much for her own good. He felt like saying something, but he decided to wait it out and see if it got worse.

“I’m…not sure,” Ford contemplated the question. “I mean at the time, it made sense - we were in a relationship of sorts and it felt like a natural development. Technically it wasn’t necessary because we didn’t receive any benefit from having it on paper, at least not in any legal stance,” he continued. “Now, in hindsight, it was a product of the situation, I was drunk and insecure and Cipher was offering the entire multiverse. I mean I basically worshiped the ground he walked on so it felt right in the moment.”

Ford was looking more and more uncomfortable as he spoke. Panicking and trying to wrap his mind around the decisions he made. Overthinking had always been a bug and not a feature of his ingenious mind and Cipher knew he could easily get lost in it. He wasn’t sure he could handle watching Ford talk himself into a corner.

Clearing his throat, Bill interrupted him. “It may not have been a necessity, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hold value,” he started, his voice soft as he tried to distract Ford from whatever was bothering him. “You felt safe enough to go through with it at the time, no one is faulting you for that.”

The priority was to pivot Ford’s train of thought so he wouldn’t blow a gasket. Bill knew what he wanted to hear and it just so happened to line up with what he wanted to say. It was easier to pretend he was saying these things to keep things moving for the therapist. He wasn’t sure he could admit to himself that he just wanted to ease Ford’s mind because seeing him upset made him equally uncomfortable.

That’s why he’d apologized earlier in the first place. Obviously because he was practicing and showing off for the doctor, even if she was a quack. Definitely not because what Ford said hurt him on a deeper level than he outwardly let on which caused him to say the first string of words that came to mind. Honesty freaked him out because he wasn’t sure if he was opening up to the right person, but the words seemed to fall out of his mouth when he talked to Ford. A blessing and a curse of sorts that plagued him.

Stanford’s hands twitched in his lap, realizing he was getting lost in his own head. “I- yes, it held value in the moment. I think it holds value now, but it’s not as cut and dry as that statement sounds,” he said, correcting himself mid-sentence.

This conversation was just between Bill, Ford and Ford’s guilty conscience. It was difficult to get the latter to stop talking.

“It’s confusing to think about the before and the after at the same time,” Bill tried to calm Ford’s racing mind. Talking him through things like this worked when he was living in Ford’s head and he hoped that plan wouldn’t fail him now. “Why don’t we try just thinking about the before for right now? Then later we can try to talk about the after.”

Taking a shaky breath, Ford’s eyes were glazed over as he stared into space. Trying to collect himself to try again. “Alright…” clasping his hands in his lap, Ford tried to focus on the before. “Well, back then I felt…ecstatic to get married. I never thought I’d settle down with anyone due to my birth defect,” he started. “I was mostly just happy someone wanted me at all, I guess that’s why I only really remember Cipher during the elopement because I didn’t think anything like that would happen.”

Bill hummed in response, trying to be encouraging. “Well, we worked very well together, Sweetheart. It’s only natural I’d want to marry you,” he mused. Mostly talking to himself as he reminisced about all the great things they accomplished. So much promise lay between their combined knowledge and skill. “You and I were both anomalies in our own right, I suppose that’s what brought us together in the first place - you know what they say, genius and madness are two sides of the same coin.”

The words left his mouth and Bill realized he meant them. That’s who they were, genius and madness, intertwined into one destructive force of nature. Bulldozing anything and everything in their path for the sake of science. It was beautiful in a way, that destruction. Cipher had the innate desire to scorch the earth and salt the ground behind him so he could rebuild it exactly how Ford wanted it to look. Bill wanted it to be special, because if anyone deserved special it was Stanford Pines.

They were an inevitable anomaly that was going to tear everything down and start over again. Like that was the way it was always supposed to be. Bill saw the world as clay he was meant to mold to Ford’s whims at the drop of a hat.

“Genius and madness, eh?” Ford asked, chucking slightly under his breath. “I suppose that sums us up pretty well, far too intelligent for our own good but deranged enough to think it was a blessing and not a curse.”

Tentatively, Dr. Tseyvar asked her next question. Working with Ford was far easier than she thought it would be. “Do you think you would be able to see yourself feeling that way again about your relationship?” She asked.

Bill looked back at her, hating her for assuming she could continue to pry. I definitely need to do something about that later.

Tensing slightly, Ford considered what she was asking. That if he thought they could actually talk things through and work it out. Once again high strung, Ford didn’t bother trying to sugar coat anything. “Honestly, I have no idea. A lot happened after we got married that was…less than ideal. It affected everything about my entire life, turning for the worst. If I tried to feel that way again, about anyone - not just Cipher - I don’t think I could do it,” he resigned himself to the truth.

It stung to hear the truth, laid out in the open. That they were putting this work in and it might not even matter. He didn’t want to admit to himself that this may not be salvageable. 

Bill couldn’t let it bother him, all he could do was keep trying. If he thought about it too long, he’d get discouraged as they were just starting and mess it all up again. Just like Stan said, there’s still time. Gazing back at Ford’s furrowed brow, he wanted to ease his anxiety. Even if it didn’t have the intended effect. “That’s fine if you can’t, I’d just rather we be able to discuss it. When things…ended, we never really got closure,” he said. Plus, Stan said not to fuck things up with Ford's process - let Sixer fuck it up on his own.

Even if it would kill him to lose Ford for good, he wanted closure in a sense to leave Ford without regret. Then Bill could be gone and Ford wouldn’t have the thoughts of “what ifs” between them. He could move on with his life and actually live it. The only way that would come to pass was if Bill signed that paperwork and finished himself off, that way he wouldn’t have to feel the pain of Ford leaving all over again.

Ford nodded to himself slightly, “I suppose that’s true, there’s no harm in trying.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he seemed to consider the situation. As if before this moment he hadn’t really thought it through. “I won’t write it off just yet, there is merit in talking about things like that.”

Bill’s mouth stretched into a grin as he raised an eyebrow in mock appraisal. Intrigued that Ford was agreeing to make an effort, even if he should have done so from the beginning. He’s the one who signed up for this after all, Bill considered to himself. Some modicum of an effort was all he’d wanted for weeks and now here it was on a silver platter. “Glad to have you on board then,” he joked, caught up in his own head.

Dr. Tseyvar interjected, “With that being said, for our session next week, I’m giving you both homework.” She opened the top drawer of her desk to grab a notebook identical to Cipher’s, the only difference was it being brand new. “I want both of you to write down what you remember about your marriage and relationship before that. The good and bad for us to review next time.” She pushed both over the desk, making sure to tuck their marriage agreement in the cover of Ford’s.

Both men leaned forward and took their respective notebooks. Ford ran his hand over the cover. “Are there any other rules for what we write?” He asked.

“No other rules, just make sure it goes over your recollection of events,” She replied as she closed her own set of notes and stood. “Any other notes you have regarding your relationship or anything either of you want to touch on is also welcome.”

They both stood to leave, but Bill hung back slightly. Wanting to talk to the therapist alone. She picked up on his loitering and asked Ford to wait in the hall as he closed the door behind him. Assuming Bill wanted to discuss his medication or his past suicidal ideation, she turned to him curiously. What she didn’t expect was for him to discuss Ford.

“Y’know, Doc, I’ve never been the biggest fan of others checking out my things,” Bill said plainly, nonchalant in the way he placed his hands in his pockets and gazed up at the knick-knacks on her bookshelf. “The pieces in my personal collection are typically for my eyes only, unlike yours,” Bill didn’t bother looking at her as he spoke, wanting to make her feel lesser than. “You’re lucky I’m merciful these days…typically I’d pluck out the eyes of anyone bold enough to even think of my trinkets,” he mused as he reached up and ran his fingers over a small goat statue on her bookshelf. “It’d be a real shame if I had to make a few phone calls and we suddenly needed a new doctor altogether...it’s a nice sentiment, at least, that there's so many of you quacks holed up in here to choose from.”

Bristling slightly, she was put on edge. “I apologize if any of my conduct came off as unprofessional, I’ll try to be more mindful in the future,” the therapist replied, trying to keep calm. “Obviously I want to continue to provide treatment and assistance as necessary.”

Well aware of Cipher’s feats, she had every right to be worried. Even if he couldn’t hurt her right now, he’d eventually find a way. And if he didn’t get to do it himself, he’d take satisfaction in hearing about it secondhand.

Smiling wide, Bill appreciated her quick response. Good to know my reputation still proceeds me. “Perfect, so glad we understand each other,” making his way to the door and swinging it open without a care in the world.

Upon exiting the room, Ford peered over at them both. Curious about what they may have been discussing. Unaware of the subject matter, though he did seem to notice Dr. Tseyvar walked much farther ahead of them and that she didn’t look Ford in the eye.

They began weaving back through the halls of the facility with guards following closely. The therapist walked them back to the waiting room before saying her rushed goodbyes and leaving them to head back to the house.

The walk back after stepping through the wormhole was near silent. Neither really knew what to say about the thick tension between them. Remembering what happened last time they were here Bill was on edge. He’d already been startled when Ford met him in the clearing at all.

Cipher had to do everything to control his breathing and stay calm. Even if his heart rate picked up in his chest and he felt like he was on the verge of collapsing. Panic had its talons firmly lodged in his skull but he didn’t want Ford to know that. He had successfully shaken it off in the Prism, but that was mostly due to the heavy security. However, now it was back in full force as he waited to see if Ford would snap at him again.

“I just wanted to say…about the incident a couple weeks ago,” Ford started, glancing over at Bill walking beside him through the thick foliage. “I’m- I wanted to apologize for my behavior. I shouldn’t have done that and I shouldn’t have avoided you afterwards, that wasn’t right.”

Bill took the information in stride, not missing a beat. He released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and tried to organize his response. No matter how shocked he was on the inside, he didn’t want to outwardly show the excitement coursing through his veins. The relief washed over his mind and body to erode his fears as he accepted Ford’s apology. 

He felt hopeful at the fact that Ford was trying. “It’s okay Six, I wasn’t the best partner to you and I know we have a lot to work on,” His mind felt tired as he tried to control both his outward response and his internal reaction. Bill’s body was rapidly firing through chemicals in his brain as he tried to determine how he should act versus how he should feel. “This stuff takes time, and we’re just getting started. There’s still time. It wouldn’t be the first time I waited for you.”

Emotionally, even if he was overwhelmed, he subconsciously echoed the words Stanley had said to him a few weeks ago. Only keeping some semblance of sanity by the fact that Ford was paying attention to him. The confusion of his mind made him do things he typically wouldn’t and reveal what was really on his mind. A strange crossroads. More quirks of the vessel, I suppose.

Ford’s brow creased, “What do you mean?” He slowed his pace as he peered over at Cipher walking slightly ahead of him.

Cipher glanced back at him, “I waited a hundred years for you to summon me, and I’ll wait a hundred more if it means we find our footing again.” When Bill said it, he meant it.

Building his reputation and following in this dimension from the ground up and waiting for the right wayward soul to summon him took centuries. Everything only clicked into place when he found Ford, as if it was meant to be due to some kind of fate he’d brought upon himself. Unfortunately, he’d fucked it up the first time around (and the second) but he might get another chance to be able to fix it. To regain his birthright - Ford’s unrelenting affection.

“Well, I suppose it’s a good thing you’re patient,” Ford replied. Trying to play off his flushed face casually and not give away the feelings overtaking him. “You know, I’ve…started a new project and don’t currently have a lab partner, if you’re interested,” He offered. 

Lighting up at the prospect, Bill had never felt happier. Even if he already knew Ford was working on something from his observations over the last few weeks, the fact that Ford told him about it and asked Bill to be his lab partner was worth its weight in gold. He felt full of life again, ready to tackle whatever Ford would give him. Smiling over happily, crooked and wide. “Sure, I’d like that,” He said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. It was a genuine smile, not one for show.

Silently, they continued to head back to the house. As they strolled at a leisurely pace, Bill felt like he was walking on clouds. Floating on the residual embers of Ford’s peace treaty. Hoping he could rekindle the flames again.

Walking into the house that day was different from how they’d originally entered it. They were working toward finding equilibrium now, not fighting for dominance. At least he’d hoped that was the case. Bill didn’t want to let himself get carried away and he didn’t want to feel like he was completely conceding to Ford.

The mortal had given him a cookie and Bill was now intent on taking the entire jar.

It was easier to focus on those positives for the future instead of the negatives of their past. His apology skills were still rusty, that was abundantly clear. Bill needed to figure out how to be better about that, to do it in a way that Ford would be appreciative of. He craved more of Ford’s attention, even if it severely wounded his pride. Reclaiming what he’d lost would be worth the sacrifice.

After his talk with Stanley a few weeks ago, he felt a little better about the situation with Ford. Realizing he just had to keep working at things on his own and wait for Ford to come to him, not the other way around. Cipher hoped that the therapy and good work ethic would give him a little merit.

When it came to thinking about therapy, he was mostly now glad that he didn’t have to listen to the quack ask about how he was getting along with Ford anymore since he was finally on board with showing up.

Truly, up until earlier that morning they never saw each other. Ford had been avoiding him like the plague and Bill had no choice but to pretend like it didn’t bother him. He would wander around the house and skulk through the exhibits at night before he went to bed, hoping for even the smallest of glimpses to no avail. He wouldn’t dare go over to Ford’s room even though he knew where it was. Cipher wasn’t sure what reaction he’d receive upon knocking.

Not to mention, sessions by himself now that he had a human body were far more intense. All his emotions were heightened and it was very apparent in the aftermath of seeing his therapist the past few weeks. Bill would forget to take his medication sometimes or change something about his nightly routine and it would throw him into a visceral meltdown.

His paranoia would ramp up and he’d curl up on the floor faced away from the covered mirror. As if Ford would slink out of the glass in the middle of the night to strangle him again. Bill would have night terrors that would have him wake up in the dead of night screaming. Thankfully, no one seemed to hear him because he’d have to deal with the aftermath on his own.

Bill instead bided his time and tried not to think about it too hard. He’d lay on the rug every possible minute he could spare and daydream about the perfect world where he was in Ford’s bed and his parents were alive. Bill didn’t want to lay in bed by himself, not even daring to touch the one in his room. His mind wandered to all the ways he wanted to incorporate his human into his new routine.

Showering and brushing their teeth together in the morning, eating meals together, helping each other stock shelves in the gift shop. He wanted to breathe Ford in for real, to take in the scent of a warm campfire and run his fingers through Ford’s hair. Graze his fingers behind the shell of his ear. Watch him sleep throughout the night. Help Ford pin his moth collection.

But he didn’t want to think about all the things he didn’t have today. Today, he wanted to enjoy the thing he did - Ford’s olive branch. Their chance to rebuild in earnest. 

Shoving his lingering melancholy about their earlier discussion aside, he followed Ford into the house. He had let Bill know he’d come get him later to work on his new project in the lab. The prospect of working in the basement again had him buzzing, he’d missed their beloved portal room. Even if all the memories associated with the space weren’t the best, it was still theirs.

God, I really have gone soft, haven’t I? He chastised himself. Bill did his best to shake himself out of the haze before heading downstairs to get changed to start his shift in the gift shop. Tossing the notebook on the empty desk. He hated wearing t-shirts but he didn’t really have a choice since that was the uniform.

He got dressed quickly and was careful about opening the vending machine door to be sure no one saw him. Once he was sure the coast was clear he headed out to get to work. It was methodical, stocking shelves, taking inventory, counting cash. 

One of the most powerful beings in the universe, reduced to an unpaid intern.

Chapter Text

As tours started up for the afternoon, he became busier. Bill had begun to dissociate for the most part while working, surrendering to muscle memory. His face stretched into a smile that was hollow, the empty socket covered with an eye patch. He didn’t like wearing it but was required to according to Stanley when he was working.

Stan had been slightly more lenient, but still strict with him over the last two weeks as he scrutinized Cipher’s every move. He watched Bill like a hawk, but he wouldn’t let him make too many mistakes, always pulling him out of sticky situations. As he was learning how to live in a human body, Stan actually tried to be somewhat helpful. Helping him learn how to cook more than just peanut butter and jelly sandwiches was a first, along with teaching him how to tie shoelaces. Random things he had never needed to do with Ford’s body when he possessed him.

They hadn’t gone up to the roof again to drink, but Bill knew the invitation was always open to him. Even if Stanley still gave Bill a hard time. He tended to give Bill the bulk of the grunt work around the shack and the shifts that no one else wanted. Obviously trying to mess with him, not that Bill had much of a choice in following along.

The highlights of his day were when Soos and Melody would pass through and idly chat about nothing of importance. They’d talk to him like he was a regular person, not a convict on a longer leash than most. Cipher was envious of their relationship, that they had trust and security. They could tell each other how they felt without consequence. 

He wanted that more than anything, but for now he had to settle for the maroon rug and a well-loved sweater.

Bill’s shift today in the gift shop felt like it dragged on forever, most likely because he was actually looking forward to something at the end of the day. He shifted in place where he stood behind the counter and wondered what Ford was building this time. He’d always been bright, so there was no doubt it’d be something interesting.

As the Sun dipped below the treeline and Bill finished closing up the gift shop, he entered the vending machine code to change clothes. I would rather be more comfortable than not, especially since I don’t know what Sixer is up to, He decided. In his room he pulled his hair back and tried to figure out what to wear.

This shouldn’t be that hard, I don’t know why I feel like I have to impress him or something, chastising himself as he pulled out various combinations of outfits. It’s scientific experiments, not a date. At that, he blushed, flustering himself at the thought of Ford taking him on a date. 

They hadn’t even gone on a real date before, other than their pseudo dates in the mindscape. Never in a three-dimensional reality they both inhabited. He tried clearing his mind, lest he get distracted and Ford come to retrieve him while he hadn’t gotten dressed yet. What would he do if he caught me down here changing? His face flushed further and he had to forcibly make himself switch topics.

Cipher ended up settling for a white button down and jeans, couldn’t go wrong with basics. He left the top few buttons undone, unsure if it was for comfort or if he was fishing for Ford’s appraisal. As he finished getting ready, he heard the rattling of the elevator.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to prepare for them to work together again. He left the bathroom to see Ford standing at the edge of the threshold. Barely stepping inside, apprehension on his face. He glanced around the room, taking stock of what Bill had and had not rearranged.

He’s probably nervous about being in here, Bill considered before trying to break the ice. “Sixer, are you ready to get started?” He asked, a wide grin stretched across his face.

Ford’s eyes flicked over from the covered mirror, obviously having his train of thought broken. “Yes, let’s head downstairs. I’ll explain on the way,” He said as he stepped back into the elevator and held open the door.

Bill followed after him without further ceremony, they both stood slightly too far from each other in the elevator. As if something would happen if one of them leaned in too close. It took all of Bill’s willpower not to check if Ford was looking at him. He figured the mortal wasn’t as the doors closed and he stepped over to the retinal scanner for the third floor basement level.

While stepping past him, Bill picked up on the mixed scent of Ford’s cologne and cigarettes. He still smells so good, Bill could feel himself going weak in the knees. He wanted more than anything to lean into Ford fully and breathe him in. It’d be the best feeling in the multiverse, but he knew better. Instead he tried to calm his racing heart and focused on the scanner chiming in approval.

Excitement started to overtake Bill, even if he tried to hide it. It had been ages since he’d seen this room. With his beloved portal and human in one place. He could hear Ford tapping his foot in annoyance as the elevator shook slightly while descending. I wonder when he was last down here, Bill thought to himself idly. His hands shoved in his pockets as he tried to relax.

“I’ve been working on a prototype for a smaller scale project,” Ford started glancing over at Bill out of the corner of his eye. His arms crossed over his chest, slightly pulling at his sweater.

Suddenly, Cipher felt much more distracted at the thought of running his hands underneath the fabric. He tried to not let it show on his face. “What’s it for?” He asked casually as he leaned back against the elevator wall.

Ford watched him intently, “It’s a prosthetic…for your opposite eye.” He shuffled his feet and tried to be nonchalant about the idea. “Most of the kinks have been worked out, it’s just a matter of measuring and molding it.”

He’s building something for me? Bill did his best not to look so smug about it. Surely if he let it show, Ford would back out of letting him help. “Aw, IQ, how sweet. Using that beautiful brain of yours to do me a favor,” Cipher feigned humility at the prospect. He flashed Ford a wider smile, watching on as Ford scoffed in response.

“I just don’t want to keep looking directly into your strange eye socket,” He grumbled in a feeble attempt at defending himself. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Bill continued smiling over at him, “Too late, it’s already there.” He faced the doors once again as they continued to descend.

Once the breaks of the box ground to a halt and the doors rolled open, Bill took in the leftovers from one of his favorite places in the multiverse. Ford exited first as Cipher trailed behind him, his eyes flitting over every corner. 

The portal had been dismantled, now nothing more than discarded chunks of scrap metal. Boxes littered the floor all tagged as various specimens or parts for other projects. The desk and control panel for the lights and machinery was still the same, though it definitely had seen better days.

Bill ran his fingers across the rough surface, grazing every dent, knick and cranny. He recalled the days in which he’d taken over Ford’s body to correct his calculations here. Watching over his shoulder as he worked, taking in his sketches and equations. The worn leather chair was tucked away, but it was full of their memories.

His eye then flicked to the steel door separating the workspace from the portal room. Bill could feel his stomach churn just looking at it, dried blood stains painted across its surface. Hopefully Ford wouldn’t have to open that door for this project. He cringed and looked around the rest of the room. 

Cipher noticed the whiteboard in the corner with miscellaneous equations and the stack of haphazardly placed blueprints next to it. His eye then fell on the wide work table at the back corner of the room, a large magnifying glass clipped to the side. Wires and smaller bits on metal and plastic were strewn about. That must be where he’s building, he mentally sighed with relief.

Ford walked past him to the messy table, he moved the chair out from under the desk to place it next to where he stood. “Come here, I need to measure you,” Stanford said. He didn’t bother to look back to confirm if Bill was moving, just commanded obedience. He began reorganizing the papers at his desk.

Knowing he needed to play nice to stay within the slim margin of Ford’s good graces, Cipher walked up next to him. He stood awkwardly behind him, unsure of what to do with himself. Does he want me to stand closer or something? He asked himself.

Groaning in annoyance, Ford turned and grabbed Bill by his shoulders before maneuvering him to the desk chair. Pushing him back to sit down. “Were you always this bad with instructions?” Ford asked as he turned back to the desk, grabbing various instruments of measurement.

Bill could feel his face heating up at the abrupt contact, not expecting Ford to touch him. He sat back in the chair, somewhat dumbfounded as he watched Ford fiddle with various tools on the desk. When did he get bold enough to grab me like that? He wondered to himself, Why was that kind of hot? His face heated up further. He’s standing right there, I shouldn’t think about that. Bill chastised himself as if Ford could hear him.

Despite his mental protesting, he secretly hoped Ford would do something of the sort again. It’d been too long since he’d had any interaction which left him touch starved, begging for scraps. He realized that he’d been staring in silence for a beat too long, “I’m not, you’re just bad at articulating what you want.” He kept his tone light, trying to hide his true feelings on the matter.

Ford turned back to him, “Sure I am.” His tone was laced with sarcasm. “Now, I have to measure both your eyes first, then we’ll create a mold to make sure they’re even. Try to hold still.” Stanford leaned over him holding a pair of glasses with small rulers inlaid to measure with.

Swallowing thickly, Bill tried to keep his cool. “Whatever you say, Dr. Pines,” He replied, feigning confidence. He was excited as Ford’s face flushed from where he stood over him. His movements staggered for a moment before he went back to measuring, being careful not to poke Bill in the eye.

Interesting, so he does like it when I call him that, Bill thought to himself, amused. Tucking that piece of information away for later use. He didn’t let himself smile so as not to distract Ford further. He really didn’t want to lose his one good eye.

They stayed in silence as Ford would pivot back and forth between measuring something, gently tilting Bill’s head and writing measurements down. He also seemed to be drawing out diagrams of Bill’s eye and the socket from various angles. He’d let one hand linger on his cheek when he turned to jot something down, causing warmth to spread throughout Bill’s body.

Bill realized that his favorite part of this process was having free reign in unabashedly checking out Ford. He watched his brow crease in concentration, the way he’d slightly bite his bottom lip as he focused. His hair falling into his eyes, forcing him to remove one of his hands From Cipher’s face to brush it back.

Trying to be more helpful than just sitting still, Bill reached around Ford’s arm to push his bangs back from his face. He held them there gently as he took in Ford’s reaction. Stanford was obviously startled, not expecting Bill to touch him back. He paused for a moment, properly making eye contact before clearing his throat and getting back to what he was originally doing.

He’s so cute when he’s shy like that, Bill thought idly as he blatantly appraised Ford above him. If Ford dared to ask why he was staring so hard, he’d say it was unintentional and that he was just keeping his eyes open for the measurements. He already had an excuse locked and loaded.

Once he finished measuring his eye, Ford stepped back from the desk letting Bill’s hand fall from his hair. He took the glasses from Bill’s face and set them on the desk next to his sketches. “Stay here, I have to wash my hands and mix the alginate for the mold. It has to be fresh to get an accurate imprint,” He said as he turned on his heel and headed for the shelves off to the side.

Bill sat back in the chair, realizing how tense he had been. He settled his hands in his lap and tried to relax, this wasn’t anything to get so worked up over. It’s essentially a standard human medical procedure. You’ve gone through plenty of medical procedures. He tried rationalizing. Although he couldn’t stop the residual nagging question in the back of his mind, If it’s a standard procedure, why did it feel so different?

Ford caressing his face and tilting him as he wanted in such close proximity was a far more intimate gesture than anything they’d done in decades. It was almost surreal how gentle his hands were, how precise he was with his movements. Treating Bill like an expensive china doll he was scared of dropping.

When Ford returned, he was carrying a tray with what Bill presumed to be the material for the mold in a syringe, a small plastic dome that looked to be the size of his eye with small holes in the bottom and disinfectant. He set it on the work table beside him before beginning to explain how the process worked.

“So I’m going to insert this plastic piece into your eye socket first, like a contact lens. It shouldn’t feel uncomfortable but if it does, let me know and we can reposition it. Once it’s secure, I’ll inject the alginate. We have to wait a bit for it to solidify before I can pull out the impression of the mold. You’ll need to hold still and relax your facial muscles so it’s accurate,” Ford stated. As he walked through the process he gestured to various items on the tray. “Any questions?”

Bill sat back and tried to stay calm. All of that means we’ll be in very close quarters, he realized to himself. He couldn’t let himself tense up at all otherwise it’d draw the process out and most likely make Ford annoyed. “No questions here, just let me know where you want me,” He replied as his forearms settled on the arms of the chair.

Ford nodded and turned to grab the disinfectant wipes first, “I’m going to clean around your socket to start.” He leaned forward using one hand to carefully hold Bill’s face still as he began wiping around his eye. 

Each touch against Bill’s skin was gentle as Ford tried not to press too hard against him. He was thorough in his movements and continued to watch Cipher closely to ensure he wasn’t too uncomfortable. It was nearly clinical, but went on long enough to toe the line.

Bill on the other hand was losing his mind. The warmth of Ford’s hands on his cheek and the ghosting of his breath against his forehead was reminiscent of the best days of their relationship. He’d never had Ford get this close to him willingly in nearly half a millenia and he wanted to ingrain every sensation into his brain for future reference.

Once he finished what he was doing, Ford turned to grab the small, clear plastic shell for the mold. “Alright, now I’m going to insert the outer piece for the impression. You may experience some discomfort but try to hold still,” He murmured under his breath.

Ford leaned in closer, lifting his knee to perch on the edge of the chair between Bill’s legs. Hovering above him. He then firmly held Cipher’s head in place and edged his eyelid wider to slide the component into place.

It took the last shreds of Bill’s dignity to keep his mouth shut. He wanted nothing more than for Ford to encroach further into his space, to eliminate the gap between them. He did his best to keep his breath even, no matter how difficult it felt to do so. His lungs ached to ramp up their pacing, to let the labored breaths wrack through his body. 

His fingers clawed into the arms of the chair, nails digging into the leather. Bill wanted to reach up and touch Ford fully, to snake his hands up under his sweater, run his fingers through his hair, to drag Ford into his lap.

Stanford made a sound of annoyance, his bangs once again falling into his eyes. “Do you want me to hold your hair back again?” Bill asked. He tried his best to sound neutral, keeping himself as stoic as possible. Below the surface he was buzzing with anticipation.

“If you can reach without moving your head, then yes,” Ford responded. Not picking up on Bill’s intentions.

Humming to himself, Bill reached around Ford’s arm carefully and carded his fingers in Ford’s bangs. Holding his hair back as he gazed up into his eyes. Ford’s hair is just as soft as I remember… Bill was finding himself indulging in the action. His fingers idly massaged Ford’s scalp, his thumb lightly rubbing across the top of his forehead. The lab suddenly felt far too warm.

He could tell Ford was becoming distracted as he leaned into the touch. His fingers paused around Bill’s eye as he closed his own. Fully giving in to the stimulation. They stayed that way for awhile, with Bill drinking in Ford’s peaceful expression. I swear he’s like a dog, wanting nothing more than to be pet and coddled, Bill thought to himself. He scratched across his scalp, causing Ford to whine involuntarily.

The sound snapped Ford out of the trance as he blushed and tried to focus on the task at hand, clearing his throat awkwardly. It only took a few more minutes for him to secure the item in place before he leaned back to grab the syringe. “I’m going to stick the syringe in the plastic now, you’ll feel slight pressure - I won’t be pressing into the socket that’s just the alginate,” Ford said trying to shake his nerves.

“Alright, just take your time, Six,” Bill replied softly. He didn’t want to fluster Ford further, in case his hands wouldn’t stay steady. It was already a miracle he hadn’t slipped up so far with how much coffee he drinks. He blinked around the plastic, testing what it would feel like. Bill reached his hand up again expectantly, waiting to see if Ford wanted his fingers in his hair again.

Ford looked at his hand warily as he turned back around with the syringe. His own hands now fully occupied, he tilted forward into Bill’s waiting hand. Cipher easily pushed his hair back and tried not to let himself get carried away again. He watched on as Ford brought the syringe to his eye socket and placed it against one of the holes in the plastic. “Take a deep breath,” Ford mumbled under his breath. His face scrunched in concentration.

Bill inhaled a shaky breath through his mouth, and breathed out through his nose. Anticipating the pressure Ford was referring to. He could then feel the alginate fill the pocket of space inside the plastic barrier. It filled out around the empty socket, every crevice and ridge. 

He could feel himself tense at the feeling, his body feeling an intrusion that definitely shouldn’t be there. Cipher’s breathing picked up as he felt panic well up inside of him. “Is- is it supposed to feel like that?” He asked, trepidation in his voice.

Cipher could feel himself being dragged kicking and screaming into a memory. Of restraints around his limbs as he laid across an examination table. The lights were out except for the fluorescent bulb overhead. He twisted and turned, trying to break free but it was no use. He could see the flash of a white lab coat sleeve attached to a hand holding out eye drops. Trying to blind him.

Ford searched his face trying to gauge his reaction. “Yes, if you mean uncomfortable…does it hurt?” He asked. Worry creasing his features. He gripped Bill’s face tightly to break him out of his train of thought, noticing Cipher’s eye glazing over.

“It doesn’t hurt, it just feels… strange,” Bill responded. He swallowed, wanting to keep himself from blinking around the substance or making any sudden movements. He was trying to cast the memory from his mind. I’m in the present, those doctors aren’t here, he tried to console himself.

Rubbing Bill’s cheek with his opposite hand, Ford attempted to comfort him, “I’m sorry, it’ll just take a moment to solidify…” He watched Cipher closely, hoping he wouldn’t flinch away from the syringe. If he moved they would have to start over. “Just take a few deep breaths for me, it might alleviate some of the pressure if you relax.”

For me, Bill repeated to himself. Why is he touching me like that? He wondered, trying not to show how much he enjoyed it. His opposite eye flicked up to make direct eye contact as he took a few more deep breaths. Calming himself from the initial panic, Ford’s actions confused him enough to snap out of it.

They stayed in silence, watching each other carefully. Bill could feel his feverish body itching to move, but he knew if he changed any aspect of the angle before it solidified they’d have to try again. Bill could feel the alginate seep out of the holes in the plastic, grazing over his lower eyelid. 

“It should be fully solid now, I’m going to remove the impression from your socket,” Ford broke the silence, after a few moments, his voice a near whisper. Bill almost didn’t hear him.

Gently, Ford used his thumb to edge Bill’s bottom eyelid down and pulled out the syringe. Setting it aside, Ford then tugged the mold out of his socket, making sure to take his time and ensure it didn’t get caught on anything. The process took less than five minutes, but to Bill it felt like a lifetime. Once it was fully removed, Bill blinked a few times to ease the empty feeling left behind as Ford held up the completed mold.

Ford appraised the mold from where he stood, “There. See, that wasn’t so hard now was it?” He asked. His eyes slid back over to Bill beneath him. Looking far too smug.

“Easy for you to say, you didn’t have that weird goop in your eye socket,” Bill grumbled, finally getting to relax back into the chair again. His eye felt slightly uncomfortable now that the mold was gone. Hopefully the prosthetic doesn’t feel like that.

Ford rolled his eyes at Bill’s dramatic response, “It’s algae, and it wasn’t in there for that long.”

Bill tried to play off how nervous he had been throughout that entire process. “Yeah, yeah whatever…now what?” He asked. Curious to see how the amalgamation would become an eye. He also just wanted to listen to Ford speak, regardless of the subject matter.

Ford set the mold in a small jar on his desk. “Now, we have to mix and set up the stone casing to make a secondary mold of this one. That’s how we’ll make the eye,” He replied easily, obviously wanting to go into all the specifics but holding himself back. “I have a few measurements to double check and notes for coloration, can you mix the outer casing for the mold?” Ford asked, finally giving Bill a real task to complete.

“Sure, I assume the materials are on the shelves in the back?” He asked, his eye looking out across the room. Taking into account the various shelves and machinery strewn about. As usual, Ford worked in pure chaos. He never was one to keep a clean work space.

Ford passed him one of his journals and opened it to a page about the specifics of creating the prosthetic. “Yes, everything is listed here - all the materials are on the back shelf and this is the container for the stone mold to go into,” He said gesturing to a small, dark jar on the desk.

Bill nodded and stood, taking the book from Ford’s hands. He was careful, remembering how strict Ford was about others touching his things. Let alone giving them to others to use. “Alright, I’ll get started,” He replied as he headed to grab the materials he needed.

Working in tandem, the lab was silent. They were working at opposite ends of the room, completing their respective components. Bill followed Ford’s written instructions to the letter, he wanted to stay as close to Ford’s good side as possible. He wasn’t sure how long it took for them to finish up, but by the time they were done Cipher knew he’d need a cup of coffee if Ford expected him to stay up any longer.

With the stone casing completed, Bill turned to figure out next steps. His feet padded over to the opposite desk Ford sat at as he walked up behind his chair. He was hit with a memory of hovering behind Ford as he worked. Wrapping his arms around his shoulders and leaning in to kiss and bite across the nape of his neck. Trying to distract Ford enough for him to drop what he was doing and indulge in Bill’s incessant teasing.

Pausing just short of being fully flush with Ford’s desk chair, Bill’s hand twitched where he was outstretched. Suddenly second guessing if he should touch him. You both just got up in each other’s face, it shouldn’t be weird to tap him on the shoulder. He criticised himself, not understanding why he was so nervous. Trying to shake his anxiety, he reached out and clasped a hand around Ford’s shoulder as he cleared his throat.

Stanford jumped in his seat slightly, his body tense as his breathing quickened. Bill’s thumb rubbed in small motions across his shoulder from where he held him. “I finished with the casing, your notes didn’t specify what else you needed once that was complete,” He kept his voice soft, hoping he wouldn’t startle Ford further.

Ford did his best to calm his breathing before responding, “Yes…sorry about that.” He swiveled his chair around as Bill let go of him. Ford looked up at Cipher towering above him. “You’ll need to place the original mold in the casing for it to harden, it’ll have to solidify overnight so once you wrap up you can head out,” He said.

Bill was only partially listening, he was too busy thinking about how pretty Ford looked beneath him. He was debating which was more satisfying, seeing Ford above him or below him. Either way, it was decidedly better than if they saw each other eye to eye. He realized Ford had been talking and replayed what he’d said back to himself.

“Alright, I’ll set that up and head to bed,” He replied. “Are you sure you don’t need help finalizing anything else?” He asked, secretly hoping Ford would let him stay a little longer. Bill liked being as close to Ford as possible.

Ford sat back in his chair, “No I won’t be up much longer, I’m nearly finished with this.” He glanced over at the closed elevator doors. “Though, I’ll have to head up too, you’ll need the retinal scanner to leave this floor,” He spoke as he stretched out in his chair.

Raising an eyebrow in confusion, Bill asked, “Why would you program the elevator to need the scanner to get back up?”

Chuckling to himself, Ford looked back at the door fondly. “Because then if someone got down here and wasn’t supposed to, they’d be trapped until I came to scope out who was snooping around,” His eyes flicked back to Cipher’s face, a manic glint in his eye. A silent warning as he smirked up at him.

“I see…” Bill responded, nervousness lacing his voice, “I suppose that makes sense…anyways I’ll wrap up the process with the mold.” Without waiting for a response, Cipher turned to head back to his respective work table. He could feel the heat rising across his face, his ears, and down his throat. Again, why was that kind of hot? His mind scrambled to make sense of his bodily reaction. 

Bill had never been one to let others have the upper hand or get the last word, but he might just wave the flag of surrender to let Ford have his way. Apparently he’d gotten much more confident since Cipher last saw him, and it wasn’t a bad development in the slightest. Letting Ford boss him around might just be his new favorite pastime.

He used to prefer when the shoe was on the other foot, but that was because he never thought they’d wear the same size.

Attempting to clear his head, Bill tried to focus on the mold for the prosthetic. He followed Ford’s instructions and double checked his work. Mostly stalling for time to wait for Ford to also finish up. He was too nervous to walk back over to Ford’s desk. Twiddling his fingers, Bill kept glancing at Ford out of the corner of his eye, waiting patiently for one of his tells for finishing work.

Let’s see if that changed or not, He thought to himself. Like he was making a bet with someone about how well he knew his partner. Bill watched carefully, taking in Ford’s movements. Eventually, he set his pen down and leaned over the desk, pushing his glasses off his face and rubbing his eyes. Yup, still the same Sixer.

Bill used that as his cue to go back to Ford’s desk. “You ready, Brainiac?” He asked. This time around, he didn’t touch Ford, just stood back from his chair for him to stand.

Sighing, Ford nodded and rose to head to the elevator. They stood in silence as Ford triggered the retinal scanner and stood back from the doors, selecting the second basement level. Bill didn’t dare look at him while in the cramped box, he didn’t have a good enough excuse this time. When the doors rolled open as they reached his room, Bill started to step forward. 

What he didn’t expect was Ford to follow him into the room. 

“What’re you doing?” Bill asked, slightly thrown off. Ford had seemed apprehensive about being in here earlier, he wasn’t sure why he’d willingly step in again.

Ford glanced around the room again, his eyes falling on the mirror before shifting to the bed. Bill had never slept in it, so it was still pristinely made except for the top few blankets and one of the pillows being askew. Bill didn’t think anything of it, the room looked lived-in enough that it shouldn’t be odd. At least it did to him.

However, Ford seemed to pick up on it immediately. “Why is that mirror still covered?” He asked, ignoring Bill’s initial question.

Cipher could feel his heart rate pick up at the question. No one had been down here since Stanley’s initial visit, so he didn’t have an excuse this time. Working on the fly, he tried to seem unaffected. “Eh, I’m just not a fan of it most of the time. It’s just really big is all,” he did his best to play it off.

The truth was he couldn’t stand to look in the mirror, afraid it would trigger a nightmare or trap him in his own mind again. Inducing panic. He kept his gazes in the bathroom mirror short and avoided looking into any of the others strewn throughout the house like the plague. The only way to keep himself from unraveling was to hold on to the loose end of the string. Praying the edges wouldn’t fray and tear to make the damage worse.

Ford looked skeptical, but didn’t comment further, just looked back at Bill in the center of the room. “Hmm, alright…I’ll come get you tomorrow to continue working,” He stayed on task. 

“Okay, see you then,” Bill responded. He didn’t bother with extra pleasantries, mostly wanting Ford to leave so he could process everything else.

Once the elevator doors had closed behind him, Bill made his way to the bathroom to shower and get ready for bed. Throughout the entire process, his mind was an endless loop of Ford encroaching into his space, his fingers grazing his cheeks and the scent of his cologne and cigarette smoke.

Feeling akin to a bubbly champagne bottle, overflowing after it had just been opened. Sickly sweet and meant for special occasions. Bill threw himself into that loop. He wanted to stay here, in the present with Sixer. Not chain himself in a mental prison of the past. Running through the evening over and over, examining and enjoying every lasting detail.

As he settled down on the rug for the night in Ford’s sweater, he looked over at the bed. Debating if he should try to sleep in it. However, if it induced a panic attack and he had to see Ford the next day that would be a nasty cocktail. I’ll try it out some other time, he decided before allowing himself to fall asleep.

When Ford came to retrieve him to head to the lab the next evening after his shift, Bill was curious about what the next steps would be. Stanford didn’t comment on anything in the room, even if Bill had tried to make it look more lived-in by human standards. He’d messed up the bed more, left some clothes out like he was too busy to clean. Bill didn’t dare to remove the cloth from the mirror.

They headed down to the lab, not really talking. Just filling space in each other’s company. When they arrived, Bill noticed some new equipment. At least it was new to him, Ford must have pulled that stuff out of storage this morning, he thought idly.

The hulking piece of metal took up half of one of the work tables. Strangely, Ford had cleared two of the tables off from the night before and pushed them together to form one long workspace. One table had painting supplies and a few chemical components along with one of Ford’s journals. The other was completely bare.

Ford walked over to the table and gestured for Bill to follow. He wandered up behind him and saw one desk chair which Ford promptly sat in and turned to face him. “Take a seat on the table,” Ford made the request but it obviously wasn’t optional.

Bill looked over at the table warily before he hopped up to settle on the edge. Why would he want me to sit up here instead of a chair? He asked himself, confusion creasing his face.

“The lighting is better if you sit up there,” Ford supplied, as if hearing his thoughts. He began moving things on his half of the table and retrieved the plain prosthetic from the large contraption.

Cipher snorted to himself, “Get out of my head, would ya?” He glanced over at Ford with a small smile on his face.

Ford looked back, returning the gesture, “You first…” They both realized what they’d said a moment too late as their faces heated up and they looked away.

All this time, and we both still make the same corny jokes, Bill thought to himself. He was trying to calm himself down and stop looking so flustered about it. It’s not a big deal, we used to say that all the time. However, his body was under the impression that this was a very big deal as he started tapping his foot against one of the legs of the table. A futile attempt to expel energy.

Clearing his throat, Ford tried to start in earnest. “I will need to see your face in order to work on this,” He said, watching Cipher intently as he turned to face him again. “Since the dental polymer has hardened it’s time to paint this eye to look like your other one.”

“Gotcha, I assume I’ll just need to stay still?” Bill asked, hoping he didn’t sound too affected. Settling his weight back on his hands, Bill let his feet swing idly.

Ford nodded as he started rearranging the paints and brushes he was working with. “Right, just make sure you stay there so I can get the details right,” He replied simply while he rolled his chair forward to begin painting.

Bill let his feet continue their pace from where they hung over the edge of the table as Ford painted. He’d look up at Bill’s face, scrutinizing details before looking back through a large magnifying glass clipped to the table to paint. It was somewhat peaceful, Cipher considered this peaceful as opposed to the restlessness he’d felt for the past few weeks.

The difference was staggering, he could be quiet and inhabit Ford’s space and feel at ease whereas when he tried to do it on his own his mind would play tricks on him. Bill’s intense paranoia seemed to die down in Ford’s presence, even if he still had lingering fears about Ford lashing out at him.

He wasn’t afraid when they were together, but was terrified of Ford hurting him when they were apart. As if he was lying in wait to catch Bill off guard. It was stress inducing and Cipher wasn’t exactly sure how to turn that process off. He was too prideful to bring it up with his therapist, at least he was before now. Now there was a chance they could fix things, and he couldn’t let those thoughts fester under his skin if they were together.

They sat in calm silence throughout the evening as Ford painted. He used various layers of resin and unconventional materials like string to make the eye look as realistic as possible. Occasionally he’d hold it up next to Bill’s face to compare before picking up where he left off. At that moment Bill felt like they really were lab partners, working in sync again. Finally on the same wavelength.

Even if Bill felt tired, he would force himself to stay up all night if it meant more time with Ford. Eventually, he finished painting. “That should be good, now it just has to dry and be pressed overnight,” Ford sighed as he sat forward and rubbed a hand over his face. He then stood to place the prosthetic back in the large device before sealing it shut and turning back to Bill. “I’m heading up to bed, I assume you’re also going up to sleep?”

Bill blinked slowly, he’d opened the gift shop that morning so he was exhausted. He nodded, not having the energy for a snarky comeback as he jumped down from the table and followed Ford to the elevator. Cipher was struggling to keep his eyes open as he tilted, doing his best to catch himself.

“If you needed to head up earlier, you could have let me know,” Ford said as he peered over at Bill beside him. Curious as he watched Bill nearly fall asleep standing up. It was mostly due to him not sleeping well almost every night of the week and waking up so early most days.

Cipher just hummed and shook his head in response, waiting for the doors to roll open. He was quiet the entire ride up to his room and waved goodbye to Ford without another word as the doors closed behind him. He didn’t bother going through his entire routine, just threw the sweater on and fell asleep immediately on the floor.

The next morning, he felt groggy. We definitely stayed up too late last night, He thought to himself as he got ready for work. Throughout the day he was out of it, basically contributing the bare minimum due to how tired he still felt. Thankfully no one held it against him.

In the evening, Ford came to retrieve him once again. “You ready?” He asked from the threshold of the elevator doors. Holding them open as he glanced around the room.

Bill smiled as he joined him, “Ready as I’ll ever be, IQ.”

They headed down to the lab, as the doors opened Bill could tell that Ford had rearranged the room again. The work tables were in the same place they’d originally been placed in a few days ago and a chair with ample lighting was placed near the back work station. They headed over and Bill took a seat, anticipating what today would bring.

Ford opened the device from the day prior and presented Bill with the completed prototype. “It’s finished, I figured you could try it out and if anything needs to be fixed we can try again,” He spoke under his breath, as if someone else were around to hear them.

Bill nodded as he sat back in the chair. Ford leaned in close with the eye and carefully began to insert it into his socket. Once it was in, he scrutinized the details. “Now, how does that feel?” Ford asked, maneuvering the prosthetic into place and staring directly into Bill’s eyes. He cupped Bill’s face in his hands tilting his head from side to side in an attempt to see how symmetrical both eyes were. Leaning in a bit too close for comfort, at least among lab partners.

Cipher wasn’t sure why, but he felt his stomach flip at the question. Maybe it was the close proximity, or the gentle tone in Ford’s voice but he could feel his heartbeat pick up in his chest. He suddenly had the urge to close his legs, but with Ford standing in between them there was nowhere for him to go. He was fully crowding into Bill’s space, seemingly unaware of the dilemma he’d placed them in.

With butterflies fluttering inside of him, Bill tried to sound unaffected. He could feel his face and ears flushing under Ford’s piercing gaze, hoping it wasn’t too noticeable. “It’s fine, it feels like the normal eye - nothing sharp or out of place or anything…” He blinked a few times to be sure there weren’t any pieces bothering him and tried to stay calm. “Does it…look okay?” He asked.

In all honesty, Cipher didn’t give a rats ass what the eye looked like, he just wanted Ford to keep touching him. He wanted to keep breathing in the smell of marshmallows over a campfire and listen to Ford speak in hushed tones since they were so close. To pull Ford down into his lap and pretend they were a normal married couple. It would be nice to be normal.

Ford hummed in response as he continued caressing Bill’s face, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing across his cheek. “I think it looks alright, the color of the iris is a little off though,” He replied. He stared intently, his own eyes flicking back and forth to compare the color. “I may need to take a few photos and make a few more variants to get it right…we wouldn’t want them to be mismatched after all.”

At the prospect of Ford keeping photos of him in the lab, Bill had to stifle himself from making any embarrassing noises. Is my mind just lost in the gutter this week or something? He chastised himself. He said we wouldn’t want them to be mismatched…not just him, like we’re really a team. He lightly tensed and relaxed his thighs and calves, trying to be discreet about his pent up energy. “Whatever you need is fine with me, Six,” He responded, a revenant whisper in the near empty room. 

He saw Ford’s eyes ease down from the prosthetic, obviously interested in studying something else entirely. Ford mumbled under his breath, “You should let me examine this vessel up close…” His eyes trailing across Bill’s features. “I’m very curious about how they made this body.”

Cipher could feel goosebumps cover his skin. Ford had that look in his eye, the one he got when he found some new scientific anomaly. He just had to take it apart and put it back together to learn how it worked. Ford’s pupils dilated, obviously getting carried away at the thought of studying Bill in full before Cipher overcame his nerves to respond, “...Did you still want to take any photos?” His voice was gentle, derailing Ford’s train of thought.

A blush overtook Ford’s face, finally realizing the precarious position they were placed in. “I- yes. Let me grab the camera,” He choked on the words as they left his mouth. He leaned back out of Bill’s face and released him before scrambling around to look for the device.

Bill allowed his body to relax, he desperately wished he could read Ford’s mind again, just to know what he was intent on doing a second ago. What was he looking at? His mind began to wander. He also wasn’t sure why Ford wouldn’t know where his own camera was.

After a while, Ford returned with the camera. He readjusted the various lamps around the room for better lighting before reaching over to position Bill the way he wanted him. “Sit up more in the chair, and make sure not to blink,” He lightly adjusted his shoulders. A hand ghosted beneath Bill’s chin to tilt his head a certain way. “There, now stay just like that.”

Again, Bill wasn’t sure why that flustered him. Ford giving him clear instructions, moving him around the exact way he wanted him. Cipher was placed in the same predicament Ford had been a few days prior. He was no better than a dog wanting to be pet and coddled.

Doing his best to hold the pose Ford had maneuvered him into, Bill tried not to think too hard about that idea. If he showed how much he was enjoying this while Ford took the photo, it’d be immortalized on the walls of the lab. Though, If he enjoys it enough, maybe he’ll want to take more. A whole journal dedicated to his muse, starting from scratch after destroying the remnants of their old life.

Bill watched as Ford walked in a slow semicircle around the chair he sat in. The lens pointed at Bill’s face, changing the angle ever so slightly between every shutter click. Cipher would wait until after the shutter would go off to blink, then made sure his eyes were wide open for the next shot. 

The sound of the shutter echoed off the walls of the lab, clashing with the consistent hiss of the AC unit. Bill tried to keep his breathing steady, if he didn’t, Ford might be able to hear him. Then he’d know how much Bill liked having his picture taken. Although that was only with Ford behind the lens.

Without clear rhyme or reason, Ford took more pictures than Bill thought he ought to. There’s no way he needs this many, at least not for the eye, he thought to himself. Wanting to test that theory, Bill moved slightly. He let himself lean toward Ford’s camera, specifically so the lens would have a view of more of his body. Not just his face.

Stanford stopped for a moment, his rhythm thrown off before he readjusted the zoom on the lens and started up again. He didn’t bother to comment on the shift, just got back into his pattern. Hmm…How far can I bend you until you break? Bill tried to keep his amusement from showing on his face. Teasing Ford was too fun.

