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A week after his denouncement of the Axolotl - and all that that had meant - Bill returned to work. Soos tried to talk him down from it, really, take some more time to recover - but he insisted on it. Yeah, okay, he kind of liked seeing the merchandise, messing around a little on the clock, and... well, the cleaning. Another soothing menial task, in a world full of them. He had once worked hard to not have to do menial, lowly things, but now he found it actually wasn't unwelcome. Maybe the days of lying around in Theraprism, just waiting for something to happen - not even being able to seek out activities himself! - did that to him. Or maybe he was just weird in yet another way.
Regardless, he gave in to at least some of Soos's badgering - permission to take breaks whenever and for however long he wanted, so long as he wasn't putting anyone in danger. No walking away from the ladder if someone was on it or whatever, which... did still sound kinda funny, if not for the fact it could lead to fractures and broken bones. Not worth risking his friends' lives, these days.
...Had the Henchmaniacs even really been his friends? He certainly wouldn't have said it at the time, nor would any of them. Schemes, bickering, taking whatever pot shots they could - realistically, they probably liked each other a lot more than they ever liked him. He was certain now that they would've left a long time ago, if not for the fact that would have been a death sentence by his hands.
Well, that was "Old Bill". He scoffed at himself, sweeping up crumbs from some kid who just had to chow down what seemed like a dozen cookies while browsing the museum. Being "New Bill" didn't feel a whole lot different than being "Old Bill" on the inside. Yeah, he lost his vision sometimes, and he could actually say that he had friends now, people he cared for. He liked cooking, crocheting, cleaning... ugh, now he just sounded like a housewife, if a housewife could see dismemberment as funny, could think such cruel thoughts.
Those thoughts were tough, to say the least. He knew how much it hurt to expect some kind of purity of thought, like it mattered more that he thought of something bad even if he was doing something good. Even so, it also still hurt that he was thinking of his "new life" in this way - thoughts of throwing around knives in the kitchen just to frighten Stan, tearing apart Mabel's hard work just for the sake of destruction, not to mention his fixation on fire. He didn't go out of his way to start them, but when even the smallest of flames bloomed to life... it was like his mind just cleared right up, unable to do anything but stare peacefully.
But the times he had snapped at people here, acting on some kind of cruel impulse, he felt terrible seeing what he'd done. He never thought he would use the tools Theraprism tried to teach him, but he actually kind of had been? Listening, sympathising, apologising. He still didn't always understand what he was apologising for, exactly, but the fact he was trying meant something. That was worth taking some pride in, if he could muster it up...
When the end of his shift rolled up, he gave his broom a gentle pat in thanks, then hung it back on the rack. It felt good to be back to work! Then when Stan came back with the kids, he'd get to help with dinner again, and he couldn't wait for that. As he walked along back to his room, there was a bounce in his step, not unlike the kind of characters that would burst out into song about how great life was.
And then, his foot didn't hit the floor. He blinked, confused - both his feet were in the air, and that- that shouldn't be possible. He tried to force himself back down to the ground, kicking and swiping through the air, to no avail - he just seemed to be floating higher and higher, entirely out of his control. He called out for help, trying to guide himself along the hall as if he were swimming. He called out again, not entirely sure if he was hearing footsteps or if his panic was just amplifying the sounds of his own body bumping around.
Then, suddenly, he dropped. He shielded his eye, and landed--
On Ford's arms, the man having dove forward in an effort to help. It beat landing directly on the floor, anyway, though it still dazed him for a moment.
"Are you okay?" Ford asked, "What happened?"
Bill pushed himself up with a grunt, crawling off of Ford's arms and sitting himself against the wall. "I have... no idea," he answered, "I just started floating."
"That's definitely odd," Ford said, "I haven't picked up on any gravitational anomalies - was it just you?"
"Yeah."
"...I wonder..."
Bill snorted lightly, "That won't get you anywhere good, Ford..."