Staring directly into the lens, Bill reached up and pulled the elastic from his hair. Letting it cascade over his shoulders as he pushed the hair out of his face. He watched as Ford paused once more, his breathing was shallow as he waited for Bill’s hand to return to his knees before beginning again. 

Cipher waited a few beats, then leaned back. He let his legs spread wide, and set his arms against the armrest of the leather desk chair. Fully splayed out as far as he could without being uncomfortable. Watching intently as Ford waited, then began again.

Once again, the lab felt much warmer. At least to Bill. Oh, he’s taking these for personal use, He came to the realization and could feel himself heat up further. The idea that Ford wanted to keep a personal collection of photos of him sent a shiver down his spine. 

Bill had no idea what he could be taking a photo of, but he was beyond telling his body not to react to it. He could feel his face flush under the blaze of Ford’s eye through the viewfinder. His hands twitching around the arm rests of the chair. Cipher was sure he was beet red and had the most ridiculous look of shock on his face.

The plan had been to throw Ford off, but the tables had clearly turned. He wanted to stop his never ending stream of consciousness at their situation, but as usual his body wouldn’t comply. This damn meat suit never does what I want it to, he thought to himself. Somewhat frustrated. 

All he could do was sit there and allow Ford to get his fill. Even in their close proximity, Ford didn’t reach out to touch him. The only way they’d make contact would be if Bill reached up to grab him. But he wasn’t sure if he should do it. He was sky high on Stanford’s undivided attention, the thing he’s waited centuries for. He wasn’t going to give it up until he was forced to.

Bill noted the way Ford gently held the camera with both hands. Stepping closer to get a closer shot, as if he truly needed it. The way his breath came out shallow between each shutter click. Cipher noticed the way he flexed his legs from where he stood in a small stretch.

Bill tried to be as discreet as possible while he tried to dispel the pressure rising in his body. He readjusted from where he sat, trying to avoid tipping off Ford as he continued to take pictures. One of his hands then reached for the collar of his shirt, he let his fingers trail down his throat before catching on the top button. He stared directly into the camera, wide eyed and waiting as he teased as if to remove the article of clothing. Fingers clasping around the button.

Ford’s breathing was erratic, and Bill didn’t need to hold his ear against him to know his heart was pounding in his chest. Cipher was drunk on Ford’s fascination, an alcoholic breaking sobriety just for a drop of their favorite liquor. 

His hand then ghosted up his chest and throat, lightly holding himself under his chin as he turned his head. He watched on as the lens followed his path. Ford was obviously beyond pretending this was for the prosthetic. Bill then slowly let his thumb ghost across his bottom lip, letting his mouth open slightly for his tongue to peek through.

Eventually, the camera had to run out of space on its SD card.

The camera flashed red at him, prompting Ford to lower the device. He ended up face to face with the reality of his behavior. Cipher looked up in amusement as Ford quickly realized what he'd done, shifting his weight on his feet and stepping back closer to the work table.

“That should be enough…” He murmured, mostly talking to himself. Ford couldn’t look Bill in the eye, regretting how easily he got carried away. He looked down at the screen on the camera and started flipping through the pictures.

Bill smiled at him as he rose from the chair, “That’s good to hear…Y’know I almost thought you weren’t going to have enough room on that thing if you needed any more.” He teased Ford as he walked over to him, steering him back against the cluttered work table. “If you decide you need more reference photos, feel free to come find me, Fordsy.” 

He fully encroached into Ford’s space, caging him between his arms. Gloating for a moment, Bill took in how nervous Ford looked. He flashed a wide grin at Ford’s flushed face as he laughed and released him. There, now we’re even, Bill thought to himself. 

Ford had gotten very close in the past few days, it was only fair that Cipher got to do it back. He glanced over his shoulder at Ford standing against the desk, clutching the camera. “Now, would you be a doll and let me borrow your eye to head to bed? I have to open again tomorrow,” He called back. “I assume you won’t need this prototype since you took so many photos, so it should be fine for me to keep for now, right?”

Ford cleared his throat as he tried to regain his composure. Setting the camera on the work table behind him, he started heading for the elevator. “Yes, you can keep it since I have the mold…and the photos,” he replied. “I have to follow you up otherwise the elevator won’t run properly.”

Bill shrugged as he pressed the button to head upstairs. They stood in silence in front of the elevator doors, listening to the rattling and squeaking of the metal gears. Cipher was confident he had played that off well. Pretending he wasn’t also hot under the collar in the aftermath of the web Ford had entangled them in.

Once the elevator screeched to a stop and they stepped inside, Bill shoved his hands in his pockets. He figured non-important conversation was better than deafening silence. “So, the kids will be here next week, right?” He asked nonchalantly. Bill was well aware of when Dipper and Mabel would be back in town, he’d been dreading it since he found out they were coming at all. 

Ford glanced over at him, “Yes, they’ll be here in about a week and Wendy will start her summer stint in the gift shop.” His response was short, Ford’s mind was clearly elsewhere.

As the doors rolled open for them to part ways, Bill could feel a pang of disappointment in his chest. He liked having a reason to see Ford so often, to share the same rare air. He was stepping into his room and turning back to wave goodbye when he noticed Ford held the doors open.

“I have another project after this one and still need a lab partner, if you’d be available to help out after your shifts upstairs,” Ford suggested.

Cipher could feel the crooked smile stretching across his face before he knew he was smiling at all. I have no clue what’s gotten into him, but I’ll take whatever he’ll give me. Bill gazed over a moment too long, caught up in his own nostalgia before responding, “I’m available for whatever you need, especially since we both know my margin of error is smaller than yours.”

Ford’s brow creased to frown over at him, “Mhm, we’ll see about that.” He replied as he stepped back and let the elevator doors close.

Standing in the center of the room, Bill’s mind was racing. He could barely keep himself contained within the past few days in such close proximity. How was he going to keep up this attitude if Ford kept him around more? Setting his shoulders, Bill made the executive decision that the issue of his bodily reactions was tomorrow’s problem. It would be better to sleep on it and give the idea another go in the morning.

Chapter Text

Ford wasn’t sure if he could muster the courage to pick up a camera ever again. How did I let myself get carried away like that? He chastised himself as the elevator continued to descend back down to the lab. Even if he felt guilty for his actions, he still knew he needed to look through the pictures. 

Ever since he first saw the vessel a few weeks ago, he wanted to study it. Unfortunately, Ford could never stop himself from heavily examining anything he’d ever been slightly interested in. He couldn’t just know about it and enjoy it, he had to be an expert. For the most part, he felt like one when it came to Cipher, so turning the leaf over to see an entirely new set of veins was akin to hitting the jackpot at a casino.

What was unlucky was the fact that his current object of fascination was his sworn enemy. Their relationship was like stargazing, seeing something beautiful from afar without realizing that its light may have been snuffed out long before you set up your telescope. That didn’t stop Ford from being lured into setting up his telescope time and time again, so enamored with the stars that he almost didn’t care if they never existed to begin with.

Infatuation hijacked his brain like a virus while he looked at Cipher sitting before the lens of his camera earlier that evening. Bill’s wide eyes looking up at him, allowing himself to be posed like a doll. It was driving Ford insane. Bill had never been docile or agreeable, and seeing him in such a state was borderline intoxicating. 

As a result, Ford had gotten ahead of himself. Encroaching into Cipher’s space, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he tried to control his breathing. The demon teasing as if to unbutton his shirt while he gazed into the camera. Wanting to see how far Ford would let him take it.

If the device hadn’t run out of space, Bill probably would have ended up wearing far less in that desk chair because once Ford started, he couldn’t stop. Any semblance of control went out the window when he was studying something new and this was no exception. Thankfully, he had enough sense to not swap the SD card out and continue taking photos. Whether it was dignity or shame, he wasn’t sure. Ford was just glad he’d stopped himself.

As the doors for the elevators opened, Ford immediately headed to his back worktable to snatch up the camera. He then carried it over to his laptop to load the photos from the SD card and sift through them. He sat back in his chair as the files loaded in, over 500 pictures began to render on his computer.

God, how did I even take so many? He wondered to himself. It hadn’t felt that long but apparently he had a twitchy trigger finger. Maybe that’s just from the coffee. Now he was just making excuses. Ford was so hooked in the moment that time seemed to stand still, he just moved on autopilot as he adjusted the zoom percentage and the angle over and over. Trying to get the perfect shot. I really need to get it together.

Once everything had loaded in, Ford rolled his chair forward and began to click through the photos. At first, it was the original position he’d maneuvered Cipher into. He noted the contrast between both irises and made minor notes in his journal about improving the color match. Then he got to the beginning of the more…indulgent pictures of Bill in different positions. 

Ford stared intently at the screen, taking in all the details of Bill leaning forward toward the camera. Arms relaxed on his knees with his legs slightly spread, looking back at him. He was tilted forward enough that Ford could just barely see down his shirt since the top few buttons were undone.

Just that sliver of skin showing made Ford flustered enough to flip to the next set. When Bill let his hair down. It fell across his shoulders and pooled around his neck. When he had pushed it out of his face, Ford watched his hands - entranced. He wanted nothing more than to run his fingers through Bill’s hair, just to test what it would feel like. Ford wanted to return the gesture from a few days prior.

At the memory of Bill’s fingers massaging his scalp and lightly tugging his hair back, Ford slightly readjusted in his chair and removed his jacket. Was the lab always so warm? He asked himself before flipping to the last set of photos.

Closer shots of Bill blatantly teasing him, a sly smile on his face. His slim fingers trailing down his throat, catching on the buttons of his shirt and then trailing back up to tilt his head. His tongue peeked through his slightly parted lips. Moses… Ford couldn’t stop his mind from running wild. Imagining other scenarios he now wished he had pictures of.

Apparently Bill didn’t need to inhabit his brain to read Ford’s mind. Knowing what would draw him in, like they weren’t supposed to hate each other. He played to his strengths, understanding what would garner a reaction to mentally hold Ford hostage.

Cipher thrived on Ford’s attention, whether it was good or bad. In his eyes, all press was good press because it meant someone was talking about him. 

Ford in days long since passed did his best to give Bill the silent treatment, it was one of the only punishments that seemed to get under his skin. It didn’t get the best response, but it was something. However, as he’d gotten older Ford had decided to just speak his mind. To say whatever vile insult was on the tip of his tongue. 

He didn’t think his mind would hard wire that process to conversations outside their arguing. Let alone to seep over into his actions, to do the things he really wanted to do before properly thinking it through. Like taking over 500 indulgent photos of Bill.

Removing his glasses and placing them on the desk, he rubbed his eyes before holding his head in his hands. What the hell is wrong with me? Ford asked himself. Closing his laptop in defeat, Ford spun his chair as he reflected on the last few days.

They had gotten too close physically, and Stanford was trying to tell himself that this was all about the prosthetic. Not that he just wanted to investigate everything that made Cipher tick. To examine every cog, nut and bolt that lay under the surface of his skin. To understand Bill in his entirety.

Ford wanted nothing more than to take every piece of Cipher apart and put him back together. Dissecting him like a lab rat until he’d collected enough data. To know him so intricately that he could reassemble Bill’s body, mind and soul with his eyes closed.

For science, obviously for science. Not because of the hundreds of ways he thought about what he’d like to do with Bill’s body in his possession. Docile and agreeable, finally surrendering under Ford’s thumb for once. He wouldn’t necessarily be opposed to a boost in his ego. Not that he really needed it, but that didn’t dampen his desire to want it. 

And Ford had always wanted too much.

Ford’s eyes wandered across his desk before catching on to the journal Dr. Tseyvar had given him in their last session. He hadn’t tried writing anything in it yet, distracting himself from thinking about it altogether. He slid his glasses back on to his face before shifting closer to the desk.

Reaching forward, he pulled it in front of him and flipped open to the first blank page. He grabbed a fountain pen from the holder on his desk and idly twirled it between his fingers.

In all the years he’d kept a journal, he’d never been at a loss for words. At least, not until now. Ford stared down at the blank page, thinking about their relationship. It was supposed to be a recollection of his perspective of events, but he wasn’t sure if he’d be a reliable narrator. Cipher had continuously scrambled his brain, he’d make Ford forget and remember things at will. Plant false memories, remove emotions. 

Bill had owned him in his entirety and he made sure Ford never forgot it. The only constant in their time together was Cipher’s ownership. The vast, endless need for control.

Taking a shaky breath, Ford started writing what he could remember. Unsure if it was real or something Bill had created for his own amusement. At first, his mind jumped to the end. He knew that part was real, he had the scars to prove it. Ford glanced up at the dried blood smeared across the portal room door and shuddered before beginning to write again.

He’d never been one to skimp on details, so along with his reckless stream of consciousness he had diagrams. The visceral memories he had of what his hands and feet looked like. His bloody footprints in the snow, the view from the roof of his house as he shivered and considered jumping. Puppet Hour.

Pausing mid-pen stroke, Ford could feel panic creep up on him at the memory. The ink left in the nib congealed and fell, leaving deep splatters of ink across the bottom of the page but he wasn’t paying attention to the mess. Behind his eyes, all he could see was the static laden CRT TV with strung together clips of Ford being possessed.

It was as if he was rewatching it live and in person all over again. Feeling the lingering phantom pain of the nails hammered through his hands, the skittering of spider legs crawling down his throat, the residual ache of his entire body from Cipher’s trek through the woods. The night from hell that he had no recollection of first hand. The aftermath was horrifying, and he couldn’t think about it too long before he felt like he was going to be sick.

He could feel his stomach churn at the memory. Hoping to avoid dealing with the feeling entirely, he tried to pivot his attention. Before that awful string of time he couldn’t remember, or that he at least didn’t want to.

Ford had to flip a few pages forward since the ink had bled through in his mental lapse. Before the end, there was the honeymoon period. An amalgamation of mild disagreements and pure, unwavering devotion. When Ford had given everything he’d ever had willingly and freely, to do anything within his power to please his husband. 

Long nights spent in the mindscape, when they were supposed to be working. However, when they first got married they weren’t getting much done on the portal. Instead they had an ever growing craving for each other’s attention. Ford wouldn’t be satisfied enough to get work done until he’d worshipped every inch of the ground Bill floated over. 

He had multiple ways at first, experimenting with what Cipher liked best. It didn’t take long for them to find their footing. Even though Ford was inexperienced at the time in relationships, there wasn’t any field he wasn’t a prodigy in. That included the bedroom, if the mindscape could be considered as such.

Instead of progressing through calculations for the portal, Ford was taking special interest in distracting Bill from their project as much as possible. They were like rabbits, and once they started there wasn’t an end in sight. It had become second nature. 

They’d try to play chess but it wouldn’t be long until one of them swept the pieces off the board to find another use for the table. Ford would start writing out equations in the mindscape and Bill would somehow end up under the desk, diverting his focus. Cipher would possess him to take care of his body when he was particularly exhausted and end up letting Ford be conscious enough for other activities, purposefully heightening his senses.

Ford at a certain point had to tell Bill to essentially take a vacation so he could finish working. If he had the option to touch Cipher, he’d take it every time and forget whatever he was supposed to be doing. He ended up agreeing which was how they ended up at the first portal test. Stanford had to shake his head to perish the thought.

Never having been one for physical intimacy before, Ford didn’t think he’d desperately want it again once the option was taken away. In the thirty years he spent in the portal he’d had a few stints here and there but nothing could ever strike the same cord as Cipher. A melody he wanted to hear on repeat every day for the rest of his mortal life.

Scowling, he mentally scolded himself, There’s no way it was good enough to outweigh all the pain and torment. Ford thought it, but he wasn’t sure he believed that. 

During that period of their relationship, it wasn’t just the sex he missed. Bill used to take meticulous care of him. Gently helping maintain his body and relieving him of even the smallest ache or discomfort. Never letting Ford get sick or stick with a headache for too long. When Bill would take over to spoil him, Ford had never felt so loved.

Although, most of the time Ford was in that state to begin with because of Cipher. He had a skewed perspective, while he knew he was essentially a well-kept pet, Ford was still treated as if he were beneath him. Everyone wants a lap dog but no one wants to get on the floor with it. They like standing above and petting the dog at their leisure. They also like being able to punish the dog as they see fit.

There were still the times that he’d take Ford’s body for a joyride around that time, but they weren’t nearly as violent and he was always sure to fix him up after the fact. It hadn’t bothered him, Ford was used to feeling unwell most of the time before they met due to his terrible sleep habits and lack of concern for his well being. He hadn’t really thought about it until Bill specifically told him that Ford’s body was Cipher’s temple and he should treat it as such.

At the time, he had thought that was a sweet sentiment, but now it left a weird taste in his mouth. That his body was essentially nothing more than a conduit of worship for Bill’s ego.

Debating on crossing out that section entirely, he leered down at the page. But then she may still ask…and it did happen. Clearing it from his mind, Ford chose to move on.

Ford tried to think back further, before they got married and when they first started working together. He remembered walking on eggshells to keep his god’s favor. Trying to go above and beyond for Cipher’s approval. Ford had thought meeting Bill was his destiny, that he was chosen in the loom of fate for something special. In a way, he was but he wasn’t sure if that was necessarily a good thing anymore.

Most other things felt blurry, I’ll have to check previous journal entries for finer details to make some sort of timeline. It was mildly concerning realizing what he did and didn’t remember. The muddiest two years of his memory. I guess I could also write about when the rift shattered, even though we weren’t really together anymore. Even if those memories were painful, he still needed to write them down. Ford had a duty to give the therapist a full scope of the situation.

It also might help him deal with the lingering fears tied to those days of torture. Ford’s hands shook as he recalled waking up at the tip of the fearamid. Bill playing piano, the human flesh couch. He shuddered at the memory of accidentally touching it.

The penthouse suite Bill had called it, like it was an honor or a luxury. As if he wasn’t kept on thick chains and tortured for days at a time. Cipher had manipulated the way time flowed there, so it could have been a few minutes but to Ford it felt like weeks.

A never ending stream of pure agony engulfed him as Cipher and his henchmen continuously mocked him. If Bill had been drinking, it’d be worse. Unfortunately for him, most days after the rift shattered, Cipher was drunk. He’d lose the last remnants of what Ford could try to classify as humanity and really let him have it.

Letting Ford loose to chase him through the winding hallways, his form an amalgamation of jagged teeth and gangly limbs. His feet would stomp through the stone floors and across the ceiling as he’d skitter around like a beetle chasing prey. Cipher would wait until Ford was truly exhausted, hyper-ventilating and caked in sweat to scoop him up and trap him again in chains.

He could recall screaming until it felt like his vocal cords would snap from the strain. The smell of charred flesh as he was electrocuted repeatedly. Bill would hit him with charges that would kill the average human being, but he’d heal him at the same time. Forcing him to endure. 

Cipher breaking his bones one at a time then fusing them back together. Thankfully that one hadn’t left lasting physical damage. It could have severely impaired his ability to walk or write. The fact that he was still so agile and fit was a miracle in and of itself.

Then there was the other subset of Bill’s games, the psychological torment. It was almost worse than the physical torture. The way he felt about that aspect was something he’d never be able to change. But the mental games? He’d always have a heavy layer of fog in his mind surrounding those moments.

The visceral shame of the ways in which he’d folded like a flimsy house of cards under Bill’s minimal pressure washed over him. Ford had to set his pen down or else the ink would drip again. Feeling nausea well up inside him again, his breathing was labored at the moments he remembered in piercing clarity.

At some point in Cipher’s incessant plotting to obtain the equation, he’d had an epiphany. Insects were far more attracted to honey than gasoline. As such, he changed tactics.

Ford noticed the shift immediately in the way Bill let his chains go lax and allowed him to drink water for the first time in ages. Technically he didn’t need it since Bill was keeping him alive, but Ford wanted it more than anything. As he drank, Cipher petted his hair, massaging gently against his scalp and forehead. Stanford leaned up into the touch before he realized who the hand was attached to.

He did everything in his power to resist the switch in demeanor, but he was starving, dehydrated and exhausted. The triangle petting his hair and whispering praises under his breath wasn’t his tormentor anymore. He was his partner, the one Ford had missed for the last 30 years that he had been on the run. The being he married.

They would lay in bed together for hours, saying nothing. Enjoying the silence until Bill would just kiss over every lingering scar and tell Ford every sugary lie he’d ever wanted to hear. That he was sorry for hurting him, that he wanted to stay here with him forever, that he loved him deeply and nothing about that had changed after all these years.

After so long in isolation, consumed with paranoia and fear, Ford sobbed in Bill’s arms. A man broken, needing someone else to put him back together. He’d tried and tried for years to do it by himself, but now he was old. And he was tired. Ford just wanted his partner to fix whatever pieces were damaged and love him anyway.

It wasn’t until he asked for the equation a few days later that Ford realized he was being played. Again. He was infuriated at the time, screaming any and every insult he could think of. When he was done, Bill apologized and roped him in once more.

A never ending cycle of betrayal and reconciliation. No matter how many times he was taught, Ford never seemed to learn his lesson. Every single time, he’d think Cipher was better. Every single time, he wasn’t.

Ford fell for the ruse over and over. Desperately craving a partner so intensely that he’d settle for scraps. In between the disfigurement of his frail, mortal body Ford would accept every soft touch and chaste kiss. He’d happily accept the poison Cipher would pour into his open lips, then writhe as it coursed through his system. Raveging him from the inside out as he retched, the bile burning him like a wildfire.

Looking back on things now, it was humiliating. The shredded tatters he had settled for. Accepting any morsel of affection, praying it wouldn’t stop. That his partner would stay and the monster was gone. Ford had stopped believing in any gods or religion once he’d been on the brink of death for what felt like a month. 

If God was there, he must be laughing at Ford’s suffering. Mocking him in tandem with the rest of the freakshow that tormented him. Gaining some sick, twisted enjoyment from his suffering. A vile game that was created specifically for Stanford to lose.

In the moment, settling for that hour of sunshine in their eternal night was worth every second. He’d beg and plead for the smallest of gestures, for the opportunity to stoop low enough for Cipher to reach him. Hoping for a semblance of the man he married.

Now, the fact that he had done those things disgusted him. Begging for leftover affection from days long gone. Waiting for the man he’d fallen in love with, the man Ford wasn’t sure existed. A figment of his imagination.

Ford took quick notes, mentally dissociating from the implications of this train of thought. The person who had hurt him in ways unfathomable, who he missed dearly. That he mourned like a widow torn by war. As if Ford had not fought in the same battles and sustained damage of his own.

The person who was in the room right above this one. Who he could see whenever he wanted, inhabiting the same space. But he didn’t even know if that version of his partner was the same person, or if it was the creature masquerading again. Always waiting to pull the rug out from under him for a sliver of his own amusement.

Glancing up at the clock overhead, Ford realized how late he’d stayed up by accident. He needed to get some sleep, to prepare for the kids return for the summer in a few days. Rising from his desk, he decided to leave his laptop in the basement. Delegating the photos to another day’s problem as he headed up to bed.

Pressing the button for the ground floor, he stared warily at the second floor basement button. Ford tapped his feet impatiently as he tilted for the retinal scanner. The farther he was from Cipher, the better. If he stood here all night thinking about him he’d probably do something he’d heavily regret later.

As he wandered up the stairs and closed the vending machine door behind him, Ford saw the glow of the TV in the living room under the door. Who’s still up at this hour? He wondered to himself, carefully heading to see if someone had left it on by mistake.

Upon opening the door, he saw Stanley asleep in the recliner. The TV was on but muted as he snored softly. His back is going to be killing him tomorrow if he stays like that, Ford scowled to himself as he walked over to try to wake him. “Stanley, you can’t sleep in the chair like that - it’s bad for your back,” He kept his voice low as he shook one of Stan’s shoulders.

Stan roused from where he sat groggily, rubbing a hand over his eyes before looking over at Ford, “What? What’re you doing up?” He fumbled around the chair for his glasses, discarded at some point as he slept.

“I was working in the lab, you shouldn’t fall asleep in the chair like that - you need to head to bed,” Ford sighed, trying to coax his brother into standing.

The twin scoffed at him, “At least I was sleeping, you’re the one up til…” He squinted over at the clock on the wall, “ Three in the morning, Geez, Ford you need to go to bed.” Stan shifted forward to stand and turn the TV off.

Rolling his eyes, Ford responded sarcastically, “Pot, meet Kettle - you two will probably hit it off just fine.” He chuckled at his own joke as Stanley pretended to gag before steering his brother’s shoulders to his bedroom.

“What were you even messing with in the lab this late anyways?’ Stan asked as they walked down the hall. His tone was laced with skepticism, even if he was tired.

Ford shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from fidgeting. “Cipher and I wrapped up the prototype for the prosthetic, a few things need to be tweaked so I stayed up later to research,” He said simply. Hoping they could leave it at that.

Even if Stanley was curious, he wouldn’t pry. Ford would tell him whatever he needed to know when he was ready. Instead of asking further he hummed and nodded as they continued walking. Once they reached his door, Ford pat his twin on the shoulder before heading to his own room.

As he wandered the halls, Ford glanced at the framed photos strewn about. Pictures of the kids the past few summers they had come to visit, photos from Ford and Stanley’s adventures, Soos and Melody’s various vacations over the years. It reminded him to stay here in the present. The past had already happened, and nothing good came from trying to stay there. He needed to keep moving forward, to persevere. 

Ford was trying to be more than the series of unfortunate circumstances that led him to this moment.

Keeping this in mind wasn’t always easy, especially not when he was now thrown into the past head first every time he saw Cipher. Having to write everything down in more precise detail for the therapist was also a bit of a challenge. Those sleepless nights from three decades ago haunted him. Always getting closer and closer to becoming the full picture, never content to stay in his peripheral vision. Swallowing him whole.

Every day was new, but the way he reacted to them was the same old process. He was tethered to his trauma, intertwined in a way he could never unravel. Ford would be having a normal day, then he’d hear twigs crunch under his boots and he was back in the fearamid. He’d go about his life and feel like others were staring, that their eyes were not their own. He’d walk into a room with TV static echoing in the background and start crying.

Just sleeping was horrifying, he had to try to mentally calm himself before trying. In case he’d be thrown into a nightmarish memory. Trapped in his own mind at Cipher’s mercy all over again. Even if the demon didn’t have his powers, he could torture Ford without lifting a finger. 

It was exhausting and typically only gave him trouble in the dark. Usually he’d sleep as the sun was rising, that way the lights would wake him up before a panic attack did. That was part of the reason he stayed up late to begin with, hoping to ride out the moonlight as long as possible. Tonight, however, he was emotionally spent. Running on fumes as he tried to reassemble his fading memory had taken a lot out of him.

Once Ford made it to his bedroom, he threw on pajama pants and didn’t bother with a shirt. Summer nights in Oregon were starting to heat up and he hadn’t grabbed the small AC unit out of storage yet. That’s what I should work on tomorrow, he decided as he slumped over into bed. He set his glasses on the nightstand and used his arm to cover his eyes.

Did every day feel this long when we were travelling? He wondered as his breathing evened out. Closing his eyes, Ford nearly immediately fell asleep.

That night, he dreamt of sitting on the porch. He had blueprints for some project or another that he couldn’t quite make out in his lap as the sun rose over the horizon. It was peaceful, the ambient sounds of the forest as he worked through equations. At least until he heard the door swing open.

Dread settled over his bones, coating them in fear. This dream was new, but he already could tell where it was headed. These sweet moments usually didn’t last long.

Turning to the sound, Ford watched as Cipher walked out onto the porch to join him. He had on one of Ford’s sweaters and shorts, barefoot as he padded over. His hair tied up in a messy bun atop his head, bobbing as he moved with a pen tucked away for later. In his hands he was carrying notes of some kind, peering down at them in concentration as his brow creased. Like they were normal, working on something together. Partners.

A pang of disappointment welled up within him. This was what he originally wanted. Researching together, sharing the same space, comfort and stability. And he’d initially been afraid of it. Existing under the impression that Cipher only did nice things for him to make the pain twice as brutal came so naturally to him.

Cipher walked over and sat on the couch beside him, offering up whatever he was holding. “I think these look good, your math is spot on,” He commented, pointing out blurry figures that Ford couldn’t make out. Probably because this one wasn’t a memory.

No matter how badly he wished it was. He wanted this moment to be real, to be a permanent fixture in his mind. Enshrined for all eternity. Ford and his partner at peace, going through equations on the porch. Watching the sun rise before properly starting the day.

Humming in response, Ford wasn’t sure what to say. If this dream was a good one, he wanted to experience it to the fullest. Folding the blueprint in his lap, Ford set it on the worn wooden deck of the porch before looping his arms around Cipher’s body to pull him into his chest.

“Ford…what are you doing?” Bill asked, tilting his head back to peer up at him.

Burying his face in Cipher’s hair, Ford snuggled up against him. “I’m enjoying the moment,” He replied simply. Ford’s arms constricted tighter around Bill’s waist. He continued rubbing his face against Bill’s head until he lowered the notes and relaxed against him. However he wasn’t content to lay this way, he wanted to sweeten the deal.

Sitting up, Ford removed the pen in Cipher’s hair and took it down from the bun. Cipher immediately started protesting, “What’re you doing? You know how hard it is to put my hair up like that? And don’t lose that pen, it’s my favorite-” 

Bill stopped talking once Ford’s fingers began to lightly comb through his hair. Untangling the strands before he shifted back and parted it. First into two sections, then he parted one of the two sections into three equal portions. “Always so dramatic…I thought you liked watching me braid,” Ford softly teased him as he began braiding Bill’s hair. 

“Well- I can’t watch you if you’re braiding my hair,” He pouted but didn’t shy away. Ford could see him twiddle his fingers as he took in the feeling. “But I suppose this is okay…”

Laughing to himself, Ford continued braiding in silence. Cipher had always liked watching his hands move. When his own hair was longer he tried to teach Bill to braid, but the demon had always struggled with it. Not quite having the same dexterity for the action. Maybe I should try to teach him again, Ford’s mind began to wander. Especially to help since his hair is so long now.  

Cipher’s hair was long enough to brush against his hips, he’d only ever seen him secure it in a low ponytail. Mabel would probably be happy to show him, Ford smiled to himself, A dress up mannequin she could decorate again and again…that is if she doesn’t try to kill him first.

Thinking about the kids meeting Bill again felt like a daunting task. When Stanley had called to give them the news, they were less than pleased. Hoping to find some loophole. At the very least Dipper agreed they couldn’t leave Cipher unsupervised while he was here and that letting him stay with someone else could be dangerous. So they were on board in the vaguest sense. 

He wasn’t sure how they’d react to the other details of their relationship. Stanley had opted not to tell the kids that Ford and Bill were ever in a romantic relationship, let alone married. If they knew Ford was trying to get a divorce while going through the one with their parents they might just break down. It had been hard enough trying to get them to open up about it, both ready for the process to be over with so they could move on.

About to go into their senior year, it was a looming cloud that constantly threatened to rain on their parade. Ford didn’t want to be the one to add thunder and lightning to the mix. Having Bill in the house to begin with already felt like he was introducing a tsunami.

Once he had finished the first braid, he tied it off with one of Bill’s hair ties before starting on the second. It was all muscle memory at that point, like he’d done this a thousand times. In a way, he had. Ford had needed to while he was in the portal when he couldn’t find anything to cut his hair with and he’d braided Mabel’s hair more times than he could count.

Ford had forgotten how relaxing it could be. Monotonous movements, maybe that’s why he’d started smoking again. It was honestly a surprise he hadn’t had a smoke before he went to bed, though it was probably a testament to how exhausted he was.

At some point Bill had started humming to himself. Ford couldn’t quite pick up on the tune, but he let him carry on. Caught up in the moment. He tied off the second braid and wrapped his arms back around Bill’s waist, settling him against his chest on the couch. “Isn’t that nice?” Ford asked, mumbling in Cipher’s ear.

Leaning his head to the side to relax fully, Bill nodded in agreement. They laid like that for a while, Cipher humming a song Ford couldn’t place as they breathed in the crisp, summer air. His fingers tracing patterns along Bill’s stomach.

When he woke up the next afternoon he felt well-rested for the first time in weeks. It was odd, usually he didn’t dream or he had a nightmare. Very seldomly did he have a good dream that wasn’t a direct memory, though he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

Glancing at the clock, Ford debated what he was going to do with the day. He couldn’t head down to the lab for a few hours since tours were running, but he remembered he needed to get the AC unit out of storage and finish setting up the attic for the kids to use when they arrived.

Rolling out of bed, he got dressed and set off to get started. The first thing he did was head up to the attic. Ford moved the beds to their respective corners and cleared all the lingering cobwebs and dust from the room. He got their bedding out of the closet and shook out the leftover dust from the covers. Coughing through the haze, he cracked the window open. 

Ford swept the floors and cleared the closet out, they’d renovated so there was an upstairs bathroom now. He double checked that everything was in working order before he went back downstairs to find the window AC unit.

As he passed by the door to the gift shop he could hear Cipher’s voice carry over the various tourists. They were loud, but Ford would know his voice anywhere. Finding it easily as if he was given a metal detector to seek out the needle in the haystack. Ford stood idly by for a moment, listening to him talk to customers and laugh at random jokes. Pining for tips that he wouldn’t get to keep.

The desire to peek through the crack in the door to watch him was there, but Ford did it best to squash it down as he wandered to the closet they kept the window unit in. Hauling it off the shelf, Ford used his heel to close the door behind him before lugging it back to his room.

It was such an old, clunky device he almost considered buying a replacement. But that was no fun, the joy came from building an entirely new one from scratch that ran smoother than anything money could buy. As he set it on the floor of his room he bolted over to his desk to jot down preliminary notes.

Sketching out potential design options loosely. Ford was the type of person that had to write down an idea the second it came to him, for fear it would disappear entirely. It had become a lingering habit in college that persisted throughout his life. After documenting everything he could, Ford turned to his window before propping it open to set the AC unit inside. He expected the rusted hinges to be difficult to navigate, what he didn’t expect was Cipher loitering outside.

Jumping back in surprise, Ford felt like he’d nearly had a heart attack. “Cipher, what the hell are you doing out there?!” He asked frantically, scrambling to compose himself.

“I- nothing I just took the trash out,” Bill replied, his eyes wide as he’d been startled. Obviously not expecting to get caught, Bill looked genuinely nervous.

The prototype was still placed in his socket, much to Ford’s interest. He wanted to ask if it had given his former muse any issues throughout the night or this morning, but he had to deal with the matter at hand. “You would have needed to walk around the entire house to take the trash out and end up outside my window,” Ford responded, scowling at him. “If you needed something, you could have just come and knocked on my door like a normal person - you scared me half to death.”

Bill’s face heated up as he sputtered to save face, “In case you were unaware, I’m not a normal person.” He pushed the loose strands of hair out of his face before giving Ford a small smile, “Besides you wouldn’t have died, you’re not ninety-two yet.”

Rolling his eyes, Ford tried to ignore Cipher’s attempts at banter. “Trust me, I’m well aware,” he mumbled before his eyes flicked back over to Bill’s face. “Did you need something? Or are you just going to lie again about being back there for trash?’ He asked monotonously.

Shoving his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts, Bill replied, “Yeah, I wanted you to take another look at the eye - y’know in the daylight for the color, it also feels a little weird.”

“Weird has never bothered you before,” Ford quipped immediately as he leaned against the windowsill. He smiled slightly as Bill groaned over at him. “Matter of fact, you used to like weird.”

Cipher kicked a rock next to his boot, “That’s not what I meant.” He glared over, tense. “If you don’t want to look at it, it’s fine.”

Ford immediately stopped his teasing, wanting to examine Cipher up close again. “No- it’s alright, when you’re done for the day come meet me in here for me to take a look,” He said quickly. Bill’s face heated up slightly before he mumbled in agreement under his breath and stalked off toward the other side of the house.

Watching him storm off, Ford replayed the conversation over in his head. Realizing his words may have been misconstrued. He didn’t think I was flirting with him, did he? Ford thought about it deeper. He wasn’t flirting, he was just talking and it wasn’t strange to talk with lab partners. Ford had countless lab assistance over the years and he didn’t think talking to them was the same as flirting. I also didn’t give them an invitation to research in my bedroom . Ford set his face in his hands on the windowsill, Maybe he does think I was flirting with him…

Groaning to himself, Ford turned to grab the AC unit. He hauled it up and readjusted it until it was secure before plugging the device in and fiddling with the settings. Once it was in place, he grabbed the notes he had started off the desk to add more information. Using the one in the window as a base to work off of. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been running through ideas before he heard a soft knock at his door.

Only ever used to Stanley coming up with food, Ford didn’t bother to look up from his desk. “Come in, it’s open,” He called over his shoulder. He continued sketching completely unaware of who was actually entering.

The door creaked open slowly as soft footsteps padded across the hardwood floor. Ford sat hunched over the desk until he felt a hand lightly clasp his shoulder. A four fingered hand.

Ford bolted upright, nearly dropping his pen causing ink to splatter across his shirt as he turned in his chair to see Bill. His eyes wide from being startled at Ford’s sudden movements. Bill took a small step back and awkwardly averted his gaze, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you - you said to come in so I thought you realized it was me.”

Despite his heart hammering in his chest, Ford tried his best to remain calm. “I know, I’m sorry, usually Stanley pops in to drop stuff off,” He said, setting his pen down. “I was just focused on something and didn’t realize you were there.”

Bill peered over his shoulder from afar, curious about what he could be working on. “A new project?” He asked casually, still too anxious to properly step back toward the desk.

“Ah, yes - to replace the AC unit,” Ford replied, using his thumb to point out the bulky device seated in the window. “We can work on that later, but you should let me examine the prosthetic before the sun sets,” He replied as he stood from his chair. Ford then gestured for Bill to take a seat as he accidentally smeared ink across his forearms. “You sit there while I change, afterwards I’ll take a look at your eye,” He said as he crossed the room to his closet.

Without thinking, he immediately removed his shirt, using it to wipe up the ink on his arms and tossed it into the nearby hamper. He then scrounged around in his dresser for a replacement. As his fingers brushed against the fabric in the top drawer, the reasonable half of his brain caught up with him. Like a deer caught in headlights, Ford went rigid as he turned his head.

Staring over at him, was Cipher sitting on the edge of his bed. Suddenly, Ford wished he was ninety-two because he would rather be dead than be existing in this moment. Quickly, he grabbed a random t-shirt and threw it over his head as he cleared his throat. Ford could feel his face heating up no matter how hard he tried to play it off.

“I see you kept the tattoos,” Cipher smirked over at him. That was all it took to realize he’d lost the upper hand. “Not a drop of ink out of place from the last time I saw them.”

Ford walked back over to his desk chair to sit and grab the light to examine with. “Yes, well I’ve been told it’s not very nice to get rid of gifts,” Ford replied, his voice laced with sarcasm. Sitting back once the light was secure, he used two fingers to coax Bill over to the edge of the mattress. “Now, let’s look at that eye.”

It was easier to deflect than to think about undressing in front of Cipher. Regardless of the way his face heated up at the insinuation. That the tattoos were a gift and not a mutilating reminder. Bill perched on the edge of the bed, tilting his head to let Ford hold his face.

Cupping his chin gently, Ford leaned over him. “I’m going to shine this light around your eyes - it’ll be uncomfortable but try to hold still,” He mumbled.

Bill nodded slightly and blinked a few times before Ford held the light up to his eye to examine the edges of the prosthetic. Using his thumb to hold Bill’s eyelid open wider, he scrutinized the details.

Ford tried to be as clinical as possible, not wanting to blur the lines between them more than the murky watercolors they’d turned into over the last few days. He had to keep it together or things would be extremely awkward for everyone involved when the kids got here. “When you say weird - can you describe what it feels like?” He asked curiously, searching for anything out of place.

Fidgeting with the edge of his t-shirt Bill seemed to contemplate for a moment. “I guess it just feels kind of…dry? Or itchy sort of, I’m not really sure how to describe the feeling,” He tried articulating what he meant. “Like I don’t want to scratch at it, I just feel like it’s sitting incorrectly.”

Ford hummed to himself, “That actually helps pinpoint the issue.” Clicking the light off, Ford stood to head to his bathroom. “It’s not the prosthetic that’s bothering you necessarily, it’s that you don’t have the correct solution to go with it,” He called over his shoulder.

Cipher stood and trailed after him, confused and apprehensive. “What do you mean?” He asked, peering at Ford from just outside the bathroom.

“I mean they’re not really supposed to be comfortable on their own - like a contact lens you need a lubricant of sorts to make sure it doesn’t bother you.” He replied, rifling through various drawers. “I should have some eye drops around here somewhere…”

Wrapping his arms around himself, Bill tried to make himself smaller from where he stood. His voice was tense as he asked, “Do I …have to use it?” 

Pausing, Ford looked up from the drawer he was rummaging through. He’d never heard Bill actually sound outright afraid of something before. Let alone something as simple as eye drops. “You technically don’t have to use it all the time, but if you don’t use it often enough you could irritate the socket and need medical attention,” He replied. Bill looked like he was going to be sick, Ford debated if he should move to let him throw up.

Ford was perplexed as he watched Bill’s demeanor shift in real time. The fear lingering in the background faded away and his expression became neutral, his eye glazing over. “Alright, just let me know what I need to do,” He responded. Any traces of how he truly felt had drifted away and now he was a shell of the person that stood there a minute ago.

Brushing the strange feeling aside, Ford continued searching through the cabinets before he found what he was looking for. He pulled out a small bottle of eye drops before reading the back of the container to be sure they weren’t expired. Once he confirmed they weren’t he unscrewed the cap. “Come sit on the counter, I’ll show you how to use it,” He offered, stepping aside for Bill to join him.

Bill wandered over before hopping up to sit on the counter. “What should I do?” He asked, unsure of where to put his hands. He settled for gripping the edge of the counter harshly. Nails digging into the countertop.

Ford set a hand under his chin as he tilted his face up slightly. “Just take a deep breath, it’ll be over before you know it. All you have to do is keep your eyes open while I drop in the solution, then blink. Okay?” He asked, watching Bill carefully.

“Okay,” Bill replied, struggling to keep calm as he swallowed hard. Ford noticed his quick breathing as he tried not to show emotion. Internally panicking. Waiting for the process to be over.

At that moment, Ford wasn’t sure what came over him. Maybe he had some lingering protectiveness, maybe he was just curious but he set the bottle on the counter and pulled Cipher’s face to look at him. “If you’re tense it’s going to be worse, what can I do to help you relax?” Ford asked sternly.

Surprised, Bill’s face and ears heated up before he tried to avert his gaze. “I don’t know…can’t you just do it and get this over with?’ He asked, frustration laced in his tone.

Coaxing Bill to look back at him, Ford’s mind ran through possibilities of what might be helpful. Well, when the kids don’t want to do something, Stan usually tries to do something else they like first to ease them into it. He was contemplating options, What does Cipher like?

Then it hit him. “How about I braid your hair first? Then we’ll try again,” Ford asked. He’d remembered it from his dream last night. That should be easy and it wouldn’t take too long. Ford reached over into the top drawer to grab a spare brush and a few elastics to tie his hair back with.

“You don’t have to do that,” Bill looked conflicted. “You can just give me the drops and I’ll figure it out later tonight.”

Based on his flustered expression, Ford was now one-hundred percent sure Bill wanted him to braid his hair. He was also sure if he gave Bill the drops, he wouldn’t use them. They’d probably end up in the trash. “Don’t be difficult, go sit on the bed and I’ll come braid your hair,” Ford retorted, ending the discussion there.

Slumping forward in defeat, Bill gave in to Ford’s demand. He jumped down from the counter and headed to Ford’s bed. Once he’d gathered everything he needed, Ford followed suit, sitting behind him on the mattress. He was cautious as he removed the elastic band that was already tying his hair back before brushing through it.

His hair is so soft, Ford realized as he brushed and detangled with his fingers. He could smell the lingering shadow of his shampoo, a sickly honey scent that Melody must have picked out. It suits him.

Ford was tempted to bring up the paperwork from the facility. He wanted to ask about his suicidal ideation, but he didn’t want to set Cipher off. There would be a better time to try to bridge that gap, he just had to wait for it.

As he parted Bill’s hair into sections, setting the brush aside he tried to make idle chit chat. “So, what were you really doing outside my window this afternoon?” He asked, a small smile playing on his lips. “I know it wasn’t for your eye, since you obviously know how to use the door.”

Bill’s shoulders tensed slightly, “I wasn’t trying to be creepy, I just-” He wasn’t sure what to say, what response was the most truthful but also the least vulnerable. “I don’t…get to see you often, so sometimes I take the long way around to check on you,” He finished, relaxing again.

“Hmm…checking on me? What do you think I’m up to in here?” Ford asked, now he was just teasing him. Wanting to lull him into being amicable to the eye drops. “Nothing nefarious, I hope.”

He knew Cipher was rolling his eyes from the exasperated sigh he gave in response. “I don’t know, Brainiac - isn’t that what they do with all you intelligent meat sacks? Monitor you?” He asked as he started talking with his hands. “Remember, genius and madness are two sides of the same coin.”

Ford hummed in response as he started on the first braid. “Yes, I suppose that’s why we work together so well…genius and madness,” He mumbled mostly to himself. “Well if you ever want to make sure I haven’t gone fully insane, please just use the door next time - it’s always open anyways if you need me,” Ford spoke up.

The smile in Bill’s voice was apparent, “ Always? My…how dangerous.” He shifted and settled his hands slightly behind himself on the bed, propping himself up as he leaned back toward Ford. “You know, Fordsy, if you keep this up you might just give me the wrong idea,” He teased.

Chuckling to himself, Ford tied off the first braid. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you hear the true message loud and clear,” He joked as he started on the second. He tugged lightly on Cipher’s hair for good measure. “Keep up your attitude and I won’t feel like doing nice things for you,” he was sarcastic, knowing deep down he didn’t truly mean it. 

Even if he wanted to hate the very fabric of Cipher’s being, he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. He hated their circumstances, but because his mind felt muddy about who Bill Cipher was at any given time, he couldn’t hate him. Some piece of Ford would always be locked away in a time capsule just waiting for the day his Bill reopened Pandora’s box to spend time with him again.

Ford could feel butterflies in his chest as Bill laughed along with him. “We’ll see about that, I’ve been told I’m irresistible,” He replied, trying to stay still and not mess up Ford’s work.

“I beg to differ, I did a hell of a lot of resisting,” Ford quipped with a smile. “Whoever told you that is a damn good liar.”

Bill’s fingers brushed back further to lightly rub his pinkie against Ford’s knee behind him. “Silly mortals, don’t even remember the things they tell ya’ in the heat of the moment,” He replied, smug. “Maybe it’s just old age, scrambling your mind.”

Shifting into the touch, Ford tried to pretend this moment was happening in an alternate timeline so he wouldn’t feel so guilty about being happy about it. “So what I’m hearing is: I’m a damn good liar,” Ford responded, content.

A suspended moment outside of time and space. Not quite enemies, not quite friends. Some strange middle ground that Ford didn’t know how to pin down. Like they were starting all over again and all the other stuff hadn’t happened, as if the slate was really wiped clean. It would be disturbing if Ford listened to the voice in his head that didn’t trust Cipher. 

However, right now he had drowned out the voice with the loud cacophony of butterfly wings. Flapping erratically as they filled his chest and threatened to suffocate him entirely. They were going to smother him in his own unyielding adoration. 

It was dizzying to know you didn’t have enough air to survive but feel such a rush from being on the edge of death. Ford wanted to stay here forever even if it killed him. Together in this small room, braiding Cipher’s hair and speaking nonsense like it was always meant to be that way.

Bill’s laughter sounded like wind chimes in his ears, light and airy. So carefree, like nothing had ever bothered him before and nothing ever would again. “I see your ego is just as big as I remember, I’m surprised we both fit in this room,” he joked.

“I have a feeling yours is sliding under the door to fill out the hallways, otherwise you’re right - there’s no way there would be enough room for two people,” Ford replied. His fingers made quick work, twisting, bobbing and weaving the hair in his hands. “Your ego has always been big enough for the both of us,” Ford’s voice was soft as he got lost in the moment.

Sighing, fully content, Bill mused, “I suppose it was…”

Was. Past tense, like Bill had lost it at some point and was reminiscing over it. It was slightly confusing, Ford’s mind was at a bit of a crossroads. He knew there was no way Bill had lost his pride after all this time. In his mind it was like an infinite resource, renewable and ever burning. He must have just meant it as a turn of phrase of sorts, Ford rationalized as he tied off the second braid.

Running his hands over Bill’s hair, Ford spoke up, breaking the moment. “They’re done, do you want to go look in the mirror?” He asked, knowing he’d have to finagle Bill into using the eye drops.

Leaning forward, Bill nodded and moved to stand. Ford followed suit, trailing after him into the bathroom as he leaned against the door frame. Crossing his arms over his chest as he watched Bill turn and twist to appraise his work. A few pieces in the front were too short for Ford to braid in, but he didn’t seem to mind since they framed his face nicely.

I was right, he looks pretty with his hair braided like that, the thought crossed his mind before he could catch himself. Squashing it down, he tried to focus on the task at hand. “Can you sit on the counter for me? I want to touch it up a bit,” he asked, making excuses. It seemed as if Bill had fully forgotten the real reason they were in here.

“Yeah, just let me know if you need me to move or anything,” Bill replied as he hopped back up on the counter. No longer as tense or nervous.

Ford pushed himself off the wall as he stood in between Cipher’s legs from where they dangled off the edge of the countertop. He pushed a few strands out of Bill’s face and readjusted a section of the braid toward the top of his head before trailing his hand down the side of his face. His hand was gentle but firm as he held Bill’s face still. “Now, I have to use the eye drops. Can you take a few deep breaths?” he asked. Ford’s voice was low, hoping not to startle him.

Bill’s eyes went wide before he swallowed hard. “I- yeah, I can…” He said as he breathed in deeply. Slowly inhaling and exhaling as he gazed at Ford.

Holding the drops up to his face, Ford praised him. Knowing Bill responded well to positive reinforcement. “Very good, thank you,” He murmured before tilting his face slightly upwards. “It’ll feel uncomfortable for a bit, but it’ll be over before you know it.”

Not daring to move a muscle, Bill hummed in agreement and tried not to look at the bottle as Ford hovered over his eye socket. He let two drops fall into his eye before pulling his hand back. The second he released Cipher’s face, he blinked rapidly.

“There, now how does that feel?’ Ford asked, his arms framing Bill’s hips. Caging him in as he scrutinized his expression. He didn’t think much of the position, focused on whether the solution was helping.

Face flushing, Bill suddenly became interested in the outdated wallpaper. “It’s…better,” he replied, his fingers fidgeting in his lap. “Not as weird-feeling.”

Ford leaned back from his face but left his hands at his sides. “Good, I’m glad that helped - are you able to keep using them on your own?” he asked.

Disappointment flashed across his face momentarily but Bill tried to play it off, “I probably can.”

Noticing the shift, Ford tried to compromise, “If not, I can help - just come up here in the evening and I’ll braid your hair and put the drops in.” It was a compromise because Bill needed the eye drops, and Ford was being selfish and liked braiding his hair. There’s no way he could do it himself, big baby. Ford caught himself smiling slightly.

Perking up at the prospect, Bill looked back at Ford’s face. “Yeah, that works for me - I can come up when I’m done working for the day,” he replied, a small smile stretching on his face.