With a smile, Ford clicked his tongue. "Oh, quiet. No, I'm just... You didn't always have your powers, right?"
"...Right," Bill answered, narrowing his eye slightly. "Please don't tell me you're thinking what I think you're thinking."
He hummed, "I thought you wanted your powers back?"
"Ugh. I mean... Being able to float was convenient, would sure be convenient again. But I don't know, I- I didn't think it'd ever actually happen. Not having powers is the one thing that's kept me from doing the same things all over again. If I could just... snap my fingers and make things go my way again..."
Ford tapped his fingers, thinking. "Doesn't sound like that's the only factor stopping you now. Otherwise, why would you be worrying about it? Not to mention, I do remember what you told me--"
Bill groaned loudly, trying to drown out the sounds of Ford absolutely embarrassing him. "Pleeease shut up."
Ford couldn't help but chuckle just a touch. "Don't get me wrong though, Bill. It's worth monitoring, even if that's just you keeping a journal of signs, and checking in with me if something is concerning. Okay?"
"...Yeah, okay," Bill sighed. "I guess."
By the next morning, Bill had pushed aside the strange floating incident. Ford was probably right. Maybe, as long as anyone wasn't getting hurt, he didn't have to worry so much about it? In any case, he put the finishing stitches in the scrunchie he'd been making for Melody. He'd heard, even if he wasn't entirely meant to hear it, that one of hers had gotten ruined - and on the family's search for him, no less. Mabel was happy to show him how to start it, but insisted that he make up the ending however he'd like - "Because you can get, like, so creative!" she had said.
And it was kind of cute, if he had to say so himself - pale blue with a very ruffly, if somewhat inconsistent, white edging. Absentmindedly, he wondered what size of hair elastic he'd need to make one that he could reasonably wear as a bracelet... psht, yeah, he'd have to wrap this one at least three times to make it stay snug. Great size for human wrists, not so much his own. Regardless, he hoped she would appreciate it.
He headed into the gift shop with a pep in his step, some kind of pop tune playing on the radio. Melody sang along to it quietly as she checked over the stock, making sure everything was in good shape and replenishing some of the keychains. She beamed when she saw Bill, "Hey! Think you can help me with some of this?"
"Uh-huh," he said, a little eager to get to his own matters first. He held out the scrunchie, then, arm stretched up to put it right over her hand. "For you. Heard you lost one."
She gasped with delight, properly taking it in her hands. "Oh, Bill, this is so cute!" With her hair already in a ponytail, she stretched it over her wrist, then hummed. "You know what, no, I can do something here!" She pulled her ponytail loose, shaking out her hair - then gathered each half into a pigtail, securing one in sparkly purple, and the other in ruffly blue and white.
"Ta-da! How do I look?"
"...You like it!" he answered, absentmindedly breezing over the question. "That's even better than a drawing!"
"Oh no," she snickered, "You're gonna get addicted to gift-giving now, aren't you?"
"Lemme bask in my joy!" he answered, tone a little harsh but with no real malice. Sure, he'd been having fun here in a variety of ways, but happiness was starting to feel so much more raw and real now that he was actually free of the Axolotl. Maybe sie had been suppressing it for hir own evil purposes, but he (mostly) doubted that - it was realistically just another effect of all the trauma. Not like he was suddenly over it just because sie was out of his life, but it really freed up a lot of space in his mind.
So bask in his joy he did, as he helped Melody work through the stock - with her taking the high displays, and him the low ones. Pah, and the knuckleheads over in Theraprism expected him to feel like this over giving gifts to strangers, to actors, to simulations? There was no way. He couldn't help but keep glancing over at Melody, seeing her smile as she hummed along to the words she didn't know, the one pigtail framed by his hard work, his creation of pride!
Uh.
Huh.
The floor was getting farther away again.
"U-uh, Melody!" he called out, drifting up to her eye level.
"Wha- oh!" she blinked in surprise, grabbing Bill's hand to keep him from going any higher. "This is... new."