“Then it’s a plan, most of the time I’ll be here but if I’m in the lab I’ll meet you at the vending machine,” Ford said as he stepped back fully and screwed the cap to the eye drops back in place. Bill jumped down from the counter then stood at the threshold of the room awkwardly. Not quite sure where to go from here. “Are you heading to bed? It is getting late,” Ford asked, leading him back into his bedroom.

Bill followed suit before heading to the door. “Yeah, I think so,” he replied. Ford opened the door for him as he stepped in the hall. “And thanks - for the drops and…stuff.”

Ford relaxed against the doorframe, slightly surprised at Bill showing gratitude. “No problem. If you need anything else or if it starts giving you issues again, let me know,” he spoke in hushed tones since it was getting late and he didn’t want to disturb anyone. He also didn’t want to tip anyone off to the fact that Bill had been in Ford’s room to begin with.

Nodding nervously, Bill waved goodbye before turning and heading down the hall to his room for the night. It was strange to see and even stranger that Ford felt a pang of sadness at the idea of Bill leaving. A small part of him wanting Bill to stay, wanting to lay in bed with him and stay up all night talking. Lingering in the doorway for far too long, Ford knew he couldn’t have what he secretly wanted but it didn’t hurt to dream.

Chapter Text

Heading back to his room, Bill felt like his entire body had been doused in lighter fluid and set ablaze. Maybe he was getting sick and running a fever. Maybe this body was imploding on itself and he was dying. All he knew was that there was probably no way he was getting proper sleep tonight because his brain was going haywire.

Ford touched him. He’d done so willingly, outright offering to touch him and then said he planned to do it again. As he walked, Bill remembered his heart beating erratically in his chest. Trying to stay calm as Ford combed his fingers through his hair and treated him like he was delicate.

Cipher had only ever watched Ford braid his own hair, never having the chance to experience what it felt like before. For some reason, this body seemed very excited about it which was most likely because it meant they had to be close.

Not to mention, Bill had made a small move to touch him and Ford had leaned in closer. He leaned in for me to touch him back. His mind was racing a mile a minute and every step back to his room added fuel to the fire. After their incident of sorts in the lab and now this, Bill wondered if this was all some elaborate simulation that the doctors were testing out. 

But he knew it wasn’t because he could feel Ford inhabiting the same space. The faintest of touches with his fingertips as Ford carefully brushed and braided his hair. He’d talked to him like they were normal, almost like they were friends. They hadn’t spoken that way to each other in centuries.

Let alone Ford’s blatant flirting from earlier in the day. Was he flirting or was he just trying to be nice? Bill asked himself a million questions as he punched in the vending machine code. Why would he be nice to me if he hates me? Is it some kind of trick and I haven’t figured it out yet?

Descending the stairs and ending up at the elevator, Bill’s face heated up at the reminder of what had happened the other day in the lab. Ford fully encroached into his space as his fingers brushed across his cheeks and forehead. The way he watched Bill’s every move with intense fascination, inches from his face as he scrutinized the details of the prosthetic. When his gaze shifted lower and they were no longer seeing eye to eye because Ford was searching for something else.

The creaking of the elevator doors broke him out of his fantasy. Jumping slightly, Bill entered the elevator and selected his floor as he tried to keep a cool head. At least until he got back to his bedroom, then it wouldn’t matter how much he was lost in his own head. Downstairs, no one would know how much he thoroughly enjoyed Ford’s company.

Every fleeting touch from the last few days was driving him insane. It was difficult to ignore the pressure steadily building within him every time he caught a glance of Ford. Bill just hoped it would eventually go away on its own and that he could just go back to his regularly scheduled program. 

That was easier said than done since his body was non-compliant with his mental demands and protests. It seemed to have a mind of its own and was insistent on showing his true emotions at every opportunity. As a result, he’d been riled up for days and was unsure on what his body wanted him to do about it. Especially since he had never possessed a vessel with this…anatomy before. 

The fact that he was an all-knowing inter-dimensional god made him resentful of the fact that he wasn’t quite sure what to do about it. I should know everything about this meat sack, inside and out. Bill mentally scolded himself as the doors opened to his floor. Instead I’m scrambling to figure out how it works.

He’d given up on trying after all their closeness the other day since it seemed to get him nowhere. Bill was stubborn and impatient, he couldn’t stand the fact that he wasn’t an expert which only made him more frustrated. Half the time he was too tired to try and was able to sleep it off. The warmth at his core was satiated until he saw Ford again or heard his voice in another room. 

At this point, he’d see a discarded cigarette or smell the lingering smoke and feel the incessant twisting of his stomach. Having to press his thighs together and try to think of anything else as heat pooled between his legs. Bill wasn’t sure what he wanted Ford to do, but he knew there was no way to ask him for it since they were on rocky terms at best. Finally getting closer to being classified as friends.

Trying to shake the feverish haze threatening to overtake his brain, Bill plugged his phone in next to the bed and made his way to the bathroom to take a shower. As he was undressing, he glanced in the mirror. Admiring the braids in his hair, remembering the lingering touches from Ford to make sure they looked just right. Standing between his legs like he belonged there.

Maybe Ford does belong there. Bill saw his face flush and realized he needed to get a grip and get on with it. Stepping into the shower and trying to be as clinical as possible. Which was difficult since the touch of his own hands under the warm water was making things worse. 

His mind conjured up fantasies about those hands being Ford’s, gentle yet firm, as he caressed Bill's body. Bill was reminded of the ways in which Ford has grazed his fingertips across his bricks in the mindscape. He was gentle every time he touched Bill, as if he were far too delicate. Six-fingered hands clouded his mind as he imagined them wandering before pulling him in and kissing him for the first time in centuries.

That was something he remembered well as his thumb brushed across his bottom lip. All Ford’s kisses in the mindscape might have been his favorite part. The way he’d pepper kisses across his body idly, like his mind didn’t realize he was doing it to begin with. When he’d be working on something and reach out for Bill’s hand just to pull him closer to kiss his forehead. 

Then there were the kisses that were nearly too hot to handle. Ford kept him still as he explored every inch of his mouth, their tongues intermingling as Bill silently pleaded for more. He’d always been a good kisser, there was no doubt in Bill’s mind about that, and as a result he found himself craving one.

Just one, then he’d be satisfied. Who am I trying to fool? Bill knew once he got one of Ford’s kisses he’d be intent on getting more. Shivering despite the warm water, Bill tried to finish what he was doing without further incident.

Once he was done, Bill stepped out of the shower and dried off. Leaving the towel wrapped around himself, he debated leaving the braids in. It might be uncomfortable to sleep with them in, he considered. However the desire to keep any lingering pieces of Ford outweighed his comfort.

As he left the bathroom, Bill stared intently back at the bed. The floor wasn’t necessarily painful, but it was starting to make him sore. Sitting on Ford’s bed earlier only made Bill realize just how comfortable he could be if he slept on a proper mattress. Fidgeting with his fingers, he considered trying it out.

Bill glanced back at the rug, and decided he could try at least putting the rug in bed. It was unconventional, but it might help ease his mind. Tossing the covers back and grabbing the rug off the floor, Bill placed it on the mattress. Once he was satisfied, he turned to the dresser to grab something to sleep in.

While sifting through drawers for clothes, his eyes caught on a flash of green fabric. There’s no way, Bill thought to himself incredulously. He reached into the drawer to pull out bright green shorts that he hadn’t seen Ford wear in ages. He totally gave me these by mistake. Bill's face heated up at the memory of Ford wearing them, unless he gave them to me to see me in them.

He’d been wearing Ford’s clothes for weeks now, but for some reason the thought of wearing these specific shorts felt scandalous. Bill could feel heat slowly radiating throughout his body again, to the point where he rubbed his bare thighs together and shifted on his feet. It’s just a pair of shorts…nothing to get so worked up about, he tried rationalizing to himself.

Never one to back down from a challenge, even if it was one he wagered with himself mere seconds ago that had no stakes, Bill grabbed the shorts, underwear and Ford’s sweater. Setting everything on the bed to get dressed, he tried not to think too hard about it. They’re just clothes, it’s just fabric to cover the meat suit - nothing more, nothing less.

Once he finished changing, Bill was tempted for the second time tonight to actually look at himself in the mirror. Bill couldn’t stand to uncover the tall one, so he settled for the bathroom mirror. His bare feet padded in as he flicked on the light.

It was uncanny. Seeing this body in clothes Ford had worn decades ago. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, it was just odd. 

Grabbing his toothbrush off the edge of the counter, Bill began to brush his teeth as he watched his own movements carefully. As if the person he was looking at was someone else entirely. He noticed the gradually worsening blush of his face and ears and tried to ignore it. 

Once he’d finished, he wiped his face off and looked back in the mirror, turning this way and that. The fact that he was actively leaning his face into the collar of the sweater to smell Ford’s cologne and menthol tinged cigarettes also wasn’t helping. It only made the pressure build.

Bordering on annoyance, Bill wasn’t sure why the vessel was acting up. I wear this all the time, it always smells like Ford. Mentally chastising himself for getting carried away. That’s never made me feel…weird before.

Shaking his head to perish the thought, he turned and flipped the light off. Then he remembered he was going to try sleeping in bed tonight. Wrapping his arms around himself, Bill took a steadying breath as he turned out the overhead light and wandered over.

Peeling his arms away from his body, Bill eased into bed. It was significantly better than the floor. As he laid down, Bill relaxed easily even if he felt slightly wary. Having the rug underneath him seemed to be helping as he breathed in vanilla incense, mingling with the scents of Ford’s sweater. 

Bill rearranged one pillow under his head and pulled the other against his chest. He wasn’t sure why he did it, but he wasn’t going to question it. The vessel was obviously doing something of its own volition and since it wasn’t an inconvenience he was just going to roll with it.

Closing his eyes, he fell asleep and was plunged into a dream. The first true dream he’d had in centuries. As he peeked his eyes open in said dream, Bill realized the pillow he’d been holding and laying his head on was moving. Startled, he sat up slightly and opened his eyes fully. Seeing Ford asleep beneath him.

This isn’t a memory, he was nearly awestruck. This is brand new. He’d never had a dream or nightmare that wasn’t essentially a memory of some sort. Whether it happened in reality or in the mindscape.

Glancing around, Bill took in his surroundings. They were in Ford’s room, laying together in bed. Ford’s papers and discarded projects were strewn across the floor as the AC unit in the window kept up its ambient whirring. He had to crane his neck to see Ford’s nightstand. His overflowing ashtray was still perched on the edge next to his lighter and a heavily annotated copy of Moths of Eastern North America. Of course, Ford and his moths.

Tentatively, Bill returned his gaze to Ford asleep beneath him, running a hand across his body and noting that he was warm to the touch. As if he were truly alive and sleeping under him. His hand moved with the rise and fall of his chest as Bill laid back down and breathed in his cologne. Fuck, he smells so good. Softly whining in the back of his throat, Bill’s thighs shifted together as warmth spread up his spine.

Everything about this moment felt so real. From Ford’s warmth radiating beside him to the smell of a campfire and Ford’s Virginia Slims which were made even stronger from him constantly smoking in the room. Along with the feeling of the material of his shirt between his fingertips. The quilt, sheets and comforter wrapped around them were all as if Bill was really there.

The sound was enough to stir Ford from sleeping. Bill felt tense as Ford’s eyes fluttered open and and lazily glanced over at him before smiling wide. It came so naturally to him, like they did this everyday. 

Bill could feel his face heat up as he gazed back, wide-eyed and on edge. Unsure if the dream would morph and distort into one of his nightmares. It was one of the only times he’d looked into Ford’s eyes in centuries and didn’t see a hint of malice lingering there. He was genuinely happy to see him and Bill wasn’t sure how to best handle that.

Turning to hover over him, Ford cupped his face before pulling him close to give him a chaste kiss. Bill couldn’t help but move closer to follow after him as Ford pulled away, unable to stop himself from wanting more. “Hey…” Ford’s voice was smooth, his eyes tracking across Bill’s frame in mild amusement.

Words for how he felt were lodged firmly in his throat. Although, apparently it didn’t matter if Bill had anything worth saying because soon Ford was pulling him over to lay on his chest, his thighs framing Ford’s hips. Looping his arms around Bill’s waist, he tilted up to kiss Bill’s forehead.

“Well hello to you too…handsy, are we?” Bill mumbled, mostly to himself. “What’s got you in such a good mood?” He asked, propping his head up on his hands.

Ford hummed, watching his face carefully. “Nothing in particular, I just felt like holding you,” he replied as if it were common knowledge. Even if he was confused, Bill decided he didn’t care because Ford wanted him. Laying his head down on Ford’s chest, Bill could feel warmth spread throughout his body. 

Listening to the steady heart beating in his ear was calming, but he was wrapped up in nostalgia and that sensation was causing Bill to feel slightly overwhelmed. There was something the vessel wanted but Bill wasn’t sure what that was yet. Instead, he settled for running his fingertips along Ford’s shoulder and trying not to readjust every two seconds.

For some reason, his body wanted to fidget and shift endlessly despite being comfortable and mentally content. More things the meat suit did against his will. Ford, on the other hand, seemed to feel the same way but knew what to do with the excess energy.

“...Maybe I also feel like doing something else,” Ford punctuated his point by letting one of his hands travel down his back. Fingertips grazing down his spine over the thick knit fabric of the sweater.

Feeling himself heat up further, Bill was thoroughly flustered. “What did you have in mind?” He asked, genuinely curious to see where this was going. 

Encouraging Bill to shift up a bit to see eye to eye, Ford guided him into the position he wanted. “I mostly wanted to watch you,” he replied simply before allowing his hands to slip under his sweater. Teasingly caressing his feverish skin as Bill whined, pressing his face against Ford’s throat. He was unable to stop his hips from twitching forward. “You look so cute when you get excited.”

The movement was short but it was intoxicating as he pressed against Ford beneath him. The bolt of electric pleasure shot through him and caused Bill to grind his hips down against Ford again, this time on purpose. Wrapping his arms around Ford’s head, he couldn’t help but start up a slow pace, gradually working himself up as Bill pathetically whimpered against him.

Ford’s hands wandered across his bare back and stomach, caressing and kneading at him. It was maddening and Bill couldn’t get enough. “You sound so pretty, honey…does that feel good?” Ford asked, turning slightly to pepper kisses across the side of his face. Nudging Bill’s cheek, he began trailing them across his jaw and down his neck.

Bill couldn’t help but gasp as arousal ricocheted through him. “Ah- yes…very good,” he could hardly think, intent on going after what his body was heavily craving. Cipher’s mental switchboard lit up like Time’s Square on New Year’s Eve and soon enough all the screens were going to spark into flames. “More, please,” they’d barely gotten started and he was already whining profusely.

The stimulation was incomparable to how sexual encounters felt in his typical body. Sure, things of this nature were satisfying but the human body seemed to heighten them to the max. Every soft touch felt intense and just the thought of getting more was debilitating. Bill couldn’t clearly think straight, all he could do was blindly seek out more of that feeling.

Now I see why Sixer sounded so pathetic when we used to fool around in the mindscape, Bill thought to himself. Everything feels different in this body. He didn’t get much longer to dwell on that thought before one of Ford’s hands was sliding beneath the waistband of his shorts. 

“Of course, especially since you asked so politely,” Ford’s voice was soft in his ear as he reached around his body to settle his hand between Bill’s legs. His fingers were steady as he encouraged Bill to grind down onto him again.

Curing his fingers slightly, Ford listened intently as Bill got lost in the gradual movement. Now that he had Ford’s fingertips firmly pressed against him, Bill truly felt as though he were touching a live wire. Every movement was pure electricity as it surged throughout his body and burned him alive.

It was mind-altering to feel Ford’s calloused hands in the most sensitive of places. Coaxing him to feel every sensation to the fullest as he kissed across his throat. Bill couldn’t help but want to kiss him back. 

Tilting his head, Bill let his lips press against Ford’s jaw. Even that touch resonated through him, it made him delirious with need as he did it again and again. “Fuck…I missed you,” Bill gasped as he moved in tandem with Ford’s hand. “Why can’t we do this all the time?”

Ford hummed against his skin as his opposite hand trailed up Bill’s spine. “I missed you too - we can do this as often as you want, all you have to do is ask,” he mused before resuming the kisses that were making Bill’s brain feel foggy. Ford’s fingers slid forward slightly, teasing him. “You know I adore you, right?”

Bill stuttered in his movements as he turned to look at Ford. “You…what?” He asked. His breath was caught in his chest as his heart was beating erratically. He could swear he heard something incorrectly. Otherwise, there was no way Ford had said those words in that order.

Glancing over at him, Ford replied easily, “I said I adore you.” Ford’s hand slipped out from underneath his shirt to play with his hair. “Or did you just want to hear me say it again?”

That’s right, this isn’t real. Ford would never say that.

Bolting upright, Bill was panting heavily as he felt dazed and confused. Replaying the dream back in his mind as his body was overheating. While he tried to catch his breath, Cipher could feel the damp pool beneath him and realized he’d ended up on top of one of the pillows.

Swallowing hard, Bill considered his options. He could try to go back to sleep and hope this would go away or he could try to tackle the problem. Chewing at his bottom lip, he figured his body wasn’t stopping any time soon. Especially given the fact that it already didn’t listen to him on the best of days.

Since he’d never been one to give up before at least trying, Bill laid back down the way he had over Ford’s body in the dream and ground down on the pillow beneath him. Immediately moaning out at the sensation. 

It nearly felt too intense and he had to stop as his thighs shook from where he lay. Forcing himself not to move as he buried his face in his arms. Even if the pillow under his was nothing more than an inanimate object, he closed his eyes and could only imagine that it was actually Stanford.

Breathing in the smell of his sweater, Bill tentatively moved his hips again. He was grateful for the fact that no one could hear him down here as he got louder and louder. Rocking his hips and begging for his former partner as heat pooled throughout his body.

“Fuck, Ford…” Bill was talking to an empty room but he didn’t seem to notice. “Please-“ making requests of phantoms and dreamwalkers, he was pleading with the ghosts of people that had never existed to begin with. Cipher blindly adored nothing more than an imitation of the person he thought he’d known.

Despite the nagging voice in the back of his mind, Bill continued on as he lost himself in his own gradual rhythm. Then he remembered the small things Ford had done in his dream. Reaching between his legs, Bill’s fingers dipped below his clothing - Ford’s clothing - to graze against his now soaked cunt.

Sliding his fingertips forward, he experimented with what his body was asking for. At first, it was an interesting sensation, not quite the same as before. That was until he found the specific spot he didn’t realize he was looking for and pressed his face into the mattress. 

Drunk on the pleasure, he began to gradually grind down onto his hand. All he could see behind his eyes were the mental images of everything he’d ever wanted but couldn’t have. Ford’s hands roving over his body, Ford’s voice whispering praises in his ear, Ford’s lips trailing kisses down his spine.

The room echoed with his muffled pleading as he got lost in his own mind. His eyes tightly closed as he clung to the fantasy of every touch being from his former partner. “Just like that…please do that again,” he whimpered out as his fingers began massaging against himself. He could feel the lingering sensation of Ford’s fingers in his hair, dispelling the tension at the nape of his neck.

Calloused, six-fingered hands caressing his cheeks as Ford leaned in close enough to share the same rare air. So close that Bill could reach out and touch him, to pull Ford against himself and take what he wanted. Cipher craved nothing more than for Ford to kiss him like he was eating him alive and explore every inch of him.

The desire infected his mind like a parasite, and it only got worse as the pressure in his body built impossibly higher. The temperature in the room felt sweltering as he could feel his pulse radiating throughout his limbs. Then his mind began to conjure things that he hadn’t originally thought of or experienced before. 

Imagining Ford kissing and biting across his thighs before spreading his legs wider for more room to leave him covered in marks. Staking his claim a thousand times over and hoping to leave Bill sore enough that he’d never forget who he belonged to. Pinning his arms above his head to be sure Bill had no autonomy in the way Ford made him feel, as if he was the only being in the multiverse allowed to touch him like this. Maneuvering him like a doll on display for his own enjoyment, as if Bill only existed to please him.

At that thought, Bill moaned out louder. That was what he wanted, to exist solely for Ford and for Ford to want him that way. He was desperate for Ford to be so obsessed with him that he couldn’t think straight. Needing Cipher so intrinsically they could never be separated. The surprisingly raw intimacy of that train of thought only pushed him closer.

Cipher knew at this moment his only desire was to belong to Stanford wholeheartedly. Mind, body and soul all his for the reaping.

Everything about Ford was deathly sweet, but he’d drink the poison straight from the tap every single time. Bill just couldn’t help himself, he wanted Ford or nothing at all. There was no in between. Which meant every time he touched himself, Ford was the only person he could think of - consuming his every waking thought.

The way Ford pushed his hair out of his face. The way he would twirl and fidget with his pen between his fingers. The way he’d sigh when he got stuck on an aspect of a project. The way he bit his bottom lip as he worked through equations. The way he drank coffee or smoked a cigarette. The smell of his cologne.

For some reason, his brain associated it with something akin to an aphrodisiac. It turned him on every time he smelled it without fail and drove him insane. Which is why his face was now buried in the collar of Ford’s sweater. Bill wished he really was on top of Ford to take the scent in from the source as it mingled with vanilla incense. 

“You smell so fucking good…” Bill whimpered as he tried to press his face in closer, panting heavily to take in as much as possible. Bill could feel the gradual ache at his core build, knowing his body was asking for more. Letting his fingers travel further, his curiosity was piqued as he coated his fingers in his own slick fluids. His own teasing was nearly too much, but once his fingers began to press into himself Bill truly lost it. “Mmm…Axolotl above,” he gasped into the fabric surrounding him.

Gradually plunging as deep as he could, his hitched breathing wracked through him. Bill could see stars behind his eyes at the onslaught of pressure. Once he couldn’t press in any farther he stayed still and tried to catch his breath. 

Blinking rapidly as he tried to calm down, he chastised himself, I barely just started…it shouldn’t take so much out of me. As soon as he felt ready to move, Bill found out he was sorely mistaken. Pulling his fingers out only caused his eyes to roll back and his brain to turn to mush. The slow drag was maddening and only made him wonder what Ford’s fingers would feel like inside of him. At that thought, he added a third with the hope that would feel similar.

Letting his eyes fall closed again, he began to gradually let his fingers fill him and rolled his hips forward onto the pillow beneath him. Moaning as he became an inconsolable mess that begged for someone who wasn’t around to help him get off and use his body to the fullest. Always wanting more than he was given, he was overcome with an insatiable lust for the person who had tried to kill him just a few weeks prior.

Other memories floated to the surface of Ford’s hands around his limbs in the mindscape. The way his face would flush as Bill wrapped his mouth around him and lavished Ford with his tongue. The feeling of his extra manifested limbs slithering underneath Ford’s clothes. The sound.  

Just remembering what Ford sounded like every time Bill touched him made his movements speed up. He’d do everything to turn Ford into a sniveling, writhing mess as if he were making a career out of it. Bill wanted to reduce him to groveling and worshipping the ground he walked on over and over, it was something he’d never get enough of. Unwavering devotion was Ford’s specialty, after all.

Bill felt like a relapsing drug addict as he combed through his mind for every kiss and touch. He’d never been so thankful for his photographic memory than right now. Relishing in all of Ford’s wanton moaning and incessant begging. The closest Bill could get to Ford truly needing him. 

“I- I adore you too…” his voice was soft, like he wasn’t able to handle saying the words with his whole chest.

It was enough to push him over the edge. Bill was whining and canting his hips against his hand and the pillow beneath him as he gripped the sheets in front of him. There hadn’t been a moment in this new vessel in which he’d felt so liberated. It was one of the few moments he felt as though the body was truly his own. The warmth washing over him as he moved involuntarily was akin to relief. Finally satisfied after pining for something he didn’t know he needed.

Panting and shaking, Bill couldn’t control the way he reacted. It was a rush of emotion and sensations as he rode it out. It was unlike anything he’d experienced in his typical form and he was almost nervous this would become a habit.

As he came down from the high, Bill was gasping for air as he felt lightheaded. Rolling over onto his back, Bill pushed the stray strands of hair out of his face as he swallowed and tried to return to reality. The only positive aspect was that he finally felt satisfied.

The negative aspect was the stark clarity he now had for his actions. Ford didn’t want anything to do with him, and here Bill is moaning his name in the middle of the night. Could I be any more pathetic? Why did I say that? He asked himself as he reached over for his phone to check the time.

Four in the morning. He wasn’t sure what was worse, losing sleep over Ford or touching himself while he thought of Ford in the first place. And I have to get up early tomorrow….

Sighing to himself, he tossed the device in bed beside him and stared up at the ceiling. Mentally beating himself up over it wasn’t going to solve any of his problems, but it felt like the only thing Bill knew how to do. Do I really miss him that much? He asked himself, as if he didn’t know the answer.

Yes, yes I do. Bill missed not only his ambient touch, but he missed Ford openly talking with him. He missed watching him work, watching him sleep, listening to him go on a tangent, seeing him pin moths in the lab.

All those little things were adding up and it was sickening. Bill could hardly believe this is what he’d become - an emotional wreck longing for someone whose presence confused him at the best of times. He literally tried to kill me a few weeks ago, and now I’m fantasizing about him. He was beside himself, Seriously - what the hell is wrong with me?

Most people didn’t want to sleep with their attempted murderers. Apparently he wasn’t most people, because even if Ford tried to kill him again, Bill would still want Ford to touch him. Cipher wasn’t able to stop some twisted part of his mind from caring about him. From adoring him.  

Ford was a supernova Bill couldn’t tear his eyes away from. He just had to watch the explosions of colors and stars as they slowly hurled meteors at him and stoned him to death. Ford was chaotic and violent and beautiful and Bill was thoroughly enamored with him.

Cipher just wanted to feel wanted. Even if the desire behind Ford’s actions was hate, it still meant he was desirable. If Ford keeps attacking me, then that means I’m still alive and he’s still here. He couldn’t stop his mind from its warped rationalization. The bar is so low….

Ford was never going to do any of the things in those fantasies. He was never going to caress his body like fragile glass. He was never going to whisper those sweet words in his ear. Ford was never going to kiss him like that, he’d never taste Ford’s lips in reality. Bill had been delegated to his overactive imagination.

Maybe it was all the years of borderline isolation that did this or maybe it was a product of their falling out. Bill wasn’t sure, he didn’t want to think about it anymore. Instead he tossed the blankets off of him and began to move everything back to the floor. Obviously sleeping in the bed wasn’t a good idea, it made his mind wander in strange ways. Wrapping himself up in the blankets as he settled on the rug, he tried to fall back asleep and hoped he wouldn’t wake up in the middle of the night again.

Chapter Text

That night, Ford fell asleep and was immediately plunged into a dream. The same dream from the night before, it seemed, sitting on the porch with blueprints as the sun was setting.

Ford didn’t typically have the same dream back to back, at least he hadn’t since Cipher wasn’t in his head to force his mind to replay them. Feeling slightly wary, Ford set the papers aside and watched the screen door. If it opened to Bill walking over with paperwork, it’d be a repeat.

Like clockwork, Bill pushed open the door carrying a set of warm mugs as he hummed the song that Ford couldn’t place from the night before. No paperwork. Odd… he considered but tried to cast it from his mind. “What’ve you got there?” Ford asked softly as Bill made his way over, walking carefully so as not to spill anything.

This time he left his hair down and had on his typical uniform- a mystery shack t-shirt and cargo shorts. Bill’s thick work boots thumped rhythmically as he walked. “Hot chocolate…you still like that in your old age, right?” Bill joked as he sat beside him on the couch and offered Ford one of the mugs. “I remembered how you used to make it…y’know, before.”

There was lingering tension as Ford took the mug, cradling it in his hands as he took a sip and sat back. It tastes exactly the same, though this is my mind so of course it does. “You nailed it, thank you,” he responded simply. Holding the handle with his left hand, Ford reached across Bill’s shoulders with his right and encouraged him to sit closer. “I’m surprised you remember so much from before.”

Glancing up at him with confusion across his face, Bill took a drink before replying. “Of course I do - photographic memory, remember?” He asked, peering over curiously. “Do you…not remember stuff from before?”

Considering the question for a moment, Ford’s thumb idly rubbed against Bill’s shoulder. “I remember chunks of it, but some of it is just empty space,” he replied. It didn’t bother him for some reason to say it. Maybe because he knew he was talking to himself in a sense and pretending.

It was always easy for Ford to pretend.

After so many strange dreams like this one, Ford had become hyper-aware of reality vs. his imagination. It was easier to acknowledge none of this was real and not accept the dream as a reflection of his subconscious. If he admitted that these were innate desires, it would put all his nightmares into question. Blurring the lines between what he truly wanted and what was thrust upon him.

Bill hummed to himself before leaning closer and taking another drink. “I hope you remember the good parts…not just the bad things,” Bill’s voice was soft, like he wasn’t really talking to Ford. “Like our chess matches.”

Chuckling to himself, Ford took another drink as he looked out at the static treeline. “You mean all the matches you let me win?” He asked, smiling into his mug.

Unable to help himself, Ford’s mind thought back to the countless hours they had spent with a chess board in between them. Anytime they weren’t working on the portal, they were either playing chess or Ford was telling his muse all about whatever he’d discovered in the forest that day. More often than not he did the latter while they played chess. They had even matches won across their time together, but Ford had found out that all the times he had won were matches Cipher had specifically let him win.

It made them all less satisfying to remember, but he couldn’t fault the pretense at the time. Spending time with his muse back then was the true prize, so he almost didn’t care if he won or lost. Almost.

“Now, Six - give yourself a little credit! It was a valiant effort, you kept me on my toes,” Bill quipped, laughing at the memory. “You honestly nearly had me a few times, the only thing that stopped you was the fact that I know every single chess strategy ever created in this dimension’s history - past, present and future.”

Ford could feel light bubbling within him, enamored with normalcy. “Yes, well there were a few of your strategies that us mortals would classify as cheating,” he replied, smug at Bill’s flustered expression.

There were many matches that had to be determined draws after they got married because the board was abandoned or swept away entirely. Especially since Bill could summon extra limbs in the mindscape without breaking a sweat, not to mention the cloning. One version of him would be sipping tea and scrutinizing the board while another was snaking his hands underneath Ford’s clothes. Making for a distraction he could never ignore and if he was lucky he’d end up without the board between them and at least two versions of his husband to fool around with instead.

Clearing his throat slightly, Bill looked into his mug. “Eh…fine, you got me there. Though at the time I don’t remember hearing any complaints,” Bill was blushing and Ford wasn’t sure if his mind wanted that to be due to the outright flirting or the warm drink. “In fact, I think you were more interested in my cheating methods than the actual honest matches.”

Ford turned to look back at him fully, taking in his flushed face and the way his hands fidgeted around the mug. Processing the details, Ford examined the imitation of the person he wouldn’t dare to do this with in reality. He noted the way his hair fell over his shoulders, the way the crackling scar across his face glowed faintly, the way he sat tense beside him while staring into his cup - waiting to see what Ford would do next.

Without second guessing himself, Ford used the hand on Bill’s shoulder to turn his head. Cipher looked surprised at first before Ford was kissing the chocolate and cream off his lips. Then Bill was melting against him, pliant and willing. Lightly gasping as his hands twitched around the mug, itching to reach out and touch.

Deciding this was a dream and that he wanted to play pretend, Ford pulled back inches from Bill’s face and dropped the mug on the porch. Bill flinched as it shattered before Ford was snatching the respective mug from his hands and dropping it beside the first. 

“What’re you-“ Bill started before Ford cut him off. He didn’t bother looking at them splattered and staining the wood, Ford was just grateful his hands were free.

Caressing his face, Ford trapped Bill in a kiss. Pulling Cipher into his space as he took as much as Bill was willing to give him. Hardly giving either of them room to breathe as Bill parted his lips and let Ford’s tongue rove over every inch. He shuddered as Ford licked over his teeth before tangling their tongues together. Easily feeling himself begin to get carried away, Ford’s mind was running wild as he planned out everything he was going to do with the docile version of Cipher before him.

Tasting the sickly sweet marshmallows, he drank Bill in like a fine wine. Savoring every note, clinging to every flavor, indulging in each sensation. Ford could smell the light, honey-scented shampoo that he knew he was gradually going to become addicted to. 

Kissing Cipher felt as natural as breathing. It nearly made him wonder why he hadn’t done this to begin with. Something he’d longed for but hadn’t realized he wanted it until he finally got to have it again.

Bill’s arms slid over his shoulders and around his neck, tightly fisting the material of his shirt as he became lightheaded due to the lack of air. He leaned in and let Ford take whatever he wanted, like he’d been waiting throughout their conversation for Ford to do it in the first place. Maybe even longer.

After a few moments, Ford’s hands were pulling Bill’s hair back at the nape of his neck. Scratching along his scalp to coax Bill into relaxing further. Gently tugging to listen to every soft whine and gasp before swallowing each sound whole. Just as soft as it is in reality, Ford mentally sighed. He easily became lost in the sensation until his fingers became tangled in Bill’s hair. They then began traveling down his neck, feeling his soft skin beneath his fingertips. 

Soft, delicate…breakable. Wrapping around his throat. Squeezing every lasting bit of air from his lungs. Choking him until the light left his eyes and he took his final breath in Ford’s arms. Nails digging into his skin to tear his jugular from his throat.

Abruptly, Ford felt panic surge through his body. He gasped as he released him, his hands trembling as his body fought against him. Bill looked up curious, panting with his brow creased as he tried to figure out what was going on.

I wouldn’t strangle him, Ford tried consoling himself. I wouldn’t strangle this version of him, the normal one. But he didn’t know what normal meant. Ford had never experienced “normal” before. 

As he could feel himself begin to hyperventilate, Bill reached out to touch him, “…Ford?” Before his fingertips could graze Ford’s body, he was bolting awake.

Caked in sweat and breathing heavily, Ford had half a mind to think he was having a heart attack. I’m not 92 yet. He turned to grab his phone off the nightstand beside him to check the time - eight in the morning. Well at least I slept through the night, he considered before peeling himself out of bed and heading to take a shower since he wasn’t the biggest fan of being sticky.

It was easier to focus on that sensation than his heart beating erratically in his chest as though it may burst. While he stripped and stepped under the warm water, his mind was reeling.

The dream was odd and he wasn’t sure how to pull it apart for further examination. He’d been so comfortable, to the point that it was jarring. Obviously up until he had a visceral reaction to thinking about strangling him. Ford shouldn’t want to kiss him like that. He shouldn’t want to reminisce about chess matches or their time spent together.

Cipher tried to kill him, hunted him for sport and ruined his life. Ford should resent him for the rest of his existence. And yet, here he was in the shower debating what to do with himself. Yearning that the dream (other than the end) was real. 

Pushing a damp hand through his hair, Ford tried rationalizing. It’s just a dream, you’ve had plenty of strange dreams, he tried consoling himself. Just because your mind conjures something up, that doesn’t make it true.

He’d had countless nightmares and dreams over the years, if he started believing they meant anything specific that would be concerning. Some nightmares were so disturbing that he didn’t want to consider that they had an underlying meaning. It was easier to look at each one like a book on a shelf before putting it away in the library and moving on.

Ford was quick in the shower and was shutting off the water and getting out to dry off. Before he bothered to get dressed, he wrapped a towel around his waist and grabbed his lighter and a smoke. Cracking the window and hoping the AC unit wouldn’t fall, Ford lit the end and took a long drag before tossing the lighter back onto the nightstand. 

Smoking in the house was a nasty habit that he couldn’t seem to break now that he’d started again. He knew he shouldn’t keep it up when the kids got here, but he might just need to in order to stay sane. 

If the strange dreams kept up and the lines with Cipher blurred further, he’d need the cigarettes to keep his brain in check. At least that’s how he felt, he wanted something to anchor him to the present and calm his racing mind. So far, this was the only way to do it.

As he tapped the end of the ashes into his overflowing ashtray, Ford looked around the room for clothes to wear and tried to plan out the day. Deciding he’d print out the pictures in the lab for review, he started wandering around to get dressed. Letting the towel drop to the floor, he grabbed a pair of boxers to wear and held the cigarette between his lips as he put them on. 

Looking for pants and a shirt, Ford held out the cigarette to exhale when he heard a knock at the door. Assuming it was his twin with food, he called out, “It’s open.”

Turned away from the door, Ford found pants and grabbed them off the floor. When he looked back to the doorway, he saw Cipher standing at the threshold. His face was fully flushed as he stared unabashedly at Ford across from him, his hand still settled on the doorknob.

Bill was overtly checking him out as he whistled for theatrical effect, “Six, we have gotta stop meeting like this.” He leaned against the door frame as his gaze lingered far too long. “If I keep seeing you damn-near naked, it’s going to be very hard to stay in the basement.”

I need to stop leaving that damn door unlocked, Ford chastised himself as he tried to decide how to handle the situation. At this point, he was convinced that Cipher had the impression Ford was doing this on purpose. In actuality it was his own blatant forgetfulness of who lived in the house. Sighing before taking another deep inhale, Ford scowled over at him. “I thought you were Stan - can you wait in the hall for a minute?” He asked, frustration for himself bleeding into his tone.

Giving him a sly smile before tearing his gaze away, Bill closed the door to wait outside. Running a hand through his hair, Ford gazed back at the door before remembering the dream from the night prior. He could feel himself heating up as his mind replayed back his own desperate kisses and wandering hands. Trying to dispel the memory, Ford finished getting dressed and stubbed out his smoke in the ashtray on the nightstand.

Once he was decent, Ford opened the door. “Alright, Cipher - what are you doing here?” Ford asked as he leaned against the door’s frame and looked over at him.

Still slightly flustered but trying to play it off, Bill shoved his hands in his pockets. “I work the evening shift - I just wanted to know where you’d be later for the eye drops,” Bill replied as he glanced at the peeling wallpaper. “I didn’t know if it was better to come ask directly or to text you.”

“Text me?” Ford asked, somewhat perplexed. He watched as Cipher’s gaze flicked back to him, an eyebrow raised in a silent question. “How would you text me?”

Stifling his laughter, Bill bit his lip before responding, “Fordsy, we’re in the modern age and I’m one of the most intelligent beings in the multiverse - I know how to use a cell phone.” Ford’s brow creased further as his mind tried to answer a question he didn’t seem to realize he hadn’t asked out loud. Bill seemed to pick up on his confusion as he amended, “Your brother gave me one a few weeks back. The only contacts are you, Fez, Melody and Soos.” 

Nodding back as he finally understood, Ford was somewhat annoyed that Stanley had given Bill his number to begin with but also understood why he’d done it. Technically, Cipher was Ford’s responsibility. “Ah, yes - next time, just text me,” Ford replied as he looked over Bill’s oversized mystery shack t-shirt, cargo shorts and thick work boots. “But I’ll be down in the lab most of the day so I’ll just meet you at the vending machine tonight for the eye drops.”

Cipher couldn’t help himself from teasing, “Good to know, I’m surprised you figured out how to text in the first place - don’t old timers like you typically have issues with technology?” Bill gave Ford a sly smile as he scoffed and rolled his eyes.

Slightly irritated, Ford responded, “You’re not the only intelligent being in the multiverse.” He scowled at Bill’s widening grin as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I can text just as well as someone half my age.”

Leaning in slightly too close for comfort, Bill had a mischievous glint in his eye. “Oh, don’t worry, I believe you,” he quipped as he leaned against the wall, only leaving mere inches of space between them. “There’s quite a few things you’re good at for someone your age, at least as far as I remember.”

Despite his mental protests, Ford could feel his face heat up at the insinuation. He’s just trying to get a rise out of you, walk it off. You’re supposed to be neutral. Pushing himself off the door’s frame, Ford brushed past him and closed the door behind him. “Whatever, the point is: just text me next time and I’ll be in the lab,” Ford called over his shoulder as he stalked off toward the gift shop.

Without waiting to hear Bill’s response, Ford made his way through the various hallways of the house. The guilt of his own mental and bodily reactions was gnawing at him and he didn’t feel like acknowledging or dealing with it anytime soon. 

He was quick to head downstairs and ignore his own feelings. Even if he’d been too close for comfort the night before, Ford knew he had to draw the line somewhere. Last night was just for the eye drops, he tried convincing himself as he started moving things around in the lab. He just needed help with the eye drops and I helped him.

Abruptly, Ford stopped what he was doing. Holding the box he was filling with materials to print and review the photos he’d taken a few days prior, he doubled back on his own statement. And I helped him.

As if he were a wind up toy waiting for someone to turn the key, Ford stood deathly still in the middle of the lab staring into space. The cogs within his head were whirring and grinding but there was a disconnect somewhere down the line. One of the gears was missing but he couldn’t quite put his finger on which one it was. All he knew was that he was taking leaps in logic without looking where he was headed.

Why am I doing any of this, anyway? He asked himself as his fingers twitched around the box. Ford had just begun doing these things without thinking the actions through. Why did I build that prosthetic? Why am I helping him with the eye drops? Why am I printing these photos?

It wasn’t an epiphany by any means, but for some reason it felt like breaking through a glass ceiling he didn’t know was there. Ford wanted a divorce, he’d said as much a few days ago. Before he had to see his former muse again, he didn’t care if Cipher sank or swam. Now he was actively building a raft. 

Everything within him felt conflicted. Ford wanted those quiet moments with his partner and he also wanted the demise of his greatest enemy. It was just hard to have either of those things when they were aimed at the same person. Trying to avoid his problems obviously wasn’t doing him any favors but it was all he knew how to do.

I’ll just wait until the next therapy session, he decided as he finally started to move again. It wasn’t that he was avoiding it, he just didn’t feel as though he had the tools to do anything about it on his own. Best to leave those types of things to the professionals, Ford rationalized as he began setting everything up.

Placing the box on the floor, he surveyed the closet he was going to print and house the photos in. Ford really didn’t want to take them into town to have them developed, it just felt too embarrassing. He shared the same sentiment for the fear of someone else stumbling upon them if they were left out in the middle of the lab. Structure and careful planning was the only way to avoid his residual shame.

Once everything was in its place, Ford went to retrieve his computer. His hands were gentle as he re-inserted the SD card and began printing the best shots. It took longer than he expected, but the end result was worth the wait.

Holding up each glossy print, Ford knew he’d be hiding the majority of these from prying eyes. Easily becoming entranced as he held each one up to the light before taping them into a photo album. Ford left the album unmarked and hoped no one would bother opening it if they found it in the closet to begin with.

Only a few made it to his proper journal, the ones looked the most clinical. Obviously only for research purposes. Ford wasn’t sure how long he stood there, drinking in every detail but eventually he closed the album and left the closet. 

Sitting back at his desk, Ford began looking back and forth for the coloring of the prosthetic. He wanted to make sure it looked perfect but he didn’t know why. There wasn’t a good enough excuse yet. Instead of thinking about it too hard, he just kept working since that was what came naturally to him.

Staying busy so he wouldn’t feel anything.

Eventually it was time to head upstairs. I have to go help Cipher with the eye drops. After hours holed up in the lab, Ford was feeling slightly apprehensive. Thinking back to his conundrum from that morning only made a knot form in his stomach. Technically this process was unnecessary. Although, Ford did agree to try to work on…something last time they saw the therapist. Maybe he could just say it was a piece of that - the trying.

Ford listened to the rattling of the elevator as it ascended. Fidgeting with the lighter in his pocket, maybe I’ll take a smoke break first. Once the doors rolled open and he made his way to the top of the stairs, he hesitated before opening the door. It’s no big deal, it’s just part of the process.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door to see Bill finishing closing up. Cipher was locking up the register and wiping down the counter as Ford walked over.  He glanced over his shoulder as he stood. “Hey, I’m almost done - give me like five minutes max,” Cipher said as he tossed the rag into a nearby bucket and grabbed a few boxes off the floor.

“Alright,” Ford mumbled mostly to himself as he leaned on the counter and watched Bill flit around. “Actually, I’ll be outside - I’m going to take a smoke break,” he amended, hoping it would calm his nerves.

Bill waved him off as he stacked various boxes and took inventory while Ford headed outside. Standing out in front of the shack, he grabbed the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket before tapping it against the back of his hand. It was a force of habit, even if he logically knew it didn’t truly make a difference. Grabbing a smoke from the carton, he lit it before taking a long drag and shoving both the box and his lighter back in his pocket.

Gradually he could feel the tension in his shoulders dissolving as he leaned against the wall beside the door and waited. He could hear Cipher moving around and humming to himself as he worked. It was the same song from his dreams but he still couldn’t place it. 

Hyper-focusing on the tune, Ford combed through his memory. Bill was always humming or singing in the mindscape, either for dramatic affect or to himself when he thought Ford wasn’t paying attention. However, there were a few instances in which he tried to make certain songs stick. Looping them in Ford’s head on purpose to send a clear message. Sometimes it was just to drive him mad. Whatever the song was that was currently stuck in Ford’s head, it apparently was stuck in Cipher’s too as his voice carried out to Ford standing in front of the house.

It reminded him of something he’d heard from at some point during his childhood but that felt like an entire lifetime ago. It was something he hadn’t heard often enough to be identifiable, but he abandoned the train of thought once he saw the door swing open.

Glancing over as Bill dusted himself off, Ford noticed just how tense and tired he looked. It was strange to see him like that. Cipher could never be tired before. He didn’t sleep, a corporeal being didn't have the necessity for it. That was something Ford used to admire about him.

Now he looked thoroughly exhausted.

I guess Stanley is really running him through his paces, Ford mused to himself as he took another drag. He was nearly finished and didn’t want to waste it. 

What he didn’t expect was for Cipher to lean beside him. “Can I bum a smoke off you?” He asked casually as he gazed back at him. Feigning nonchalance while setting his back against the wall and crossing one leg over the other.

Ford debated it for a moment before looking at the one currently between his fingertips. “When was the last time you smoked?” Ford asked, interested to know when he’d started up a new habit.

Shrugging with his hands in his pockets, Bill looked out at the treeline. “In this body? Never. Hell - even in my own body, never,” he replied as he lightly cleared his throat. “You’re the only person I know that does that.”

“The only mortal you know or the only being in the multiverse?” Ford was genuinely curious as he monitored Cipher’s expression.

Bill scoffed to himself, “I suppose the only mortal…though, not many cigarettes like that in other dimensions to begin with.”  Ford hummed in agreement at the sentiment. “Regardless, can I bum one off you?”

Ford smiled a bit to himself even if he wished he didn’t. “You’re not used to it enough to not waste it - but you can finish this one off if you want,” he offered it over to Bill. He looked apprehensive before carefully taking it from him. “Don’t breathe in too deep or you’ll choke.”

Holding it up to his mouth before inhaling, Cipher seemed to be trying to understand why Ford liked them so much. Ford on the other hand was fixated on watching Bill breathe. His quick inhale as he tasted the menthol on his tongue and seemed to contemplate the flavor. Allowing the smoke to fill his lungs momentarily before slowly exhaling. After he did, Bill stared down at it between his fingers, deep in thought.

All Ford was thinking of was the fact that he wanted to watch Cipher do that again.

Seeing him breathe deeply, quietly in thought with his lips wrapped around the cigarette before he was exhaling the smoke into the silent clearing in front of them made Ford downright speechless. The way the sunset caressed his features, it cast Cipher in an ethereal glow that Ford didn’t think he’d ever see again. It was akin to the golden hues he radiated in the mindscape, something Ford had thought put every sunset and sunrise he’d ever seen to shame. Bill was none the wiser about Ford’s internal appreciation.

Having half a mind to feel guilty, Ford wanted to snap himself out of his daze as Cipher took another pull. He just looks so pretty like that, Ford could feel himself losing the battle with his lessening rage as he observed Bill in overt fascination. He must like it if he’s actually intent on finishing it. Then again, Bill always was one to try something at least once before writing off the experience. 

They stood in idle silence as Ford blatantly stared and Cipher pretended not to notice until he was nearly to the filter. “If you keep going you’ll make yourself sick - you’ll want to stub it out,” Ford was talking but he nearly didn’t hear his own voice as he tried to return to the present. Bill hummed in response before he was discarding it and making sure it wasn’t going to start a fire. “So, what do you think? As someone who hasn’t smoked before,” Ford asked as he held the door open for Bill to step through.

He wanted to be impartial, their familiarity lured him into a false sense of hope that he couldn’t trust just yet. Ford had to be careful not to let himself get carried away, he needed true progress before he could let himself make decisions with something other than his brain. Even if everything else was trying to usurp it.

Cipher seemed to mull it over as they walked into the gift shop and locked up before walking side by side to Ford’s bedroom. “It’s not necessarily bad , just odd,” Bill replied after thinking about it. “I like the scent of it but not the taste, it makes me feel kind of…tingly? I guess…” Bill discussed it as if they were going over research.

“Interesting, most people that don’t like the taste of it typically don’t like the smell either. The tingling was probably the nicotine…or your body just is affected differently - like an allergy?” Ford responded. His mind then started wondering if Cipher’s body would have something like an allergic reaction, he hadn’t thought about it before. “You don’t feel like your throat is closing up or anything, right?” He quickly asked, stopping in his tracks in the middle of the hallway.

Stopping just a bit ahead of him and turning with a small smirk on his face, Bill didn’t bother playing humble. “Aw, Fordsy are you worried about me?” Cipher asked as he took a few steps closer. “If I were having a reaction, would you have to give me CPR?”

Ford rolled his eyes in response and regretted even bothering to ask. “No, you’d just need benadryl or an epipen - or maybe I’d just let you asphyxiate,” He replied, his tone flat. “Are you actually alright? That type of thing usually comes on quickly.”

“I feel fine, I think it was just the nicotine. I think I like the smell of it just because it-” his eyes went wide as he cut himself off. Body going rigid, he looked as if he’d just stuck his foot in a mouse trap.

Raising an eyebrow, Ford stepped closer. “Because it…?” He attempted to coax Bill into finishing his sentence, now infinitely more interested in whatever he had to say. It wasn’t often he was willingly silent. At least not as often as Ford would like.

Panicking for a moment before seemingly finding an excuse, Bill followed up by saying, “Because it’s weird, and I like weird things, remember?” Before Ford could challenge his reasoning, Cipher was turning on his heel and walking ahead of him.

Ford scrambled to catch up after being momentarily startled. What was he going to say? He wondered as they finally made it to his room. Opening the door, Ford stepped inside and waited for Bill to follow behind him before closing and locking the door. Hoping no one would come knocking and see what he was up to.

It wasn’t as if this was particularly taboo, it just felt blasphemous to Ford in particular. The situation made him seem like a hypocrite. All he did for ages was talk about how much he hated this guy and now here he was sharing his smokes and inviting him into his bedroom. Giving him indirect kisses. Ford could feel his face start to heat up at the realization, as a result he headed to the bathroom with purpose. “Just sit on the bed, I have to grab the brush and some elastics,” he called over his shoulder.

Disregarding the reply he received, Ford was more concerned with calming down. He just needed to think of anything other than Cipher’s mouth or kissing him - indirectly or otherwise. Gathering up what he needed before staring hard at himself in the mirror, Ford attempted to distract himself. What am I going to talk to him about this time? Ford wondered to himself, remembering their discussion from the night before. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the counter before he remembered the paperwork. I still haven’t asked him about that.

It was the complete opposite of his mind’s current fixation and he did want to discuss it before their next therapy session. So that made now as good of a time as any. Plus, if he was supposed to be trying, maybe this would count for something.

Ford took a deep breath before he was carrying everything back into his bedroom. Cipher was perched on the bed and turned once he heard Ford’s footsteps. “Took you long enough,” he joked as Ford sat behind him. “What’d you get lost or something?”

Rolling his eyes, Ford removed the scrunchie he was currently using before looping it around his own wrist. “I did not get lost, I wasn’t gone that long,” he responded as he began to brush Cipher's hair. He waited for Bill to get comfortable in the silence before he was bracing himself to discuss the topic at hand. “There was something I wanted to talk to you about,” Ford took a deep breath before broaching the subject.

Settling his weight back on his palms, Bill didn’t seem to catch onto his seriousness. “What’s up?” He asked, carefree and unaware.

Setting the brush down, Ford began parting his hair into sections. “Stanley…gave me some paperwork from the Prism,” he was apprehensive as he felt Bill become slightly tense. “It listed that you were…flagged for suicidal ideation?” He phrased it like a question but it was meant to be a statement. Ford had never needed to ask someone about that out loud before. 

The only other time he’d said something of the sort, he was telling the person he was speaking with to kill themselves. The same person he was speaking to now.

Flinching slightly, Cipher shrunk in on himself. He didn’t fully pull away as Ford continued to meticulously make sure every section was perfect. It was something to dispel his own anxiety. Bill seemed to fidget with his fingers in his lap as he decided how to respond, he obviously hadn’t expected Ford to mention it.

Smoothing out the wrinkles in the quilt beneath them, Bill’s voice was shaky even if he tried to be confident, “Ah, yeah - that was a few weeks back….” Cipher continued to fidget as Ford started to braid. “It just means they changed my meds around and I have to call their number if I, like, try to kill myself,” trying to play it off, he was dismissive as he waved the words away. As if they were a feather floating too close to his face.

Keeping calm, Ford seamlessly moved into his next question, “Did you? Try to kill yourself, I mean.” He kept up his careful movements and did his best to physically relax. Although his mind was reeling, he didn’t want Bill to know that. He was supposed to be impartial.

“Well…not really, I was-” Cipher’s voice got caught in his throat before he found the words to continue, “I was going to head out to the lake, but then I ran into your brother.”

Pausing for a moment, Ford absorbed the information. Stan didn’t tell me that. He made a mental note to ask Stanley about it later. “What’d he say?” Ford asked as he started up again. He was going to the lake? Weaving and threading his fingers in Bill’s hair was the best way to fidget. It may just beat out smoking.

Chuckling softly to himself, Cipher seemed to relax a bit. “Well, he found me on the roof with his bourbon,” Bill replied, Ford could hear the faint smile in his tone. “He seemed more concerned with that than the rest of it.”

Laughing lightly with him, Ford tied off the first braid and started on the second. “That sounds about right, was it his good stuff?” Attempting to be lighthearted with him seemed to be helping.

Letting his hands settle behind him again, Bill leaned back. “It was, I found it in his office by mistake,” he quipped. “Nearly finished off half the bottle before he found me,” Bill added before they settled into silence for a while. All they could hear was the sound of the clunky, old AC unit and the creaking of the house. Both trying to control their breathing to feign casualty that didn’t exist between them anymore.

Somehow, Cipher was returning to his relaxed demeanor as he sat still and let Ford’s fingers move. It was as if he’d forgotten what they were talking about to begin with. Once he was tying off the end of the second braid, Neither of them bothered moving at first. Instead they sat on Ford’s bed in the quiet and got lost in nothing in particular.

That was the beauty of it, the absence of the things that made them unable to enjoy each other’s company. Ford almost wanted to hold his breath, for fear that anything could break the tranquility. He wanted it to be like this forever, maybe then he’d be content. 

Maybeif they drowned out all the noise they could be normal.

However, he could only sit with his own mind for so long before he reached out to take one of Cipher’s hands. He flinched at first before relaxing once he realized Ford wasn’t trying to pull him up or hurt him.

He wasn’t sure if he meant it, but he said it anyway, “Don’t do that again.” Ford’s voice was firm as he squeezed Cipher’s hand. Seemingly unable to find the words, Bill could only nod in response. “I already had to give you one funeral, I don’t feel up to giving you a second one.”

Even if the aforementioned funeral was just Mabel trying to console him at the time, it still counted for something. With all the sock puppets and silly words spoken as a eulogy, it could barely constitute a formal affair. But to Ford it was enough. It gave him the closure he didn’t know he needed and it was the reason he’d go back there time and time again before he and Stanley set off on their adventures.

They could sit in the quiet, just like they had this evening and exist in the same space. Although Ford was talking to a headstone at the time, it still felt good to talk to him in some capacity. Ford would sit beside his grave and sketch or write. Sometimes he’d sit and cry. Sometimes he’d scream and throw things. Sometimes he’d just take one look at the statue and go back to the house, as if he was making sure it was still there.

The statement seemed to catch Bill by surprise, Ford could hear the sharp intake of his breath. “You- you gave me a funeral?” He choked out, unable to hide his emotions. His four-fingered hands shook in Ford’s gentle grip.

Threading their fingers together, Ford glanced down at their hands intertwined. “I did…it wasn’t much, but it was yours,” he replied as he rubbed his thumb over Cipher’s. Staring at their hands laced together made his chest feel full, like his heart was physically swelling as he saw that they made a perfect set.

A puzzle waiting for all the pieces to slot into place.

Bill reached his other hand up to wipe at his face, sniffling even if he tried to hide it. Ford just let him, he didn’t say anything else as he waited for Cipher to compose himself enough to be ready to move. Eventually he seemed to calm down and sighed before he was pulling his hand away and climbing out of bed.

Gazing up at him with a neutral expression on his face, Ford did his best to play his part. That he was concerned as his caretaker for this “exposure therapy.” Nothing more, nothing less. “Are you ready for the eye drops?” He asked before standing. “I have lesson plans to finish tonight.”

A pang of confusion and disappointment flashed across Cipher’s face but it came and went as he mirrored Ford’s expression. “Yeah, it’s getting late,” he replied as they made their way to the bathroom and Bill hopped up onto the counter.

It was overly clinical as Ford unscrewed the cap on the bottle and Bill tried not to react, a vacant look on his face. Carefully holding and tilting his head, Ford was succinct as he let two drops fall and pulled away. He watched as Cipher cringed and blinked rapidly before he was jumping down and wandering out of the bathroom.

After resealing the container, Ford followed after him. They were quiet as Ford opened the door for him and lingered against the frame against his better judgment. He wanted to reach out and take Cipher’s hand again. To hold him close so nothing would happen to him, to ensure they could work things out.

Ford wanted Bill to know that he didn’t want his partner to be anywhere other than beside him. Right where he was supposed to be. But that was a fool’s errand, and Ford had spent enough time playing the fool.

Instead he gave Cipher a small smile and waved him off. “Same time tomorrow?” Ford asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

Glancing up at him with confliction in his eye, Bill responded, “Yeah…I’ll text you.” Before he was waving back and sauntering down the hall.

Indulging himself far too much, Ford watched him walk away until he rounded the corner. Then he stared a bit longer, as if Bill might just come back and tell him off for being so difficult. It was something he wasn’t expecting to come to fruition, but he wanted it all the same.

Ford wanted to listen to Bill yell at him a hundred times over for acting ridiculous. He wanted Cipher to scream, and shout and throw things. To demand Ford see things his way. Then he wanted him to eventually break down and tell Ford it was all a big mistake and that this was his fucked up way of showing he cared.

Ford realized he wanted him to care. All he ever truly wanted was for Cipher to care. To feel like he cared.

Stanford wanted Bill to tear everything down and rebuild it just for them. The way he had when they met. All his destruction had strategy and purpose, but at some point Ford desperately began wanting to believe that purpose became him.

Tonight, though, Ford got none of those things. All he got was a lonely spot in the doorway as he let Cipher go. A shell of the person he was all those years ago, like he didn’t have any fight left in him. As if he didn’t see the point in fighting anymore.

Sighing to himself, Ford eventually pulled himself away from the door. He let it close softly behind him as he looked around the room. 

Strewn about was all of Ford’s clutter. Scrap metal and plastic, old blueprints, miscellaneous sketches, discarded lesson plans. A chaotic mess that only he understood. The room was filled to the brim with his projects and accolades. 

Until Cipher stepped in. Now that he was gone, the room felt empty. Ford had never felt lonely in his own space in years, he figured it was because he spent so long with another person in his head. I guess I got used to the quiet.  

Although he knew that intrinsically, it seemed to fall flat. Now that he had heard the grand symphony Bill seemed to play every time they inhabited the same space, the silence without his melody was deafening. Ford’s life felt like he was hearing the lyrics without the instruments to accompany the song. As if something was fundamentally missing.

Trying to shake off the feeling, Ford worked at his desk on lesson plans for a while before he changed into his pajamas and climbed into bed. Wrapping the quilt around himself, he fell asleep thinking about the person who he’d shared it with mere moments ago.

Ford wondered if he’d have that dream again as he closed his eyes. Unsure on if it would pan out better than the last one. He could only hope for something better, there were no guarantees when it came to his mind. 

Opening his eyes in the dream, he was on the porch again. No blueprints this time, just looking out at the treeline as the Sun was dipping lower in the sky. Interesting…it’s similar but it keeps changing. With his curiosity piqued, Ford sat back and waited to see if Bill would step out onto the porch with him.

Ford waited and waited, but Bill didn’t come to join him. He was perplexed for a moment before he noticed a post-it note stuck to the screen door. Standing, Ford made his way over and pulled it off to read the contents. Come meet me at the lake. A shiver cascaded down his spine as he stared at the message written in Cipher’s handwriting.

Shoving the note into his pocket, Ford figured his mind wouldn’t let him wake up until he followed through. He made his way into the forest as the Sun began to dip lower in the sky, carefully avoiding stray branches and roots as he walked. It was muscle memory that eventually brought him to the shoreline.

Peeking out over the still water, there wasn’t a ripple in sight. There was also no sign of Cipher. Ford debated if he was supposed to do something first, as if there was a trigger of sorts to make time flow. Right on cue, a pay phone nearby began to ring.

Tentatively walking over, Ford carefully opened the door to the phone booth before stepping inside. The only object in the box was a dingy pay phone that looked like it’d seen better days. Years of wear and tear had dilapidated the phone to be a weathered, decrepit version of itself.

Which was odd because the box around it was pristine, as if it was newly built just yesterday.

Knowing it would ring until he answered, Ford finally picked up the phone and held it to his ear. “Hello?” He was nervous as he spoke into the receiver and waited to hear who was on the other end.

At first all he heard was static. An awful, scratchy sound that made his teeth rattle. After dragging on for god-knows how long, Ford heard a click. As if he were placed on hold, Ford could hear a jingle play. Slightly off-key and wonky, but it played all the same. A song he heard Cipher hum in his dreams before, the same one from the gift shop earlier that evening.

This time around, he didn’t have to try to recall the tune because he could hear the lyrics. Even as the voice singing warped and distorted, Ford could understand each word loud and clear.

Pull the string and I’ll wink at you. 

I’m your puppet.

I’ll do funny things if you want me to.

I’m your puppet.

Mmm, I’m all yours to have and to hold.

Darlin’ you’ve got full control of your puppet.

Then he heard Cipher’s panic-ridden voice as the instrumental played on in the background. 

Bill’s voice was shaking as he spoke, like the words were being ripped out of his voice box against his will, “Hey, Sixer, it’s Bill.” He took a deep breath before continuing, as if he were fighting whatever was making him say the words. “I’m going to take a swim in the frozen lake tomorrow, and I might…not ever come back,” Ford could hear the tears lodged in his throat as he said it. 

Only then did Ford realize that he’d heard this message before. The same story beats with a slightly different script. A parody of his words all those years ago that had been torn from his own throat all the same. When Bill had taken over his body to call his brother.

The song interrupted him, forcing Cipher to stop talking as the lyrics blared through the speaker.

Pull them little strings and I’ll kiss your lips.

I’m your puppet.

Snap your fingers and I’ll turn you some flips.

I’m your puppet.

Mmm, your every wish is my command.

All you gotta do is wiggle your little hand.

Soon, he was starting to speak again. “So if you don’t hear from me, I just want you to know that it’s because I never-“ he seemed to cut himself off, not wanting the words to leave his lips. “I never…loved you. Bye,” Cipher’s voice was faint when he said it, like he’d given up on trying to resist whatever put him in that predicament in the first place.

Ford could hear another click before the lyrics started up again. 

I’m just a toy, just a funny boy that makes you laugh when you’re blue.

I’ll be wonderful, do just what I’m told.

I’ll do anything for you.

I’m your puppet.

Then the dial tone. Drowning him in a grating sound that he listened to for lack of a better alternative. Hoping Bill would pick up the phone and say this was all a strange joke.

Until the screaming started.

Blood-curdling and violent, Ford immediately rushed out of the phone box. Leaving the phone dangling from the line as he heard the dial tone drone on. Erratically, Ford searched for the origin of the sound. A cacophony of agony and sorrow that engulfed every fiber of his being. Looking out to the tree line and the shore only to find nothing.

At least, that was before he saw ripples in the water. As they caught his eye, Ford turned to see Cipher clawing at a loose branch. Trying to stay afloat as something attempted to drag him under. His eyes were wide as he looked back at Ford, earnestly begging for help.

Anything he said sounded like one big blur. Like every instrument in an orchestra playing the loudest note off-key at the same time. As Ford took a small step towards the water’s edge and reached out to try to help him, Cipher was dragged under.

The only thing left was deafening silence before Ford was bolting out of bed.

Chapter Text

Today was the day the kids were coming into town and Bill was anxious. On one hand, he was nervous about the twins’ reactions to him being alive - though apparently Ford and Stan had already talked to them about it. On the other hand, Ford had been somewhat distant the last few days.

It wasn’t unusual for a little oddness, that just came to him naturally. This was different. Ford was cagey around Bill now, which wouldn’t be odd if they hadn’t just spent the last week or so in close proximity without a major fight. Sure, they had their argumentative banter but that was normal. This time was strange.

The strangeness started when Ford had talked to him about the paperwork from the therapist. Cipher hated himself for being so tense about it, for showing blatant weakness. He’d definitely gotten too comfortable with getting the short end of the stick and it was becoming deplorable. Cipher’s emotions were quickly getting the best of him.

Maybe it was from all the exhaustion that came with working for free or just his own desperate loneliness. Maybe it was because of the medication. He wasn’t entirely sure, all he knew was that something about the interaction had thrown Ford off. As if he were a rabbit in the thicket, Ford was easily spooked at the slightest change of pace.

In the days following that conversation, Ford kept him just a tad farther away than arm's length. They’d been getting closer in a sense after their last therapy session but all that progress was short lived as Ford kept every interaction clinical and brief. 

When they worked together in the lab on his AC unit project, Ford wouldn’t work in the same corner as him. When he helped with the eye drops, Ford wouldn’t let Bill touch him again. The fleeting touch he stole during the first instance was a long forgotten memory. Ford taking his hand might as well have been a figment of Cipher’s imagination. Now, he’d braid his hair and they’d go over mathematics and logistics for the current project. Staying extremely impersonal.

Cipher would try to ask Ford about anything else but Ford would pretend as if he hadn’t said anything at all or he’d only respond to half the statement. There was a clear barrier now and Bill wasn’t sure if it hurt more given the previous subject matter or not. That he’d told Ford he was going to kill himself and Ford pulled away from him.

It definitely stung.

Can I really fault him for that, though? Bill wondered as he restocked bobbleheads in the giftshop that morning. Keeping his hands and mind occupied, though the latter didn’t seem very effective since he was still thinking about Stanford. He hates me, he’s just doing this because he has to…because of his own weird sense of justice.

Frowning at the bobblehead in his hands as it smiled wide back at him, Bill felt frustrated. Ford not caring if he lived or died wasn’t new, if anything that was their bread and butter. Every major beat of their relationship included suicide in one way or another. It shouldn’t upset him if Ford didn’t care.

Although, if he didn’t care, why did he tell Bill not to do it again? That was the part that made him feel uneasy. Ford had spent three decades wishing he were dead, telling him as much right to his face and then his brother finished the job. Obviously that last part wasn’t fool-proof, but it should have made Ford happy all the same. If anything, Ford should have been encouraging Bill to kill himself.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Cipher wasn’t sure what he’d expected Ford to say in response to the papers. Honestly, he didn’t think Ford would bother to read them. Though, if he did say something, Bill thought it would be along the lines of: “Wow, and you picked a shit way to go out - drowning? Next time just give me a heads up and I’ll break out the quantum destabilizer for a test run.” Cipher thought Ford would outright laugh in his face and tell him to try again if he failed.

Never in a million years did he think Stanford would tell him not to do it again. Never did he think Ford would give him a funeral. I wish he would have told me what it was like, he thought idly as he started stocking again. That night, all he could think about was Ford at his grave. Saying something about him, good or bad. It didn’t matter what Ford said for his eulogy, Bill just cherished the fact that he’d been given one at all.

As an immortal being with no living family and no resident friends, he was convinced that the day he died there would be no one to mourn him. Once he was revered throughout the multiverse, he knew there would be no one to mourn him. It was special to know that one random mortal that had summoned him on a whim in dimension 46’/ cared enough to mourn him. That Cipher had made such an impact that he was worth mourning.

When he thought about Ford giving him a funeral, he also wondered if he’d ever gone back to the statue to see him again. If Cipher’s loss truly meant something to the only person in the multiverse he actually cared about. Though, he didn’t want to ask - at least not now.

Now, Ford was keeping his distance and didn’t feel like sharing.

Without another option, Bill had to follow suit. It took two to play these games of skill and Cipher wouldn’t back down from a challenge. Even if a small part of him knew he should, he didn’t want to give up just yet. All he could do was inch ever closer to something more.

Bill may never get another small touch again, but at least he got one. He may never hold one of Ford’s six-fingered hands within his own but he had gotten to at one point. Cipher may never get a true kiss from his husband, but if Ford was willing to share a cigarette with him that was as close as he could be. Just the experience of “almost” was enough for him. It was better than the overt absence he had felt for the last three centuries. An empty void with no end or beginning, it just was.

Shaking himself out of that train of thought, Bill went back to work. Thankfully his shift would be short today since Wendy was also starting her summer job at the shack. He hadn’t seen her since he’d been back, but he wondered what she’d say or if Stanley told her at all. If he didn’t, that just might be for the best.

As he finished unpacking the last box, he could hear the bell jingle over the door. Turning and hiding his plight, Bill tried to come across as a normal person. At least until he saw Wendy wandering in.

Bill could recognize her immediately, her fiery red hair and freckled smile were dead giveaways. Wendy had on her worn flannel top from years prior and a black band t-shirt underneath that Bill wasn’t familiar with. Her hair was back in a ponytail as it swung behind her as she walked, looking around the giftshop with nostalgia in her eyes.

I wonder if she realizes who I am. Wanting to feel out how much she knew, Bill treated her like anybody else. “Well, hello there! You must be Wendy,” he was upbeat as he broke the box down before tucking it behind the counter.

She looked him over for a moment before laughing lightly, “Bill, I know it’s you.” He could feel himself getting flustered as she laughed at his expense. “Mr. Pines already told me everything - I’m supposed to keep you under a close eye or something,” Wendy replied as she walked over to lean over the counter. One moment she was carefree, the next she was glaring through him. If looks could kill, Bill would need to be carried out in a body bag right about now. “You do anything you’re not supposed to and you’ll find out just how much better I am with an axe now.”

Cringing slightly, Bill averted his gaze. She says that like she wasn’t already good with one. “Duly noted! I’ll stay out of your hair,” Bill said as he held up his hands in mock surrender. “How much did Fez tell you?” He asked, wanting to know what he was working around.

Seeming to contemplate her answer, Wendy propped her chin on her hands for a moment. “Just that you were in therapy jail and are on, like, probation or something for a year,” she responded, looking him over. “Didn’t tell me you were a normal dude now, though - I was expecting a triangle that I could kick around.”

Scowling over at her, Bill tried not to get mad. He had literally tried to kill her and the entire town. “Ah, okay - so he didn’t tell you anything else?” Bill asked, probing for details. About the marriage.

Wendy considered it for a moment before replying, “Not really, just that you live here now, you work for free and you’re on probation.” Bill hummed as he felt satisfied with her answer, content to not need to answer any strange questions. “The working for free bit feels like the best punishment for your crimes, I get paid to work here and still hate it,” she replied as she pushed herself to stand up straight.

Bill rolled his eyes, As if I can control having to work for free. “Whatever, it’s not like they could pay me anyways - I can’t pay taxes,” he quipped as he jumped up to sit on the counter and gazed down at her. “No social or anything, I’m off the grid.”

She peered over at him, a newfound interest in her eyes. “I guess that makes sense, how do you, like- do stuff that you need an ID for?” Wendy asked.

Shrugging in response, Bill settled his weight back on his palms as he swung his legs over the counter’s edge, “I don’t, I’ve been alive a long time, kid - at a certain point you figure out how to swindle for whatever you want or just outright take it.”

With her curiosity now piqued, she seemed to get an idea. “So can you get anything?” Wendy had a mischievous smile stretching across her face. “Like alcohol? Can you get into bars?” 

Raising an eyebrow, Bill wasn’t sure why she was asking. “Well, yeah, that’d be one of the easiest things to get and it’s not like getting into bars in this dimension is hard either,” Cipher was even more confused when that made her smile wider. “Here I thought you were asking about something difficult, like the nuclear codes or the identity of the Zodiac Killer.”

Wendy’s eyes went wide, “You could get those?”

Bill tilted his head, still perplexed about her line of questioning. “I already have them, I’ve memorized all the codes over the last century. Plus, I helped the Zodiac Killer out in his time - why do you think he never got caught?” He asked as she leaned onto the other end of the counter.

“Y’know, Cipher, you might just be able to get some merit under your belt with that can-do attitude,” Wendy replied as she pulled out her phone. “I may need you for a few …favors this summer - what’s your number?”

Taken aback for a moment, Bill nearly didn’t register her question. “My number? Like my patient number from the Prism?” Bill asked, incredibly confused. He was even more confused once she started laughing.

Pushing a few strands of hair back from her face, Wendy smiled wide as she shook her phone for emphasis. “No, you idiot - your phone number so I can get ahold of you,” she replied, reveling in his blatant embarrassment. “I assume you have one of those.”

Apparently this week was meant to be confusing and contradictory to his knee-jerk reaction. Regardless, he pulled out his phone and they exchanged contact information. It felt surreal to have someone logged in the device that willingly wanted to be there.

Once they were done, she gave him a long-winded lecture about being on his best behavior or she would be the one to drag him back to jail with her own bare hands. Afterwards, they were changing off shifts and he was heading back to the basement.

Returning to his room, Bill stood deep in thought as he tried to decide what to do with himself. It would be a few hours until the younger set of twins would arrive and Ford was essentially off limits. Everyone else was either working around the shack or getting things ready for the kids. There wasn’t much for him down here to do other than sleeping, crying and pining which he’d done more than enough of. 

As he glanced around, his eye caught on the notebook perched on the edge of the desk. That’s right, the quack gave us homework, Bill recalled as he stepped closer and settled his fingers on the cover. I’m supposed to write about us. Cipher could remember everything in piercing detail, but he didn’t think that was what she was asking for. She must have meant in a more metaphorical sense.

Taking a seat in the worn, leather desk chair, Bill grabbed a stray pen and opened it to a blank page. He sat and fidgeted with the pen while he tried to figure out what to say. He could be honest, but what if it blew up in his face? He could lie, but then wouldn’t that just solidify Ford’s statement from their last session?

“All he ever does is lie.”

Cringing at the memory, Bill tried to start with something else. In his mind there was a clear “before” and “after” the incident. Deciding to start with the “before,” Bill thought back to how he felt when they first met. At the time, he was mostly overjoyed with the fact that he’d been summoned again. It didn’t matter who had called him, he was just glad someone had called after all the years trying.

Then things became complicated. Never before had Cipher considered any of his followers a true partner. Not until Stanford. Once he started to see him as a partner, everything got muddy with where the boundaries laid with them.

That was the point in which he was far more careful with Ford’s body. Suddenly confronted with his mortality as Bill began to understand that if he was too rough Ford could cease to exist altogether. Bill began to take ample care of him, trying to help Ford rest as much as possible (within reason) and being cautious of the way he treated him when possessing him.

Stanford seemed to take notice and since Bill could read his thoughts it only fueled the fire. He would take extra precaution to make sure Ford could have everything he wanted as long as Bill could give it to him. If Ford wanted Cipher to hang the moon differently in the sky, he’d pull it down for him and readjust it until it was just right. Bill had thought his behaviour was pathetic at the time. He’d only known how to instill fear in others and to exert control.

In a sense, Ford was the one controlling him. Bill wasn’t really used to that. It made him extremely uncomfortable to feel so vulnerable. If anyone else in the multiverse knew of the weakness he displayed with Ford they’d probably kill him out of spite. That train of thought only made Bill back peddle on his lack of authority, becoming more insistent about the portal.

If he could have a physical form in the same space as Ford, it wouldn’t matter if someone came looking for him because then they’d be together. If he could keep Ford out of harm's way and he stayed at Bill’s side, that would be enough. It would be everything.

So he pushed and prodded at every button until that fateful conversation over chess that caused everything to fall apart. His hand stilled over the paper as he looked at the page but essentially stared through it. One match that he’d beat Ford at but didn’t feel as though he’d won.

That night Bill had started a battle that he didn’t know would start a war.

Everything came to a tipping point and he hadn’t realized they were approaching that as an outcome to begin with. Some of his behaviour before that wasn’t ideal, but there was so much good that he thought should have outweighed the bad. Although, I guess that wasn’t the case since Ford fully hates me.

Bill could feel the tears pool in his eyes at the reminder of that night and the “after.” Wiping furiously at his face, Bill forced himself to think more about the “before,” the good part. The part worth remembering.

Blinking away the last of his tears, he took a steadying breath and started to write again. Recalling all their chess matches in the mindscape that Bill more often than not would let Ford win. Every night they had spent with Ford wrapped in blankets on the couch as he talked to Bill about everything and nothing all at the same time. Every night he’d watched Ford sleep in the mindscape, ambiently running his fingers through Ford’s hair.

All the little moments that made him fall in love with Ford to begin with. Sure, he was the smartest mortal Bill had ever met and he admired his intellect, but it was the moments in between that reeled him in.

The way Ford’s eyes lit up when he smiled. The way Ford fidgeted with his pens. The way Ford had to touch him, even if it was something small and fleeting. The way he spoke with passion and purpose about something he was interested in.

That was what made their relationship, the things that could only be seen if you were specifically paying attention.

Of course he’d received backlash from his henchmaniacs, which was to be expected. The nice thing was that they all feared him enough that all he had to do was give them a pointed look and they wouldn’t dare to question him anymore. He knew they’d whisper about it behind his back, but since the portal progress was steady he truly couldn’t care less.

Everyone would get what they wanted. His henchmen would get their chaos, Bill would get to conquer another dimension and Ford would get to have him. It would have been perfect, if there wasn’t an incident. 

If there wasn’t an “after.”

Maybe he did need to think about the “after,” or the stuff that caused an “after” to begin with. Holding the pen tighter, Bill forced himself to think about the things Ford didn’t like. The things Bill didn’t like when he thought back on them, they had seemed fine at the time. Now he knew they were wrong.

Possessing Ford was a big one, at least he assumed that was the case. Even if Bill had tried to be careful with him at some point, he hadn’t always been careful. Pain was just so interesting in a human body, and it’s not like Ford could remember how much it hurt. That’s why Bill would delete the memories.

On second thought, that was probably bad too. He’d done it to keep Ford from having to experience things, but maybe he should have let him feel them. If he had, we wouldn’t be here. With all his past host bodies, Bill didn’t do that stuff which is why they were just cultists and Ford was his partner.

The key defining factor was that Bill had to exert a lot more effort to keep Ford around and engaged. Bill cared what Ford thought about him. He was specific about the way he wanted to present himself around Stanford and as a result they became partners. As if they were on equal footing. Bill nearly laughed at the thought. We weren’t true equals, I’m the most feared being in the multiverse and he’s the naive mortal that stumbled into me.

Pieces clicked into place as he realized that sentiment was probably also an issue. That even though he’d said they were partners, Ford was always fundamentally beneath him. Bill was always a god and Ford was always a man. An average, mortal man that Cipher kept crouching down to see eye to eye with.

Thinking back on it, at times in their relationship - in the earlier days - he’d treated Ford that way. As beneath him. Obviously he didn’t see him that way the entire time, right?

Bill was asking himself the question as if someone else could hear him. Maybe it was those ghosts he was always lying talking to. When he reminisced about it now, he was Ford’s equal in a sense that they equally cared about and adored each other. Although, there were plenty of people he cared about that still saw him as nothing more than gum on the bottom of their boots.

So it might not mean much that he cared. At least, not to anyone outside of himself.

Setting the pen down and flipping the notebook closed, Bill figured if he kept this train of thought up he’d just make himself upset. Sitting back in the desk chair he glanced around the room before grabbing his phone to check the time. Shooting Star and Pinetree will be here soon, he realized as he stood to change clothes. Might as well hop in the shower.

Bill made quick work of showering and getting dressed, he wanted to keep his hands busy so he wouldn’t think too hard. He was more successful this time around as he was able to stay distracted until the Mystery Shack would be closed for the day and he could head back upstairs. Stepping into the elevator, Bill wanted to decide how he was going to act before he stepped foot outside of the stairway.

The way the twins would have last remembered him was as a feared tyrant. The strange creature that tried to murder them and their entire town. It was hard to bounce back from that image, but Bill knew he had to try.

If they didn’t take the information well and tried to kill him, Cipher truly couldn’t blame them. The only thing he’d be displeased about would be the fact that Ford would get in trouble if something happened to him. He said they already gave them a full run down, so hopefully there isn’t anything too crazy.

Essentially talking to himself as the elevator doors opened, Bill replaced the careful aspects of his facade. Building the set pieces he needed for his everlasting one man show. He knew he didn’t want the kids to know how pathetic he’d become in the last three hundred years. Once he reached the top of the stairs, Bill took a deep breath before opening the door.

Wendy was still in the gift shop counting cash but he could hear movement from the rest of the house through the door. Closing the vending machine behind him, Bill tried not to seem nervous. “Alright, Red - are those kids here?” He was nonchalant as he leaned on the end of the counter.

Humming to herself and ignoring him to not lose count, Wendy didn’t respond until she’d wrapped up, “Not yet, but Mr. Pines just went to pick them up from the bus stop.” Glancing up at him, she seemed more curious than anything. “You scared they’re gonna give you a taste of your own medicine?”

Flinching slightly, Bill did his best to play off the fact that she’d hit the nail on the head. “As if, I’m mostly interested in whatever Sixer told them,” he replied as his eye flicked to the door. “Although maybe he gave them the same rundown he gave you - therapy jail, probation, none of the details.”

Raising an eyebrow, Wendy pressed for more details, “What other details are there? Aren’t they just trying to make you be, like, not a maniacal dictator?” She snorted at her own joke as Bill rolled his eyes.

It’s probably best not to say anything, but then again it’s not like I consider it some big secret. Bill wanted to own up to it, their marriage was one of the only things he didn’t have visceral regret over. Plus, it’d be nice in a way to talk about it with someone other than the quack. “Well, like the specifics of the therapy - y’know since I don’t go by myself,” he replied, testing the waters to see just how much he could get away with saying. 

“You don’t? Who goes with you?” Wendy asked, giving her full attention as she met him at the end of the counter.

The question put him on edge for some reason. Even if he wasn’t ashamed, Bill still worried about being chastised. A glutton for punishment, apparently, Bill articulated what he meant, “Stanford - he’s required to go with me because of our-” Before he could finish speaking, the bell above the door jingled as it swung open.

Cipher snapped his mouth shut and turned to see Stanley walking in with Dipper and Mabel. Carrying their bags and laughing through whatever they had been talking about in the car, the kids didn’t look like they had a care in the world. It was the complete opposite of how he’d last seen them.

They’d both gotten taller over the years but Mabel still had an inch or two on Dipper. She’d kept her hair long and still seemed to favor all her neon colors and chaotic tendencies. Dipper was the same, but different. His hair had grown out and he wasn’t as lanky as he’d been when Bill had last seen him. Instead of the hat he wore during weirdmageddon, he had on Wendy’s - worn and faded over the years.

Standing up straighter, Bill watched on as Wendy walked over to greet them. The conversation was animated and full of life, but Bill felt like a fish in a bowl. Seeing everything through a distorted lens, not quite on the outside looking in but the other way around. He wanted to leave his glass walls and interact with other people just as naturally, but that didn’t come to him easily anymore.

Cipher had made too many mistakes for that.

So instead he shuffled on his feet and waited to speak until he was spoken to. Bill was anticipating the moment that his captors came over to peer at him and tap the glass. It was as if he didn’t exist until Mabel finally looked over, her eyes widening as she fell silent.

Dipper followed suit and soon everyone else in the room was staring at him. Wendy was the first to break the ice. “I know right, it’s weird - he’s a person now,” she spoke with a smile, it was as if she truly couldn’t believe it. “I thought he’d still be a triangle. Mr. Pines, you didn’t say he was a guy now.”

Sighing in light annoyance, Stan crossed his arms over his chest. “I didn’t really think to mention it, I guess. He’s been here for a while, I’m just used to it by now,” he replied.

They talked about him like he was one of the shack’s attractions. A freak on display for all to gawk over, not a sentient being. It was off putting to say the least. “I’m standing right here, y’know,” he retorted, stepping forward and hoping his nerves wouldn’t get the better of him. “Yes, the doctors gave me a new body to “blend in,” as they say. It’s temporary, of course.”

Mabel took a tentative step toward him. “And you’re not gonna kill us?” She asked, giving him a wary glance. “Grunkle Stan said you’re in therapy now…”

Bill didn’t want to back himself into a corner by taking too long to answer her. If he didn’t say the right thing, this whole operation could go downhill. If everything went downhill, he couldn’t win Ford back. “I’m not gonna kill ya’ and yeah, I’m required to go to weekly therapy and take whatever meds the doctors give me,” he replied easily. Succinct and to the point was the simplest way forward. “It’s not like Fez would let me get away with trying anyways, damn geezer watches me like a hawk,” Bill quipped, hoping to ease the tension.

It seemed to work since both kids cracked a smile before Dipper was scoffing at him, “You got that right, we’d just kick your butt again.”

Feeling his eye twitch, Bill let his anger come and go so he wouldn’t put his foot in his mouth. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just remember - you lot can’t lay a finger on me or Sixer gets in trouble with the facility and the interdimensional feds,” he was smug since he knew it was true. “His bounty is already high enough to fund a few planets, they’re just turning a blind eye ‘cause of The Prism’s involvement.”

“What’s this about my bounty?” Ford asked as he entered the gift shop. Cipher went rigid as he realized he’d been caught red-handed. “Try not to freak the kids out with that stuff, I’m not getting arrested anytime soon.”

As he walked over, Dipper and Mabel rushed over to hug him and their previous frenzy started up again. Bill was delegated back to his fish bowl. He grumbled to himself as he watched their animated discussion of how their school year had gone and plans for the summer. 

They had a clear, linear future and it definitely didn’t seem to involve Cipher. 

Wendy waved and said her goodbyes before heading home for the day as the rest of the family filtered into the living room. Bill wasn’t entirely sure what to do with himself, but eventually he settled on eating something. He still wasn’t the best at cooking, but he could make do with things here and there.

Sitting at the table with macaroni and cheese, Bill ambiently scrolled through his phone. The internet was a thing but it wasn't as fun as it would be in at least another decade. Still, it was better than eating in silence. Bill barely realized when someone joined him or how much time had passed until he was tapped on the shoulder.

Jumping in his seat, Bill whipped his head around and dropped his fork into the now empty bowl to see Dipper behind him. “Axolotl above, kid - you scared me half to death, what are you doing in here?” he asked, chastising Dipper but also internally reprimanding himself for flinching in the first place.

Smirking to himself for a moment, Dipper was far too proud of getting a leg up on him. “Glad to know that’s all it takes to catch you off guard these days,” he quipped before his expression was a bit more serious. “Do you…remember everything? Now that you’re in this new body?” He asked.

At that point, Bill saw the notebook tucked under his arm. I swear, being a nerd just runs in this family. Like some kind of genetic mutation that writes “loser” on their forehead in invisible ink. Bill’s tone was flat as he responded, “Yeah, I remember literally everything - past, present and future. That’s why Sixer could never beat me at chess and why I’m so bored with current age technology.”

Dipper’s eyes widened a bit, he couldn‘t help but let his own piqued interest bleed through. “Wait, really? You know everything about everything?” Far too excited for his own good, Bill realized he’d said the correct string of words to create a bridge instead of a deep ravine.

Grabbing his bowl and standing to place it in the sink, Bill attempted to sound humble about it, “Of course, I’ve been around over a trillion years, kid - don’t get that old without learning a thing or two.” He listened to the shuffle of feet behind him before he was turning and leaning against the counter. “I’m sure I can answer any and all questions you or Shooting Star have about the multiverse, if you’d like.”

Wincing at the nickname, Dipper was uncomfortable for a moment before brushing it off. Bill made a mental note to break that habit, It’d make sense, they don’t exactly have good memories tied to those nicknames. Pushing himself off the counter, Bill walked over to him. “Sorry, Mabel, I’m still getting used to actual names,” he amended, wanting to start on the right foot. “I can answer stuff now, if you both want - I’ll be up for a while.”

Since his sleep schedule had become abnormal, he figured he might as well stay up. There wasn’t really harm in it since he slept so oddly most of the time. Either waking up screaming or falling asleep late enough to be exhausted the next day. Plus, he usually stayed up later now that Ford was helping him with the eye drops.

Giving him a small smile, Dipper seemed to appreciate the gesture. “Sure, Mabel’s in the living room,” he replied and turned to find her. They headed there together to find Mabel knitting on the floor, she looked up when she heard their footsteps. “Bill agreed to answer any question about the multiverse,” he was excited to tell her as he sat on the couch behind her.

Bill took a seat on the floor across from her and attempted to relax. They’re just people, sure they’ll probably ask weird stuff but it wouldn’t be the first time. The scenario reminded him of all the times he’d wow’d potential cultists with his infinite knowledge.

That’s how he’d roped Ford in to begin with.

Mabel interjecting with her first question derailed his train of thought, “Why’d you try to take over the world, anyway?”

Outside of the scope Bill was expecting, he took extra care in answering. Ford wants me to tell the truth. “Well, honestly at the time the place I currently lived in was crumbling,” he started with the facts. “The nightmare realm was on the verge of being uninhabitable but the only way out was the portal. Mortals in this dimension are statistically easier to con and I already knew all about it so that ended up becoming ground zero.”

Cipher could remember the debris his makeshift home had turned into by that point. It was a literal miracle that Ford had summoned him when he did. A turn of fate that now neither of them knew if it had been for the better or for the worst.

Humming to herself, she didn’t give him a moment to breathe. “How many times did you try that?” She asked, setting the project she was working on in her lap.

Without missing a beat, he responded, “At least one earth century, I had countless cultists that got close but obviously none were as successful as Sixer.”

“Why do you call him that?” Dipper chimed in, curious about the details.

The question caught Cipher off guard. He didn’t think the kids would ask about Stanford. The answer was simple but he felt weird saying it out loud. But Ford wanted him to be honest. Clearing his throat, Bill gathered his resolve for the next line of questioning. “It just kind of happened, I guess - all my henchmaniacs have nicknames like that,” he replied, mentally hating referring to Ford as such. He was different.

Stanford wasn’t a henchman, he was his partner. His husband. However, that generalization was where the nickname came from and it just kind of stuck. Same with all the others, they just kind of happened. Everyone else had one name at a given time, Ford had a plethora.

Listening to Dipper scribble something down behind him, Bill had half a mind to reprimand him for it. However, he was trying to be better or something which probably meant letting the kids have their way. It also meant nothing was sacred.

Mabel pivoted as Dipper scribbled something down. “They said you’re in therapy, what do the therapists talk about?” She sounded genuinely interested as she settled her hands behind her on the rug.

Cipher could feel his stomach churn at the question. Knowing he wanted to be honest but not really wanting to share made him feel trapped as if he’d stepped into a pitfall and wasn’t sure how to pull himself out. Instead, all he could do was claw at the dirt walls and hope something stuck. Clearing his throat, he turned to the TV and did his best to play off his nausea inducing anxiety. “Just about my past, my family…stuff like that,” he was casual as he said it, not wanting to give details if he didn’t have to. “Whatever they think will help me be rehabilitated, I guess.”

Dipper stopped writing, “Like what about your past? All your, like, evil deeds?” Sounding genuinely curious even if it was apparent that Cipher wasn’t up to discussing it.

“Sort of, that kind of stuff but mostly about my childhood and my home dimension,” Bill replied. “Past relationships and how they might’ve affected me, that type of thing.”

Mabel tilted her head to the side, contemplating his answer. “It’s kind of weird to think that you have a past outside of all the dictator stuff,” she mused, mostly to herself.

Laughing lightly, Bill could feel himself relax a bit. “Every villain has an origin backstory, kid. Mine just has quite a bit of drama and extra pizazz,” he replied, his showmanship bleeding through. Bill talked with his hands for dramatic effect, “The whole package: Love, loss and betrayal.”

Why did I say that? Realizing he’d put his foot in his mouth and said something he shouldn’t have, Bill was internally panicking. Love. He also hated that he’d let that slip. He wanted to believe he’d just been saying that for show but he knew deep down that it wasn’t true. Bill knew he meant it.

Sitting forward, she was suddenly far more interested, “Love?! Who were you in love with?” Her face stretched into a bright smile that warmed him up from the inside. “Were they evil too? Did you, like, try to take over the multiverse together?”

The last question tripped him up. His own smile faltered as he remembered who he wanted to take over the multiverse with. Swallowing hard, Bill answered her, “I tried to take over the multiverse long before I met him, but after I met him…I wanted to do it together for different reasons.” 

Squealing to herself, Mabel was giddy and didn’t pick up on the strain in his voice, “Ah! That’s so romantic, was it a being of, like, absolute destruction or something?” Giggling to herself as if it were a romance novel she was enthralled in, Mabel was fully enamored.

In her eyes it was a love story for the ages, she didn’t know it was actually a devastating tragedy. 

Starting to lose himself, Bill started talking even if he shouldn’t have, “No, he was actually a good guy, I just…” Every conflicting feeling welled up within him and Bill didn’t know why this vein of conversation bothered him. Maybe it was because he’d tried not to think or speak about it for three centuries and this was reminiscent of that. “Y’know, I actually married him…things just got kind of messed up.”

What Bill didn’t realize was that Ford was walking down the hall. He was catching the tail end of Cipher’s makeshift confessional, neither of them knew it yet.

Dipper chimed in, “Wait, you were married? You tried to kill literally everyone, who’d marry you if they weren’t evil?!” Incredulous and surprised, he ignored the way Bill winced.

I get it, I wouldn’t marry me either. Sighing, Bill figured he might as well ought to come out and say it. Maybe the kids already had an inkling and just didn’t realize. “Well, I’m still married - we never got divorced and “til’ death do us part” doesn’t apply when you’re both still alive,” he replied, averting his gaze. “You actually already know him…”

Both kids sat forward, perplexed. “We do? Was it one of your henchmaniacs?” Dipper asked, wide-eyed and waiting.

As Ford stepped into the room, unbeknownst to Bill, he responded, “No…but Stanford and I have been married for about 35 years now…”

Stopping in his tracks, Ford stood stock still behind him as Mabel and him made eye contact. Both kids looked over at him, jaw dropped as nobody moved. Cipher was confused for a moment at them looking over his head and turned to see Ford behind him. He could feel his blood run cold at the expression on Ford’s face.

In essence, he’d fucked up big time.

Staring in shock, Mabel didn’t bother to keep her voice down, “You’re married?!” Her face was mixed with betrayal and confusion. Standing to face Ford fully as if they could see eye to eye. She was shorter but that didn’t mean her confidence wasn’t ten times as big.

“Yes, we’re…working on undoing that,” Ford replied, concern lacing his features. The cat was officially out of the bag. Ford ran a hand through his hair and seemed to be trying to think of something else to say.

Bill had to suppress himself from cringing. Even if they’d gotten closer to being friends, Ford still seemed set on the divorce. It was to be expected, but that didn’t make the searing pain of the proverbial knife any more pleasant. Especially not when Ford was brazenly twisting it.

Mabel immediately began to head over to him, “What do you mean undoing that?” She stepped right up into Ford’s space once she’d crossed the room, panic clear in her eyes.

Nervously, Ford tried to correct himself. “We- we’re getting a divorce,” he replied, his brow creased. Out of all the reactions he expected, Mabel being upset about the divorce didn’t seem to be in his ballpark. Even if he was hiding his discomfort with Cipher saying something in the first place, he couldn’t hide his confusion.

Just hearing Ford say it outright, out loud made Bill’s stomach churn. All the lengths I went to in order to marry this guy…and he’s just dead set on throwing it all away. Bill was bitter and jaded on the surface but underneath his guarded exterior was pure melancholy.

Especially after writing everything down earlier that day, making himself remember just how much effort he put into trying that time. Really trying, only for the whole thing to blow up in his face. It was debilitating. If Bill thought about it too long, he’d fall apart. He had to keep pretending to be cocky and confident otherwise he might truly lose his remaining shreds of sanity. He had to hold out until he was alone.

“What? But why?!” Mabel asked, distraught. Even if she hated Bill, they must have loved each other enough at some point to get married. “Bill, don’t you care about him?”

Bill averted his gaze, suddenly put on the spot, “I- of course, kid, that’s why I’m in therapy…Sixer is the one who’s asking to be separated.” It felt easier to shovel the brunt of the blame onto Ford, especially since he didn’t quite understand why she was so upset in the first place. Bill stood from the rug and watched her carefully, trying to feel out what she’d say or do next. Human emotions are so fickle.

“Grunkle Ford, why would you get a divorce if he cares about you?!” Tears welled up in her eyes, “My parents are getting a divorce because neither of them cares. Bill wants to fix it and you don’t even want to try!” She was fully shouting now, tears falling over her cheeks. Her shoulders shook as she averted her gaze to the rug beneath them. As if she couldn’t even stand to look at him right now.

Ford carefully approached her, trying to help her calm down as Dipper watched the meltdown from afar. Unsure on what to do, Ford ignored Bill’s comment. “Mabel, it’s just a lot. We’re both going to the therapy sessions but if it doesn’t work out then we’ll go our separate ways,” he tried cautiously rationalizing. “That doesn’t mean I’m not trying, I have to go to the same sessions he does.”

As she sobbed and let Ford place a hand on her shoulder, Bill tried to wrap his head around what was happening. But if it doesn’t work out…that doesn’t mean I’m not trying… Bill replayed his words over and over. Lost in thought, So he’s trying to work it out? Does that mean he wants to and the divorce stuff is just a front? Is he just saying that to get her to calm down? He had a million questions and no definitive answers.

They all waited with baited breath to see if Mabel would calm down. Eventually she wiped her tears and stormed off, Dipper stood from the couch and followed after her without saying anything further. He just gave them both a conflicted look before he left.

Ford and Bill stood in the living room staring at the doorway for a moment. Ford was obviously debating on if he should chase after her or not. Bill was debating on if he could sneak away to hide and pretend the interaction hadn’t ever happened in the first place.

Before he could fully plan his escape, Ford was looking back at him. Becoming tense, Bill tried not to shrink away from his piercing gaze. Sighing and pushing his glasses onto his forehead to rub his face, Ford looked much more exhausted than he had mere moments ago. “You just had to say something, didn’t you?” He asked, exasperated.

Wincing, Bill looked back at the floor to scrutinize the fibers of the carpet. “I thought you already told them something of the sort…” Bill mumbled. Dejected at the fact that he was already on Ford’s bad side all over again. “If I had known, I wouldn’t have said anything. Not to mention they asked and I figured I shouldn’t lie to them.”

Setting his glasses back onto his face, Ford ran his fingers through his hair. Realizing that he should have been clearer about what the kids did and didn’t know from the jump. “Well, now we’ll just have to figure it out,” Ford responded as he began to pace. “Try not to talk about the divorce, I think they’re upset about it because their parents are getting divorced right now…and I guess just make yourself scarce or something.”

Bill’s gaze flicked back over to him, conflicted as he absorbed what Ford was saying now and what he’d said to the kids earlier. “Why would I talk about that? You just said we’re working on it, doesn’t that mean we wouldn’t be getting one?” He asked, peering over at him to watch Ford stop in his tracks. “You said you’re trying…or does that count for nothing?”

Seeming to choose his words carefully, Ford was deep in thought as he stood in the center of the room. Once he decided what to say, his voice was stern, “I know what I said, but the kids don’t need to know that we’re getting the divorce yet. They’re just here for the summer, after that, Stan and I can figure out how to tell them since you’ll be long gone.” Ford contemplated everything, always one to overthink and make things unnecessarily complicated. “I- it counts for something, I’m just not banking on it is what I meant.”

Wrapping his arms around himself, Bill tried not to let it show how much Ford’s words stung. “So you basically lied to the therapist,” Bill replied simply. You basically lied to me. After all Ford's insistence that all Cipher did was lie, he was actually a big hypocrite.

Wincing, Ford tried to defend himself. “I didn’t lie, I do intend to give this a shot - I just don’t want to give the kids false hope,” exasperated and annoyed with the conversation, Ford wanted to be done talking.

Bill, however, suddenly did not want to be done talking. “So it’s not okay to give them false hope, but it’s fine if you do it to me?” Bill was accusatory as he glared over at him. What really bothered him was Ford’s apparent inability to have empathy for Bill on a fundamental level. “And here I thought they didn’t let liars stand on the moral high ground.”

“Again, I’m not lying. The kids just don’t understand all our…” Ford struggled to find the specific words he wanted. Trying to get his synapses to fire in the correct order, he stood and stared into nothing and tried talking with his hands. Coming up empty no matter how hard he tried.

Problems? Complicated history? Blatant trauma bond? Bill could supply options a million times over but none of them seemed to quite prove Ford’s point. He was saying that because of those things, the kids didn’t need to know. But Cipher was inclined to believe that it wasn’t that the kids didn’t need to know, it was that Ford didn’t want to tell them.

Because Ford was ashamed of him.

Tossing his arms up and throwing himself into his anger instead of his sadness, Bill rolled his eyes. “Just forget it. I know what this is, you don’t have to think of the right string of syllables to say you don’t want to be associated with me,” Bill grumbled in annoyance. “You made a bunch of shitty decisions and you don’t want your family to know that…like they don’t already know.”

At that, Ford met his anger halfway. “It’s not that, they’re just kids. It really isn’t necessary, although you should be the one hoping the kids don’t call you out for shitty decisions,” he retorted. “You’ve made enough for the multiverse over, and they know all about those.”

Trying not to raise his voice, Bill was becoming overcome with frustration, “They’re not little kids! They’re going to graduate high school soon - damn near adults, it’s not strange to tell them you’re fucking married, Stanford!” He couldn’t help himself, the shouting just kind of happened. So did the fight following it. “You shouldn’t be afraid to tell them you’re married, it’s ridiculous!”

“I’m not afraid to tell them I’m married, I just didn’t want them to know that I’m married to you!” Ford was shouting back, saying words that couldn’t be erased once the letters were spelled out. His eyes went wide after he said it before he sighed and rubbed his face again.

Not backing down, Bill stepped toward him, “Well, guess what, genius?! You are married to me! You wanted to be married to me!” Bill wanted to scream and break anything within arms reach. He wanted to cry and curl up on the floor to disintegrate away. He wanted to pretend this conversation didn’t happen.