"You're telling me!" he said.
"Okay, um," she let out a slow breath, trying not to panic, "What should I do?"
"I don't know-!"
She nodded, pulling Bill a little closer to herself - "Well, I don't want you getting hurt!" she explained when he grumbled in protest.
He huffed, "I don't like this- I can't get stressed without going blind, now, what, I can't have fun without floating away or something?"
"Well," she asked, "You knew how to fly before, right? Maybe you just need to learn how to control it again."
"Maybe. Dunno how."
Just like that, he dropped, Melody yelping and drawing him to her chest. "A-are you okay?!"
"Just fine," he winced, "Fine, but annoyed."
"Alright," she smiled slightly as she knelt, letting him get back safely onto the floor. "Let's... try and have a good workday, yeah?"
"Yeah," he sighed. "Let's try."
It was embarrassing that this was happening at all. It was even more embarrassing just why this was happening - first it had been just being back at work, next it had been giving Melody a gift. After that it had been watching The Duchess Approves with Stan - though at least he took it in stride, and Bill swore he stayed up longer than the previous two times - and then narrowly beating Ford as they raced to complete a set of puzzles.
"So you think it's tied to your happiness?" Ford asked, curious.
"I mean, what else at this point?" Bill answered, "It's pretty awkward, you know. I don't- I don't feel like I can even leave the house like this. 'Cause what if I, I dunno, see a bird or whatever that just wows me? Yeah, there I go. And then what happens? I can't just land myself! And I don't think anyone feels like peeling up Billcakes."
Ford sighed, "No, you're right..." He tapped his fingers against his chin, "Well, it's happened a few times now, and I trust you've been keeping track of things?"
"Uh-huh."
"So, then... when you're about to drop. Are there any patterns to that?"
Bill sighed, "I guess I start to feel... weighty? I- you know, I didn't walk for a very, very long time once I could fly. Then they- they grounded me, and I got used to that weighty feeling. Floating... of course, I've still got that weight, but I feel... 'in control' of it, except I'm not actually in control of it, but- ugh," he groaned, running his hands over his face. "I'm- I'm sure you get it, right?"
"I... think so?" he said, not entirely sure. "You're not in conscious control of it, but your body is sort of... re-learning it. Maybe it's a little like the way humans breathe - we don't need to think in order to breathe, but there are times that we can choose to take control of it. The problem is that right now, you haven't re-learned that control."
"...Yeah," Bill answered, "Pretty much."
"Is there some way you think we could work on that? Maybe like when you would-"
"Ford," he warned, "For as long as I live I am never going into another trance. And you know, I don't want to hurt you, but if you suggest that again I will-" he hissed, then cut himself short with a huff, glancing away. "I- I wouldn't really. Do the thing I was gonna say, I mean. I just... that's not an option, Ford. Please don't."
Ford blinked, Bill's familiarly harsh tone sending a shiver up his spine and making him recoil, even as he cut himself off. For just a moment, he was young again, paranoid - the creature living in his head berating him, taunting him, making demands of him. It robbed his words, his breath, as he looked ahead almost unseeing. Then, quiet and shaky, he answered, "R-right. I'm sorry."
"Ford?" he asked, "Are you... okay?"
"I-I'm fine," Ford lied, and then the realisation hit Bill.
"Oh," he winced, burying his face in his hands, "Oh, fuck, I- I hurt you anyway."
"It's fine--"
"No, no it's not. I'll just, I'll go. I'm sorry."
Despite his attempts to brush off his feelings, Ford didn't protest as Bill got to his feet, and left his room.
It was fairly ill-advised, given his difficulty navigating the kitchen with his stature, but Bill pulled out an array of ingredients - somewhat sensible for a pancake batter, though he didn't bother measuring anything that he poured out. He'd pay Stan back to replace anything he wasted, he just needed to beat through his fucking thoughts right now.