But it had, and now that he’d started the fight, he had to finish it. Even if it was going to break him. That’s how they were, everything was a Trojan horse for some bigger battle. They could never just be at peace or let it go.

There was only ever fight or surrender and afterwards neither of them felt like a winner.

With his hands balled up into fists at his sides, Bill tried to get himself together. “You didn’t tell them the truth, but I did. I shouldn’t be punished for that - isn’t that what you wanted?! Honesty?” He asked, borderline sarcastic as he threw the words in Ford’s face.

Looking conflicted, Ford’s irritation was palpable. “I did want you to be honest, that doesn’t mean I wanted you to tell them that,” he corrected. “I know I’m married to you, I know I wanted to at the time. However, it’s been over thirty years and I don’t want that anymore.”

Flinching involuntarily, Bill stared back at the carpet. He couldn’t look Ford in the eye, not when he said that. “After the past few days, you could’ve fooled me…” Bill quipped as he debated letting Ford have his way and leaving. Surrendering.

Shoving a hand in his pocket, Ford tried to be clinical about the whole thing, “I can be cordial to you and not be married to you. Those aren’t mutually exclusive things.” Taking a deep breath, he tried de-escalating, “You could try focusing on being better and atoning for your past behavior instead of this infatuation with our marriage.”

Experiencing emotional whiplash wasn’t where Bill would think this conversation was headed. Why would I not be concerned about our marriage? Doesn’t he realize I married him for a reason? Even if he felt increasingly upset about it, Bill knew this meant Ford didn’t know that. Maybe he did and Ford just didn’t care. It didn’t necessarily matter because he was making his point abundantly clear, he didn’t want anything to do with Bill. Ford just wanted to get this over with.

Even if he seemed apprehensive, Ford put his foot down. “If you could be apologetic about any of that stuff and function in some normal capacity then maybe I’ll consider being married to you,” Ford replied, his voice was flat. Bill almost wondered if he really meant it. “Until then, you’re just the guy who nearly killed me that happens to live in my house. That’s what people get to know, not this other stuff that isn’t even sorted out yet.”

Dejected and defeated, Bill let him have the proverbial win as he nodded. Ignoring the notion that he’d consider it. Before this conversation, that may have been enough to keep himself from losing hope. Now, it felt hollow like all of Ford’s other statements and promises. An empty husk of what should be there.

Still refusing to look Ford in the eye, he stared over his shoulder at the peeling wallpaper. “Duly noted…” he responded, equally feigning disinterest. “Well, whenever you decide what I’m allowed to say to the kids just text me. Don’t worry about the eye drops tonight, I don’t really feel up to it.”

With that being said, Bill waved before he stormed out of the living room to head to the basement. Leaving Ford alone in the middle of the rug. Every step felt heavy as he walked away. He hated walking away, but he might hate losing even more.

As Bill sauntered down the stairs and stepped into the elevator, he felt frustrated. He had a headache and his chest hurt, like he was physically becoming ill from his own disappointment. Even if Ford was perpetuating the idea that they could work this out for the kids, Cipher now knew he didn’t mean it in practice. An almost-lie that only Ford was allowed to tell.

Every interaction since his odd behaviour the other day only weaved a knotted web of lies that Bill was tangled up in. One second they were laughing together as Ford braided his hair, the next he was making sure Bill was aware that he didn’t want to be associated with him.

They were on solid ground for a moment but it crumbled beneath his feet just as quickly as it had originally evened out. Cipher had hinged so much of his continued existence on Ford that without him he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He’d spent the last three hundred plus years hyper fixated on Stanford Pines. When he thought back on it he almost didn’t know why he’d done that.

There was never any one person or object he clung to in that way. People, places, things - they came and went with the ebb and flow of the proverbial tide. That’s what happened when you were immortal, everything and everyone was a big blur. Sure, some things stood out but for the most part it all moved in the background of any given moment.

Then it clicked. That hopeful mortal had looked up at him with pure adoration in his eyes and beamed like the Sun itself. No one had ever looked at him like that before, no one had ever hung onto every spoken word or hummed tune. Cipher wasn’t sure if there was another being in the multiverse that ever would again.

Even if there was, he didn’t want them. He wanted Ford.

In the same way that Ford always wanted to feel special, Bill had the same desire tucked beneath the surface. There just wasn’t anyone that had ever made him feel special except Ford. Of course, he had followers and cultists, but they saw his existence as transactional. They worshipped him as a god because they wanted a miracle from him. Fortune, fame, knowledge.

Those beings didn’t come to him because there was something about him. Bill was just the only god that talked back when they called out. He’d enslaved and desecrated galaxies the multiverse over, but nothing felt more satisfying than sitting on Ford’s shoulder as he talked at length about whatever he was working on. Ford didn’t talk just to hear himself, he spoke to share and connect with the person he was speaking to.

Before Cipher met him, he’d never done that before. When he spoke to his followers or his henchmaniacs, he spoke with the explicit purpose to give orders and see them followed through. Sometimes he spoke just to instill fear in others because if they were afraid of him they wouldn’t have the courage to hurt or belittle him. 

At first, and toward the end - Bill thought fear was the right answer or control. Those tactics always worked for him before (for the most part). If he could dictate how the pieces moved on the board, then he’d be winning. Cipher never thought further than one match at a time, he didn’t think about the ways his opponents would feel when he forced their hand. Bill never considered sitting down for a rematch. He never wanted to do that before.

If he could go back and fix it somehow, he would but he didn’t know which parts were wrong. It was as if he’d broken multiple vases and kept trying to glue the cracked pieces back together but didn’t know which vase he was rebuilding at any given time. Not to mention, there hadn’t yet been anything Bill had successfully been able to fix so far.

Bill only knew when he’d messed up once Ford told him so, but Ford wasn’t up to sharing. Now, the partner he’d talk to for hours and hours on end was radio silent in the ways that mattered. They couldn’t have decent open communication because Bill had severed the line a long time ago, assuming he didn’t need it anymore.

However, the things he felt like he needed now were so far out of his reach. Bill was on the fence about whether he was going to keep reaching for those things. They’d turn him into Icarus - then he’d expound everlasting drops of energy and gain nothing. Instead, he’d only disintegrate under the broiling heat and his ashes would catch on the wind. Bill would be no closer to his goals if he tried and failed.

Though, for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t wary of failure. If he couldn’t reach out and touch the Sun without it killing him, then maybe he wasn’t meant to fly in the first place. Maybe that was his purpose to begin with. He’d let Ford burn away everything he was if that would make Ford look the way he had when they met.

Even if he wanted to see Ford smile like that again, to see true adoration in his eyes as he looked at him, Bill would be content if his former partner ever got to experience that feeling again at all. Even if he didn’t get to see that day, he wanted it to come. Although, Cipher knew it would only happen over his dead body. He had to try and fail, he’d never just sit back and let Ford go - no matter how adamantly Ford protested.

Once he was back in his room, Bill wandered in and glanced back at the discarded notebook on the desk. He was tempted to amend his previous statements and perspectives. Even if those were how he truly felt, he knew the doctor and Ford were going to read it. He wasn’t sure if he could bear to be honest like that. 

What if I tell him the truth and he thinks I’m lying again? Bill asked himself as he walked over to set his fingertips against the cover. What if he doesn’t believe me?

Fingers flinching away from the cover, Bill tried to discern if he could handle that again. He wasn’t sure if his mind could take being discredited again for the things he felt and saw. Even if they weren’t real to other people, his paranoia-induced brain couldn’t tell the difference. As a result, everything felt so viscerally real.

Bill couldn’t tell what was the truth and what was an illusion but it was easier to tackle every problem as if it truly existed instead of wasting time trying to tell them apart. He just wished other people could see things the way he saw them, then maybe they could figure out how to fix whatever lingering parts were crumbling within him. Maybe then someone could fix him.

However, he knew no such person existed. It was just him, trapped with infinite and innate knowledge. He could only hope that being vague would make the ordeal less painful. Pushing the notebook away from him as if it’d bite him at any moment, Bill decided to just leave it alone to deal with later. Sighing to himself, he decided to sleep.

If I’m asleep hopefully I won’t feel like this for a while. Even if he knew it was wishful thinking to expect no nightmares, Bill went to the dresser to change. Grabbing Ford’s sweater and a random pair of fleece pajama pants, he quickly tossed the clothes he had on to the floor before getting dressed.

Pulling the collar of the sweater up to his face and breathing deeply, Bill could feel the tears lodge themselves in his throat. He looked up to the ceiling and tried to will them away, tired of this same song and dance every night. Making matters worse, he couldn’t help himself from opening the bottom drawer to look at the small box tucked in the corner.

Shakily crouching in front of the dresser, he cupped his hands around the box before opening it. Tentatively he ran his thumb over the wedding band. “I’m trying…I promise I’m really trying this time,” Bill spoke softly to people long since gone. “You’ll all be together, I’ll figure it out. Just be patient with me.”

Through hitched breathing, the tears spilled over as he closed the box and set it back in its respective corner. Shutting the drawer, Bill felt far away as he came to terms with what he was doing. Lying to both the dead and himself one final time that day. 

Tomorrow, he’d do it all over again.

Chapter Text

Standing out on the porch, Ford took a deep pull of the cigarette between his fingers. Breathing deeply until his lungs felt as full as they could before exhaling. Well, that was a disaster, he mused as he stared at the darkened treeline. Leaning against the support beam, Ford looked out at nothing as he replayed the evening.

It had been less than a day and Ford was already giving up on smoking less now that the kids were here. It just couldn’t be helped, this is what he needed to keep a sliver of his sanity. Especially after the night they’d had.

Ford hadn’t wanted the kids to know about their relationship, he figured it would be confusing given the circumstances that followed it. He also didn’t want the kids to see him differently, to show the full scope of the ways in which he’d been manipulated. Ford wanted the kids to look up to him, his relationship with Cipher was a stain on his otherwise clean image. 

What he hadn’t anticipated was either of them being more upset that they were getting divorced. He hadn’t really thought about that part. Everything they were going through was fresh on his mind, but Ford hadn’t anticipated that there would be any feelings projected onto his own situation. A grave miscalculation on his part, though, hindsight was twenty-twenty. 

Then there was the fight with Cipher.

Breathing the smoke in deep, Ford felt conflicted. Trying to convince Cipher he wasn’t lying made him much more uncomfortable than he expected. Possibly because he partially was. Ford hadn’t lied to the therapist and he hadn’t lied to the kids, he wanted to try. Tonight the only person he had lied to was Bill.

Saying he wasn’t banking on it, that he didn’t want to be married to him anymore. That was a lie and after he said it he wished he hadn’t. However, the past few days Ford had been plagued by his own mind and it was scrambling his ability to cross his T’s and dot his i’s. 

Ever since the initial nightmare, it had repeated itself every time he closed his eyes. He’d wander to the lake, the pay phone would ring, Bill would recite the words and then Ford would have to watch him drown. Over and over, a never ending loop until he was bolting out of bed in the middle of the night. Panting and trembling from the adrenaline coursing through his veins. 

A few nights ago he couldn’t take it anymore. When he woke up in a panic at 4 in the morning, Ford tossed the covers off himself and went to the bathroom to shower. Caked in sweat and feverish as he stepped under the water, his mind was a blank slate as he tried to clear the images and the sound of screams from his mind. When he’d gotten out and was rummaging through drawers, he found an old bottle of caffeine pills that he hadn’t touched in decades.

Tempted at the prospect, he reached out for the bottle and wondered if he was really going to travel down that road again. Before he could let his worries get the best of him, Ford was snatching up the bottle from the drawer and heading to his desk. Taking one without bothering to think twice, he then emptied the water bottle next to his bed.

Ford had been up for days at this point since he found that bottle and the lack of sleep was starting to get to him. He felt like a manic, live wire. Every sensation was heightened as his hands vibrated like tree limbs during an earthquake. Ford felt jittery and on edge as he worked, wanting to close his eyes but being too paranoid to actually do it.

Since he’d experienced the effects before, he knew he couldn’t stay up for too long. The maximum he’d ever lasted was eight days, but by that point he had made himself sick and had nearly gone mad. The human brain could only function without sleep for so long, after all. 

Not to mention the ramifications that 200mg of caffeine every 12 hours would have on his body. Especially since it’d expired 30 years ago and was far more potent. However, he was trying to hold out until the kids got here. Ford was hoping they’d lessen the stress the withdrawal symptoms would leave behind.

Now he had more problems than he’d started with because he’d lied right to Cipher’s face. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be married to Bill, it was that he didn’t want to be married to the tyrant that had tortured him. Since the two melded together, his mind had a hard time distinguishing the difference. 

Just like his nightmare - I wouldn’t strangle the “normal” version of him. In the moment, he’d put his foot in his mouth and now he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Since he couldn’t think properly and had to work on the fly, he’d inadvertently made things worse between them.

Ford wanted to keep things at a safe distance and remain neutral. They had to become friends before they could become something else. But they couldn’t become friends if they were too stubborn to stop being enemies. Everything he said earlier that night wasn’t helping with any of those things. It wasn’t making him feel any better about their situation either, so everyone was losing.

Sighing as he was nearing the end of his smoke, Ford debated what he was going to do with himself tonight. The past few nights he’d stayed up painting prosthetics and comparing them to the photos he’d taken. Ford must be on his 15th iteration and it still didn’t look right. He’d been hiding them in a small container in his desk drawer so that when Bill came to his room for the eye drops he wouldn’t see them. 

A meticulous perfectionist through and through, Ford would finish painting and hold the eye up to the light and try to imagine it in Cipher’s socket. Staring endlessly as he fantasized about scrutinizing it again with Bill’s face in his hands. Then he’d decide the iris was off color or the veins at the edges were too thick or too thin. His mind would be convinced that the shape wasn’t exactly how he wanted it or it wasn’t glossy enough. Each one was always missing something that Ford couldn’t quite place. So he’d press it and stick it in the box before starting on the next one. 

The same song and dance for multiple days and nights at a time was starting to drive him up the wall. If he didn’t see Bill every evening, he’d almost wonder if he forgot what his eyes looked like in the first place. It was a highlight of his day but he had to present the illusion that it was anything but.

After their discussion from a few nights prior, Ford hadn’t broached any topic of the sort again. He tried to keep things in a safe middle ground and maintain some neutrality in their interactions. Ford would brush and braid his hair all the same, taking extra care to make sure it was symmetrical and nothing was out of place. Since he couldn’t otherwise show his affection interest in their routine, that was all he could manage. 

They’d talk about nothing of importance or not talk at all before Ford was tying both braids off and helping Bill with the eye drops. Even though Bill would wince and was slightly tense every time, he never protested. He’d just stay still and wait for Ford to get it over with. Then Ford would loiter in the doorway and watch as Bill walked down the hall until he rounded the corner.

Ford hadn’t been caught staring yet and he wasn’t sure what his excuse would be if he was caught.

Instead he’d wait to see if Bill would turn back around and demand to know why Ford was being obtuse. That’s what he would have done three decades ago, blatantly imposed until he got what he wanted. That spark was now long gone, Ford should be relieved about that. He should be thankful that Cipher wasn’t fighting him on this stuff, that he was docile for the most part, but he wasn’t. 

He missed the irritating spitfire that had never taken “no” for an answer. Even if they were fighting not too long ago in the living room, Ford secretly relished in it. That was what their relationship was built on: the fighting. Always fighting for more, persevering for something else no matter what they already had. Ford wasn’t entirely sure how to be around Cipher if it wasn’t that.

All his sarcasm and snark was familiar, which made it comfortable. Which was seemingly becoming a problem because Ford was supposed to be opposed to this entire arrangement. In a way, he was opposed but he was confusing himself once again by overthinking the scenario entirely.

Sighing to himself, Ford realized he was nearly at the end of his smoke. What is wrong with me? He was lamenting to himself about his own twisted mind. Ford wanted to be above the ridiculous notion of “together” for them. He wanted to be stronger than that for his family and for himself.

Like a moth to a flame, he was drawn into Cipher’s orbit. Then he’d wait patiently for his wings to catch fire and for everything he was to be set ablaze. Maybe then he’d realized he had been burned enough times to stop going back.

Even if Ford was a fast learner, he’d never step away from Cipher’s inferno. It was a lesson that had never stuck before and wouldn’t stick anytime soon.

As he stomped the cigarette out in the dirt, Ford heard the screen door swing open. He glanced over his shoulder to see Stanley step out onto the porch in his pajamas before taking a seat on the couch. Stan waved him over without saying anything and it let Ford know he may just get an earful.

Sighing to himself, Ford walked back up the steps and sat beside him. “That was a disaster, I know,” he started without waiting for Stanley to say anything. “I didn’t think he’d mention it and I didn’t think it’d make the kids that…upset,” Ford amended as he removed his glasses to rub his eyes. It was a new habit, most likely from his lack of sleep.

Stanley hummed before crossing his ankles over each other. He still hadn’t said anything, instead he sat patiently with his hands in his lap and looked out at the forest. Like he was waiting for something. Ford made the assumption that Stanley knew exactly what he was talking about.

There’s something to be said about assumptions, but the moniker alluded him in the moment.

“I tried to tell them it was a work in progress to try to ease them a bit, but obviously once everything is sorted out at the end of the year we can revisit the topic,” Ford continued talking, mostly to himself. He was too exhausted to realize Stanley hadn’t said anything. Ford didn’t need to defend himself because no one was attacking him. “Did you talk to Mabel? She was very upset and I’m not sure how to go about resolving that,” he asked, turning to Stanley directly as if he was actively responding.

Calm and collected, Stanley took a deep breath before speaking. “Ford, when was the last time you slept?” He asked, his voice was gentle but firm. Glancing over at him to see his brother’s concerned expression, “And don’t say last night cause I’ll know you’re lying.”

Fidgeting with his hands in his lap, Ford debated grabbing another cigarette. One vice for another, he chastised before answering the question, “A couple days ago…I was working on a project and wanted to knock it out before the kids got here.” It was partially true since he had been up working on eye prosthetics. “I was planning on sleeping in tomorrow, to give the kids time to adjust and go see people in town.”

Seeming to consider his words, Stan squinted over at him until he made a decision. “Alright…just take it easy with the all-nighters,” Stanley responded, apprehension painted across his face. “But to answer your question - I didn’t get to talk with Mabel, she was pretty worked up and they went straight to the attic.”

Relaxing slightly, Ford was glad his brother didn’t continue to press the issue. He wouldn’t know how to keep up the ruse if he had. Switching gears, he thought back to his conversation with Mabel. Ford had never been great at dealing with stress, especially not the stress of others. He tried to say things that he thought his brother would in the same situation but he wasn’t sure if that had helped or if that had made things worse. 

Settling his head on his hand, Ford looked back to the treeline. “I’ll try to talk to her about it tomorrow…” he decided dejectedly. He really didn’t want the kids' summer before their senior year to start off chaotic.

Not quite ready to let up on him, Stanley pressed the next issue that seemed to be on his mind. “What happened with Cipher?” He asked, peering over at him. “He seemed frustrated hen he was heading downstairs.”

Cringing, Ford tried not to give his own feelings away on the matter. “He was just…mad? I guess…” he was unsure of himself as he spoke, not knowing if that was necessarily what he wanted to say. “Mostly saying he was annoyed that I wasn’t going to try to stay married to him,” Ford followed up his statement, talking with his hands as he tried to articulate his point. Recounting the details in the vaguest sense due to his tired mind. “I don’t know why he’s so fixated on our marriage to begin with.”

Stanley listened intently, nodding along as he thought it all over. “I mean, I can see why he would be - you are in counseling for that specifically and that seems to be the therapist’s talking points,” he replied. “Obviously I can understand why you wouldn’t want to be married to him, but I can also understand that it’s probably on his mind ‘cause of the doctors.”

Introspectively, Ford knew that but he didn’t want to acknowledge it. Everytime it was inadvertently brought up, Ford would go on his own mental tangent. Some sickening nostalgia would fester under his skin until it seeped through his pores and got all over anything he interacted with. He hadn’t been successful at doing something about that either.

“My point is we can’t really go back to that kind of relationship until we deal with all this other stuff,” Ford corrected himself. “We need to at least be on amicable terms before I second guess the divorce paperwork and he doesn’t seem to realize that.”

Softly agreeing with him, Stan was inclined to let the discussion go. However, things were still nagging at him. Ambiantly tapping his fingers against the arm of the couch, Stan chose his words carefully. “Do you think you’d actually do that, though? Not going through with the divorce, I mean,” trying to sound casual, he gave Ford a wary glance.

Stretching to dispel lingering tension, Ford tried to figure out what to say. He had to decide if he was going to tell another lie. Lying to his brother made him feel uncomfortable, but tonight apparently he was already on a roll. “No, but it would be nice to have closure or something,” Ford replied, trying to sound dismissive. “Maybe that’s what we’re working toward, I don’t know. I’m honestly exhausted so I think I’m going to head to bed.”

Standing and ignoring his own nagging guilt about lying, Ford turned to his twin. Stanley looked apprehensive from where he sat, “Guess that’s not such a bad idea…yeah, go get some rest - I’ll let the kids know you’re sleeping in tomorrow.”

Ford waved to him as he headed into the house. Dread from having to go to sleep and lying to his brother was consuming him and Ford wasn’t sure which was worse. Excuses, excuses, excuses, Ford seemed to have them in droves. 

Why he could spare the kid’s feelings but not Cipher’s. Why he could lie but Cipher couldn’t. Why he could tell his brother he was going through with the divorce when he actually felt conflicted about it.

An everlasting push and pull that Ford couldn’t help himself but partake in.

Making his way through the house, Ford listened to every creak and shifting of the floorboards as he moved. It sounded impossibly loud in his ears, as if he were hearing each step through headphones. Possibly because other than his movements the house was deathly still.

Which was odd since the kids were here. Usually they’d be up all night watching movies and eating snacks. Pouring over books and listening to Ford and Stan recount their adventures. Mabel would be knitting in the living room while Soos and Dipper would be playing video games. Instead of all their bustle, it was dead quiet.

Making his way into his room, Ford immediately focused on the bottle of pills on his desk. Stepping over and picking it up, he was tempted to partake in it anyway. That way he’d only feel bad about the lying and not the withdrawals and the nightmares. However, that would mean even more lying later and he wasn’t sure which was worse.

Shoving the bottle into one of his desk drawers, Ford turned and changed into his pajamas before flipping on the AC unit and climbing into bed. Exhaustion overtook him as soon as he laid down. His body had become too used to sitting at his desk at all hours of the day and night. A bed felt heavenly, even if he knew it would lead to a hellish couple of days.

As soon as he closed his eyes, Ford fell asleep. When they opened within a dream nightmare, he was back on the porch. Ford could feel his stomach churn, then he wondered if he could throw up in his sleep. Wanting to get it over with as soon as possible, Ford stood and pulled the post it note off the door before heading out to the lake.

At first he was walking, then he was jogging, then he started sprinting. I just want this to be over. Panting heavily, Ford only stopped to catch his breath once he reached the edge of the water. Staring out in the darkness since the Sun had set, he searched for Cipher before heading to the pay phone.

It rang as soon as he stepped inside the phone box.

Picking it up, he spoke into the receiver, “Hello.” Ford didn’t bother trying to fight it. That’s what he’d done at first, he’d tried to help Cipher. Telling him to get out of the water, to tell Ford where he was so he could save him. Every time, Bill repeated the same script and the music played before the screeching.

The song started up like clockwork and caused a shiver to trail down Ford’s spine. The only difference was that the lyrics started up in a different place.

Pull them little strings and I’ll sing you a song.

I’m your puppet.

Make me do right or make me do wrong.

I’m your puppet.

The music cut out and then Cipher interjected, just like he did every time they went through this song and dance. “Hey, Stanford - it’s Bill,” he spoke, sounding more sure of himself this time. The music didn’t start up again, he could only hear the sound of Bill’s breathing on the other end.

Ford was thrown off guard. It’s the same but it’s different. Bill had never called him by his name before. Instead, he used the nickname, this is new. The song was the same, but different.

Lyrics droned through the phone just then, blaring to the point of startling him.

Treat me good and I’ll do anything.

I’m just a puppet and you hold my string.

I’m your puppet.

“I’m going to take a swim in the frozen lake tonight, and I won’t ever come back,” Cipher’s voice didn’t waver as he continued on. This time when he said it, no one was forcing his hand. It sounded like he meant it and instead of him saying “tomorrow” he said “tonight.” He said he wouldn’t come back, definitely. Not that he might not come back, as if he had a chance of survival. “So if you don’t hear from me, I just want you to know that it’s because I know you never loved me.“

Feeling as though Bill had punched him instead of speaking through the phone as it cracked and fractured his voice, the wind was knocked out of him. Before Ford could reply, the song played again, still following through with different lyrics.

Darling, darling, pull the strings, let me sing you a song any day.

I’m your puppet, baby, you can sing for me all night long.

The phone clicked off and the dial tone started. Ford hung up the phone and left the box, wondering if the same thing would happen or if this would be new too. He walked tentatively to the water’s edge and waited. Soon enough, a small, dingy boat was floating over with Cipher standing inside looking back at him. He didn’t scream, instead he silently cried as the tears poured over.

Ford stepped closer and wondered if he could change anything about the outcome. “Cipher, what are you doing? If you come closer I can help you out of the water,” his voice was soft as he reached out to coax him over.

Even if he knew it was futile, Ford tried anyway. It was second nature to extend his hand and pray Cipher would take it. If only he could do that when he was awake.

Smiling softly, Bill wrapped his arms around himself. “It’s such a shame…” he said, his voice breaking as he continued to silently sob. His eyes were filled with nothing more than his incessant tears and unyielding, blind adoration.

Brow creasing as Ford waded into the water to try to reach him, he asked, “What is?” The lake was ice cold, biting at his skin as he shivered and tried to see how far he could go before he couldn’t stand with his head above water anymore. It was borderline painful as his teeth chattered and he reached out as far as his arms could extend.

“That you never loved me,” Bill answered simply before he stepped out of the boat and plunged into the water.

Frantically, Ford waded further and ignored the daggers of the frigid water. Panicking as he cried out even if he knew Bill couldn’t hear him anymore. “That’s not true! I swear it’s not true…I didn’t mean it!” he was now the one screaming as he was now waist deep into the lake. Ford could hear the echo of those words as they left his lips decades ago. The perpetual lie that he'd never loved Cipher to begin with that only his former partner had heard. Searching the water was futile since it was pitch black but that didn’t stop him from trying. “Bill, I promise I didn’t mean it!”

Instead of the screaming he’d been met with night after night, all Ford could hear now was his frigid bones and sloshing water. Splashing and combing through the once still lake while he hoped to find Bill’s body before his former partner froze to death. As if him doing so would change anything.

He ended up deep enough for the water to be up to his shoulders, his body felt numb from the cold but he didn’t care. He wanted to set the record straight. Ford wanted Bill to be alright, even if he truly shouldn’t. The situation put him on high alert and now his emotions were running rampant, a rabid animal let loose from it’s cage by mistake. 

Ford didn’t bother trying to bottle it up anymore.

The only thing that stopped him was his inability to feel his own limbs anymore and the fact that he suddenly couldn’t remember how to swim. However, it didn’t seem to matter because something in the lake yanked him under. Ford opened his mouth in surprise, swallowing the disgustingly murky lake water and he tried to free himself from whatever had grabbed him. His lungs burned as he wished he could breathe, but once his eyes caught on Cipher’s lifeless body he began to panic for a different reason entirely.

Reaching out to hold him was a useless venture because he was bolting out of bed.

Ford caught himself screaming and abruptly stopped himself. Hyperventilating as he hoped no one would come check on him, Ford raked a hand through his now damp hair. He glanced over at the clock, breathing heavily to see he had slept in until three in the afternoon. Once he had caught his breath, Ford peeled himself out of bed and stripped his sheets. Everything was soaked through with his sweat so he threw it all in the hamper before shucking off his clothes and heading to take a shower.

As he watched the spray, Ford felt apprehensive. He’d never been scared to get into the shower before when he’d had those drowning dreams. This one was different, it freaked him out far more than any of the others and he wasn’t sure how to react. However, he knew he couldn’t be sticky for the rest of the day. As a result, he ended up leaving the water on and used a washcloth to scrub his body outside of the shower. Making quite a mess of the bathroom floor as he did so, but he couldn’t be bothered to care.

It was the only effective method for him to get clean and not have a panic attack. Ford didn’t let his mind wander, he just focused on the task at hand and tried to calm his racing heart. He didn’t want to know what the dream meant. Ford wanted it to mean nothing at all, even if he knew that wasn’t true.

It obviously had an underlying meaning but Ford elected to ignore it as he dried off and left the bathroom to get dressed. Every movement felt sluggish despite having gotten so much sleep the night before. His head was killing him and his hands trembled. The withdrawals, great. Frowning to himself, Ford decided he was going to do the same thing he’d done every day before this one. Work on the next iteration of the prosthetic. 

It was exponentially more difficult as he couldn't keep his hands still. Every movement wasn’t nearly as precise but he kept painting. His eyes flicked between the eye perched in his hands and the photos of Cipher’s own eye beside him. He tried not to recall the rest of the photos he had taken. Intently scrutinizing his work through the magnifying glass clipped to the table, Ford didn’t hear the soft knock at the door.

“Grunkle Ford, are you awake? I wanted to compare your notes with something I found this morning,” Dipper peaked his head into Ford’s room to see if he was busy. Ford was surprised that Dipper was willing to speak to him at all after the night before.

Looking up from the prosthetic he was painting, Ford coaxed him in with a wave over his shoulder. “Yes, come in - I can grab my journal in a moment,” Ford’s voice was low as he focused back in on the paintbrush.

Stepping beside him, Dipper was curious about what he might be working on. However, he didn’t get a chance to ask about it before Ford was shifting it farther back on the desk and moving his magnifying glass. He made sure to close the notebook with the photos beside him. Grabbing his journal from the drawer, Ford offered it up to him.

Dipper took the book gingerly before flipping through the pages. “I found something strange near the door of the bunker,” he spoke mostly to himself, deep in thought. “It was a paint can with a brush beside it but the paint was clear! I didn’t use any of it in case it was radioactive or something, did you ever come across anything like that?”

Ford’s fingers twitched for a moment as he immediately registered what Dipper was referring to. “Where did you say you found it?” He asked, outright ignoring the original question.

Humming to himself, Dipper continued flipping through the journal. He was unaware of the fact that he wouldn’t find the page he was looking for. Ford had burned it a long time ago. “I think it was out in the bunker, near the entrance,” he replied, uninterested in why Ford was asking.

“Can you bring it back here? I can take a look at it in the lab…may prove useful,” Ford feigned a normal amount of interest for such a thing. 

Lighting up at the prospect of being helpful, Dipper looked back at him, “Of course! I can go back out for it now.” Before Ford could say anything further, he was setting the journal on the desk and rushing out of the room.

Settling a hand on the journal, Ford stared after him. I thought I got rid of that ages ago, his mind wandered. It was a sliver of a good time in his life with Cipher. I wonder if I can still see it.

Fordtramarine.

After his original journal entry he’d tried replicating the color countless times. It was especially difficult because only he could see it and he couldn’t find the words to describe it. However, he’d eventually gotten it right but hadn’t gotten the chance to ever use it for anything. When Fiddleford saw the paint can, he remarked that he couldn’t understand why Ford would make clear paint. Bill had praised him for his determination at the time.

A color only they could see. It was strange and unusual but Ford had thought it romantic in the moment. It was something just for them, every other Cipher cultist saw most of the things Bill had shown Ford, but he was the only one that got his own color. There was no one to share it with, either, since it couldn’t be picked up by the naked human eye. Something special that was just for them.

Turning back to the prosthetic, Ford looked at it and wondered if that was what he was missing. Is that what I see in his eye that I couldn’t replicate before? Ford almost wanted to go find him to check. Is he cross with me? Asking questions he already knew the answer to, Ford sat back in his chair and sighed in frustration.

Even though he knew he shouldn’t, Ford still felt antsy and his head was killing him. Damn withdrawals. He knew if he went to go see Cipher he’d probably end up starting another fight. So much of his irritation was the lack of caffeine, it made him tempted to either give up and take the pills or at the very least have a cup of coffee. The latter would be futile, he knew that the caffeine content wouldn’t satisfy him now. The former wasn’t a good idea because he was supposed to stop for the kids. At least for a while.

Opening the drawer with the pills, Ford stared at the bottle. It was almost as if it was speaking to him, begging Ford to take one. Just one to take the edge off. Great, now I’m hallucinating.

Stretching in his desk chair, Ford figured it would be best to wait for Dipper to come back with the paint can. Since he’d mentioned the lab and didn’t want to make a mess, he shut the drawer and stood. Setting everything in a box along with the rejected prosthetics and grabbing his journal as he did so. It’d probably be best to move everything now so I don’t get paint everywhere. He gathered up his brushes and paints before setting off.

Walking carefully so as not to spill anything, Ford made his way down the hall. He watched out for anyone else, especially Mabel as he hoped to talk to her about the night before. She seemed to take it much harder than Dipper. Ford was considering it for a moment, wondering why she seemed to react that way. 

Their parents had been rocky at best within recent years and they’d only decided to give up on trying to fix things this past year. All their fighting and bickering made for a hostile home environment and they made the choice to separate for the kid’s well being. The kids, however, didn’t take the news lightly.

They were both diametrically opposed in their own ways. Dipper wasn’t keen on them waiting until now to do so since it was so close to their senior year while Mabel saw it as them giving up. She wanted to believe love conquered all and that they could work it out. Dipper wanted them to work it out because he knew if they called it off and then got back together it would all be a blatant waste of everyone’s time.

Ford originally hadn’t factored those views in, but then again he hadn’t planned on telling the kids to begin with. He had wanted to keep the entire thing a heavily veiled secret. Hidden in plain sight as Bill kept his distance over the course of the summer. Ford hadn’t expected them to get so…cozy before the kids even got here.

It definitely could have been worse if I didn’t pull back on the whole thing, he realized as he made his way to the gift shop. As he went to open the door, his hand twitched. The shack is open today…and Bill might be in there working.  

Debating on how he was going to handle it, Ford stepped back from the door. He could walk in there, but if Bill was working then he’d have to interact with him. After the dream he’d had and their fight from the night before, Ford knew things would be awkward to say the least. However, he knew he had to work in the lab, he didn’t want Bill to see the paint can.

Ford paced in the living room for a moment, relieved that no one else was in there before the door was opening on its own. He jumped in slight surprise to see Dipper in the doorway with the paint can and brush. He tried to school his expression and leave the anxiety behind him.

“Dipper, thank you - can you carry that down to the lab for me?” Ford asked. If Dipper was with him and Bill was in the gift shop he hoped that would fortify his resolve. The boy nodded, excited to be helpful as they set off for the vending machine.

Thankfully the gift shop was clear of customers, a tour must be running. The only downside was Cipher behind the counter taking inventory. Ford almost couldn’t look at him, Bill looked exhausted as he counted things out. Scribbling down something as he seemed to take stock, he barely noticed Ford was there to begin with.

Once they were rounding the counter and Ford started to punch in the code, Bill looked up. He was apprehensive, obviously debating on if he’d say anything. He was conflicted for a moment before he let it go and went back to what he was doing. 

Ford and Dipper began to walk down the stairs and let the door close behind them. Distracted as he walked carefully, Ford’s chest felt tight. Bill didn’t want to talk to him, he didn’t want to see him, and he hadn’t even texted him today about the eye drops. Ford wondered if he’d ask about the drops at all. He kept his expression neutral as he realized he may have just ruined the only time he got to see and interact with Cipher.

The closest they’d ever get to normal.

Dipper was saying something as they stepped into the elevator and he shifted the weight of the paint can from one hand to the other but Ford wasn’t listening. He was too caught up in his own head to hear him. Once they’d stepped into the lab and Ford settled everything on one of his work tables, Ford took the paint can from him. 

Finally tuning into whatever Dipper had been saying, he had to use context clues to fill himself in. “Do you think it might be dangerous? Or what creature might have left it there?” He was hyperactive as he seemed to run through all the possibilities of what it could be.

He’s just interested in the paint. Excited about colors he couldn’t see, Ford was curious about his own sight as he rummaged through his drawers until he found something to pop the lid open with. Inside, he saw it for the first time in decades. Fordtramarine. It was as blindingly gorgeous as when he’s first seen it, and he still couldn’t find an earthly way to describe it other than incredible.

Feeling tears well up in his eyes, Ford cleared his throat and blinked them away. Hoping Dipper didn’t notice him getting emotional, Ford pivoted, “I’m not sure, but I’ll run a few tests. Until I determine it’s safe, you’ll need to steer clear of the lab.”

Groaning in defeat, Dipper tried protesting, “But Grunkle Ford, it’s so cool! We can investigate it together!”

Having half a mind to feel guilty, Ford brushed it off. Guilt just seemed to stalk him the past few days, hiding in the underbrush and waiting to pounce. “It’s better to be safe than sorry, I promise once I figure out it’s safe you’ll be the first to know,” Ford consoled him as he secured the lid back on. He knew intrinsically that he would lie and say it wasn’t safe, he didn’t think he could handle seeing the color that no one else could see all over the house. He sat in his desk chair and decided he’d broach a different topic altogether, “Listen, I wanted to talk to you about last night…”

Dipper seemed tense as he fidgeted with his hands, averting his gaze as tension settled over them like a thick fog. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to…I’m sure it’s not the best thing to dredge up,” he replied, taking a more mature approach.

Ford stretched his legs out and thought about what Stan would say. How do I say this without sounding dismissive? Ford wanted to console him but he didn’t even know if Dipper was upset. If he was upset, then how upset was he? Instead of overthinking it, he tried to be succinct, “No, it’s alright…you both deserve to know.” Ford took a deep breath before continuing, “When Cipher and I worked together, I was very naive and impulsive. I made a lot of mistakes, obviously, but I also went through quite a bit psychologically.”

Leaning against Ford’s desk, Dipper goaded him on, “That makes sense…Bill is a master manipulator.”

A master manipulator, huh? Ford wasn’t sure why the statement bothered him, it was true. Bill had manipulated him, that’s how they ended up here. What he wasn’t sure how to articulate was at a certain point Ford wasn’t being manipulated. He wanted some of these things that he had played off as mind tricks and games. He relished in them, they made him feel seen and important.

They made him feel special. Cipher made him feel special.

It was painful to reflect on them as if everything had been a ruse. Maybe it was that sickly nostalgia that was always looming over his head. “Yes, and at the time I didn’t realize what I was doing. I honestly didn’t even know he’d drawn up the paperwork for us to be legally married,” Ford replied, he didn’t feel bad about saying that part because it was true. “I didn’t find out until The Theraprism contacted me and gave me the information about his confinement…the only way to break our marriage contract is his Cipher’s magical signature but he is insistent on not signing.”

Again, it was true so he didn’t feel bad about saying it. Instead he lied by omission, ignoring his inner conflict on if he was going to keep this up and not go through with the divorce. Dipper doesn’t need to know that, I’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Ford made the executive decision and tried to gauge his reaction.

Dipper was quiet for a moment before responding, “I can see that, it’s a bit of a difficult situation since he’s essentially trapped you.” Tackling it as if it were a logical problem, he seemed to take a tactical approach. “For what it’s worth, I hope it all works out - I’m sure the whole thing isn’t easy and Mabel will come around eventually. Hopefully…”

Thankfully for Ford, Dipper seemed to be taking it better than he thought. The only thing he avoided dwelling on was the word “trapped” since he felt that way but he also couldn’t seem to fully acknowledge it. Ford had walked into that cage willingly and enjoyed being there for a time. No matter how tainted all their memories were, those moments were still theirs.

Ford stood and patted his shoulder. “Thank you for understanding. I assume your sister is still upset?” He asked as they walked back to the elevator. Ford wanted to fiddle with the paint for a few hours and ride out how awful he felt physically. The more sparingly he was around other people, the better.

Sighing to himself, Dipper waited for the doors to roll open. “Yeah, but like I said - she’ll come around,” he replied, stepping in once the elevator reached their floor. Ford didn’t need to follow him up since the kids' eyes worked with the scanner. “I’d just wait awhile before saying anything, let her calm down first.”

Humming in response, Ford softly agreed with him before they were saying their goodbyes and Ford was heading back to his desk. Popping the lid on the paint can, Ford sat down and set up the prosthetic to paint again. Maneuvering the magnifying glass and flipping open his notebook for the photos, Ford turned a few lights on before he went back to his monotonous routine.

He barely realized how long he’d been sitting there until his phone chimed. Glancing over, he saw a text from Cipher. Immediately he was setting his brush aside and checking the message. Are we still on for the eye drops? If not, just leave the bottle in the living room and I’ll figure it out myself. 

Sitting back, Ford combed through every possible response. Tapping his fingers on the side of his phone, Ford knew he wouldn’t turn Bill down. He was still being selfish, wanting Cipher to himself while they acted like nothing was wrong. Ford just hoped he could reign himself in, especially given his current condition. 

Soon enough, he finally responded. We are, meet me at the vending machine - I’m heading up from the lab here soon. Tossing his phone onto the desk, he looked back at the prosthetic. He’d matched everything up with the photo, now he was going to try to add the other paint.

Ford tried to steady his hands as he picked the brush up again to dip into the paint cain. He started with a small amount at first, dabbing the excess off on the side of the can before bringing the end of the brush to the iris. Peering over at the photos first to decide where to accentuate with the color, he was cautious as if he didn’t have 14 other versions he could experiment with after this. 

Once he’d made his decision, Ford began to paint. Careful with each stroke of the brush, he was mindful of how heavy handed he was. Each movement was as precise as possible and left nothing unaccounted for. After he felt satisfied, Ford held the eye up to the light. A near perfect match.

It was surreal just how realistic the eye looked, as if he’d plucked it from Cipher’s socket just a moment ago. Ford could feel the tears build up again, emotional over something he couldn’t understand. It’s just from the withdrawals, that’s all. More lies excuses that didn’t hit their mark. Arrows that he’d thought had been aimed perfectly but had flown past their target entirely.

Setting it within the machinery to be pressed and dried, Ford blinked his tears away and headed upstairs. More than anything he wanted to just take the pills and avoid everything he currently felt. Ford knew he wasn’t going to, but that didn’t mean his mind didn’t hyperfixate on it. Craving the drug wasn’t something he could turn off now, because he’d started again it wasn’t going to stop anytime soon.

Opening the vending machine door, Ford could see the last drops of sunlight pouring in through the windows. He stepped into the room to see Bill sitting on the counter, patiently waiting. Cipher turned once he heard the door open, they both gazed at each other as if they were in a liminal space. The golden hues from the sunset caressed Bill’s face. Framing him in a way that took Ford’s breath away.

No matter how hard he tried, Ford just couldn't look away. In the blink of an eye, he wanted to trade one drug for another.

Speechless, Ford stood stock still and waited for Bill to speak first. If Cipher spoke first maybe it’d give him an idea on what to say. Then maybe he wouldn’t mention what he really thought of Bill sitting on the counter as the sunset made him glow in the most beautiful hues.

Clearing his throat, Bill asked him something Ford didn’t expect, “Can I bum a cigarette off you?”

After the last time he’d asked, Bill hadn’t asked for another one. Ford figured since he wasn’t keen on the taste that he wouldn’t ask again. Secretly wanting to prolong the moments they had together, Ford agreed. “Yes, let’s take a step outside - we can’t smoke in the house because of the kids,” he replied, finally finding his voice.

Cipher jumped down from the counter and followed Ford outside. They stood with their shoulders inches apart as Ford grabbed his carton of cigarettes and lighter. He passed a smoke to Bill and took one for himself before he was lighting his own. Cipher watched him, curious and confused as Ford shoved the carton and lighter back in his pocket. He nearly asked why Ford had only lit one until he was leaning over to touch the end of his own smoke to Bill’s, inhaling deeply to make sure it would light. Bill followed suit as they looked at each other for far longer than they should’ve.

Caught up in the moment before Ford was pulling away and exhaling into the clearing. It took all his self control to refrain from watching Bill breathe again. If he did that, they might just get carried away and Ford couldn’t let himself get carried away.

The pair smoked in silence, just staring out at the treeline as they inhaled and exhaled in a rhythm of their own making. Ford would inhale as Bill would exhale and vice versa. It was as if one wasn’t able to breathe without the other, they moved in tandem. Both only seemed to be one full person when they were together, two halves of a whole that didn’t ever truly feel as though it were enough.

Between Ford and Bill, neither thought they would ever be worthy of their other half. They would never feel satisfied or complete without the other person’s explicit approval, though neither would admit it. Admitting it would be a white flag of surrender and they weren’t desperate enough to surrender just yet.

Instead, they stood in silence, inches apart and smoked.

As they both were reaching the filter, one after the other they stomped the cigarettes out in the dirt and headed into the house. Neither was willing to break the silence as they walked to Ford’s room. It wasn’t clear if he stayed silent because he didn’t want the kids to know what he was up to or if it was because Ford truly didn’t know what to say. Not thinking into it any farther, they eventually reached his room.

Cipher stepped in and sat on his bed, still completely silent as he turned away from him. Ford followed suit, heading to the bathroom and grabbing a few elastics and a brush before returning to sit behind him. Gently brushing through his hair, Ford wondered if Bill was giving him the silent treatment. That would be new, he considered as he detangled Cipher’s hair.

Wanting to test that theory, Ford tried asking a question, “Are you getting more used to smoking?” It was casual and unimportant. Ford didn’t really care about the answer, he just wanted Bill to talk to him again. He didn’t realize just how much he enjoyed listening to him drone on about anything and everything until he wasn’t doing it anymore.

They sat in the quiet for a while and Ford was convinced that Bill was, in fact, ignoring him. When Bill did respond, Ford had to stifle his sigh of relief. “I guess, it’s fine…I still don’t like the taste much,” he replied, his voice sounding empty.

Ford’s fingers weaved through his hair, working through the first braid. Any of the bite in Cipher’s voice the day before was now so far away. He sounded like a toy that had been dropped on the floor, even if it wasn’t broken completely and could still run on its own something was now fundamentally different. Warped and distorted as it went through the motions, performing a one-man show for someone they couldn’t perceive.

Cipher was answering the question he’d been asked, but he didn’t respond as if Ford had asked him. Usually his voice sounded different when he talked to Ford - a playful, mischievous edge that wasn’t there anymore. It gave him momentary pause, his fingers stopped moving and Ford nearly asked him if he was alright.

Then Ford was remembering his own actions from the night before and kept moving.

After that, Ford stopped talking, figuring Bill wanted Ford to leave him alone. He just needs the eye drops, he’s not here for me. Ford was rationalizing to himself as he started on the second braid. Should I apologize? Should we talk about it? Wracking his brain for an answer was causing the dull ache in his head to get worse. Instead of thinking it over more, Ford gave up on trying. They would have a therapy session soon, he could just say something then. Hopefully then it would be easier.

Once he was done and tied the braid off, Cipher was getting out of bed and heading to the bathroom. Ford sat still for a bit and just watched him move. Frozen in place as he didn’t quite know what to do, he almost wanted to see if Bill would get mad at his lack of agency and start another fight. After a while once he realized Bill was doing no such thing, he stood and joined him.

Stepping into the bathroom to see Bill sitting on the counter, scrolling through his phone. He barely looked up when Ford moved to stand between his legs and unscrewed the cap on the eye drops. Ford hesitated for a moment before setting a hand under Bill’s chin. Their eyes met briefly before Bill tilted his face for the eye drops.

Letting two drop against the prosthetic, Ford had mere seconds to look into Bill’s eyes. Immediately, he was seeing the Fordtramarine that he originally hadn’t realized was there. Bill blinked before shooing Ford away from him and hopping down from the counter. Ford followed after him as he began to head out of his room, standing idly in the doorway and Bill didn’t pay him a second glance.

“Same time tomorrow?” Ford asked, his voice was soft but he didn’t let himself sound hopeful.

Bill paused for a moment in the hallway before shoving his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, I’ll text you,” his reply was clipped as he stalked off. He didn’t look back as he rounded the corner.

If he had, he would have seen Ford lingering in the doorway, clinging to the frame far too tight. Hating to see him go and silently wishing he’d come back. What had started as a sturdy bridge they were building together had now become a dilapidated, crumbling reminder of what could have been. It matched the rest of the ruins in the town they both had long since abandoned. The one Ford had sauntered back to and knew he’d haunt for the rest of his days whether he wanted to or not.

Chapter Text

Cipher couldn’t let himself think about this anymore, it was physically painful now. He was keeping Ford at arms length because he didn’t know how to act. One moment Ford was amicable and the next he was hostile. Cipher could only hear Ford’s words on repeat - I can be cordial without being married to you.

No one had ever been “cordial” with him unless they were afraid of him or wanted something from him. The only exception was Ford, and that was because he was married to him. Bill didn’t know how to act like that with anyone else because he’d never experienced it. 

Before, it could be manufactured and molded into something palatable. Bill used to be able to understand what Ford wanted and how he wanted it. Now he wasn’t sure and everything was a reminder. 

Every reminder as a result was painful, but not as much as when he outright saw Ford. Seeing him in the gift shop heading down to the lab with a project hurt, especially since he apparently no longer needed him as a lab assistant. 

Then when he’d come up from the basement and the light hit him just right, Cipher felt like breaking down all over again. A halo for Ford’s holier than thou attitude framed him and Bill couldn’t stand it. It was almost as if he were truly right, that it was some kind of sick joke at his expense. It was disturbingly beautiful, like Ford was always supposed to look that way. It also just made Bill kick himself because he shouldn’t think like that. 

Ford didn’t want him, he just liked fucking with him for fun.

He’d asked for a cigarette and hoped it would take the edge off or something, secretly hoping for more indirect kisses. Wanting even a fraction of their “almost” from days that felt like a lifetime ago, he was surprised when Ford ended up giving him one for himself and leaned over to light Bill’s smoke with his own. 

It took every remaining shred of his resolve to not watch Ford as he breathed or for him to start crying as he inhaled the smell of the thick fog of nostalgia. Melancholy overtook him and he just didn’t know what to say or how to say it. Their continued silence broke him and he just couldn’t hold up the mask anymore.

Bill just wanted to be done which is how he ended up back in his room looking into the ring box. Trying to convince the phantoms of his past that he was going to sort this whole thing out. He knew he was lying through his teeth, but that was all he had now.

Lies and excuses in spades. Eventually he shoved the box in its drawer and fell asleep on the floor. Cipher didn’t bother with his routine, feeling far too exhausted for his own good.

That night, Bill couldn’t escape the drowning sensation that always accompanied a night terror. It felt like he was free falling to his death, waiting to become nothing more than a smear on the pavement. An inconvenience to anyone who happened to be passing by. Something to be scrubbed away by the rain, tracked through town on someone's shoes.

Cipher was trapped in his own body, chained down to a chair in his mind and forced to watch through his biggest regrets and greatest fears. He knew he was asleep and that this wasn’t real. However, that didn’t mean it didn’t cause visceral terror to ricochet through him. It was insistent on rattling his bones, vibrating the teeth loose in his mouth and slithering under his skin. 

Every nightmare he’d ever had was inescapable, he just had to beg the opposite side of his brain for forgiveness. Pray to a god he didn’t believe in to try to shake the feeling. Bill had been hoping to find some sliver of salvation left in the cosmos.

He hated it here, in the desolate cell that was his own disturbed mind but he couldn’t seem to find the keys to escape.

Tonight, Bill pushed himself off the weathered wooden floor of the house. The cabin in the woods Ford had built in his image. It looked just like it had all those years ago, filled with Stanford’s experiments and specimens. There was no sign of another inhabitant, at least not yet. Bill looked himself over, noting he wasn’t in his triangular body, before he began to wander the halls.

Trailing his fingers along the wall, he took in the scratchy texture of the peeling wallpaper. The exposed bits of wood peeking through, the frames hung up and the doors closed every so often. He tried opening a few, but they wouldn’t budge. I suppose my mind is leading me somewhere specific, he mused to himself as he walked on.

He weaved through various hallways, getting lost in pathways that didn’t exist in the real building. It was just his mind playing tricks on him, as if he didn’t know the floor plan by heart. As if the shack weren’t the only place left in the multiverse that he considered home. Eventually, he saw a light at the end of the hall. Each step was careful, if his mind was guiding him somewhere then he knew it wouldn’t be anything good.

As Bill stepped forward over the threshold, he was met with the galaxy painted walls of the mindscape. The multiverse of stars was laid out before him. He knew this could be one of two things, whichever one it ended up being would cause his stomach to churn. He glanced around, trying to figure out which nightmare this one was as his eyes caught on a small table.

Cipher turned and warily walked over to it, seeing a game of chess laid out. The pieces had already been moved, a game was in progress. He’d always had a photographic memory, so he knew exactly which night this memory was from. 

Bill had to swallow hard in hopes of keeping himself from retching in his sleep. He’d stare at the board for hours, but he wouldn’t be able to break from the dream until he let it play out. He’d learned that lesson the hard way, through trial and error.

Attempting to calm his breathing, Bill sat in the chair perched at the small table. Once he sat down, he looked back up across from him to see Stanford Pines. Thirty years younger, staring intently at the pieces while he scrutinized the board. 

More than anything, Bill wanted to reach out and touch him. Even if this was an illusion, this version of Ford was all his. Before things were bad, before he wanted a divorce, before they both said the things they could never take back.

The Ford in this memory was his, all his. At least for a little while, before Bill opened his stupid mouth to start a battle that would decide how the tide would turn in the war. The war he didn’t realize he had started until he was losing.

He could feel the tears lodged in his throat. Even if he started crying, Ford wouldn’t react. This was a memory, there was no changing what had happened. Their past was absolute. Bill’s breathing was shallow, he didn’t want to have this conversation again. He wanted to wake up.

Stanford moved his respective piece and Bill glanced back at the board. In this match, he’d gone for the queen’s gambit declined. He’d always played aggressively, and liked the adaptability - then Ford would think he had a shot at winning. These had been more of the mind games Bill now heavily regretted playing.

Ford assumed that the queen’s gambit was a near fail-proof strategy. Thinking that being bold off the bat would help him secure a win. Anytime Cipher would decline the gambit, he’d get to see Ford pout about it before strategizing. After hundreds of games, he’d only ever won if Bill let him. This was not one of those matches.

What he didn’t know was that Bill liked the Chigorin defense. Especially because after combing through Ford’s mind, Cipher knew he wouldn’t understand how to beat it. It would be over in a few swift moves and then he could get onto the real reason he’d showed up in Stanford’s mind that day, the portal.

Moving his next piece, Bill glanced up at him. Their tea set floated nearby, idly waiting for one of them to pick up their respective cup. His heart ached upon seeing it, Cipher had made that specifically for them. It didn’t exist anywhere else except in Ford’s mind. There were so many things like that in here, the rug under their feet, the desk Bill had conjured for Ford to work, even the design of this very chess set.

All tailor made for Ford’s approval.

Humming to himself, Ford took a drink from his cup before moving his next piece. Bill knew after his next move, they’d start talking. Cipher felt like he was choking as he reached out for the piece that he knew came after, trying to keep himself together as his fingers trembled around the smooth, cherry wood bishop. Once he set it down, Bill looked at Ford expectantly and waited for the shitshow.

Ford paused and looked back at him before bringing up the topic at hand, “Muse, I wanted to ask you about something.” Hearing Ford call him that was what caused the dam to break as his tears flowed over. His partner didn’t react, he just waited for Bill to play his part in their tragedy.

Inhaling shakily, Bill desperately wanted this to be different. “You can ask me for anything you want Ford, anything you want and I’ll give it to you this time,” those were the words that left his lips but not the ones that echoed in the mindscape. What he truly said that night was all the imitation of his partner could hear. “What d’ya need, IQ? Something for the portal, I assume, since we need to be working on speeding up progress.”

Bill flinched at the sound of his own voice but it went unnoticed as Ford replied, “Well, do you recall our preliminary test a few days ago?” It didn’t matter that Bill didn’t respond because Ford kept talking. “Well, Fiddleford - my assistant said something peculiar and I wanted to clarify it with you.”

Shrinking in on himself, Bill wrapped his arms tightly around himself. “…That’s just how it had to be and I wish it had been different,” he was sobbing about his plight with words no one else could hear. The words from their past were all that remained and there was no changing history. “What would Fiddlesticks want? He’s never been as passionate about this as you have,” The voice was condescending and patronizing.

“He had mentioned something he saw when he looked into the portal during the test…that you had different intentions,” Ford spoke and sounded nervous. “I just wanted to clear it up with you before saying anything to him,” he followed up. Bill knew he was anxious about asking, not wanting to set his muse off. 

In the moment Cipher had elected to ignore it, that was the mistake that cost him everything. Pulling his knees to his chest, Bill sobbed in his arms. “Fordsy, please don’t make me say it…please let this just be over, I want this to be over,” he was openly crying, wiping at his face as all his emotions boiled over. A pot on the stove with the heat turned up too high that was going to burn them both. 

Echoing around him were his actual words from that night, “My intentions have always been clear. I need access to the portal, nothing about that changed. Specs is probably just losing it again, you know he’s had doubts about our project.”

Ford replied only to the latter since he couldn’t hear the former, “I know…but he was saying you wanted to take over this dimension.” Running a hand through his hair, Ford’s eyes were clouded with guilt for even asking. “Is that true?”

Cipher was tempted to flip the table and let the pieces rattle to the floor but he knew if he tried the table wouldn’t move. He had to see the nightmare through til the end. Pressing his palms against his eyes, Bill tried reasoning with someone who was nothing more than his own guilty conscience. “I’m sorry…I’m so sorry, I wish I could take it back,” he was nearly shouting now. “I wish I could have found you without all that other stuff happening- I wish I would have chosen you instead of that stupid pipe dream…I’m sorry I didn’t choose you.”

The Bill Cipher of the past ignored him. “Well, of course! Why else would I come to your glorified dirt ball? Life’s no fun without a little chaos!”

Hitting his face with the heel of his palm, “Shut up!” He wasn’t sure if he was talking to himself or to Ford. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

But no one was listening. Instead, Ford was turning the words over in his head and coming to the realization that he’d been played. The Cipher of the past spoke again, “We’ll spice things up there and then we can conquer the rest of the multiverse! Won’t that be fun?” The smile in his voice was infectious, but at some point Cipher had become immune to the sound.

Bill started shouting in earnest, “I wanted to go there for you! I didn’t always want that but after I had you, I wanted to keep you!” Screaming into a void he was breathing heavily as he tried to bash his own head in. “I mean it, I wanted to keep you…I’m just fucking stupid and didn’t say it but I wanted to keep you, Stanford.”

Sobbing through hitched breaths, his rambling fell on deaf ears. Bill could only watch as his face morphed into betrayal before he was standing from the table. The chair beneath his scraping along the floor as he became accusatory. “What? You didn’t tell me that! I thought-” Ford was conflicted before continuing, “I thought you were coming for me, for my potential.”

Unable to move, Bill just kept crying and screaming, “I did want you- I still want you!” Cut off by the sound of his voice from all those years ago, Bill shook in his chair. “Them's the breaks, Brainiac. I think it’s adorable how all you meat bags think you’re special.”

Before the rest of their fight could finish playing out, Cipher was bolting up from the blankets screaming.

Caked in sweat and shaking like a leaf, Bill could feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest. He was panting heavily, his throat was raw from screeching in his sleep. Mind feeling foggy as he sobbed against his will, Bill bolted up from the floor and shakily snatched up his phone to check the time.

4:37 am.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Bill peeled himself out of the tangle of blankets wrapped around his shoulders and turned to head to the shower. His entire body felt feverish and sticky as he started the water and stripped off his sweat soaked clothes. 

Once he was sure it was cold but still warm enough for him to bear it, Bill stepped under the spray. Cringing slightly at the cool contrast on his skin, Bill didn’t realize he was crying until his mind registered the faint glow illuminating off the walls in the dark. I never turned the lights on, he realized numbly but didn’t move to leave.

Instead, Bill sat down in the shower and let the water cascade over him. Bill wanted it to wash away every bad thing he’d ever done. For the water to chill his bones to the point of splintering in hopes that would release whatever was inside of him that conjured these visceral images. Maybe then he could vanquish it once and for all.

But this wasn’t a fairy tale, and Cipher was no hero.

Bill knew he was the ferocious dragon that terrorized the town, even when he wasn’t trying to. Everything he touched turned to ash and everyone he’d ever loved turned into his enemy. Cipher was always catching himself in check and skirting around checkmate every single day.

The biggest opposition he’d ever faced was his own mind, and he wasn’t winning that war any time soon. Instead, there were only two things he wanted in the entire multiverse that he’d never get to have: Stanford Pines and Scalene Cipher. 

Remembering his mothers name nearly made him get out of the shower to retch but he couldn’t move. All he could do was hope the water would erode away the feeling. Bill wasn’t sure if he could stand to settle for one but not the other. They existed in his mind in tandem, statically moving in a continuous waltz of pure regret and sorrow. Their movement was meant to convey a true tragedy beyond comprehension. 

Trapped like ballerinas in a music box, they were frozen in time. Suspended in a fleeting moment, dancing for no one but Bill to see. Only he couldn’t watch them dance in their stale patterns with his own eye, he could only cling to snippets of a long faded memory of the way they moved. He had scrambled his mind beyond repair and now he just had to wonder if their dance ingrained in his brain had all the details right.

Bill was very sure that his memory didn’t match up.

The path their steps drew was worn and etched into its wooden base, but he still couldn’t remember. The music had long since faded but if he thought about it hard enough, Bill could hear the garbled mess of a faint lullaby. One he hadn’t heard in centuries and would never hear sung from the voice box that had written it ever again.

Covering his face with his hands, Bill’s sobbing and shaking picked up in earnest. He wanted to remember his mother’s lullaby. He wanted to remember her face. He wanted to remember the sound of her voice as she sang in piercing clarity.

Bill wanted all those things so he could relay them back to Ford.

Desperately wanting to share what scraps were left in his mind about his home and about his family, he was grasping at straws. Bill wanted to tell him all about where he came from so they could head to the future together on the same page. He had taken for granted the opportunity he had been given to do so all those centuries ago. A product of more things he squandered. 

Since his family, friends and home were long gone, all Bill had was word of mouth and Ford’s wedding ring. Both of which were things Ford didn’t want because he didn’t want him. At least, not anymore - not in the way Bill wanted him. He’d never adore Bill that way again, no matter how desperately Cipher craved it.

Maybe now they could be friends, but that was pushing it. Cipher was too scared to poke and prod at the confines of his cage. Content that the warden was a familiar face, he’d stay in captivity for all eternity if it meant he’d get a glimpse. Even if it drove him mad he’d stay in his cell.

The thought came to his mind like a log floating up to shore. I miss them more than anything. I’d give anything to inhabit the same space with them like that again. Things he could never have, gifts he could never be given, mercy he would never receive was what he was stuck with.

With each passing day, Bill couldn’t help but crave the phantoms of time long since passed. Clinging to echoes of his past lives, trying to will them to become tangible enough that he could keep them forever. He reached out in his nightmares just to watch their ashes sink through his fingers and catch the wind to disappear without a trace.

Cipher was put in this universe to suffer, that much was clear. There wasn’t a moment in life where he wasn’t suffering, he couldn’t even sleep without it now. Nothing was sacred.

Waking up like this so frequently was starting to mess with his mind. It made him exhausted during the day. It made him uninterested in most tasks. It gave him an awful headache he couldn’t seem to shake. Maybe I need them to readjust the meds again, he decided as he cried under the stream of water that was now starting to turn too cold for comfort.

Feeling frustrated, his hands raked through his soaking wet hair, stopping once he felt the braids. He didn’t want them to readjust his meds, he wanted to not need the damn meds at all. Why can’t I just function without all the pills and the machines and the therapy?! Why do I have to be monitored like a lab rat?! Why can’t I just exist like every other being in the multiverse?!

Bill didn’t want to do this anymore. Trying to be normal, trying to be sane or morally good. He wanted to fade into obscurity and to exist without having so many problems. He wanted these persistent thoughts to leave him alone. He wanted his mind to let him wander the cosmos alone in peace and forget these people that were essentially nothing more than figments of his imagination. To stop mourning the love he’d never received in the first place. 

At this point, it felt like he was crying over spilled milk. Instead of cleaning up the mess, he just let it fester and curdle until it made him ill. The mold was only growing and infecting every space he inhabited. Its spores clouded the air and made it hard for him to breathe or think clearly as it warped and distorted his point of view. Drunk on a poison of his own creation, Bill was having a strange reaction to his own drug. 

A poison with no antidote, a disease with no cure.

Curling in on himself, he screamed knowing no one could hear him. Cipher didn’t know if it was because he was sad or because he was angry. All he knew was that he felt like screaming and dying, but the latter wasn’t a viable option.

Eventually, the water ran frigid and he peeled himself off the floor to turn the shower off and stepped out to wrap himself in a towel. Standing in the middle of the bathroom, he didn’t know what to do with himself. Bill felt exhausted and dehydrated, there wasn’t really a way out of that. He couldn’t get enough sleep because of the nightmares and having to work so early. He couldn’t stop crying for long enough for his body to enjoy any water in his system for long.

Bill’s mind was essentially making his physical body sick. Feeling like a wet rag being rung out over the sink, Bill dried off haphazardly before he slunk back into his room. In a mental haze, he wandered over to the dresser to throw on clothes, settling with shorts and Ford’s sweater. The sweater was truly the only thing he needed, it was his last lifeline to feel an ounce of sanity.

Although it had never belonged to him in the first place and Bill had never been sane, he stuck to what he had. It was better than trying to get through this with nothing but his own psyche that played tricks on him. All he could do was will his peace of mind into existence.

Crumpling back onto the ground, Bill fell back to sleep as he ran his fingers through the shaggy fibers of the rug. Thankfully he didn’t wake up again until it was time for his shift. Feeling groggy and dehydrated, Bill rolled off the floor and got ready for the day. Taking the medication that he didn’t think was working and scrubbing the tears off his face was just the beginning of his routine. 

It was simpler to dive into the mundane and familiar than to harp on the unknown. As a result, Bill arrived upstairs in record time but he couldn’t hide the dark circles under his eyes. For the next week, Bill didn’t bother to pick himself back up. Every day he’d go through the day all the same, every night he’d see Ford and they wouldn’t say anything other than Ford asking if he’d see him the next evening.

Outside of those instances, they didn’t speak to or see each other. Bill requested that Ford not attend the next session, since he’d outright made the request, the facility honored it. He didn’t speak in that session. The therapist and Bill just stared at each other in silence for an hour before she let him go home.

Meandering through life as a ghost shackled in one place, Bill was going through the motions. There wasn’t anything else he could do so he just moved within the confines of his cage. Only traversing as far as the slack of his thick chains would let him.

Today upon entering the gift shop, Wendy was already there stocking shelves. Cipher couldn’t be bothered to turn up the charm today. It wasn’t as if he’d done so any day within the past week, but he especially didn’t want to today.

She turned once she heard the door open and peeked over at him, perplexed at his expression. “What’s got you in such a shit mood this morning?” Wendy asked, joking lightly as bait for banter. It wasn’t her first attempt but she kept trying.

Seeing the hook plain as day, Bill didn’t take it. “Long night,” he replied, straight to the point as he started helping her break down boxes. Cipher didn’t feel like eating but he might get coffee later just to make it through the day.

Surprising him, Wendy began to pry, “Like what? I’ve had my fair share of shitty nights.” Cipher leered over at her in suspicion. He was unsure on why she’d care, this approach was new. “Listen, we have to work together like this all summer, might as well give being on good terms a shot,” she replied once she saw the look on his face. “You shouldn’t just be a sad sack the whole time, that’s lame.”

Figuring he’d already dug a deep enough hole that it didn’t matter how much lower he could go, Bill indulged her question. “Just issues with my medication and stuff - the therapy just takes a lot out of me, I guess,” he replied, vague in hopes that she’d leave it at that. 

Instead, she pressed further, “I can see that…what do they even make you talk about anyways?” She continued organizing snowglobes and bobble heads while Bill followed behind her to break the boxes down. 

Without missing a beat, he responded, “My family, mostly and my home dimension.” It must have been the exhaustion that made him feel compelled to share. That or he wanted someone to share his home with so badly that he’d impart the knowledge onto anyone willing to listen. “I didn’t have the best childhood so they try to dredge all that up.”

Humming in response, Wendy moved over to hanging up various t-shirts. “I can relate - in the sense that childhood wasn’t the most fun, obviously I don’t know what all you went through…” She was practical about the whole thing. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I know for me it helped to talk about it…my mom died when I was younger and being the only girl in the family is kind of stressful.”

Her willingness to give up information caught Bill off guard. These were things he knew because he’d delved into most people close to the Pines’ family in an attempt to start up the portal again. Cipher knew these people backwards and forwards at this point, at least on a clinical level. He hadn’t bothered to look beneath the surface.

Sighing, he figured if Wendy was willing to share then he should be too. That was the polite thing to do and he was trying to be a better person or at least he was supposed to be trying. He’d been slacking in the last week. 

“It’s fine, it is what it is,” he replied as he took an empty box from her. Even though he knew that’s just how the chips fell, he hated acknowledging it. He hated remembering them. “My mom died when I was young too, the only difference was everyone else died along with her,” he kept it simple and tried not to let his emotions get carried away. “I was the only being that could see - everyone else was essentially blind…as a result I became a lab rat of sorts.”

Feeling like he was going to be sick, Bill stopped talking. Wendy let him take his time and just kept hanging up shirts, moving from one rack to another seamlessly. Cipher had to swallow hard and tried to get himself back on track. I’ve done this with the quack plenty of times, it shouldn’t make me so…emotional. It must be the new vessel, always making him react in ways he never had before.

Once he felt up to it again, he continued speaking, “Since I had vision and they didn’t…and I was so young…” Being a child made it all the worse for some reason. Talking to his parents about the things he saw and not understanding what it meant. Those words sealed his fate and he hadn’t even known it. “I didn’t know that I shouldn’t have said anything, y’know? I just thought my parents would believe me and I guess in a way they did because their next move was to attempt to-” cutting himself off, Bill could feel bile rise in his throat. “They tried to blind me.”

At that, Wendy’s hands paused what they were doing. She slowly turned to him, taking in the pained expression on his face. They both stood in the gift shop wondering what to say next. Stuck at a crossroads, you could hear a pin drop in the thick fog of silence.

How do you console someone who tried to kill you? Should you try to console someone who tried to kill you? Or did they deserve it after everything they’d put you through?

Cipher abruptly wished he didn’t share to begin with. It was now just another one of his conversational mistakes that he couldn’t take back. Clearing his throat, he finally moved to keep breaking down boxes, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

It was as if he’d shrunken in on himself, suddenly Cipher was too small to see eye to eye with her. A miniscule stain on the multiverse that just couldn’t help but start problems for everyone else. Impossibly uncomfortable, he wished he’d just stayed in his hole and didn’t dig it any deeper because now he was staring into the abyss. It would be better if that abyss just swallowed him whole.

“No, it’s okay - I just-” Wendy didn’t start working again, instead she turned to him fully. “I’m sorry that happened to you, that’s not right and they shouldn’t have done that.”

Dropping the box cutter onto the floor, the sound of the blade breaking off and skittering across the floor echoed in his ears. Bill’s hands shook as he gazed back at her, no one’s ever really said that before. Everything about this interaction was surreal.

The therapist would acknowledge it and press to use it as leverage for rehabilitation. That was her job. It wasn’t like Bill went around telling people stuff like this, so this was truly the first time someone heard it and said something of the sort. The only other person that knew was Stanford, but during their last fight before they parted ways he’d said something completely different.

Feeling the tears well up in his eyes, Bill didn’t know what to do with himself. This has never happened before…what should I say? His breathing picked up as he stood like a deer in headlights. What should I do?

Apparently he didn’t have to do anything because Wendy was reaching out and pulling him close. Frozen in place, he held his arms out and felt increasingly stressed. No one touched him like this anymore and when they did it was to hurt him. No one had ever hugged Cipher but his mother that was long gone and the husband that didn’t want him. 

Panicking at the contact, he tried to pull away. “What’re you-” he started to speak but she cut him off as she held him tighter. Bill’s eyes were wide in shock as she spoke, barely comprehending the words.

Scoffing lightly, Wendy pulled his face against her shoulder, “Just shut up and let me hug you, damn weirdo.” 

Unable to stop himself, he could feel tears pool in his eyes before a few flowed over and streaked down his cheeks, then he started to sob as he wrapped his arms tightly around her and hugged Wendy back. Cipher cried against her shoulder like a child that had fallen on the playground and wanted comfort. The hitched breathing wracking through his body only made him louder, thankfully they hadn’t started tours for the day. There was no one around but them.

Suddenly he wasn’t a trillion year old dream demon anymore, he was that child that desperately wanted nothing more than comfort and affection.

Clinging to her like a lifeline, Bill nearly wasn’t able to hold himself up. A week’s worth of emotions overtook him and it was almost too much to bear. Wendy didn’t falter, she just held onto him and waited for him to be ready to let go. At some point they weren’t alone anymore but neither of them seemed to realize it.

Mabel and Dipper had wandered in and were watching in abject fascination. Staring from afar at Bill crying in her arms. Eventually, his crying died down and they pulled away as Bill wiped at his face. Only then did they notice they were being watched. Jumping slightly, Cipher pulled further away from her and scrubbed his face more aggressively.

Clearing her throat, Wendy tried to play it off. She wouldn’t say anything since Bill had talked to her about his past in confidence. “Hey, what’re you guys getting up to today?” She asked, casually as she began hanging shirts up again.

“What was that?” Mabel asked, outright ignoring her question. She walked over as Bill picked up the box cutter and the discarded blade. He didn’t acknowledge her as he went to find a replacement.

Wendy was seamless in her response, “What was what? Y’know, it’s rude to eavesdrop.” Wandering over to ruffle Mabel’s hair, she didn’t give even an inch. Since the boxes were now accounted for, she started counting out the register. “So anyways, what’re you guys up to for the day? Some cool adventure, I hope.”

Once Bill returned with the new blade in the box cutter he silently went back to breaking the boxes down. Both kids looked back and forth between them, skeptical for their evasiveness before Dipper started to play along. “Yeah…we’re going to investigate the bunker again today - I found some new stuff around there so I’m interested to see if anyone’s been in the caves since we last saw it,” he replied, apprehension in his voice.

With that, they started up a typical conversation amongst them and Bill stayed as far away as possible. No one brought up what had happened earlier again and just as quickly as they’d stepped into the gift shop, the twins were heading out. By that point they were ready to open up for the day since tours would be starting soon.

However, Bill had a question nagging at the back of his brain. “Why didn’t you say anything?” He asked, wandering over to the counter. His face was pinched in confusion which Wendy took in stride.

Unaffected, she was somewhat dismissive. “Because that’s your story to tell, if you wanna tell Mabel and Dipper then you can do it on your own time,” Wendy replied. Leaning against the counter, she made it sound like a natural train of thought. Imitating a zipper over her lips, she gave him a sad smile. “I’m not gonna share a tale that isn’t mine.”

Feeling conflicted, Bill couldn’t wrap his head around why she’d do that for him. Wendy should loathe him. The thought didn’t occur to him to consider that was just the type of person Wendy was. “Thank you…” he said it and meant it. It wasn’t often he felt true gratitude but it was seemingly becoming a habit. “And I’m sorry…about, y’know.”

Laughing playfully, she couldn’t help but tease him. “I sure as shit hope so! Took you long enough,” she smiled wide and gently punched his shoulder. “Now that’s out of the way, maybe we can make some actual progress - but you still owe me some of your skills!”

Giving her a crooked grin back, Bill felt truly alive for the first time in a while. “I wouldn’t dream of holding out on you, Red,” he joked as he held his hands up in mock surrender. The rest of that day was unlike any other and Cipher never thought he’d enjoy another mortal’s company. 

It was strange, but there wasn’t anything he’d rather be doing than making a real friend for the first time in centuries.

Chapter Text

After enduring nearly two weeks of silence, Ford couldn’t take it anymore. That much he knew wasn’t because of withdrawals, it was his own frustration. He’d been able to somewhat work things out with the kids, consoling Mabel took a week in and of itself. She didn’t want to talk to him at first and so he had to explain at length why he was apprehensive about staying married to Cipher.

Mabel didn’t like it, but she was agreeing to disagree and that was enough for Ford.

With Dipper, it was easier. He understood where Ford was coming from and didn’t mention it much, instead they were able to investigate anomalies around town and experiment at their leisure. As thrilled as Ford was to have his grand nephew as an assistant, he couldn’t help but wish Cipher were there.

Bill, on the other hand, was outright avoiding him. He seemed to know all of Ford’s patterns and routines and so they skirted around each other at all times of day except for the eye drops. Even if that was the only time Ford could see his former muse, they never spoke. Instead, they’d meet at the vending machine, take a smoke break and then head to Ford’s room. 

Quiet as a mouse, it almost felt as though Ford was doing all of those things by himself. The way Bill looked as the sunset poured in every evening almost made him wonder if he was hallucinating. He was ethereal and far outside of Ford’s reach.

Since he was constantly irritated and physically ill from the lack of caffeine, Ford didn’t have the energy to reprimand himself from missing Bill altogether. He just focused on one thing at a time and tried to give what little energy he had left to the kids so he wouldn’t go stir crazy. It wasn’t working as well as Ford would like.

He’d still stay up as late as he could manage, painting prosthetic eyes. He’d reached nearly 30 now and he wasn’t stopping anytime soon. Each one was a near perfect replica with the Fordtramarine paint but for some reason he kept making them. Using his teaching stipend to keep buying the alginate and dental polymer was the only way he could stay sane. 

It was a blatant waste of funds and materials but Ford didn’t care. It was the only way to look into Cipher’s eyes for more than the scarce moments he was now given. As such, he’d make them over and over so he could keep seeing them. Ford wanted to give one to him but he wasn’t sure Bill would accept it.

In actuality he craved the proximity that came with making sure the prosthetic fit. Ford wanted to inhabit as much of Ciphers’s space as possible and examine him up close again. Unfortunately for him, Bill didn’t feel like doing the same.

So he just kept making them until he’d grow too tired to stay up. He’d fall asleep and then the nightmare would start again, always the iteration of the newest development. Ford would wake screaming and crying, reaching out for nothing. Caked in sweat and trembling, he’d go to the bathroom and scrub himself off but couldn’t stand under the spray of the shower. 

Ford had to avoid it like the plague.

Everything about the sensation felt too close to drowning alongside Cipher. His lungs gradually filled with murky lake water until it felt like his entire body was nothing more than a balloon ready to burst. Exploding might just be preferable to the overwhelming weight that settled within him as he sank to the bottom. Hoping to at least grab Bill’s hand so they’d fall together was his first priority when he became trapped in his mind. 

The newest fear Ford had discovered he had was the fear of dying alone. It wasn’t ideal to die with someone who should be the bane of your existence but it was better than no one. Especially once his mind had abandoned rational thought altogether and only could remember loving Cipher so intensely that it felt right to die together. Unable to focus on that, Ford would pivot his attention to anything and everything else.

Thankfully no one seemed to hear him screaming every night so nobody came knocking to check on him, at least if they did hear him - they didn’t bother coming. Stanley was starting to catch on to something being wrong but hadn't mentioned it yet. Maybe he didn’t think things were bad enough to intervene. It was a blessing and a curse that Ford could only hope would have an end coming around the corner.

Today he had to make an effort since he hadn’t attended their last session at Cipher’s request. Ford couldn’t help but wonder how it went, debating on what he might have said. For this week’s session, he was intent on showing up whether Bill wanted him to or not. If only to hear the sound of his voice and inhabit the same space for just a little longer.

These short stints most nights weren’t enough anymore and Ford found himself craving more. He’d truly gone from one addiction to another since he wasn’t taking the pills and only smoked when Cipher smoked with him. Nothing in most of his routine seemed to have a purpose outside of him which was slightly concerning. Though, it didn’t matter because Ford was intent on blaming everything on the withdrawals. 

Ford was lying to himself and everyone else like it was second nature. As if he was writing untrue statements to sugarcoat his feelings, Ford kept up his ruse. A great teacher, innovative scientist, supportive great uncle and brother, and a neutral caretaker. Lies he wrote out himself in glittery ink before locking them away in the diary no one else would read.

It was bad enough when he wasn’t home because of lectures at the university. Then he’d miss out on seeing Bill and smoking with him entirely. He’d become a much stricter instructor as a result and his grading habits were a tad harsher. Ford was aware of this but he couldn’t dip out on his commitments, especially if he wanted to keep using the money on miscellaneous things that weren’t necessities.

Last night he had caved. Taking one of the pills to stay up and grade, he was getting behind which was non-negotiable in his eyes. However, he knew he couldn’t take another one today since he was trying not to get into that habit again and so everything was hitting him in full force. Extra jittery, he had to keep his hands in his pockets and tried to survive without anyone picking up on it.

The guilt was eating him alive but he’d keep it up until it swallowed him whole. Ford’s pride wouldn’t allow him to falter or fall apart, lest someone else see him. He had an image to uphold and didn’t want to let himself get carried away.

Heading out of his bedroom, Ford went to find Stanley before the therapy session later that day. He hadn’t gotten a chance to ask him about his night with Bill on the roof from a few weeks prior. He wanted to go into the session today prepared in case it came up.

Eventually he found his brother in his suit loitering in the kitchen with a cup of coffee. Ford could feel his eye twitch as he wanted to ask for a cup but knew he ought to just leave it alone. I’m not supposed to give into it. Wandering over, Ford tapped his brother on the shoulder to get his attention.

Turning while looking skeptical at first, Stanley perked up once he saw who was trying to get his attention. “Well, look who’s finally awake - I assume you’re heading out with Cipher?” His brother asked, taking a drink from his mug as it fogged up his glasses. 

Digging his nails into his palm, Ford tried not to focus on the coffee. “Yes, but I wanted to ask you about that paperwork from a few weeks back,” Ford’s voice was neutral as he gauged Stanley’s expression. “The suicide papers,” he clarified even if it wasn’t necessary.

Stanley cleared his throat awkwardly and averted his gaze. “Ah, yeah - that,” his response was blunt before an elongated silence fell over the pair. Neither knew who should speak first, both were trying to feel out the other person’s thoughts with nothing more than a prolonged glance.

Breaking the silence, Ford spoke up, “Cipher told me there was some kind of incident with a bottle of bourbon?” He figured he should start off more casual.

Stanley seemed to relax a bit as he leaned back against the kitchen counter. “Yes, he got into my Angel’s Envy, damn demon…” Stan grumbled, taking another sip of coffee. “Thankfully I stopped him before he finished off the bottle.”

Humming in acknowledgement, Ford breezed past the statement. It was meant to be a gateway question to what he truly wanted to know. “He said you talked him off the ledge, so to speak…” Ford peered over at him to see how Stan would react. He wanted to outright ask what he’d said but refrained in case he got pushback. 

His brother’s eyes flicked over to him before glancing back at the linoleum floor. “You could say that, I didn’t know that’s what we were talking about until I saw the papers later,” he replied. Ford’s brow creased as he turned the statement over in his mind. “He was just drunk and venting, didn’t mention the suicide stuff at all, I gave him a bit of advice - that’s all,” Stan shrugged before taking another swing and finishing off the cup.

Unsure on why he was being so cagey about the subject, Ford wanted to ask more questions but soon enough he was setting the mug beside the sink to wash later. Subtly dismissing the conversation entirely. I suppose that means whatever he said is between him and Cipher. I’d have to ask him for more details if Stan won’t tell me. Ford considered as his brother stepped around him.

“I’ll be in the museum if you need me before you both head out,” Stanley was succinct as he patted his brother on the shoulder. “Try not to get into any trouble while you’re gone.”

Scoffing lightly, Ford turned to watch him go, “Yeah, whatever - Cipher usually starts it.” Stanley waved as he walked off laughing as he ignored Ford’s comments altogether. Standing idly in the kitchen, Ford eyed the pot of coffee steaming on the counter.

It was incredibly tempting even if he knew that the caffeine content was so low that it would be negligible at best. His fingers twitched as he reached out for the handle, Ford could almost hear the siren’s song luring him into finishing the rest of the pot off. Speaking to him in an attempt to convince Ford to abandon his morals and give into his desires. Before he could pick it up, his phone buzzed, startling him.

Shaking off the panic, he fished his phone out of his pocket to see a text from Cipher. Are you sure you can’t skip out today? He asked, obviously trying to attend the session by himself again.

Sighing in mild annoyance, Ford immediately texted him back. I’m not skipping another session. Whatever you need to say to the therapist you can say to us both. Shoving his phone back into his pocket, Ford headed off to the gift shop to find Bill.

Is he that mad about our fight from a few weeks ago? Ford wondered as he wandered down the hall. He really shouldn’t be so bothered by Cipher’s unwillingness to be around him after outright lying to his face. He’d been avoiding going and now that he was receiving a get out of jail free card, Ford didn’t even want to use it.

Instead, he was determined to go. He’d told Stanley he wanted closure or something and maybe this was a step toward that. It also could be a step toward trying, then maybe Bill wouldn’t figure out he was already ensnared in the web of lies. Rounding the corner, Ford was careful as he pushed opened the door and saw Bill and Wendy talking.

Cipher was perched on the counter, his legs swung over the edge as he smiled over at her. So casual and calm, a stark contrast to how Ford saw him these days. Wendy was reorganizing the register as they spoke, smiling wide back at him,

Over the past week they’d become somewhat friendly, to the point that Bill was running errands for her and hanging out with her friends. Ford wasn’t sure what agreement they’d come to, but it seemed to be benefiting them both. As a result, the kids were becoming less cautious with him. She must be rubbing off on him.

However, once they realized Ford was there, Wendy gave him a wary glance and a forced smile. Bill’s demeanor changed completely, becoming neutral and refusing to look Ford in the eye. Wendy caught on to the awkward tension that had been fermenting for the past few weeks. She didn’t know all the details, just that Bill and Ford had gotten into an argument and the family was watching from the nosebleeds waiting to see who’d win out.

Finishing up with the register, she turned to him. “Dr. Pines! Good to see you this morning - are you going to be updating the exhibits today?” Wendy asked, making idle conversation. It wasn’t often that Ford was in this section of the house, at least he wasn’t for long. Ford only ever went in and out to get to the lab or if Stanley would ask him for assistance with something specific.

Clearing his throat, Ford stepped beside Bill from where he sat at the counter. Noticing the subtle shift as he moved farther away. “Good to see you too, but no - today, Cipher and I have an appointment,” his voice was firm as he settled a hand on the counter beside Bill’s thigh. Tense and apprehensive, Bill peered over at him as Ford turned to speak to him directly. “We should head out now or else we’ll be late.”

Bill and Wendy exchanged a nervous glance before he was hopping down from the counter. “Alright, Red - I’ll see you later,” Bill said, refusing to acknowledge Ford. “Let me know if you need me to grab anything on my way back.”

“For sure! See ya,” Wendy called out as they made their way out of the gift shop.

Neither was willing to say anything as they walked, the only way Ford could think to break the ice was to fish his lighter and cigarettes out of his pocket. “Do you want a smoke before we get there?” He asked casually. Offering the open carton to Cipher as an olive branch.

Since he was now seeing this as a social activity, Ford figured this was the best method to get through to him. If they didn’t speak until the appointment, he wasn’t sure how this session would pan out. Ford wanted to make an effort at this, especially since Cipher seemed to be trying to meet him halfway.

Bill leered over as he slowed to a stop and reached out to grab a cigarette from the box. Ford watched him carefully take it between his fingers before holding it out for Ford to light it. Looking over expectantly, Bill was the epitome of entitlement as he expected Ford to do it for him. 

Ford didn't care about that part, he was entranced by looking into Bill’s eyes. Like a man possessed he held up the lighter and flicked the lid open before bringing the flame to the end of Bill’s cigarette. Staring as Bill brought it to his lips and inhaled deeply, noting the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Ford nearly forgot why they were out in the forest to begin with because now the only reason he wanted to be out there was to watch Bill finish his smoke.

Unaware of the fact that he was standing and staring like some kind of mental patient fresh off the lobotomy table, Ford didn’t bother grabbing a smoke of his own. Eventually he put the lighter in his pocket but couldn’t tear his eyes away. Cipher glanced back at him with his brow scrunched in confusion. “Didn’t you want to smoke?” He asked, perplexed with Ford’s behaviour.

Clearing his throat, Ford could feel his face heating up at the realization of the situation. “I did…sorry, just a bit scatterbrained today, I think,” Ford replied before flicking his eyes back to Bill’s lips wrapped around the cigarette. “I don’t have many left, would you be alright with sharing?”

Quirking an eyebrow, Bill was easily intrigued. “Sure, I suppose,” he mumbled before taking another drag and offering it up to Ford. Ford took it between his fingers, brushing against Bill’s own in the process.

It only made his body feel more feverish, as if every touch was laced with enough electricity to short circuit his brain. Ford was becoming desperate and it showed. Taking a deep pull, Ford let the smoke gradually fill his lungs in an attempt to calm down.

It’s just Cipher, we’re just going to therapy and smoking a cigarette. Ford tried to appease his racing mind. You’ve done these things before, nothing out of the ordinary. Even as he repeated it back and they started walking again, Ford didn’t believe the words.

Focusing on the path ahead, Ford tried not to think about it too hard. He was specifically avoiding fixating on how close Cipher was, nearly brushing against him as they moved. Their fingertips were mere inches apart, swaying in tandem but never closing the gap.

He also wanted a distraction from the reminder that they now had another indirect kiss between them. As if we haven’t kissed thousands of times, it’s not a big deal. Ford’s rationalizing had the opposite effect as he felt his face heat up further. Thousands of kisses.

Unfortunately, Ford’s brain could recall information as quickly as a supercomputer at NASA. So instead of staying distracted, Ford held the cigarette up to his lips and paused. 

His mind could vividly remember the sensation of kissing Cipher as if it were happening in real time. Soft and pliant as Ford explored his mouth, licking over every inch to draw out any and every sound that would leave his lips. Then there were the kisses he left everywhere else.

Inhaling the smoke deeply, Ford tried to dispel that train of thought. Ford’s wandering mind made him almost wish he was fresh off the lobotomy table, then maybe he’d forget all about it. He’d rather not be hot and bothered in the middle of therapy. 

As they neared the clearing, Ford passed the cigarette back and started thinking through lesson plans. There wasn’t anything to get hot and bothered about when it came to lesson plans and grading. He just needed to comb through everything else and watch where he was going. If he did that, then he wouldn’t be watching Cipher finish off the cigarette.

Thankfully, it wasn’t much longer before Bill was stomping it out and they were opening up the gate to get to the facility.  Ford wasn’t sure when he had last felt so nervous. The thought of whatever Bill had said during his last session was gnawing at him and Ford wasn’t sure what to do with his anxiety. It shouldn’t bother him as much as it did, the unknown. Obviously, Cipher hadn’t said anything about their physical altercations, otherwise he would have been reprimanded by now.

Why hadn’t he reported that, anyways? The question stumped him as Dr. Tseyvar met them in the lobby with her guard in tow. She was speaking and Cipher was responding but Ford wasn’t listening. He just nodded along as he became lost in his own head. For all their fights and anger, Bill hadn’t seemed to have told anyone else about it. Hell, it didn’t seem like he’d said anything to Stanley when he’d been shit-faced drunk on the roof.

The true question was why. 

In the past, Bill had never turned down an opportunity to put Ford in his place. He even had the scars to prove it. Now, he wasn’t interested…it was strange. Maybe it’s indicative of his progress. If you could call it that, Ford wasn’t sure what pieces were different, he just knew some aspect of the board had changed. 

The way Bill didn’t actively fight with him, at least the majority of the time. He gave up before they could get to the point of no return, which only left Ford to cross the line. That’s what he was used to, obliterating their boundaries over and over even though he knew they were already rocky at the best of times. Cipher would put up a bit of a fight, but once Ford pushed and pushed, Bill surrendered. He’d never backed down before and Ford wasn’t sure how to handle that.

As they stepped into her office and sat down, Ford absentmindedly remembered he was supposed to grab his journal before they left the house. Patting his inner jacket pockets, he could feel the notebook tucked away. Sighing in relief, he figured he ought to start paying attention.

Once the therapist was seated with her own notes in front of her, she started their session. Her voice was cautious as she spoke which only made Ford perplexed. “William, are you going to be involved in our session today?” She asked the question softly, as if he’d be startled that she’d spoken at all.

Ford’s brow creased as he turned the question over in his head. He went last week, Stan told me he took the key…did he just not say anything?  

Sighing in mild annoyance, Bill replied, “Yes…I’m here, aren’t I?” Sarcasm laced his voice as he rolled his eyes. “Can we just get on with it?” He asked as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Being present physically and emotionally are two different things,” the doctor said as she flipped through the pages of her notebook. “Since I have you both here, I’d like to go over the homework I gave you a few weeks ago.”

Dismissing the sentiment without another remark, the pair grabbed their respective notebooks. Ford hadn’t even realized Bill had his with him. It just showed how distracted he was these days, his one-track mind was a detriment to his otherwise observant nature. Flipping his own notebook open, Ford reviewed his own recollection of events. 

Cringing as he read through his own words, Ford had seemingly forgotten what he’d written all those weeks ago. He’d been especially harsh and vulnerable and now he was regretting it. However, there was no backing out or amending things now.

Leaning forward with her hands clasped in front of her, the therapist asked, “Who would like to start discussing their journal?” 

Both men were silent until Ford decided it would be better to break the ice, “I can start…” Maybe if he was forthcoming with information Bill wouldn’t think he was such a hypocrite anymore. The therapist hummed and regarded him calmly. Looking down at the pages, Ford gathered his courage to speak. “I tried to recount what I could in chronological order, I’m not sure if you wanted me to go over the finer details or just general concepts,” he added as he fidgeted with the pages and looked back at her.

She picked up a pen to twirl between her fingertips. “Either is fine, we’ll start with whatever you want to share,” she replied. “If you don’t want to discuss something today, we can always bring it up in a later session.”

I suppose that makes sense, Ford rationalized. We do have nearly an entire year to talk about this stuff. Skimming over his notes, Ford decided what he’d start with. “Well, the biggest theme of what I wrote about was Cipher’s need for control in our relationship - before and after we became romantically involved,” he spoke clinically, hoping he could detach from how the words made him feel. “He pretty much always had to take the lead at any given time.”

She nodded along as Bill held himself tighter but didn’t respond. Dr. Tseyvar only encouraged him by calling him out, “William, would you say you always needed to be in control?” 

Cipher’s response was curt, as if he felt above having to answer, “Yes, I needed him to follow instructions otherwise we wouldn’t have gotten anything done.” For the first time since they’d stepped in the room, Bill finally looked at him. “Sixer had a tendency to get distracted, which at the time wasn’t ideal.”

Frowning over at him, Ford wasn’t sure how to respond to that answer. It wasn’t as if Ford hadn’t worked hard when they’d been building the portal. He barely slept or ate on the best of days and completed the project in record time despite having no mechanical engineering skills. The distractions came when they’d become more intimate and after they’d gotten married. During that time Cipher had been just as distracted as Ford, maybe even more so. At least, that’s what he thought.

Interjecting, Ford cut the therapist off from whatever question she was going to ask, “I wasn’t entirely unproductive - we completed the portal in record time, no thanks to your distractions.” Leaning an arm on the side of the chair, Ford felt frustration build within him. And they’d only just gotten started. “There was a reason I had to ask you to stay away for a while.”

Flushing at the memory, Bill sputtered a response of sorts, “That’s not the point - before any of that you kept getting off track with Specs.” Redistributing blame was a go-to method of deflecting that Ford was now familiar with. “Always questioning me and second-guessing things…”

At this, Dr. Tseyvar asked, “Are you able to elaborate on this?” The subject of the conversation was new to her as she began to scribble something down. 

“His hair-brained lab assistant - caused quite a few issues along the lines of production,” Bill amended as if that answer was sufficient. 

Ford piped in to expound on the statement, “Fiddleford was an engineer and I didn’t have experience in that field, he helped with the bulk of the building.” Ford noted the way Bill cringed upon hearing the name leave his lips. “You always were the jealous sort, I just didn’t realize it at the time,” he turned to Bill as he spoke.

Sitting forward, Bill protested, “I am not the jealous sort! I was just irritated with the way he stunted our progress and questioned my authority.” Raising his voice slightly, Ford could feel an argument brewing.

Bill had always been unhappy with Ford’s need for an assistant, especially one he had history with. Granted, it wasn’t the same history he and Cipher shared but that didn’t change his mind. Cipher wanted to be Ford’s one and only. Fiddleford made things difficult on that front, especially once he became more skeptical about the portal.

If only Ford had listened to him instead of the devil’s whispers.

Scoffing in response, Ford was indifferent. “Sure you’re not, that’s why you were so adamant about dropping him off the project as soon as possible with the most flimsy of excuses,” he retorted. “You didn’t care about progress when we were supposed to be correcting calculations and would blatantly put it off.”

Lifting his legs to sit criss-cross in his chair, Bill tried to play off his embarrassment as he rubbed a hand over his face. “That’s a moot point, and you know it,” he replied. “We’re getting off-track - aren’t you supposed to be recounting how much you hated being married to me or something?” he asked the question in a tone that let Ford know he desperately wanted to drop it.

Deciding that was a win, Ford changed the subject. “That’s not what I said, I just wrote about what happened,” he replied before moving onto something else. “There was quite a bit of physical and emotional manipulation on Cipher’s part. Both of which have taken a long time to heal,” he spoke directly to the therapist.

Seamlessly moving from one topic to the next, she asked, “Would you say you feel “healed” after everything you experienced?”

Ford thought about it for a moment even if he already knew the answer. “No, I still struggle frequently,” Ford answered, peeking at Cipher out of the corner of his eye. “It was a very…intense set of circumstances.”

The memory only made him feel sick to his stomach. Ford could feel saliva congeal in his mouth as his mind and body prepared to panic. Swallowing it down, he waited for her response. “Are you able to discuss what you remember from that time?” The doctor asked gently, unsure on if Ford was willing to share.

Taking a shaky breath, Ford braced himself for the onslaught of emotion that would hit him as he recounted the foggy memories. “Well, there was the possession…when he’d take over my body and erase my memory,” Ford started, he couldn’t look at Bill while he spoke. The tension in the room became much thicker. “So there’s large gaps during those periods that are just blank. I’d come-to and be covered in bruises and wounds, sometimes I wouldn’t recognize where I was.”

The therapist nodded along as she took notes and Ford fidgeted with the paper’s edge again. For all his protesting earlier, Bill stayed completely silent. At least he’s not trying to defend that, there isn’t anything he could say that would make that less egregious. Ford paused to see if she’d ask another question but instead, the doctor waited for him to continue speaking.

Continuing on, Ford was basically going through what he’d written down. “It was taxing psychologically because he could be very…” he started and combed through his mind for the right word he wanted. “Persuasive? I guess,” he amended before speaking further. “Cipher pretty much always knew what to say when it came to keeping me invested.”

At this, she finally spoke again, “When you say persuasive, are you able to provide any detailed examples?” Her question wasn’t complicated by any means, it just made shame infiltrate Ford’s mind.

Raking a hand through his hair, Ford set the notebook aside onto the floor. “It’s hard to say for sure, it was dependent on the situation but if I ever had doubts about anything he could convince me they were unfounded,” he replied, feeling himself become defensive. 

Ford hated that he couldn’t think of anything specific. After all the times in which Cipher had manipulated him, he felt as though he had nothing to show for it. No tangible proof of the horrors he’d experienced. It was a haunted house that only Ford had walked through and once he stepped out the door, the building disappeared as if it had never existed to begin with.

Acknowledging him without looking up, Dr. Tseyvar jotted something down as she spoke, “What instance would you say you remember the most clearly?”

A specific date came to mind, clear as the summer sky. It was the page he’d soaked through with ink when he’d written all this down to begin with. 

Ford could feel his breathing pick up as he tried to recount what had transpired that day, “There was…this one night, near the end.” He could see Bill flinch in his peripheral vision. A night they both wished they could forget. “Cipher possessed my body and went on one of his benders, this one was worse than usual,” his voice was strained as he spoke. Ford’s entire body felt tense, like he was standing on a cliff and trying not to fall head-first over the edge. “This time there were…photos and a video of everything he’d done but I had no memory of it…I still don’t.”

As he went on to describe the night from Hell he had no native memory of, everything else seemed to stand still. The therapist didn’t dare to interrupt him, she wasn’t used to hearing details about the end of their relationship since Bill was typically tight-lipped on the matter. Instead, she nodded along and encouraged him to keep speaking. 

Ford swallowed thickly before he continued, “It was a lot to process at the time, I was covered in blood…heavily wounded…” It made his mind recall every other time he’d woken up that way. Caked in dirt and blood without any knowledge as to why. He’d ask his partner for an explanation and was blown off, then he’d drop the matter and they’d move on.

How much time had Ford lost to Cipher’s incessant, violent frenzy? How much of him was now long gone because Cipher had discarded the pieces? How much of him was fundamentally broken and couldn’t be repaired?

He’d never truly know, and if he was honest with himself - Ford was too afraid to ask. It could be a few days, a few weeks, a few months. Nothing was tangible from that era of his life, his time in the portal wasn’t either. Ford had lost so much and barely knew how to mourn it.

Ford didn’t know how to grieve people he’d never gotten to meet.

Ambiantly, he wiped his palms against his pants and tried to keep talking. If he stopped, he might not be able to start up again. “Then there was our conversation afterward,” he spoke but wasn’t truly talking to anyone in particular. Ford’s voice was hollow, devoid of anything except his own visceral fear and apprehension. It was as if the words themselves were a loaded gun pointed directly at his temple. He didn’t know whose finger was on the trigger. “When Cipher began to actively alter my bodily functions…and regarded me as property.”

Ford’s chest felt tight. Unseen hands constricted around the memory, strangling him. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak. Ford was trapped, unable to break himself out of the mental cage of his own creation. An endless loop playing behind his eyes of every god-awful thing that led them here.

In the back of his mind was the sound of TV static from the dilapidated set he’d found at a yard sale thirty-plus years ago. He could hear the sound of the television flipping on, dials and knobs turning to drown him in the static noise. Ford could hear the sound of the VHS tape spinning and whirring in its player; it nearly sounded like the tape would tangle and shred itself to pieces before Ford could discover what was on it. He could hear the click when the tape finally registered, when the static ended and he was met with a manic grin too wide for his own face. 

Ford could feel bile in his throat. It was burning through him as if it were trying to turn the person he’d become to nothing more than ash so that the only person left was the thirty year old man with no autonomy. The young man with so much promise that had been reduced to nothing more than property was the only one remaining.