"I mean," he grumbled, sloshing the wet into the dry, "I don't know what's going on. Why this is happening. And it's shit is what it is! Can't even go outside and scream my shit to the birds, 'cause who knows, I might just join em!"
"And we were having a good time! Til it happened again, and then we tried talking about it," he huffed, whisk clinking against the sides of the bowl, "And I just had to go and shout in his face while saying I didn't wanna hurt him. Newsflash, asshole, that's still hurting him!"
He groaned loudly, beating through the batter so intensely it started splashing up, droplets hitting his eye, stinging. "Fuck!"
"Uh... Bill?" Dipper asked awkwardly from the door. "Can I... is this a bad time?"
"What do you want, Pine Tree."
"I was just looking for a snack, but I can come back later--"
"No," Bill huffed, dragging himself and his bowl out of the way. "It's fine. Go ahead."
"Alright," he smiled awkwardly, "Uh, what are you making, anyway?"
"A mess! What does it look like?!" Bill snapped, then cursed himself. "I'm just doing it again now. Fuck. S-sorry."
"It's... fine?" Dipper shrugged, rifling through the snack stash. "I have no idea what's going on."
"...accidentally did something bad, okay? That's all you need to know. I'm frustrated with something and I just made it worse."
"Ah," he nodded, pulling down his chosen spoils. "You probably mean in a different way than me, but I kinda get that."
"Yeah, well, I told Shooting Star I'd kill your parents if I had to-"
"Bill, you're not killing anyone's parents," Dipper deadpanned, muttering something under his breath. "Sooo... you want some help making that mess?"
"...sure."
It didn't take long for Mabel to hop into the kitchen and join the fun, given she was wondering just what was taking her brother so long. Between the three of them, they turned the concoction into a decently workable, strawberry-flavoured pancake batter. A lot of Bill's terrible feelings had quieted down - he felt he had done the right thing, at least, in saying sorry and leaving Ford to his alone time. Besides, he didn't need to bog the kids down with his problems - those were between him and the batter.
When they all sat to bask in their mid-afternoon pancakes, the twins smushing theirs together as Mabel toasted l'chaim, he felt... He didn't really know. The additional strawberry syrup and the whipped cream were inviting, but it was hard not to think that this started because he did something shitty again. Yet neither of them knew the details - actually, Mabel didn't even know there was anything wrong to begin with! - so all they really saw was an opportunity to have fun, make the best of a weird situation.
What was recovery really supposed to look like? Was this it, trying to turn shitty feelings into good ones, choosing a bit of happiness when his mind was telling him he didn't deserve it? Was that still the right choice, even when his shitty feelings came from hurting someone important? For once, he almost wished he had some kind of numbers or a checklist, something to measure himself, guide him. Even if life was infinitely more complicated than that, webs branching into webs that branched into webs of their very own...
He took a bite of his pancakes, mulling over the thoughts and the flavours alike. Frustratingly, it just brought him to tears, pushing his plate to the middle of the table.
"Sorry, either of you can finish mine if you want. I-I'm just not doing too hot today," he said.
"You could still chat!" Mabel smiled hopefully, but Bill stayed firm.
"Nah. I don't have anything worth chatting about, not right now."
"Will we see you at dinner?" Dipper asked.
"Probably," he sighed, standing up on the seat of the chair. "Just... not right now. Nothing either of you did, just me. See you."
He hopped down, then, starting to walk away. Yet, he realised, he wasn't actually getting anywhere. He looked down at his feet, confused, to find he was floating again - and this time, he wasn't drifting to the ceiling like a wayward balloon. He didn't say another word to the kids, even though they were surely watching and wondering, just dragging himself through the air. Forward came naturally once again, even for not having done it in so long. Up was a different story, and he found he couldn't gain any more height.
It was down that was the easiest, directing his weight back onto the floor and landing gingerly. What a cruel twist of fate - did he really have to hurt Ford to get here?
As Bill busied himself with reading, there was a knock at his door. Ford's voice rang through, asking, "Bill? May we talk?"