“Cipher overrode every regulatory system of my body, like a puppet master yanking on strings,” Ford choked, his voice hollow. “Doing nearly everything to either kill me and start over with some new scientist or to scare me into falling in line.”

Bill cringed slightly beside him before interjecting, “You always were hung up about other scientists, weren’t you?” He was openly deflecting, the first words he’d spoken were meant to derail Ford’s train of thought. “What, didn't you think you were special enough to be my one and only?” He cut Ford a glance, the hurt clear in his eyes. “Your ego was big enough for quite a few geniuses the world over, I don't think you were ever humble for a second. Hell, I’m not sure you know how to be humble, even now.”

Nails digging into the arms of the chair, Ford went on the defensive. “You’re the one who flaunted the idea at the time. Content to use and abuse me until I no longer had a purpose - or do you not remember that part?” 

Despite the fact that Ford hated belonging to Cipher, he still had lingering pain in thinking Bill would ever place someone else above him. There were many nights he’d spent hoping for even the smallest of glimpses of his partner. Ford’s mind would run wild wondering where he was, who he was with and what he was doing.

More importantly, Ford always wondered why Cipher wasn’t doing those things with him. If only he knew that Bill was terrorizing any galaxy he could gain contact with and destroying the lives of millions, maybe he wouldn’t have made such a big deal out of it at the time. Especially after Cipher threw the idea in his face that he was replaceable.

Averting his gaze, Bill seemed genuinely upset at Ford’s statement. “I wasn’t trying to use and abuse you, I just wanted to motivate you to keep your eyes on the prize,” he said, refusing to look back at Ford. “I was reinforcing that you weren’t the first mortal to try to build that portal and that if you failed me, you weren’t going to be the last.”

“Is that not basically what I said?” Ford asked, exasperated. “I was expendable and replaceable, that was your main point.”

Pulling his knees closer to his chest, Bill attempted to defend himself, “You were not replaceable…I just said that because-” Cutting himself off as he seemed to search for the words, Cipher fidgeted with his sweater sleeves. “I needed you to listen to me and follow instructions and you didn’t do it.”

Taking a deep breath, he thought harder about that stint of time. “You always would deflect like this. Apparently it’s my fault you fucked up. It’s my fault you didn’t care. It’s my fault your shitty plan didn’t work.”

Somehow over the past few weeks he’d forgotten the true horrors of their past, caught up in the nostalgia of the beginning and the middle. Not recalling the fact that there was a clear and bloody end. The curtain had closed on their relationship decades ago. That’s what Ford wanted or at least he did at the time.

Now things felt complicated. The situation felt different, as if their relationship could be better. There was some festering sliver of hope inside him that thought Bill actually could change. “I don’t understand why you’re so intent on making these excuses for your shitty behavior,” Ford sighed, feeling exhausted just talking about this. “And I don’t know why I ever believed them in the first place.”

Cipher held himself tighter, shrinking into his chair “I may have done some awful things, but you’re no saint either,” Bill accused, looking through the legs of the therapist’s desk as he held back tears. Not truly seeing them since his mind was somewhere far away. “You can pretend to be a pious man, Stanford Pines, but you're a tainted sinner just like the rest of us.”

“Are you able to expand on that William? What are some things you wish Stanford had taken accountability for?” Dr. Tseyvar asked. Watching them both closely, wondering if they were approaching their limits.

Sighing to himself, Bill seemed to choose his words carefully. “I’m just saying he wasn’t some shining example of morality,” he replied, becoming frustrated with being unable to find the words. “I did some terrible stuff, I’m not denying that but Ford, you weren’t the best, either.”

With a raised eyebrow, Ford tried to discern what he meant by that. Sure, he’d been reactionary - however, he couldn’t really be faulted for that. It had taken him a long time to come to that conclusion. Stanley had made a major effort to ensure Ford knew that everything that happened wasn’t his fault.

The therapist nodded along, encouraging Bill to keep speaking. This was the most he’s spoken on the subject in three hundred years. Running his fingers through his hair, Bill tried to keep talking. “At the end, I mean…and when you were dimension hopping,” he amended before growing quiet again.

Ford could feel his eye twitch at the reminder. When things were ending there were some less and savory things he’d said and done. Obviously, building a gun to kill Cipher will wasn’t the best (only in the sense that if they were repairing things, Bill would definitely be upset about it). However, that was a product of their situation - they’d reached that point because of Bill in the first place.

Dr. Tseyvar glanced up from her notes, “What would you classify as immoral on Dr. Pines’ part?” It was a loaded question in simple clothing. Morality was subjective and neither of them truly had a shining outlook on the idea. 

Bill debated the question for a moment as Ford tuned into whatever his answer may be. He wasn’t sure if it was going to make him angry or not, though, knowing Bill it probably would. Most statements from him were unfounded and ridiculous to say the least.

“Well, there was the gun he built to kill me with,” Bill started flatly. He didn’t look either of them in the eye as he spoke, as if doing so would break something within him. “And shooting at me multiple times, that wasn’t great, either.”

If that’s all he’s got, this will be easier than I thought. Ford nearly smiled at the thought before Bill kept talking.

With tears in his eyes, he continued, “The worst was probably what he said when he kicked me out.”

Suddenly, Ford felt nauseous. That was something he actively did feel bad about, he’d felt somewhat guilty about it when he’d said those things. It definitely wasn’t Ford’s finest hour. The therapist regarded him calmly, “Do you remember that instance?”

Cipher nearly couldn’t choke out the words as he became far more worked up at the memory. Ford couldn’t look at him anymore, instead he became interested in the bookcase. All the things he said and did after things ended didn’t put him in a good light. Ford couldn’t be blamed for the awful things while they were together, but he could be reprimanded for the things after.

As a few tears fell, Bill used the sleeve of his sweater to brush them away. “The things Ford said before I left were-” He started but wasn’t sure if he could stand to finish his sentence. Taking a shaky breath he tried again. “There’s just stuff you shouldn’t say to other people…especially not ones you claim to care about. And the burning,” His voice sounded broken as he wiped more tears from his face. Trying to calm his breathing. “I don’t know which was worse, the shitty things you said, or destroying every trace of the fact that we’d ever had a relationship at all.”

The therapist nodded in acknowledgement before looking back at Ford, tense in his chair. “Do you recall what he’s referring to?” She asked, keeping her expression neutral. However, this conversation would be considered a breakthrough of sorts, she may just break out the champagne this evening to celebrate.

Shame covered him like a thick, fleece blanket. Suffocating him as his mind locked in on what Cipher meant. Ford remembered everything he said back then in piercing clarity. The fire in the backyard of all his sketches, some of his journal pages, their vows that he’d hastily written down when he woke up the day after their elopement. He burnt it all, and he knew the things he said back then were words you could never take back.

Once they were out in the open air, those words could never be stuffed back in their jar and hidden on the top shelf for safe keeping. Instead, they lingered like a cloud of acid rain over whoever they were directed at. Slowly eroding away at them until nothing was left but scraps of a rotting corpse.

“I- I was so angry,” Ford started trying to articulate what happened, he was bordering on making excuses of his own. “I was so angry and I just…I just didn’t want to feel like that anymore and so I burned everything.”

Scribbling down notes, the therapist coaxed him on, “Like what?”

Ford’s hands shook as he pulled them into his lap. Ashamed of his past behavior, now under a microscope. “Like my sketches of Cipher…some project blueprints, research findings, random post-it notes, photos…our vows ,” Laced with trepidation, Ford surely looked as guilty as he felt. Bill flinched in his chair as if he was physically pained by the memory. “And I said-” his voice broke. Ford didn’t want to repeat it.

Dr. Tseyvar watched him expectantly, waiting for an answer. They were on a roll now and she didn’t want to lose momentum. Ford’s hands felt clammy as they fidgeted in his lap. It felt like the words were caught in his throat - like he couldn’t say them again, even if he wanted to.

Nothing seemed to be able to dampen the visceral anxiety that threatened to swallow him whole. Ford looked back at the therapist and tried again. “We- when everything happened…I told Cipher to get out of my head. To get out of my house. To get out of my life and never come back,” His voice wavering as he tried to choke out the words. “I called him a no-good bastard whose family died for a reason-” He almost couldn’t repeat it. “That they…deserved it, for having anything to do with a vapid monster like him,” Ford could feel the panic well up inside of him as he tried to press on. “I told him that he was a disgusting stain on the multiverse, and he should do us all a favor and find some other sad-sack scientist to build him a gun to off himself because I didn’t want anything to do with him anymore.”

Curling in on himself in the chair, Bill kept his eyes locked on the legs of the desk across from him as his muddy boots sat on the chair’s edge. Trembling as hitched breathing left his lungs, Bill tried to make himself as small as possible. Neither of them were happy about rehashing this particular memory.

“And how did you feel about those statements, William?” she asked, gaining his attention. Easily pivoting with a now loaded gun, her trigger finger itching to fire.

With his fingers wrapped in the sleeves of his sweater, Bill wiped at his tear soaked face again. Sniffling to himself as he tried to figure out what to say. “I felt- I feel awful…like I deserved it after everything that happened,” he said as he struggled to stop crying. “And I suppose I did but-” he couldn’t seem to get the words to leave his throat.

The fact that Bill seemed to believe he deserved it caught him off guard. Ford felt bad for saying those things, but he didn’t think Bill would feel bad hearing them. Especially after all these years, it was surprising to see him have such a visceral reaction.

Struggling with his words, Cipher tried to keep talking, “I wasn’t the best and I know that but I tried to fix it.” Trying to muster the lasting bits of energy, Bill let his pride go. “It didn’t matter how many times I tried apologizing, he didn’t believe me anymore,” he cried out. “I thought that maybe he was right, maybe the multiverse would be better off without me. If Ford didn’t want me, I didn’t really care if anyone else did,” openly sobbing, Bill tried forcibly stopping his tears with his sleeves as he soaked them through. “I had no living family, no real friends. It was him or nothing, so when he told me to get out I lost everything.”

Taking careful notes, the therapist used her free hand to nudge a box of tissues in Bill’s direction. He looked up at the sound before leaning forward to grab a few and rub at his face. Ford watched her numbly, writing something down. Humming in agreement and nodding along. Dr. Tseyvar was good at hiding her satisfaction, she’d never seen Cipher be so blatantly vulnerable and it showed.

To her, this moment felt like a true miracle. To Ford? It felt like being kicked while he was down.

The scientist had never felt more ashamed of his actions that day than he did in this moment. At the time he was hell-bent on revenge. He didn’t care what he said or how he said it, he just wanted Bill to feel the way he felt. To hurt the way he hurt. Now that he saw Bill trying to fix things all these years later, that moment was doused in regret. Drowning out the anger that once resided there.

Remembering the haphazard apologies he’d received only made things worse, knowing he hadn’t offered any in turn. It made him sick to realize the severity of the things he said. Not thinking about the circumstances around those events outside of his own experience. However, his own guilt quickly became doused in anger. After everything, it wasn’t fair that he felt that way. In his eyes, Cipher should feel bad, he should feel regret, he should feel like gum stuck to the bottom of Ford’s shoe.

Cipher had essentially gotten a small taste of his own medicine and then had the nerve to complain about the flavor.

Blinking harshly, Ford looked back at him, “Do you not realize why I said those things?” His tone was accusatory as he glared into him. Bill flinched as if he weren’t expecting Ford to speak at all. He’d seemingly forgotten where they were or that they were in the same space at all. “You tortured me for sport, of course I had to meet you where you were.”

Glancing over at him, Bill was wary. “I didn’t say it wasn’t unfounded…I’m just saying we both did things we shouldn’t have,” he replied simply, his voice shaking slightly. “I was following predetermined protocol and overcorrected, you weren’t following instructions and reacted to the situation in a way you saw fit,” Cipher added, trying to make sense of their circumstances.

“Predetermined protocol?” Ford spat the words back at him. “There was no “overcorrecting,” you were just a terrible partner,” he was speaking and could feel his blood begin to boil over. “You talk about it like it wasn’t absolutely deranged behavior!”

Wincing from Ford raising his voice, Bill’s tear-stained face turned back to him. “Stanford, I had a clear plan and you couldn’t follow it, I tried to give you the entire multiverse - all you needed to do was listen to instructions,” he replied, irritated with the fact that Ford couldn’t see things the way he saw them. “I don’t understand why you mortals can never just listen properly.”

Fingers twitching in his lap, Ford could feel the string holding him together unravelling. You mortals. Not just him, others he’d tried and failed with. Ford wasn’t chosen, he wasn’t special, he didn’t matter. 

He was just one cog in a machine that was already broken before he’d become a part of it.

Ford barely registered when he’d snatched the gun out of the holster at his hip and pointed it at Cipher. Right between the eyes. It was reflexive and involuntary, the action came to him as easily as breathing. With his finger twitching on the trigger, Ford looked Cipher in the eye and threatened to fire.

If he fired, they wouldn’t have these conversations anymore. If he fired, he wouldn’t feel guilty about the partner he could never seem to figure out. If he fired, he could have true peace of mind for the remainder of his mortal life.

If he fired, then maybe they’d both be free of the endless torment of their relationship.

Chapter Text

Cowering in his respective chair, Bill stared into the barrel of the gun.

Standing slowly, Dr.Tseyvar attempted to de-escalate the situation. “Dr. Pines, please lower your firearm,” her voice was calm as she held out a hand. “If you do not drop your weapon I will have to call in our security team and I promise neither of us wants that to happen.”

At that moment, Bill realized they’d never searched Ford for weapons after his initial visit. I suppose they didn’t think he was a threat, how naive. Why they hadn’t done so for an intergalactic criminal infamous across the multiverse was beyond him. Though, they’d definitely think twice next time. If there was a next time, that is.

When he’d said those things, Bill had chosen his words terribly. Not to mention, he’d become defensive at the reminder of all his misdeeds over their time together. It was a nasty combination that he was now paying the price for. Since Ford always had a flair for the dramatic and he’d gone nuclear, Bill had no choice but to gather up his loose change to pay the piper.

Ford’s hands trembled around the gun’s frame as he glared down at Cipher. His finger twitched on the trigger as he turned the safety off. Bill wanted to say something but all words had left him. Unsure on what to do, he waited for Ford to take the shot. They both knew he’d only need to fire once.

Stanford had only ever missed once and Bill didn’t think this would be a repeat offense.

“I could shoot you right now. Even if security came in here, it would still be enough time for me to kill you,” Ford spoke to Cipher calmly, ignoring the doctor entirely. “After everything, I should fucking kill you.”

More tears poured over as Bill gazed back at him. Ford has every right to kill me, he ought to just get it over with. With his arms wrapped around himself, Bill shrunk back further into the chair. Absent-mindedly, Cipher wished he didn’t look so pathetic. He wanted to die with a bit more of his dignity intact but you can’t win ‘em all.

Taking a deep breath, Ford sounded determined as he spoke, “You’re a literal lunatic, you know that?” The question was rhetorical, but even if it hadn’t been, Bill wouldn’t have been able to answer. He was in a mental state of limbo.

That was the root of all his problems, everyone he’d ever come into contact with thought he was crazy. Bill was tempted to ask Ford not to say those things but he wasn’t sure if that would make a difference. Bill didn’t want to be “crazy” anymore to the people around him. Now that he’d had a taste of what it was like to have someone see him as something other than that, he wanted more of that feeling. 

However, Cipher never seemed to be that lucky. There was always something fundamentally wrong with him and Bill could never seem to find the best way to fix it. Instead, all his efforts just made things worse. The only way he wouldn’t be a nuisance was if he kept his mouth shut and made himself as small as possible.

The less noticeable he was, the less likely he’d be to hinder anyone else. Which also meant he was less likely to get hurt. Even though it didn’t matter now, he still seemed to be going through the motions involuntarily. A defensive mechanism that had no weight to it when faced with death was all he knew.

Mumbling mostly to himself, Bill’s voice was barely a whisper. If it hadn’t been deathly quiet, Ford might not have heard him, “It’s that genius and madness we’re always going on about, I suppose.” After he spoke, he wished he hadn’t. 

Knowing he’d inadvertently made Ford more irritated only plunged the knife deeper into his back. The searing pain left behind from the proverbial blade caused him to come to. Regret festered in the wounds until it infected the rest of his body, it had built up exponentially but there was nowhere for the feeling to go.

Ford’s eyes widened in surprise, caught off guard in confusion. Here Ford was threatening to kill him, and Bill’s response was essentially that he was, in fact, crazy. Bill barely registered that he said it out loud at all until he saw Ford’s expression.

Squaring his shoulders, Ford focused back on the task at hand. Blatant murder. “Apparently you’re also an idiot, I’m about to kill you and you’re going on about genius and madness,” he retorted. “I swear, you’re the most obtuse person I’ve ever met.”

Bill nearly laughed at that, he sounded far too casual for the situation. “It’s not every day you’re looking down the barrel of a gun, Six,” he replied softly. “My mind was already scrambled to begin with, that isn’t exactly helping.”

Humming in agreement, Ford was quiet for a moment. At least there’s one thing we can agree on, he realized. Ford was either contemplating his options or wondering if there was more than one option in the first place. Bill waited to see if he’d be taking his last breath in this chair. Out of anywhere he could die, he really hated that it might be in this godforsaken facility.

After surviving here for so long, it was somewhat frustrating that this would be the end of the line.

Seeming to find his words again, Ford spoke up, “Why do you say things like that?” His voice was strained as he spoke. It was as if the words were torn from his throat outside of his control, like he couldn’t help but ask.

The question derailed his train of thought. Does he mean from earlier or just now? Deciding he probably meant the former, Bill ignored the latter and answered him. “I’m just saying what comes to mind, that’s how I saw it at the time,” he replied, the answer coming to him easily. “You asked what I thought and I told you.”

“It’s not just what you said, it’s how you said it,” Ford’s hardened expression and creased brow confused him. “Like you’re trying to piss me off on purpose.”

He asked me a question and I answered it, what more does he want from me? Conflicted between frustration and fear, Bill was trying to discern what he was getting at without asking. If he outright asked, Ford would probably be more pissed off. When faced with the question, he answered in the only way he knew how. Maybe that was the problem, he was just awful at talking to people. Yeah, that’s obvious…I’m especially bad at talking to Ford.

It didn’t help that therapy already made him irritated. Let alone that he hated breaking down in front of the therapist. Some sliver of his ego remained unscathed after all this time and he wanted her to view him as a being to be feared. No one feared the guy who couldn’t keep it together. They especially didn’t when they saw him around his greatest weakness.

No one would fear him when they saw him melt into putty in Stanford’s six-fingered hands.

If they weren’t afraid of him, they’d hurt him or take advantage of him. In all the years he’d been alive, he’d never felt so vulnerable. His childhood with the doctors didn’t count, he was a child and his powers hadn’t developed yet. Now, he could defend himself and Ford made him weak. Cipher didn’t like feeling weak, it meant he wasn’t safe.

Although, it wasn’t like he was safe now. Warily glancing back at the gun only heightened his own apprehension. Even if Ford activated things in his neural synapses that no one else could, he made him feel wholly unsafe. Not only was he exposed but Ford knew all the things that made him tick and used them to his advantage. Nothing could occur between them without some form of calculation on their part. This was his final hour and his last stand and so Bill had to try to figure out where the trap had been set.

Trying again, Bill kept speaking even if it felt like he shouldn’t. “That’s just how it was, I worked within my usual skillset and it backfired. There’s not much else to it,” he replied, Bill’s brow creased in thought as he gazed over the gun to survey Ford’s expression. “What would you rather I say? That I was flying by the seat of my pants and everything was just some unfortunate accident?”

It was strange to ask it that way, especially knowing Ford wanted him to be honest. That’s what he honestly thought, what he honestly believed and Ford didn’t like it. Then he wonders why I lied. Cipher continuously lied to keep Ford happy, that was the intention. Then Ford wanted him to tell the truth and didn’t like it when he got what he asked for. 

Earlier he’d been trying to tell the truth, albeit he let his own emotions get in the way. He’d been inflammatory from feeling cornered but his statements still made sense in his mind. He’d figured he could smooth it over later. He didn’t think he’d be trying to do so while looking into the barrel of a gun.

Apparently honesty just wasn’t his strong suit. It wasn’t Ford’s either, but he’d never admit it. While he tried to make sense of things, his mind raced to predict what Ford would say or do next. Stanford was a trembling deer staring into LED headlights, unaware that the car wasn’t speeding toward him anymore. Cipher had stopped in the center of the road and was waiting for Ford to make a move.

Ford swallowed whatever his initial response was as he chose his words more carefully. “Maybe I would,” He was apprehensive, which didn’t make it clear on whether or not he would drop his weapon. “Maybe I did want it to be some fucked up accident…just another one of your hair-brained mistakes…”

Cipher wasn’t sure what prompted the laughter to bubble up within him, but once it left him he wished it hadn’t. His knee-jerk reactions were always causing more trouble than they were worth. That didn’t stop his mouth from moving and his vocal chords from stringing words together. “Then that’d be a lie - I meticulously planned everything to the letter light years before you were born, Stanford. The only aspect of the plan that was an accident was you being the mortal to summon me, that was just plain, dumb luck,” he replied, feeling some flicker of anger within him. “Or, I suppose, lack thereof.”

Maybe it was his misplaced pride or genuine defense for his own scheming that caused him to say it. Maybe he just wanted Ford to think highly of him for how methodical he had been. Maybe he was just plain stupid.

When faced with death his attitude came out in full force, as if he subconsciously wanted to try harder. Even if this wasn’t much of a fight anymore, at least not one he could win. Cipher was tired of playing these games where he never got to win, he wanted to skip to the finale. Defiance burned in Bill’s eye as he wiped at his tear-stained cheeks. Let’s just get on with it. He may as well go out fighting, it was all he truly knew. I guess I’m finally getting the end I wanted, might as well make it worth his while.

Gathering the last ounces of determination within him, he finally looked Ford in the eye once more. Cipher knew exactly which buttons to press. Even if he didn’t want to touch them with a ten-foot pole, he found himself reaching out to slam into them all the same. “You weren’t some special, chosen, prodigal son, you were just the egotistical idiot that wandered into a snare that wasn’t meant for you,” Bill’s voice held firm even if the words tasted rancid in his mouth. Like rotting flesh caught between his teeth, Cipher just couldn’t shake how disgusted he was with himself. 

He hated saying those things but if he didn’t say them, then Ford might not take the shot. If he didn’t shoot, then they’d do this song and dance until the mortal took his last breath. Bill didn’t know if he could hold out that long, if he could watch Ford wither away and never get to have him. Cipher knew deep down that Ford would be better off without him and if there was one thing he was allowed to want, it was for Ford to be better. 

The small soft spot that had formed for that bright eyed mortal had only grown over the decades until it had now engulfed his entire body. That was why everything was so painful now, Bill no longer had the armor or the willpower to properly protect himself anymore. He’d left it all behind for the mortal that didn’t want him.

The sand in their hourglass was always flowing and falling, it never stayed anywhere long. They’d have fleeting moments where their hands were overflowing with sand, all of it in abundance. As soon as they became familiar with having too much of a good thing, it was gone in the blink of an eye. That’s all they were now, loose particles meant to meld into something bigger than themselves.

It was just difficult to figure out what they were supposed to become.

Readjusting his fingers around the gun, Ford glared over at him. “Trust me, I’m well aware of the fact that you didn’t choose me,” he spat, pain in his eyes. “I’m just the one you ended up with, I bet you said all that ridiculous nonsense to every quack and pseudo-scientist you’ve ever met.”

Even as Bill wanted to shrink back and try to take everything back somehow. They’d started this whole fiasco so now he had to see it through. If only he didn’t continuously put his foot in his mouth, then maybe they could've gotten somewhere better than this. 

It felt stupid to try to fix it now, but he at least wanted to go out with some modicum of the truth. Ford wouldn’t believe him but it might help Cipher rest easier. “Just because I didn’t choose you doesn’t mean I wasn’t satisfied with the lot I was given,” he retorted. “For the most part, you weren’t half bad as a partner - scientifically or otherwise, but at some point things got off the rails.”

Shrugging him off, Ford was dismissive, “Good to know I was somewhat useful. With how things ended, I nearly thought the entire thing was a ruse.”

Flinching involuntarily, Bill had to face the music. Everything that had happened toward and at the end after that one fateful game of chess was his fault. The conversation right now was his fault. Cipher didn’t like admitting it but just because he didn’t want to say it didn’t make it true. Bill wanted to do things differently, but there was no undoing of the past. He had to keep pressing forward, and he didn’t think he’d get to do that for much longer.

Swallowing the growing amalgamation of pity, regret and self-loathing, Bill poked the bear again. “I never said you weren’t useful, you did build the thing I told you to in record time,” Bill averted his gaze to the bookshelf over Ford’s shoulder. “I just would have preferred if you listened to the rest of my instructions.”

“Of course you would’ve, you never seem to know what to do when you’re not completely in control of any given situation,” Ford responded, stepping closer. Bill’s eye flicked back over to him, warily watching every movement. “That’s the way you liked me best, right? Brainwashed and devoted? God forbid you actually give a shit about who I am when you’re not controlling me.”

Feeling the sting of tears in his eyes again, Cipher felt himself internally crackling like intricate glass. As if a tornado were tearing their fragile home apart with him still inside, Bill harbored the visceral pain of the siding being torn off, the shutters splintering and the windows cracking before shattering and covering him in razor sharp shards. 

The beautiful home from their memories was nothing more than a dilapidated haunted house that he had become the resident phantom of.

The neighborhood was finally deciding that the building was an eyesore and was relishing in the way it was crumbling away. After the storm, they’d finish tearing it down and step all over the grave of the person that used to live there. The only person that couldn’t seem to see the house for what it truly was: a disaster.

We could have had the multiverse, but he didn’t want it. Bill locked onto Ford’s angry glare, realizing he may just get what he was pivoting toward: an untimely end at the hand of his beloved mortal. He just wanted me and I was an idiot and couldn’t give him what he really wanted.

Bill had tried to have his cake and share it with Ford but Ford wanted a different dessert entirely.

Deciding it would be better to let Ford make the choice himself, Bill pressed onward. “Again, I never said that - I just said it would have been preferable to the original plan. We were supposed to take over the multiverse and I didn’t understand why you didn’t want that, I still don’t,” Bill tried to sound confident despite his tears. “You were always so bad at asking for what you wanted, always so vague.”

Ford’s shoulders twitched as he stood his ground. “I highly doubt that’s true, you could literally read my mind - there’s only one thing I ever asked you for and you wouldn’t give it to me,” he replied. “I could’ve requested anything in the entire fucking multiverse but you wouldn’t let me have the one thing I asked for.”

An all-knowing god with space and time at his very fingertips and yet there was one thing he couldn’t provide, himself. At least not for free, not willingly - Bill had to be earned through loyalty and grit. Ford put the work in, but he did things to Cipher’s mind and rewired his brain chemistry. 

At the time, it was concerning and a minor inconvenience that changed plans a bit. However, he was better versed with plans and deadlines than he was with affection and relationships. Planning and scheming worked in his favor the majority of the time. As a result, he’d chosen the former and thought it would grant him the latter.

Instead, he ended up with nothing at all.

It should have been a give and take but Cipher had been burned so many times before that he wasn’t sure if he should give anything. Now, he knew better. If he could take it back and fix it, he would but he couldn’t. He’d tried apologizing in his own ways but Ford didn’t believe him, he was sorry for the bad things but he still had goals. 

Bill’s ambition was their downfall, the wax wings of Icarus had melted away long before Cipher realized they were splattering to the ground and he plummeted to his death. Ford only watched from afar and wiped the stray wax off his face as it splattered across his body and the pavement. He’d done the same with the blood from Bill’s fall before he walked off like nothing had happened to begin with. Cipher was nothing more than a mess to clean up and Ford wasn’t going to bother with finding the mop, instead he was leaving altogether and letting someone else take care of it.

But no one came and so he lay there to rot in a murky puddle of his hopes and dreams.

Not bothering with wiping his tears away, Bill just let himself cry. He just wanted to get this over with, he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “I know, I’m sorry,” Cipher’s voice was strained as he said it. He knew Ford wouldn’t believe him, he hadn’t done so when he’d said these things before. Today wouldn’t be any different. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you that. Truly, but there wasn’t anything I could do-”

“Shut up! Yes, you could’ve!” He was shouting now, gripping the handle like it’d disappear. “You had everything I could have ever wanted at your fingertips, don’t fucking lie and say you didn’t.”

Bill opened his mouth to speak but snapped it closed when he didn’t know what to say. For all Ford’s misdeeds and grievances, he still was hung up on that after so long. Even if he tried to fake it, the only thing he wanted was Bill. His eyes widened as he tried to find words to express himself, to let Ford know that’s all he wanted too. However, just like every other time he’d tried to get on this rollercoaster with his former partner, Bill ended up being deemed too short to ride.

Choking out words was easier for Ford than it was for Bill. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now,” Ford demanded, stepping forward and pressing the gun flush against his forehead. Aimed dead center, leaving no room for error. This time, Ford would be sure he wouldn’t miss. “I could blow your brains out and paint the walls with it.”

Here they were at the end and Bill felt like he might actually be ready for it this time. All his desperate pining for death and all it took for him to embrace it was Stanford Pines taking on the role of the reaper. It was pathetic, in a way, that he didn’t feel complete without this insignificant mortal. But there’s nowhere he’d rather be.

Cipher looked Ford in the eye and told the truth. “I don’t have one,” he replied simply, letting himself cry since it was most likely the end. It didn’t matter if he saved face once he’d been disfigured by the bullet, anyway. Soon enough he’d be nothing but grey matter clinging to the cheap carpeted floor. “I’m crazy and awful and I shouldn’t have done any of those things, you have every right to kill me,” Bill’s voice broke as he spoke. “But if you do kill me, I’m glad it’s you…I think it was always supposed to be you.”

Debating if he should close his eyes or not, Bill was focused on the details of Ford’s face. He hoped that way he would remember them when he was gone. Bill cherished every freckle and wrinkle that creased his features. Looking into Ford’s eyes, seeing how truly exhausted he looked, fractured something else Bill didn’t know wasn’t broken to begin with. Maybe when I’m gone he’ll look peaceful and carefree again. Maybe then he’ll be happy.

There were so many things he desperately craved. So many experiences he’d never get to have and once Ford shot him, he wouldn’t even get to fantasize about again. There might just be nothing left once his mind was gone.

Bill wanted to sit with him on the porch and talk about anything and everything. He wanted to explore the cosmos together. He wanted to watch Ford pin moths until there weren’t any left in the entire multiverse. He wanted to apologize fully and for Ford to believe him when he said it. Cipher wanted to kiss him again, even if it was the last time.

Deciding his final words should be something he’d always wanted to say but never got to, Bill tried to string something of note together. Even if Ford didn’t believe him, maybe he’d rest easier after he said it. Hoping for repentance and salvation only seemed to happen when the god whose feet he prayed at were his partner’s.

Shakily inhaling, he forced himself to look past the gun against his forehead, “Pull the trigger, Six. We’ll both be better for it…” His voice was soft, revenant fondness coated his tone despite his erratic anxiety, “Just know I’m sorry we had to do this to begin with, I’m sorry it got this bad.” Projecting the confidence he wished he had, Bill tried to apologize for what he thought would be the final time, “I’m sorry I’m not good at showing that I care. If I could go back and fix it for you, I would - I promise, I would - but I can’t.”

The words were his final mantra, blasphemous scripture that only they could read. Just because Ford didn’t want to believe it didn’t change the fact that it was true. On his knees at the altar, he waited for the sweet release of death to take him. Cipher always thought he’d go out kicking and screaming. He never thought he’d go out with a whisper. 

He wished he had the confidence and resolve to tell Ford he loved him. That he loved him then and he loved him now. However, his mouth couldn’t form the words. How could I possibly convey unrelenting adoration?

Maybe after Ford shot him, he could be plunged into an endless dream and do all the things he yearned for over and over. Maybe he’d see nothing and all this hassle would have been a waste of time. There was only one way to find out.

Cipher’s heartbeat thundered in his ears as he began to feel lightheaded from the fear. The anticipation may just kill him before the bullet breached his skin. Deciding he’d seen all of Ford that he needed to, he closed his eyes and listened for the explosive cacophony of the gunshot.

Ford leered at him for a moment, conflicted and confused, before he was sighing heavily and shoving the gun back into its holster. Turning and walking away from him, Ford rubbed his face before running his hands through his hair and swearing profusely under his breath. Bill melted back into the chair and opened his eyes to watch in shock while Dr. Tseyvar exhaled all the anxiety she didn’t know she was harboring.

Today was a breakthrough but it was also nearly the end. Turning toward him, her voice was stern, “Dr. Pines, from now on you will be stripped of any and all weaponry before you step foot in this office again. Do I make myself clear?”

Not bothering to look at her, Ford waved dismissively. “Crystal,” he surrendered, sounding as guilty as he looked. Turning everything over in his head as he paced in front of the bookshelf, clearly still agitated.

Her fingers drummed on the desk’s surface as she watched him move. “Now, we could either wrap things up there or we could discuss why you felt as though you needed to draw a weapon,” she responded, cautious even if she was curious to press further. “Which would you both prefer?”

Horrified at the prospect of talking further, Bill waited to see what Ford would say first. He didn’t want to jump until Ford told him to. His breath was shallow as he pulled his knees closer to his chest and tried to calm down. Even if they stopped the session there, he’d still have to go home with Ford. It might be better to de-escalate things first.

Seemingly on the same page, Ford walked back to his respective chair but didn’t sit. Instead he leaned against the chair’s arm and took a deep breath. “We can try to discuss it,” he sounded unsure but seemed determined to press on.

Without saying anything, Bill nodded in agreement and set his chin on his knees. He didn’t feel up to properly moving, his body was still trembling from his brush with death. Nearly unable to look the doctor in the eye, Bill focused on the jar of pens on her desk, following every groove and pattern as his mind pretended he wasn’t in the room at all. 

He’d mentally prepared to be nothing more than blood and viscera mere moments ago. Trying to re-categorize everything felt like a daunting task, Bill’s mind felt as though he’d run a marathon. Emotional exhaustion settled over him like a thick blanket and threatened to lull him to sleep. Maybe after this he’d let himself rot in the basement for a while until he felt like rejoining the living.

Squaring her shoulders, Dr. Tseyvar was strict. Now that she’d had a true glimpse at their dynamic, the therapist was much more cautious. Things had gotten too comfortable on everyone’s part and they all had to deal with the consequences. Professionalism was key.

Sitting on the edge of her desk, she glanced first at her personal notes and then their respective notebooks strewn across the floor. “Please hand over your firearm before we continue,” she commanded with a hand outstretched. Ford was wary for a moment before he gave it to her. Double checking it was, in fact, loaded, she sighed in annoyance before placing it on the desk behind her. Debating where they ought to start, Dr. Tseyvar tried a gateway question, “Dr. Pines, what would you say was the trigger for your anger?”

With his head in his hands, Ford contemplated the question. Cipher was beyond trying to guess what he’d say next. Bill didn’t feel up to predicting anything anymore. His predictions only ever spelled out his demise. 

Ford pressed his palms against his eyes as he responded, “I don’t know…probably-” Abruptly, Ford sat up straight and cut himself off. He shot Bill a glance before carefully answering the question, “I don’t appreciate the way Cipher refers to his partners.”

It seemed they both were ignoring the tail end of his near death experience. Ford’s answer caught him off guard. Furrowing his brow, Bill wasn’t entirely sure what he was referring to. The therapist spoke up before Cipher could, “Are you able to clarify what you mean by that?”

Ford was determined as he spoke, “The fact that he acts like everyone he’s come into contact with was useless, myself included. I also don’t appreciate the way he throws all his previous partners in my face when he’s trying to manipulate me into complying.”

Rubbing at his face, Cipher didn’t fight the compulsion to defend himself since he didn’t have the energy for it. “I’m not throwing them in your face, I’m just stating the facts - there were other people before you, that’s a fact,” he stated without realizing that the sentiment wasn’t helping. “And they weren’t my partners, they were cultists,” he added as if that should be a consolation. 

They were all cultists and followers. You were my partner.

Gensutring to Bill beside him with his hand, Ford was exasperated, “This is exactly what I’m talking about. No one seems to have value to him and then he wonders why they feel that way.”

The doctor hummed in response before pivoting the question, “William, would you say you have issues seeing value in others?” Her arms were crossed over her chest as she leaned against her desk. Bill blinked over at her blankly before she was asking a follow up question, “Do you disagree with Stanford’s statement?”

Bill’s voice was hollow as he replied, “I do disagree. They had value, their values were just different.” Searching for what he wanted to say, Bill looked up at the ceiling and tried to collect his thoughts. “Again, Sixer was my partner. Everyone else was a member of my cult,” his gaze flicked back to her, determined to make his point clear. “I didn’t marry my cultists. I only ever got married once and that was with him, and I fucking meant it.”

Warily, he glanced over at Ford and noted the confusion across his face. Is that such a profound idea? They kept having this discussion and Bill was getting frustrated with it. Their scientific endeavors and romantic affiliation were different things, both of which Cipher had handled poorly. However, their correlation was irrelevant in his eyes. 

Cipher’s scrutinization of Ford’s apparent scientific shortcomings had no effect on the affection he harbored for his husband. It just didn’t come across in the way he intended. He was still trying to navigate the best way to talk about it but was failing at every turn.

As his mind felt sluggish, he was becoming more and more irritated with this train of thought. It made Bill wish he was better at articulating what he meant. He knew it wasn’t only his issue anymore, Ford had to be responding like this on purpose. It was as if he wanted to start a fight.

“You’re so hung up about our marriage but it’s nothing more than scraps of paper if you don’t do anything of note in practice,” Ford said as he sat back in his chair. “It’s an interesting idea, Cipher, but you make it less enticing every time you open your mouth.”

Squeezing his knees tighter, Bill frowned over at him. I don’t know how to appease him, the only time I see him remotely happy is when he’s reprimanding me or forgets who he’s talking to.  

Cipher didn’t want to keep fighting about this anymore. He didn’t feel like fighting over and over in these battles of wit where no one won. However, whether he liked it or not he still had to pick up his weapon and enter the arena. 

Fighting was all he’d been taught to do. Bill was a little toy soldier that had only ever known war. If he wasn’t fighting, what else was there? That was his purpose: to battle and lose a thousand times over. He was only meant for carnage, he didn’t get to experience what peace felt like.

If the battle was done, what was he good for?

Bill knew what buttons he would need to press to make Ford angry again, but he didn’t want to push them. He just wanted to know what peace felt like for more than a few minutes that passed by too fast. Especially now, he didn’t know what to say or do that would alleviate the situation. You’d think my final words would mean something to him. He was bitter about that, trying and subsequently failing to be open and honest. Then again, did he have the energy to fight about it?

Cipher’s anger flickered but it came and went because he couldn’t be bothered. If Ford didn’t believe him now, it almost felt pointless to keep trying. The ghosts of his past wanted him to be better than that but Bill didn’t want to listen to them right now. He wanted to be done talking.

Sighing, Bill decided to surrender again. He’d been doing that a lot lately, it felt the same as winning or losing: unsatisfactory. No matter what he did, Bill never seemed to be satisfied. Everything always ended in ways that had no clear benefit or prize. It seemed like the only way to make Ford happy was to give up altogether or rip into him so Ford could tear him to shreds.

Turning to Ford resolutely, Bill tried to give him whatever it was he wanted, “Like I said before, I am sorry about all that stuff and I am trying. I just don’t know what you want from me.” He sounded as defeated as he felt. “Tell me what you want and I’ll try to give it to you, but I don’t want to keep rehashing this discussion of whether or not I care because I do and quite frankly it freaks me out to even say that.”

Feeling a mixture of resentment, anger and exhaustion, Bill barely realized what he’d said. He’d told Ford outright that he cared and Ford’s response was to stare at him as if he’d suddenly grown a second head. Cipher wasn’t sure if that pissed him off more. It wasn’t this unfounded idea, it was a fact that Cipher thought was obvious. All Ford’s smarts apparently couldn’t get the dots to connect into a straight line. He’s so ludicrously obtuse.

Ford was quiet as they stared back at each other. Neither quite knowing what to say as the silence dragged on. Dr. Tseyvar figured this was an indication that she wouldn’t get any further progress out of them today. She decided to stick a pin in the latter half of their conversation for their next session. 

Standing and picking up their notebooks from the floor, she passed them back to their respective owners. “For our next session, I’d like you both to try discussing or writing about what you want out of this relationship,” she closed her own notebook on the desk before continuing. “Next week we will go over your answers and discuss what your communication looks like and how to improve, we will also be revisiting this session.”

Neither replied to her, instead they grabbed their notebooks off the floor and stood before shuffling out of her office. Guided by the security team back to the warp gate, they didn’t say another word other than half-assed goodbyes to the staff before stepping through the door.

Chapter Text

Once they made their way back to the house, it was deathly quiet. Neither of them dared to utter a word about their session. Ford wasn’t sure if he should say anything, after all their ups and downs what would lessen the blow that had already been dealt.

The crunch of leaves under their respective boots was drowned out by the sound of Ford’s internal monologue. Now, Cipher had multiple apologies under his belt and Ford didn’t know if he should accept them. The rational part of his brain didn’t want to (or was it now irrational? He wasn’t entirely sure) while the other part wanted to forgive and forget. However, forgetting wasn’t the best idea given the innate knowledge that history always repeated itself.

Not to mention, his family wasn’t going to give in as easily as Ford wanted to. After everything, there was no way they’d be so forgiving. It was Ford’s own twisted nostalgia that made him inclined to do so and misplaced affection clouded his judgement. A sickness inflicted on him that he just couldn’t seem to remedy.

Mentally, he was still hung up on the fact that Bill outright said he’d cared. That he essentially cared then and he cared now. Even if he sounded exhausted and irritated when he’d said it, the words still fell from his lips. Ford almost wondered if he’d imagined hearing them at all. Knowing his former partner cared was the equivalent of discovering the treasure at the end of a long journey and Ford wasn’t used to feeling that way.

In these circumstances, Ford’s princess was usually being held captive in another castle.

Now that he’d obtained the holy grail, Stanford didn’t know what to do with it. Should he put it back where he found it? Should he throw it out like yesterday's trash? Should he hide it away amongst troves of treasure and never let someone take it from him? It was hard to say, especially because he wasn’t sure if it was the real deal.

Ford couldn’t discern between the truth and lies, with Cipher they were always intertwined in the worst ways. Hearing him say he cared could be a repeat offense and he would be the gullible idiot that believed it if he accepted these apologies. Ford would be shamed amongst his family for the foreseeable future if he let it slip just how much he truly missed him. At least he felt like that would be the case, his mind knew cherishing his abuser was heinous on his part.

Although, just as Bill had said during their session: Ford was a tainted sinner just like everyone else. His vice of choice was to covet the things that were not his to keep. The things that he shouldn’t have wanted to begin with. That was just his lot in life, wanting too much and getting to keep too little of it.

As they started to get closer to the house, Ford could see that the lights were on in the living room. Dim and flickering, which let him know the kids were most likely watching TV. He smiled softly to himself at the reminder that the twins were here. It was a safety net for his melancholic misfortune. If everything else went poorly, at least he had them. At least he had family.

Spending more time with them over the past few years was gradually filling the gaping wound Cipher had left behind. It might take a decade, but they might just fill it. Cipher could fill the space in one go if Ford would let him. They both knew it but it went unspoken as they walked up the porch steps.

Bill trailed behind him in silence before Ford was pausing in front of the door. He looked back to see Bill illuminated by the overhead porch light. Caressing his features in ways that pulled at Stanford’s heartstrings in the worst ways. If only every moment felt like this one. Quiet and serene as they inhabited the same space was just the way he wanted them. Ford wanted peace even if he’d never experienced it before.

Clearing his throat, Ford tried to bridge the gap. Their session was less than ideal and he hadn’t gotten to properly respond to Cipher’s last statement. Ford felt as though he had more to get off his chest. “Care to talk a bit more? We didn’t exactly finish our discussion,” his voice was laced with trepidation as Bill raised an eyebrow.

Seemingly considering it for a moment, Bill paused at the top of the stairs. They gazed back at one another until he replied, “Sure, just try to make it fast….”

Humming in agreement, they entered the house together and made their way to the kitchen. Ford started a kettle of tea even if he wanted caffeine from coffee. He was starting to burn out and his cravings only felt more extreme after his stress from their session. He knew he shouldn’t indulge in it, no matter how badly he wanted to. Ford was supposed to stop taking those pills now that the kids were here, he kept giving in and wasn’t making much tangible progress.

As the kettle heated up, Ford tried to figure out what to say. Cipher stood beside the kitchen table and leaned against it but didn’t move to sit down. Apparently when he said make it fast, he meant it. Grabbing a few mugs from the cupboard, Ford tried to distract his wandering mind.

Bill started their conversation, growing impatient with Ford’s stalling, “What did you want to talk about?” Ford could hear him shuffling on his feet to dispel tension.

Deciding he’d been silent long enough, Ford turned back to him. Even if he hadn’t quite gathered his thoughts yet, something was better than nothing. Crossing his arms over his chest, his voice was light, “Did you mean what you said? About caring.” He figured it would be preferable to get straight to the point.

Rubbing a hand over his eyes, Bill seemed most irritated with having to repeat himself. “Yes, IQ - I care,” he replied, his voice strained. “How many different ways do you want me to say it before you stop asking me?”

Ford’s fingers twitched as he tried to figure out if the question was rhetorical. His feelings on the statement itself were converging and melding into something that was consuming him whole. He cared. He’s trying to fix it. He’s trying to apologize. Even if he could feel the hope blossom from the amalgamation of emotion, it was also combined with hesitation. 

The last time he knew Cipher cared, it wasn’t this easy. Not to mention, it wasn’t healthy in the slightest. Ford wasn’t sure if Bill realized that part yet, that if he cared he’d have to show it differently. Ford almost wondered if Bill knew how to do that.

Fidgeting with fingers, Ford tried not to show any of the swirling emotions within himself. “I’m just not sure if you realize the fact that someone who cares wouldn’t act the way you acted,” his response was casual. Ford wasn’t sure what question he ought to be asking, he was flying blind and praying to a god he didn’t believe in that he wouldn’t crash and burn.

Cipher blew him off in essence, scoffing to himself and waving dismissively. “Yes, we’ve established that - you aren’t a fan of my methods now that you’re better or something,” he replied absentmindedly. “Like I said, you tell me what you want and I’ll figure it out but rehashing this over and over isn’t getting us anywhere.”

At that, Ford frowned as the kettle began to hiss softly. Ignoring the sound, Ford stood up for his point of view. “Don’t you have any remorse for your behavior?” He asked, incredulously. Cipher acted as if this entire conversation was beneath him and Ford wasn’t sure if he was pushing buttons on purpose.

Downplaying his behavior wasn’t doing them any favors but Cipher didn’t seem to register that fact. Instead he pressed onward. “I didn’t say I didn’t feel remorse, I’m just saying you don’t seem to know what you want,” his response was succinct. 

As the kettle hissed louder, it still wasn’t able to drown out the ringing in Ford’s ears. Was it not obvious what he wanted? He wondered to himself as he looked Bill over. I want progress, then an apology that sounds believable. No excuses, no shortcuts, no fluff and no bullshit - just honesty and credibility. Cipher had destroyed both aspects years ago and didn’t seem to understand that nothing but bits of rubble were left.

A demolished building he’d blown to pieces was all that remained. Cipher walked through the barely standing doorway and sat down on the only chair left in the room with the assumption that everything else was just where he’d left it. His entitlement knew no bounds since he didn’t realize that Ford was the one currently in the middle of rebuilding everything with his bare hands.

Ford tapped his foot as he spoke, a subtle way to release his pent up energy, “I want you to grow as a person and take accountability for your actions without making asinine excuses.” It felt ridiculous that he needed to say anything of the sort to begin with.

Carding his fingers through his hair, Bill rolled his eyes. “You don’t even know what that looks like, you’re just saying random bullshit,” he retorted before glancing at the kettle whistling louder and louder. “You ask why I did things, I tell you - you don’t want to hear it. You ask me to describe how I saw things, I explain it - you get mad.”

Ford finally turned back to the kettle on the stove and turned the burner off before moving it aside. Doesn’t he understand why it’s not so cut and dry? Sighing as he set a tea bag into the kettle to steep, Ford turned back to him. Taking in Bill’s agitated expression, he idly considered that this may turn into another fight. 

They’d just got done with their dose of fighting and they were about to take another. A drug that was forced down their throats over and over because neither was able to tap out of their competition. Who could be the most miserable? That seemed to be the only question in the back of their minds when they started this and Ford wasn’t sure if he felt like answering it tonight.

Maybe I ought to just shelve this for later…when I’m not so tired or high strung. Ford considered it for a moment. “I’m not just saying random bullshit, I’m trying to have a conversation with you about it and you deflect and dismiss everything outright,” Ford replied. “I didn’t just want to talk about that, I know you were upset about the stuff I said back then and I wanted to talk about that too but if you can’t handle having a conversation we can just try again some other time.”

Cipher querked an eyebrow in response, “What? You mean all the shitty things you said to me when you kicked me out?” The words seemed to leave a sour taste in Bill’s mouth. He wrapped his arms around his torso as he spoke. “I thought you got a pass for that because of your holier-than-thou attitude.”

Glancing at the kettle, he debated on abandoning the tea altogether and throwing in the towel on their discussion. “If you don’t want to be productive, we can just forget I said anything.”

Bill groaned in annoyance as Ford made the decision to just forget about it. Turning to head out of the room, he paid Bill no mind as he walked past him. At least, until Bill pressed one of his bright red buttons on purpose. Intended as a backhanded joke at his expense, Cipher inadvertently picked up the gauntlet again. “Maybe I should have found another scientist, then we wouldn’t be having this ridiculous conversation in the first place,” Bill called out as Ford was walking out the door.

That caused Ford to stop in his tracks. Without an ounce of hesitation, he turned and looked over at Bill in disgust. As if a match had been lit, Ford could feel the flames of his anger reignite all over again. “Of course you wish you had done that, everything and everyone is just so expendable to you, aren’t they?” Ford asked, gradually raising his voice. “That’s why anyone who's ever been associated with you left or is dead and gone - you either drive them to the farthest ends of the multiverse or to the grave.”

Ignoring Bill’s original tone or his own blatant crossing of the line, he stalked further into the kitchen and clutched the counter, unable to even stand to look at Bill. Nails digging into the caulking between the tiles, Ford realized he was going to start this fight again. He just couldn’t help himself, Cipher’s frivolous nature pissed him off to no end and drove him to do things he knew he shouldn’t. 

Bill scoffed at him as he stepped in Ford’s direction. “They sure are, Sixer, and when you act like this you’re not an exception to the rule,” he spat, crossing his arms across his chest. Although he looked hurt, Ford paid him no mind. “I know you like to feel as though you’re so high and mighty - but you’re not. You’re not special - I could have found any number of geniuses the multiverse over that knew how to follow instructions-”

Ford stopped him from continuing as he grabbed the nearest ceramic mug and threw it in Bill’s direction, just barely missing his shoulder. “Don’t do that - don’t say stuff like that,” Ford was breathing heavily as his anger boiled over. “Here I thought maybe this was salvageable, then you say the most bone-headed, inconsiderate, ridiculous bullshit I’ve ever heard.”

Wide-eyed in shock, Bill seemed most surprised that Ford threw something at him. The sound of the shattered cup was ringing in both their ears. Ford didn’t even register that he shouldn’t have broken anything, he was blindly reacting to the stimuli around him. Stepping on the landmines on purpose because then it meant that they would both be blown to smithereens. 

In his blind rage, Ford grabbed a glass off the counter and threw that too. Bill flinched away as it shattered at his feet. “What the hell are you doing?!” He asked, becoming equally irate. “I’m just saying things you already know, you said it yourself - everyone is just so expendable, right?”

Even if Ford had said it, he didn’t want Bill to greenlight the idea. Ford wasn’t sure what he wanted, all he knew was that he was losing his grip on his emotions all over again. “You’re the worst…I swear, I don’t know why I ever expect better of you,” he sneered.

“I wouldn’t know either! You’re the one that fucks around and then throws a pity party when you have to find out,” Bill responded. Whatever had set him off this time was apparently enough to meet Ford right where he was. They had rejoined the relationship Ford remembered. The one he secretly craved after all this time no matter how painful and despicable. “You always have to be special and perfect and the only important thing in the multiverse- well guess what, Pines, you’re fucking not!”

Before Bill came back, Ford didn’t think of himself in those ways anymore. He’d spent years trying to unravel that entire mentality. Now that he’d returned, they resurfaced as if they’d never left to begin with. Since there was a chance that Ford could be regarded as “special,” “perfect,” and “important” by Cipher again, he longed for it despite knowing he didn’t need to. Ford was a glutton for punishment, never content with the amount he was given as he practically begged for more.

Digging his nails into his palm, Ford tried not to throw something else. “Why do you have to be like this? One second you seem like a real person and then the next you’re the heinous monster I kicked out over thirty years ago,” Ford asked the question but it was rhetorical. 

Sighing with exasperation, Bill sounded more agitated by the second. “Because you say and do shitty things too!” He couldn’t help but raise his voice. “If I didn’t care about you so damn much I’d probably be ruling the galaxy! Instead, I’m here while you throw stuff at me and berate me for things I can't change.” 

Carding a hand through his hair, Ford sighed in turn. “You just don’t get it, do you?” He asked, irritated with having to over explain himself time and time again. “You ruined my life and you act like you don’t even see anything wrong with that.”

“I do see something wrong with it! I just don’t know what you want from me,” Bill was losing his own slivers of patience. The exhaustion was written all over his face but Ford pretended not to notice. “I can’t go back in time, I can’t change anything, I can’t make it different! You want me to bend fucking space and time for you and I can’t do that anymore.”

Shutting his eyes, Ford’s voice was strained, “I just want you to fucking apologize and mean it. I don’t want all your stupid excuses, I want you to sound sorry for all of it.”

Throwing his hands up, Cipher nearly sounded like he’d start laughing. It was as if he couldn’t believe Ford had the audacity to ask for what he was owed. “I am sorry for all that stuff, it just sounds like you want me to be sorry for the good parts and the bad parts and I’m not sorry for the good parts,” he replied. “You’re the one who isn’t sorry for your own shitty behavior! You ruin stuff all by yourself but you don’t feel bad about it - then accuse me instead!”

Ford pushed himself off the counter, “You know, I actually do feel bad for the stuff I said back then, but when you act like this I don’t feel so sorry anymore.” He probably should acknowledge all that stuff, but it didn’t seem as bad as everything Cipher had done so he wasn’t sure if he should. It felt hypocritical but Ford didn’t care. “Just because I reacted to all your torture and games doesn’t make me as much of a fucking monster as you - I was never that bad.”

Face contorting, Bill looked like Ford had actually hit him when he threw that glass earlier. His fingers trembled as he wrapped his arms around himself more defensively. “Could have fooled me, I’m sure your ego was given quite the boost when you knocked the big, scary monster down a peg,” Bill replied. Even if his voice wavered, Ford knew he wouldn’t back down.

That was how their fights were, neither would give up for anything. It always had to be to the death, a sweeping defeat, otherwise whoever won wouldn’t be satisfied. Not that either was satisfied after the fighting in the first place. In their battles of will, neither truly came out on top. Instead they just got to experience how lonely it was to stand at the pinnacle.

Now that the adrenaline was coursing through his veins, Ford lost all sensibility. If Cipher wants to play dirty, then so will I. Ford nearly laughed at him, “Sure did - seeing the expression you had when I threw everything in that fire and told you to follow that stuff straight to hell was a power trip I’ll never be able to replicate.” He was too far gone to think about the effect his words would have in the long run. If they really were going to try to fix things this would complicate the process tremendously. 

And deep down, Ford did want to fix it. However, pride was his biggest downfall.

The deadly sins stalked him. Greed lured him into taking more than he deserved or had been given. Envy drove him to covet a person that wasn’t his to begin with. Wrath consumed him in the blink of an eye. Sloth made him slow to make tangible progress on improving their relationship. Lust clouded his judgment and tricked his mind into being unsure where he stood. Gluttony impulsively made him crave more of the push and pull of their ever present destruction. 

Pride twisted his perspective and turned him into a hypocrite. It fueled everything else until it engulfed Ford fully and drove him to do things he shouldn’t. Ford had danced with the devil more times than he could count and now he had followed Ford home.

Ford watched as pain creased his features, the words hit their intended target. Knowing he’d shot dead-center, Ford fired again. “Maybe you should have just taken my advice, then we really wouldn’t be having this conversation - we wouldn’t have had any other conversation ever again if you would have listened and killed yourself,” Ford said with a bitter scowl. “But I know your pride is too great to listen to anything other than the senseless, schizophrenic rambling you call a brain.”

Even though he didn’t mean it, Ford said it anyway. He wanted to be hurtful. He wanted to knock Bill down and didn’t care at the moment about how difficult it would be to help him back up again. They were always taking three steps forward and then shoving the other person six steps back. 

Just a few weeks ago he was telling Cipher not to hurt himself. Telling him resolutely not to try again. Now he was saying to his face that he should have. Ford was telling him outright that they’d be better off if Cipher was dead.

Shaking to himself, Bill must have realized he also had free range to throw things as tears welled up in his eyes and he grabbed the first thing within reach, a coffee mug, and threw it at Ford’s head. He just barely moved out of the way and tried to remain neutral as he heard it shatter behind him. “You’re such an asshole, you know that?!” Bill asked, trying to keep his voice steady. 

“Yeah? Well it takes one to know one,” Ford replied simply as he leaned back against the counter. “ What - you can dish it out but can’t take it?” Ford asked, glancing at the ceramic shards littering the countertop and the ones that had fallen into the kettle. “It’s just so hard to be you, right? Delusional and psychotic - no one else gets affected by that, apparently.”

Ford had crossed the line a long time ago, he almost had forgotten what the other side of the fence looked like. The moral high ground was starting to look more like the pits of hell with every word that came out of his mouth. Now, Ford was saying everything that the version of him from 30 years ago should have said. Except now those things were directed at a completely different person, he just didn’t want to see them that way.

Instead, he kept being inflammatory. “Oh, wait - that’s right, there’s an entire fucking dimension that knows that isn’t true,” he spat and watched Cipher flinch. “Well, knew, I suppose.”

Grabbing another mug and throwing it as Ford stepped aside, Bill started crying in earnest. “I can take it just fine, you should know that better than anybody!” He was shouting now as he grabbed a handful of silverware and threw that too. “You- you know damn well…and yet you still say this stuff, you still do these things and you knew it wasn’t easy! You know what I went through, you know no one would believe me and you know I’m trying - you know and you still punish me for it as if I can go back in time and make every single thing different.”

The silverware clattered to the floor as Ford started to feel an inkling of guilt sneak in. He did and should know better. He had read about how Bill opened up at length in the files from the facility about the ways he’d been treated before his dimension was wiped out. The extensive medical procedures against his will. The blatant disgust from everyone around him. 

The entire thing had been a horrific accident.

Cipher had been trying to get someone in his flat world to believe him to no avail. Instead it had blown up in his face and he’d been experimented on like a freak of nature that wouldn’t stop screaming. Only ever seen as an inconvenience for being alive.

Everything about the way Bill lived his life was a product of being abused and taken advantage of time and time again. It gave him a warped perception of reality that he was trying to rectify. Ford knew, but tonight he was angry. He’d picked up the gauntlet which meant he had to finish the fight and win. No matter how much it hurt them both to do so.

Stepping around the ceramic shards and spare silverware littering the floor, Ford moved closer. “You’re right - I do know, that doesn’t mean you should get a pass for running your mouth and spouting nonsense,” Ford replied. “It must be nice to just make shit up all the time and fully believe in the fantasy.”

Another shot fired straight into the bullseye, striking clean through. Cipher’s fingers twitched over the table, tempted to grab something else to throw. “I’m not making it up! You know that was real - all those things were real,” through labored breathing, Bill was raising his voice. Pleading with his eyes from where he stood for Ford to believe him. As if the idea that the mortal didn’t believe him physically pained him. “Don’t fucking lie to me!”

Cipher’s trembling frame shook like a stray leaf during a hurricane. Clinging to its respective branch for dear life, even as it knew the action was futile. Ford could see the panic attack start up in real time, it was a violent reaction to every piece of vitriol spewed in his direction. 

Despite the fact that Ford did wholeheartedly believe him, he knew that statement would be the catalyst to set Bill off. Triggering him on purpose as punishment was his current strategy. That was how they’d keep fighting. Knowing intrinsically what would hurt him the most only helped Ford win the battle, even though it would turn the tide of the war for the worst. 

They didn’t want to fight on the front lines anymore, but the pair ended up face to face on the battlefield every single time.

Unable to stop himself, Ford turned up the heat. He wanted to boil Cipher alive before he realized the stove was on. “You’re one to talk! As if you’d actually say something and mean it. You’re the biggest liar in the multiverse - your tricks might work on everyone else but it’ll be a cold day in Hell before they work on me ever again,” Ford replied as he stepped further into Bill’s space. “I don’t think you’ve ever said an honest sentence in your entire, miserable life.”

Then Cipher was throwing a glass cup at him, only narrowly missing. “That’s not true and you know it,” he was speaking through labored breathing, gradually falling apart for Ford’s amusement.

Although, a small voice in the back of his mind wasn’t enthusiastic in the slightest. In fact, it was full of regret that only grew every time Ford opened his mouth or threw something. But he wouldn’t let Cipher know that as he tried to squash it down. 

The angry stream of consciousness left his lips as if he’d gone back in time. The person talking wasn’t the 60-year old scientist who’d put himself back together. The words came straight from the 30-year old prodigy who was actively falling apart.

Scoffing at him, Ford threw his hands up, “Obviously I don’t!” He nearly started laughing. “It’s not like you’ve ever proved me wrong: Oh, Ford, I swear I care about you! Oh, Ford, I promise I’m not trying to take over your dimension! Oh, Ford, don’t worry about the coffee I poured in your eyes - that was just an accident!" He was shouting as he blatantly mocked him. “Oh, Ford, marry me! We’re a scientific miracle and I promise this is the best decision of our lives!”

Flinching again, Bill reached out for another object, he picked up the next cup beside him as his hands trembled harder, nearly causing him to drop it. “Don’t say that…” his voice broke as he clutched the cup harshly. His last lifeline before they truly lost track of themselves. “You can say all the fucked up things you want about me, but not about that.”

It gave Ford pause for a moment as he staggered in his steps. He hadn’t been expecting that, for Cipher to see their marriage as something more important than himself. There wasn’t anything Bill put above himself, at least that’s what Ford originally thought. Apparently after all this time, Bill could still surprise him. Maybe that means he’s changing, the thought came and went as he steeled his gaze and pressed on.

“After everything, that’s what you’re still concerned about? Our sham of a marriage that you trapped me into?!” Ford was raising his voice as he kept pressing buttons. “In case you were unaware, we have bigger fish to fry - like the rest of your behavior, including this stupid fight you started.”

Setting the cup back on the table, Bill wiped at his face before crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re the one who really started it- in therapy today,” he couldn’t stand to look at him as he said it, as if the very idea of doing so disgusted him. Hiccuping and trying to catch his breath, Bill kept talking even if he wanted to avoid everything about this in its entirety, “You say these things and then wonder why I don’t just sit there and take it.”

That added enough fuel to the fire for Ford to lay into him. “Yeah, well if you hadn’t done any of the things you did when we were together I wouldn’t be inclined to react that way,” he said, stepping closer.

Rolling his eyes, Bill tried to pretend like it didn’t bother him. Even if they both knew it did, he was trying to convince himself of the lie. “I can’t do anything about that now, it was thirty fucking years ago, when are you going to move on?” He asked, being dismissive only worked half the time. Tonight was not one of those times, especially since certain tricks didn’t work multiple times in a row.

Anger bubbled out of him all over again, Ford was starting to feel less guilty about everything he was saying. It was all par for the course at this point, especially since Bill was finally fighting back. They were rejoining the familiar, a stream that had split at a crossroads was converging again. Their boat was returning to the river they knew far too well and Ford felt as though he didn’t need a map anymore to chart their journey. He knew how to get to the destination by heart.

“Maybe when it seems like you actually feel bad about it!” Ford raised his voice again, this time he couldn’t help himself from laughing. “You literally destroyed my life, tried to kill my family and you’re fucking crying about how I treat you?! You’re lucky I even talk to you at all!” He felt manic as his mind ran through every unfortunate circumstance that brought them together. “You’re a psychopath! I should have told them I wasn’t doing this and made you someone else’s problem.”

As his tears poured over, Bill’s gaze flicked down to the floor. “That shouldn’t mean it’s alright for you to do or say this stuff,” he was petulant but still couldn’t look Ford in the eye. “If you ever actually cared, you wouldn’t act like that.”

Everything was boiling over faster than Ford could acknowledge it. “What would you know about actually caring? You’re the one that damn near killed me on multiple occasions,” Ford replied. “On purpose!”

Looking conflicted, Bill bit the inside of his cheek before responding, “I’m just saying…if your whole point is that you care and I don’t, then why are you doing this?”

The question momentarily caught him off guard. Ford was now met with his personal dilemma all over again. If Cipher was wrong for doing all these things, where did that put Ford? Doing things out of malice seemed worse than doing things by accident. Bill hadn’t done everything by accident, but he was trying to fix it - at least in some capacity. Ford, conversely, was acting with malicious intent. 

Actively pressing buttons until they got stuck that way. Destroying the bridge Cipher was actively in the process of building wasn’t doing them any favors. But doesn’t he deserve it, after everything? That was the true question. Did it matter if Ford was morally wrong now since Cipher was morally wrong then? 

It was thirty years ago, but to Ford’s disjointed mind it might as well have been yesterday.

Sighing in annoyance, Ford rolled his eyes. “That’s not the point, the point is that you need to take accountability for your behavior. Starting fights with me over random garbage doesn’t exactly help your case,” he said. The tension between them was palpable.

It was a thinly veiled excuse and they both knew it. Ford was just saying and doing these things to be hurtful. Deep down, he relished in the fighting. That was their “normal” and he found comfort in the familiar. Even if it was detrimental to them both, he wanted to be as close to the familiar as possible. If Bill was fighting with him, Ford felt as though he was fighting for him. Stanford wanted to be worth the fight, to be worthy of the slaughter and to pillage the spoils of war.

When they were together they had to fight tooth and nail to get to the good part. The simplicity and serenity of domesticality was only granted after intense carnage. It was the path less traveled but they always went down that road.

At the time, neither realized that path was less traveled for a reason.

“Yeah, well when you act like this I don’t really feel like being “accountable,” instead I just feel like telling you to fuck off,” Bill replied as he looked back at him, a new fire in his eyes. “You react like a lunatic at every opportunity, it’s not like we can have a productive conversation to begin with.”

“That’s not my fault - it’s the result of your shitty behavior and decisions. All these issues I have with you are just the product of your deranged mind,” he responded, outright dismissing him. “I’m trying to fix this or at the very least make having to go through this process tolerable, the least you can do is not purposefully provoke me.”

Ford was a hypocrite, plain as day but he didn’t care. At this point, it was obvious that Ford was just fighting to fight but Bill was so strung out and he was just following along. Each statement was a calculated counterstrike that the pair had perfected over the years. Each wanted to catch the other in a conversational trap to keep them at the other person’s mercy. If they worked together instead of against each other, the multiverse would truly be at their feet. Instead, everyone was just relieved they weren’t staring into the barrel of the gun.

Gripping the top of the chair next to him, Bill stared into him with hurt clear in his eyes. Ford was slightly wary that he was going to throw the chair next. “You’re trying to fix this?! You think calling me a monster and relishing in my suffering is fixing anything? Maybe you’re crazier than I thought,” Bill said before wrapping his other hand around the top of the chair.

Before he could lift it, Ford was crossing the room and grabbing his wrist in warning. “Yes, I am - it’s not going to be easy, you literally tortured and manipulated me, of course I’m not willing to just let you do as you please,” Ford responded. His grip became tighter until Bill’s hand was giving out and releasing the chair. “I know you’re not exactly used to not having your way, but you’ll need to learn sooner or later that everything isn’t about you.”

As the tears fell down his face, scrunched up in a mixture of confusion and strife, Bill tried to pull his hand out of Ford’s grasp. “It’s not all about you either, Brainiac - I know it’s hard for you golden-boy types to not be the center of attention but I would have thought your father would have instilled that in you better,” once the words left his lips he didn’t get to say anything else because Ford hit him.

It was a split-second decision that his mind didn’t fully make. The phrase activated something within him like a sleeper agent and he just acted on instinct. It wouldn’t have mattered who said the words, Ford would have knocked the wind out of them regardless.

Bill crumpled in on himself and leaned against the back of the chair for support. It creaked lightly under his weight as he did so but didn’t give. He used his free hand to hold his face, Ford could see that the prosthetic had become dislodged in his eye socket. Cipher’s fingers itched to fix it, but that seemed like the least of their problems as he looked but didn’t see Ford's hand.

Ford then snatched up his chin and forced Bill to look him in the eye, digging his nails into Bill’s skin until he punctured it. “Don’t ever talk about my father again, do you understand me?!” He asked, fully shouting again as he was blinded by rage. “Because the next time you do, I’m not just going to punch you - I’m going to fucking shoot you and leave your useless corpse out by your lousy excuse for a headstone.”

The fear in Cipher’s eyes nearly made Ford back off. He opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t choke out the words, all he could do was sob and try to pull away from him. Writhing in his clutches, Bill started to look as panicked as he felt.

This might just be the best way to get my point across, he doesn’t listen until I’m angry. Pushes all my buttons then wonders why the switchboard is lit up like the fourth of July. Ford drug him closer before he spoke strictly, his voice low to force Cipher to pay attention, “I don’t want to hear you talk about other scientists, I don’t want you to mention my father, and I don’t want to hear another word of these lies about what you want me to think you believe because it’s not working.”

Bill looked at him before his eyes frantically were glancing around as he began hyperventilating. “If you want to fix this with me, just fucking say that and we can work on it but if you say things like what you said earlier, we’re not going to be fixing anything and you’ll either be signing those papers at the end of this year or leaving in a body bag.”

When he said it, he meant it. Ford was going to toss him out like yesterday’s paper if Bill couldn’t act accordingly. Their arguments were all fun and games until one of them struck a nerve that caused a full breakdown. It was as if a church bell tolled and signalled the arrival of something truly sinister, the devil himself.

As his eyes flickered back and forth, Bill abruptly fixated on something. Ford turned to look at the doorway to see Dipper and Mabel peering around the corner in horror. Ford released him, suddenly hyper-aware of his actions. What am I doing?  

Placing a hand over his chest, Bill doubled over and continued breathing heavily as if he’d just run a marathon. Ford was frozen in place as the kids were watching him and he was staring back. It felt impossible to think of something to say, but he didn’t need to because Bill was hitting him back.

Chapter Text

It was surreal to hit Ford back. Bill was so used to being regarded as a proverbial punching bag, but now that he was becoming a real one his fight or flight kicked in. For some reason he chose to fight back instead of run. Cipher knew the kids were there, he wasn’t sure how much they had seen or heard but he wasn’t sure how they’d react.

Maybe that was the catalyst, that he wanted to save face even in moments that didn’t matter.

As adrenaline coursed through his veins, Bill could only cautiously step back as his hand burned. As if slapping Ford was akin to the sensation of placing his palm on a hot stove. Cipher’s hand was blistering and peeling as if he’d truly touched something he shouldn’t have. 

The sound of his glasses clattering to the floor echoed in Cipher’s ears. He was breathing heavily as he watched Ford bring a hand to his face in shock before cutting him a glare filled with vitriol. Stanford didn’t seem to think he would actually fight back.

“What, is it only alright when you get to do it?!” Bill asked as his voice wavered, pulling one of the chairs in between them. “Then again, Six - you’ve never been one to play fair.”

Ignoring the kids standing in the doorway, Ford stalked over and wrenched the chair out of the way before grabbing Bill again higher up from his wrist. The screeching of the wooden legs of the dining room chair on the linoleum were like nails on a chalkboard. The sound was grating in his ears and seemed to have no end, Bill almost couldn’t remember when it had started. Ford’s grip was strong, as if he wanted to snap the bone within his palm. 

Bill cried out as he tried to break free to no avail. He’s so much stronger than this vessel, Cipher realized as his mind was moving a hundred miles a minute trying to figure out the next course of action. Cipher wasn’t used to being so weak. It melded into the whispers in the back of his mind about being useless. What was the point in a tailor made body if it couldn’t defend itself?

He was only able to think of one reaction at a time, his mind couldn’t process two or three steps ahead while Ford was towering over him and breathing down his neck. His heart beat erratically in his chest as he hyperventilated, Ford’s outburst had caused a full blown panic attack and Bill was sure he was going to die. In the disjointed maze of his mind, Bill wasn’t able to remember how to breathe properly. He couldn’t recall how to breathe, how to blink or how to move.

Ford is going to kill me and drag me out to the woods to discard the body, his mind feeding him the stream of consciousness as he cried harder. He wanted to beg and plead for Ford to let go of him. He wanted to try to apologize for setting him off. He wanted to do anything. Bill was trapped in survival mode and all words had left him, there was no turning back now.

Anything he wanted to say was firmly lodged in his throat as Ford’s hand tightened around his arm. Bill could feel his capillaries puncturing beneath his skin underneath Ford’s fingertips. A new set of six-fingered bruises to match the ones that used to be on my neck.  

With vivid clarity, Bill could recall the feeling Ford had left when he strangled him weeks ago. The swelling and the bruises that darkened significantly before lightening and disappearing. Even if those marks weren’t visible anymore, he could feel them on his throat like a white-hot brand. They served as a permanent reminder of his place in Ford’s personal hierarchy - beneath him. Maybe he’ll leave a matching set.  

As if he was reading his mind, Ford grabbed his other arm with the same blinding strength. This time, higher up as he grabbed his bicep. Cipher couldn’t do anything outside of writhe and cry. His choked sobs and hitched breaths bounced off the walls of the kitchen. The children cowering in the doorway were long forgotten as Bill stared into his second brush with death.

Cipher could feel his face beginning to bruise and swell, along with his wrist. He wasn’t sure if any of the glass earlier had cut him, he was too far gone to care or take stock of his injuries. There was only one question on his mind: How am I going to hide this from the therapist? He’d have to ask Wendy or Melody for a favor to help him cover it with makeup. He’d also have to ask for new clothes to cover all the bruises.

Even if he was terrified beyond belief and in crippling pain, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of hope blossom in his chest. Even if he hates me and is actively trying to hurt me, he’s touching me. Bill’s mind nagged at him. He’s still willing to touch me and he says he wants to fix it…he’s just mad right now. Bill was rationalizing with himself and making excuses for the behavior, Ford will get this out of his system and we can go back to the way we were before.

Before Ford was upset and before he remembered how much he hated him. When Ford was braiding his hair and laughing like nothing had ever bothered him, that was what Bill wanted to get back to. The closer they were to that, then they’d be closer to sitting on the porch doing nothing at all. He just had to endure the hard part, then he’d be granted his reward: Ford’s affection.

Knowing this train of thought was dangerous was one thing, but actively feeling hopeful about it was another. The sheer wrongness of his unrelenting adoration made guilt wash over him. He’d stooped low enough to cling to the person actively hurting him. But just like water off a duck's back, it came and went because Ford was close. He was here. He had stayed. They were sharing the same rare air and that was enough.

“After all the ways you’ve hurt me over the years, I think I’m entitled to return the favor,” Ford sneered in his face as he pulled Bill closer. He spoke low so the kids might not hear him. “Your deplorable behavior earned this as a reaction.”

In other words, I deserve it. Ford could punch him and throw things and bruise him all he liked because Bill deserved it. No matter who he surrounded himself with, everyone believed wholeheartedly that he was supposed to be in pain. They believed he was meant to be miserable. They believed he should take the abuse because he had earned it.

Deep below the surface, Cipher knew Ford was right. He did deserve it. He had earned it. After all, the abuse was his birthright. Just because he’d stung first didn’t mean the hornet wasn’t going to pierce him back. Bill had done a slew of awful things over the last trillion years but within the last three centuries he finally started to feel bad about it.

Now that his emotions enveloped him in full force, he couldn’t turn them off. All he could do was play his part in their theatrical duet and hope he’d get to live to see an encore performance. Everything about Cipher’s life had led him to this exact moment and even if it wasn’t ideal…he didn’t know what the outcome would be if he’d done things differently.

There was a clear order of operations when it came to their deadly four-dimensional chess. Moving any one piece would fundamentally change the entire board. As a result, Bill had to accept all the horrific things that brought them here because they’d ended up together. 

Together was enough, no matter how painful.

Obviously Ford didn’t feel the same way. Instead of seeing all the broken bars as an escape from the cage, Ford was intent on complaining that he’d destroyed the barriers to begin with. Tonight he wanted to articulate that point by physically hurting him. Everyone always seemed to converge there, they believed the only way to deal with him was to disfigure him beyond recognition.

What they didn’t seem to realize was that he’d lash out like a startled animal every single time. He’d bite back because he didn’t know any other way. But it’s only wrong when I do it. He couldn’t help but lament to himself in his mental pity party for one. It’s only wrong to hurt others when I’m hurting them, but there are no repercussions when they hurt me.

It took everything for Bill to choke out a response. “Just because you climbed your way up to the moral high ground doesn’t mean you earned the right to be there,” Bill stated through his tears. “I’m sure those kids over there wouldn’t think you’re such a hot shot right about now - or did you forget others were watching you fly off the handle, again?” He asked, gesturing with a tilt of his head over to the doorway. “I bet it feels different to push me around when you have an audience in the front row.”

Conflict raged in Ford’s eyes before he steeled his gaze and shook Bill’s body like a ragdoll. Cipher yelped out as Ford nearly pushed him off balance. “This isn’t about them - it’s about you and your behavior,” Ford said through grit teeth. “You always start this shit and then don’t like how it ends.”

Mustering the last drops of his courage and dignity, Bill tried to breathe and respond, “I don’t always start this shit - I say one thing and you misconstrue what I meant then fucking lose it.” Against his will, the tears continued to flow over as he spoke through wet, labored breathing. “You storm in here like a hat outta Hell and burn everything you come into contact with to the ground. Face it, Stanford, you have no control over your mental state and it’s affecting everything around you.”

“And whose fault is that?!” Ford asked, raising his voice. Blinded by his own warring emotions, Ford immediately let go of his forearm to pick up one of the only pieces of silverware Bill hadn’t thrown. A stray fork. “If you wouldn’t have done any of the things you did, we wouldn’t be in this predicament in the first place!”

Before Cipher could move, Ford was plunging the prongs of the metal fork into his shoulder before twisting and wrenching it down his arm. Bill barely realized he was screaming, he barely realized he was thrashing in Ford’s ironclad grip as the fork tore through the ligaments and tendons of his arm. The yarn from his sweater tangled around the handle as he moved, tearing through the knit fabric as if it were nothing more than tissue paper. It was a miracle the utensil didn’t snap outright, if you could call it that.

It slashed through his skin and clothes as blood gushed from the gaping wound. All Bill was aware of was the searing pain radiating from his shoulder to his inner elbow as blood seeped through his sweater and splashed onto the floor. The sickly squelch of Ford ripping open his body was a mere afterthought but Bill could see the look of horror on the twins’ faces in the doorway before Dipper was scampering off.

Cipher was screaming and crying, his throat felt raw and his head felt fuzzy. Bill wasn’t sure if the dizziness was from the blood loss, the pain or the dehydration. Maybe it was the adrenaline wearing off as his nervous system was overloaded. As pure agony exploded throughout his arm like fireworks, Cipher didn’t know if this was all he’d get or if there was more waiting for him.

Unable to stop the onslaught of pain, Bill barely registered that he was screaming louder, his vocal chords snapping and cracking like pop rocks in his throat, as Ford snatched the fork out to shove it just below his hip. Bill could feel himself losing balance, but without both hands to hold himself up he knew his leg was going to give out. Ford plunged the fork in deep, breaking through his skin as he sunk it in. Cipher almost wondered if he was going to hit bone before Ford was yanking it down his thigh.

One second he was being held up by Ford as he carved into him and the next he had fallen on the ground and was leaning against one of the legs of the table. Ford dropped the fork before he reeled his arm back and punched Bill again. It knocked the wind out of him, causing his eyes to screw shut as the room began to spin.

Dizzy and disoriented, Bill was saying something but he wasn’t sure what words he was forming. Everything was doused in blinding pain as he became submerged in his own head. Drowning in his mind, he barely noticed when other people were rushing into the room to see the blood soaked disaster that now muddied the kitchen floor.

Barely cognizant, Bill blinked away the tears and the blurriness to focus on the bloody fork in front of him. His tendons, ligaments and fragments of blood vessels were tangled around the now bent prongs in a grotesque scene akin to a forkful of spaghetti. Scraps of blood-soaked clothing were twisted around the handle. 

Cringing as he glanced up higher, Bill could see Stan holding Ford by his shoulders through his mental fog. Dipper and Mabel were talking to Soos, about what he wasn’t sure. Stanley was saying something, but all Bill heard was static ringing in his ears. Every sound created a discordant echo that consumed him entirely. Ford was shouting back, but Bill couldn’t be bothered to focus on that, he was too busy closing his eyes again to think about anything but the sting and the blood. 

The agony he’d earned by pressing one two many buttons.

Cipher wasn’t sure when Ford left, but he came back to the present once Stanley was crouched in front of him and trying to get his attention. Snapping his fingers in front of Bill’s face as his voice sounded garbled and distorted. Melody was behind him with a thick first aid kit and the kids and Soos had left the doorway. Stan was talking but Bill couldn’t hear him, the rest of his body felt numb while his arm and opposite leg felt as if they were on fire. He blinked over at Stanley slowly until the twin realized Bill was too out of it to respond or really listen to him.

Gesturing for Melody to bring the first aid kit closer, Stan opened it and grabbed a strange bottle Bill didn’t quite recognize. At least he didn’t until Stan was pouring its contents across his arm. Thrashing and protesting, Bill couldn’t handle the third wave of pain. The only thing it accomplished was making him hyper-aware of his surroundings.

He hadn’t realized Stan had cut his sweater sleeve off at the shoulder to assess the damage. He also hadn’t realized just how much blood he’d lost until he saw the pool underneath him. It coated the scissors at his side along with the bottom legs of the table and chairs.  In blinding clarity, he heard Stan talking to him, “Cipher! Cipher, calm down - it’s just a disinfectant, the pain will pass.”

Despite feeling the substance soak into the cracks of the wound in a visceral slicing sensation, Bill nodded fiercely in response and tried to stop panicking. His heart rate had picked up again and he felt feverish. Stan watched him cautiously as Melody walked over to the refrigerator. 

Stanley was screwing the lid back on and rummaging in the first aid kit again once she returned with a water bottle. “Bill…can you try to drink this?” She asked tentatively, removing the cap to his mouth. Bill blinked up at her for a moment, trying to clear away the blurriness as he tilted forward and let her pour the water down his throat.

The water felt like stepping into the ocean after months wandering a barren desert. He graciously accepted every drop she was willing to give him as he closed his eyes and tried to use it as a means to calm himself. It was the perfect distraction from Stanley gently taking his arm to clean the bulk of the blood. 

Once the bottle was empty, she pulled away and set it on the table. Melody looked extremely concerned as she watched Bill’s head loll to the side to watch Stanley clean his arm. It still hurt but he was more mentally aware now and that at least helped. As Stan took his time, Bill’s mind began to wander but as a result of the mental scrambling he said what he was thinking out loud.

“Sixer actually stabbed me,” Bill’s voice was hoarse, breaking upon the realization. Both Stanley and Melody jumped slightly since they weren’t expecting him to speak. “He grabbed me and stabbed me with a fork,” Bill said his words so matter-of-factly that it sounded more like a recap of events than an emotional response. He wasn’t sure what prompted it but he started giggling to himself, “And now he’s gone.”

For some reason he felt more pained from that realization than the fact that Ford had stabbed him at all. Laughing harder, he began to hiccup before the tears started up again and his breathing staggered. Cipher actually missed him. He kept on laughing and crying as Stan finished cleaning the wound and began rifling around for supplies to sew up the gash. “Yeah, I told him to walk it off…” Stan replied as he moved various bottles and bandages around. He didn’t ask questions about Bill’s mental state, Ford had scrambled his mind in more ways than one and it was overt. “I haven’t seen him get like that in a long time.”

Bill’s breathing hitched as he abruptly no longer found things funny. He looked up at the ceiling and tried to stifle his rampant tears. “Is…is he coming back?” Bill asked in a moment of weakness as his voice broke again. 

Melody’s gaze softened as she lowered to crouch next to him on the floor. “Bill, he isn’t coming back anytime soon - you’ll be alright,” She tried to reassure him but the statement made him start crying again in earnest. “He can’t hurt you, okay?” Melody asked, trying to calm his sobbing as she rubbed his shoulder. Stanley had found the needle and the sutures to close up his arm.

Wailing like a child, Bill spoke and barely recognized that he was talking out loud. “Why does he always leave me?” He asked, much to Melody and Stan’s surprise but Bill wasn’t focused on them. “I just want him to stay…why can’t he stay, just once?”

Eyes flicking up warily, Stan watched him begin to hyperventilate again. “Cipher, he literally just threw things at you, punched you in the face and then stabbed you, twice - he damn near could have killed you. Why would you want him to come back here?” He asked, thoroughly perplexed before threading the needle. Holding his arm up carefully, Stan held the needle close. “Don’t move, I’ll try to make this quick.”

Ignoring the latter statement, Bill responded only to the former, “Because I know I deserve it…he told me so.” Bill reached up with his opposite hand and winced as pain lanced through the opposite side of his body as he scrubbed the tears off his face. It was a fruitless venture as he continued crying. Touching his face was just as painful as leaving it be. “I know he didn’t mean it…he just had to do it because there’s something wrong with me,” Bill was barely speaking to anyone in the room, he was trying to convince himself that was why. 

Looking over at him with pity in her eyes, Melody tried to get him to relax his body so Stan could finish closing up his arm. “Just because he said that doesn’t make it true,” Her voice was soft as she pulled his hand away from his face and wiped away the tears as they fell. “Once he’s calmed down you guys can try to talk about whatever started the fight, but for now you really should stay away from him…you might have a concussion.”

Bill felt pathetic as he openly pined after the man that had just severely maimed him. He could try to convince himself that it was just the vessel but he knew deep down it was him. He was the sick one, the one with this disease that made him so infatuated with this mortal that he’d put his own life on the line just to be close to him. “What’s wrong with me?” He mumbled as he closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the leg of the table. 

Stanley paused in his movements before he sighed and responded, “Listen, you did some god-awful things in your hay day but that doesn’t mean Ford has the right to attack you when you’re not even fighting back.” Bill peered over at him as he started up again, calm and steady as he stitched up Bill’s arm. “And you shouldn’t just let him either, what happened to the triangular megalomaniac that told Ford and I to kneel at his feet?”

Averting his gaze, Bill was beyond trying to seem brave. In the fog of his brain, there wasn’t enough space for his pride to inhabit. “He’s dead, remember? You killed him a couple years ago…his grave’s out in the forest behind this house,” he replied as he stared at the empty doorway. It was like he was subconsciously waiting for Ford to come back and finish him off or at the very least, start again. Stan paused, looking over at him in slight shock. Before he could say anything further, Bill continued on, “That person is dead and gone, the only thing left is me in this body that isn’t mine and I don’t think that trade was worth all the heartache.”

“You actually care about him, don’t you?” Stanley asked, incredulously. He couldn’t believe the conclusion he reached. “After everything?”

Flinching involuntarily, Bill’s gaze slid back to him. Why is everyone so confused about that? Obviously. Sighing lightly, Bill looked back at the empty doorway. “Of fucking course I care, Fez, why do you think I’m trying so hard?” He asked, becoming irritated for a different reason entirely.. 

“You think I married Six on a whim? Because I didn’t,” Bill was getting carried away as he spoke. “I spent months trying to find the right moment to ask and how to ask and figuring out what to say,” Bill could feel his emotions getting the best of him. Maybe it was the blood loss. “I married that secluded, ingenious, egotistical lunatic because I-“

Before he could finish that thought, Soos was stepping into the doorway. Bill snapped his mouth shut as he realized he’d been monologuing. Stanley and Melody were both staring at him, Melody’s jaw hung open slightly which let Bill know he’d said something he shouldn’t have.

Melody closed her mouth and then opened it again to try to speak, “You…and Stanford are married?” Soos raised an eyebrow as he was only now let in on the nature of the conversation.

Wincing, Bill realized he wasn’t supposed to say that. It was already bad enough the kids found out, now he had to make excuses all over again. “We are…been married nearly 35 years….” Bill mumbled as he ignored the searing pain to rub his eyes. He was finally able to slide the prosthetic back into place.

Her eyes went wide as Stan finished sewing up Bill’s arm and pulled him to sit up a bit to assess his leg. The curiosity on his face came and went as he focused on the task at hand. Melody’s eyes flicked between him and Stan as she figured out the fact that he wasn’t phased in the slightest.

Her brow creased in confusion as she looked back at Stanley. “You knew?” Melody asked, almost awestruck.

Stanley paid her a short glance before resuming trying to discern how deep the gash in his leg went. “Yes, I knew - the kids know too. You and Soos were the last people in the house to find out,” He grumbled and tried not to think about it too hard. “It’s not public knowledge by any means and Ford would rather you didn’t mention it.”

Watching his blood congeal on the floor, Bill tried to disassociate from the tail end of that sentence. He didn’t want to remember that Ford hated being married to him, it only made every ache and pain hurt worse. Every time someone or something would bring up that fact it felt as if a dagger was slicing through his chest like butter. 

Cipher liked pretending that nothing was wrong with them, it made things more tolerable. He didn’t get to pretend outside of his dreaming, fantasizing and the few moments in between when he was on Ford’s good side but that was enough for him.

At least it was before he was sitting in a pool of his own blood in their kitchen.

Even if it was wrong, Bill knew he’d keep fantasizing and dreaming about Ford regardless of how he physically or psychologically beat him down. Cipher was nothing if not persistent…or would it be classified as clingy? Maybe it’s just plain desperate. He didn’t feel like deciding as Stan was using the scissors to cut the fabric around his thigh and readjusting Bill for a better view.

Smearing blood across the floor, Bill absentmindedly wondered if it would stain. Though, knowing Stanley he’d find a way to get the blood out. It wasn’t long before he was reaching for the bottle of antiseptic again and Bill was shrinking in on himself.

“Try to stay still…Ford got you pretty deep,” Stan mumbled as he placed a sturdy hand on Bill's hip. The bottle hovered over the wound and once the first drops were touching his skin, Bill was digging his nails into his palm and biting back his sobs.

Stan tried to use the least amount as possible before he was setting the bottle aside and using a rag to sop up the blood around his leg. The pain was blinding as Bill shifted and fidgeted, it hurt to move but the pain was in places other than his leg so he preferred it. Picking at his fingernails, Cipher tried to dispel his lingering anguish.

No one in the room dared to say anything else as Stanley cleaned up the blood and began sewing up his leg. Soos eventually moved to sit at the kitchen table as he and Melody shared a wary glance. The only sound that surrounded them was deafening silence and the rustling of fabric as Stanley moved.

Once he was done, he sat back and assessed the damage. “Alright, Cipher - you can’t stay on the kitchen floor all night,” he started before groaning and moving to stand. Soos stood along with him and waited to see what their next steps would be. “Soos, can you go get my cane from the living room? He’s gonna need it.”

Without hesitation, Soos made a response of affirmation before setting off. Once he was gone, Stanley turned back to him and rummaged through the first aid kit again before grabbing a few pills. Melody shot up as she realized what he was doing to grab another water bottle from the fridge.

Bill felt hollow as he watched them flit around the room. All these people were trying to help him and he could only wish they were someone else. The worst part was that the person he wished was there was the reason he was in this predicament in the first place. Soos returned with the cane and Stanley talked with them both in hushed tones before he was walking over with everything and Melody and Soos were leaving.

Crouching down to see eye to eye, Stanley remained calm, “Can you take this and try to stand?” He looked increasingly skeptical as Bill looked back at him with a blank expression before reaching out to take the medication. Afterwards, Stan was pulling Cipher to his feet. Bill groaned in pain as he tried to steady himself. “You’ll need to change and I can help you downstairs - do you think you can make it to the bathroom?’ Stanley asked as he looked over Cipher’s injuries again.

Shifting the brunt of his weight between his good leg and the cane, Bill figured this was as good as it was going to get for a while. “Yeah, I think I can manage…might just take me a bit, though,” he replied before they started to move for the first time in ages. Bill could feel his bones creak and agony lance through him at even the smallest of movements. The walk was a much more arduous process than he originally anticipated and it took everything within him to make it there with minimal stops.

Wet, bloodied footprints were left behind him even though Stanley had discarded his shoes ages ago. They’d have to deep clean the carpets soon so it wouldn’t stain. Cipher had now left his mark on this house in more ways than one, although this wasn’t how he imagined he’d do it.

Finally hobbling into the bathroom, Bill leaned against the cane and tried to catch his breath. I literally walked from the kitchen to the bathroom, I didn’t even go up or down any stairs, Bill chastised himself as he readjusted himself to settle against the counter. “Alright, Fez, pass me those clothes and I’ll change,” he said as he tried to sound put together.

“No way, you could barely get in here - there’s not a shot in hell that you’re gonna be able to change without reopening your wounds, I’ll help you,” Stan replied as he stepped into the bathroom with a set of clothes in his hands and closed the door behind him.

Caught like a deer in headlights, Bill was tense as he tried to convince Stanley that he didn’t need - or want - help. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ve got it - just wait for me outside or something,” he responded, putting all his weight onto his good leg and reaching out with his uninjured hand. “Seriously, just give me the clothes.”

Scoffing at him as he held them up out of Cipher’s reach, Stan dismissed him outright. “Oh, please - it’s nothing I haven’t seen before, just quit messing around,” Stan was slightly annoyed as he set the clothes down on the opposite end of the counter and coaxed Bill to sit on the edge of the tub. “It’ll go by faster if you just listen when I tell you the first time,” he mumbled, gently taking the cane from him.

A pang of disappointment struck his chest at the words. It was reminiscent of Ford’s words earlier that evening and his own week’s prior. After experiencing how frustrating it was to be on the other end of that statement, Bill couldn’t fault Stanley for being annoyed with him.

Admitting defeat, Bill tried to relax as Stan removed his now sticky, ripped sweater. Smearing blood across his chest and face as he tried to stay upright. Once it was off, Stan tossed it into a plastic bag hooked onto the doorknob and pulled his socks off to go along with it. Even if Bill was coated in his own congealed blood, he would rather keep his ripped pants to somehow go downstairs and fix it himself.

However, despite his protesting, Stan helped him out of his pants. Cipher’s face heated up in embarrassment and he couldn’t stand to look the mortal in the eyes. Please let him be done at this point…tonight’s already bad enough as it is. Bill was silently hoping Stan would leave it at that even if he was still caked in blood.

Tossing Bill’s clothes in the bag, Stan turned the sink on and grabbed a washcloth. “I’ll get the blood off you first,” he said as he rung out the rag. “That’ll give you a bit before I finish helping you change.”

At that statement, Bill was nervous all over again. He assumed that meant Stanley would be seeing him fully naked. Which he adamantly did not want to happen. Even if it would help to have another person while he changed, Bill really didn’t want that other person to be Stan. But other than Ford, there wasn’t really another person he trusted to do that. So he was stuck at a crossroads.

All he could do was hope Stan would be rather clinical about the whole thing and not ask too many questions. 

Turning back to him with the now damp washcloth, Stanley was as careful as possible as he scrubbed the blood from his body. Each movement was methodical, no hint of ulterior motive to be found. Bill found himself disassociating as he stared at the closed door. He was waiting for the doorknob to turn and for Ford to take over.

Like he actually cared.

Cipher could feel his chest constrict as he tried to stave off the pit in his stomach. He shouldn’t want Ford to be here. He shouldn’t want Ford to come take care of him and fawn over him. It was Ford’s fault he was in this situation to begin with.

Then again, that’s probably how Ford felt too. At least he thought that was the case. When they were together and Bill would be gone for long stints of time, Ford would miss him incessantly. After every horrible thing Bill did, Ford would only ever wonder when Bill was coming home - to the house he was sitting in right now. 

The house Ford had built in his image. Our home. It hurt worse than his newly stitched wounds to think of all the ways they’d enjoyed this place together. Now it was sullied with their anger and regret. Stanley brushing the washcloth over his upper thigh pulled him away from the thought as pain jolted through him. “Geez, be careful - would ya?” He quipped but the words sounded strained as they left his mouth.

Stanley hummed in acknowledgment before he continued on. Trying not to get lost in his own head again, Bill focused on Stanley’s movements. Watching as he tried to get as much of the blood off of him as possible. It soaked the rag through, they’ll probably have to throw that away.  

As he finished up and stood to toss it back into the plastic bag to discard with his clothes Bill felt nervous about what the next move would be. “Alright, Cipher - I need your underwear to throw in with the rest of it, let’s just get this over with,” Stan said as he sighed and held out a hand to help him stand. 

Wrapping his good arm around himself, Bill shied away from him. “Listen, I know I’m somewhat irresistible, but I doubt you’d want to get into my pants that badly,” Bill joked, trying to hide his lingering tension. “I think it’s best to leave some things to the imagination, so why don’t you sit this one out?”

Stanley seemed to run through all the possibilities of how he could tackle the situation as he rubbed a hand over his eyes. Pushing his glasses up onto his forehead before he was looking back at Bill. “The longer you drag this out, the more you’ll be wasting the duration of the pain medication,” he replied as he offered Bill his hand again. “Like I said - it’s nothing I haven’t seen before, and that’s not even the point.”

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Cipher realized he was right. Sighing in frustration, Bill took his hand and let him carefully pull him to his feet. He winced in pain but embraced it as a distraction while Stan helped him out of his boxers. 

He tossed the clothing into the bag before glancing back to give Bill’s naked body a quick once-over. “Huh,” Stan mostly said to himself before turning to the folded up clothes for Bill to change into. Stanley passed him the cane as he began reorganizing.

Leering over at him, Bill held himself up with the cane as he waited. “I thought you said it was nothing you haven’t seen before…” Bill mumbled as he focused on following the pattern of the wallpaper.

Stanley scoffed lightly before turning back to him to help him get dressed, “Oh, I’ve seen that before - just wasn’t expecting it is all.” Stan was being cautious not to brush against any of the bandages.

Feeling his face heat up, Bill tried not to think about it too hard. “Listen, if it’s any consolation - you’re one of the last people I thought would see me naked,” he quipped, still focused on the wallpaper.

“Don’t get too worked up about it - I figured as much…” Stan responded before glancing up at him. “Although, now I’m curious about who you have pegged at the top of the list.”

Clearing his throat, Bill shifted to his good leg as Stan pulled the t-shirt over his head. He was careful with his injured arm as Stanley kept him steady until he was finally dressed in clothes that weren’t caked in blood. “That’s beside the point,” Bill muttered before he was repositioning the cane to try to head downstairs again.

In a soft pair of shorts and a shirt that was far too big that read “Freak in the sheets (no really, I excel)” that definitely didn’t belong to Stanley, he was glad to no longer feel so sticky. Even if getting to this point meant Stan seeing him undress. As Stan gathered up the bag with his bloody clothes and opened the door, Cipher wasn’t sure what to say as he followed after him.

The guy that had literally killed him all those years ago just dressed his wounds and helped him change clothes. It was a strange paradox that he didn’t know how to handle. Bill could also smell the lingering smoke that always clung to Ford’s stuff. 

Did he grab Ford’s clothes on purpose? He had to consider the possibility. Ford’s clothes only smelled like that now if they were in his room since he smoked indoors. Anything from before Cipher got there wouldn’t smell strongly of smoke unless it’d been in storage. 

As they headed to the vending machine in silence, Bill realized how quiet the house was. It was odd, he’d somehow become used to all the noise of the tv on and the twins running around. But tonight was deathly silent. Wanting to bridge the gap, Bill tried starting with questions. “Are these Sixer’s clothes?” He whispered, afraid of breaking the silence.

Bill stared at Stanley’s back as they moved, listening to him sigh before he spoke, “Yeah, I thought you’d rather have his stuff.” He kept his tone gentle, as they rounded the corner. “The kids are sleeping over at Wendy’s for the night, Soos and Melody are probably going to stay at his grandma’s place to give you guys some space,” he amended as they reached the gift shop.

“What about you?” Bill asked as Stan held the door open for him. Stepping into the gift shop as the moonlight poured in felt eerie.

Letting the door close behind them, Stanley walked around him to open the vending machine door. “I’m staying here to keep the peace,” he replied simply as the door opened. “Someone has to make sure he doesn’t try to kill you again,” he held the door wide for him and waited until Bill stood on the top step to secure it in place and guide him down the stairs. “Also have to make sure you don’t do anything stupid - like try to go find him.”

Cutting Stan a quick glance, Bill was tempted to be offended. But he’s right, I would do something stupid like that. Deciding he was too exhausted to actively start another fight, he ended up just openly agreeing. “You're right, I probably would…” Bill said as he sighed and headed downstairs.

The rest of their trek was made in silence as Stanley helped him into the elevator and eventually into bed. It was humiliating to need help in the first place but there wasn’t much else he could do about it. Once he was settled, Stanley looked around and made sure nothing would trip him up. Bill didn’t bother asking to sleep on the floor since he didn’t think he could get up once he laid down. 

After everything was secure, Stanley sighed, “Alright, I’m going to try to find Ford - if you need anything, text me.” Bill nodded and tried to relax under the cool sheets surrounding him. “Don’t get up by yourself - I mean it, I don’t want to have to stitch you up again.”

Bill rolled his eyes for dramatic affect and tried to lighten the mood. “Yeah, yeah - don’t worry, Fez, I’ll text you so much you’ll throw your cell in the blender,” he replied with a small smile.

Stanley headed back to the elevator but stood at the threshold as he held the door open, seeming to debate on what to say. Once he found the words, he called out over his shoulder, “And I meant what I said earlier, about fightin’ with Ford…if there is a next time, don’t just let him be the only one swinging. At least hit him back a couple times.”

Feeling tears well up within his eyes again, Bill swallowed his emotions and tried to seem brave. “I’ll give it some thought, you should head upstairs…” he replied, hesitating as he tried to form the words. “For what it’s worth, I appreciate you saying that.”