He sighed, glancing at the page number, and closed the book. "Yeah."
Ford opened the door, braced with a small, if awkward, smile. "You've really made this place your own."
"Get to the point. Please."
Ford sighed as he sat, "I know you're frustrated. And I know you know this now, but that frustration still doesn't mean it's okay to threaten and yell at me, even if you don't finish whatever you were going to say. So, can we work on that?"
"'Work on that', huh," he scoffed. "Like there's any point. Like they didn't try everything with me."
"But there is a point, Bill," Ford said firmly, "This isn't about punishing you for imperfection. It's about you learning to live with us a little more peacefully. So that none of us..." he took a deep breath, slightly shaky, "So that none of us have to look at you and see the monster you were."
That was the gut punch he had been expecting.
"And that... That gives you something to work towards. Something achievable. You're here, we've worked to keep you here, and you've been putting forward your best as well. But I think you need a little more direction."
Bill hugged his knees close to him, claws digging into his arms. Bodily hurt was real, tangible, something he knew how to feel. How to deal with. Not... this. Ford sat patiently, in spite of everything. The silence stretched forever, but eventually, he quietly spoke.
"I'm scared of it, Ford. All of it, not just trance. And- and now I've got the floating to deal with... I mean, it happened again. I sort of, had control this time, but... what if I lose it again? What if I lose control of everything again? You can say not to worry all you want, that you believe in change all you want, it- it doesn't stop this. Any of it."
Ford nodded slowly, "I know. And I'm sorry if it's been a little dismissive. I just don't want you to give up, either. You know... being the centre of something great was so important to me, that I looked the other way when our parents kicked Stan out - my own twin brother, and lifelong best friend. I could have pleaded with our Ma, I could have run out after him, chosen him over them, over myself, anything. But I didn't. And yet, he worked so hard to bring me back, pushed himself to the brink and beyond." He paused with a sigh. "Decades of his life were spent on that, because he wanted me back in his life. And even once he got me back, I was still bitter, a-and cruel--"
"None of the thirty years stuff would have happened if it wasn't for me," Bill protested. "Probably wouldn't have even needed him to come at all."
"That's not the point I'm trying to make. The fact is that it did happen, and we both had to live with it, work with it. He could have chosen to give up on it after the first year of trying, but he didn't. And even when I was back home, being a stubborn asshole, he didn't want to have to give up on me. It took me some work of my own to get back what we had, of course, but... I'm glad he didn't give up, and I'm glad to be with him again. I'm proud to have him as my brother, and I'm proud that I can be a brother worth having, even after being so cruel."
"...I don't get it," Bill said, hiding a sniffle.
"Let me ask you, what would it take for you to feel like you're a friend worth having?"
"Easy," he answered with a huff, "Being someone else. Someone with none of my baggage. Someone who doesn't yell and make threats and make everyone flinch, or worse. Someone who actually gets what being kind means, doesn't think it's just naivete waiting to be crushed. Yeah, if I could just be a whole other person, I'd be a great friend. Think you can do that?"
Ford chuckled sadly, "I can't take you that far, no. But I think there are things we can do - and that there are things you're doing even now. Didn't you give Melody a handmade gift, not too long ago?"
"H-hey, who told you that?"
"News gets around," he winked. "And what about helping Stan or I with cooking? You're already doing good things. You just need a little more direction in dealing with some of the bad ones."
"Then what- what do you want me to do?"
He smiled softly, "I want you to have some more trust in yourself. That you can fly without losing control, and be our friend without losing control - that you don't have to be a threat to anyone's peace. And any way I can help you with that, I want to try - and I'm not the only one. I know there are things that trigger you, but would you be willing to work on finding things that don't?"
"...okay," Bill hesitated.
"Is it a deal?" Ford asked slyly, though not offering his hand. Smart, even if Bill almost certainly still couldn't do anything with it.
He scoffed, "Yeah, okay. It's- it's a deal."