Archive of Our Own ^beta

The ride back from the store was mundane to say the least. Bill had gazed out at the town he had ruled only days prior, and 30 years into the future, and a boiling feeling began to stir in his stomach. Instead of having control over all matter-being able to zip to and fro to wherever he pleased-he was relegated to the passenger seat of Ford's car. Relegated to being down below with all the other humans that trudged along the cold, snowy sidewalks. 

‘All in due time,’ he thought to himself. ‘I’ll be above this puny little town, with Ford by my side, and it'll be great! It'll be better than great!’

His inner musings were cut short as they hit a bump in the road, Ford grimacing as he met Bill's amused expression. 

“Er, my apologies-”

Bill waved his hand up and down, a grin plastered across his face. “Next time you should let me drive and I'll show you how to really hit those potholes!”

Ford chuckled, white-knuckling the steering wheel. “Perhaps I will, when the weather is a bit more, uh, pleasant.”

Bill leaned back in the seat at that, his devotee’s tone of voice spelling out quite loudly that he would not in fact allow such a thing to occur. 

When they entered the drive, the car protested and grumbled, and Ford muttered something under his breath about shoveling. The car came to a halt with a shudder, as Ford eased off the gas, then turned the engine off. Swinging his door open, he hurried out into the cold and went around the front to open Bill's, ever the gentleman. Bill rolled his eyes, bundling his jacket around his shoulders as he exited the vehicle and sauntered up to the door. Ford followed dutifully behind him, key and groceries in hand, as he fumbled momentarily while trying to put it in the keyhole. Bill would have found it amusing, if his own hands themselves weren't trembling from the cold. 

Entering the technically no longer shack again filled Bill with a sense that he could only describe as the very human feeling of nostalgia. That is to say, he very well was the nostalgic type, even as a triangle, though he pushed that notion down, and he would never, EVER, admit to it. The house was the exact same as they had left, but the scent of it filled his senses in a way that it never had before, he now realized. Everything felt more vivid than it ever had. When he would possess Ford, he retained some sensation but it was always filtered, almost as if he were watching a film, trying to live vicariously through someone with a tad bit more feeling. He could feel what Ford could, but never in a way that was meaningful. It wasn't his body, his form that was enduring the sensation. Now, he was feeling everything. Part of him wondered how humans coped with this. How their skin didn't crawl at every single sensation. It's not as if he disliked how the shack made him feel, how it smelled like Ford, how it smelled like how the past felt, it was just…so much. This was also something that he would never admit to, it was obviously just his new human neurons backfiring on him in the way that human neurons do.

“Bill?” his devotee called from the kitchen, pulling him from his thoughts. “I was thinking, perhaps I should fix something light for dinner? Sandwiches, maybe?”

Bill narrowed his eyes, trying to portray being deep in thought. “That sounds swell, Stanford! But!”

Ford peered around the wall at his muse. “But?”

“You have to cut them into triangles!” Bill brought his index fingers and thumbs together, forming a triangle around his eye. “It's incredibly important to me.”

“Is it now?”

Bill nodded. “Yes, of course!”

Ford glanced at him, an amused look plastered across his face. “Isn't that a little bit, I don't know, childish?”

“Hey IQ,” Bill grinned, “they are for me to eat and I'd like to eat them how I want to! You'd understand if you were an otherworldly Muse!” He rolled his eyes in mock scorn. “Do you think someone like me would be caught dead eating a square sandwich?”

“All right, all right!” Ford chuckled. “I'll comply with your demands, my Muse.” 

Bill watched as he disappeared back into the kitchen, an uneasy and stirring sense of longing in his chest. He gritted his teeth in annoyance. That was not something he wanted to entertain. Not now, anyway. This bag of bones he'd been given would almost certainly be the death of him, at the rate it seemed to be going. 

It has been only a short while after dinner that Ford suggested the pair of them get some sleep. He'd apparently been filled to the brim with questions since returning from the store, shooting them off rapidly as they'd sat and ate, reminiscent of earlier in the day. Ford seemed conflicted, however, as he paced the living room. Bill narrowed his eyes at the man, something was very obviously eating up his devotee.

“What's the matter, brainiac?” Bill cocked his head to the side. 

Ford stopped his pacing and, upon hearing Bill's question, shot him an apologetic look. “I, er, haven't had time to arrange a decent setup for you to sleep. I should find some time tomorrow, or in the next few days, of course, but you'll have to sleep on the couch tonight, I'm afraid.” Ford stretched his arms up, stifling a yawn, though Bill could tell from his posture alone that he might fall over with a gust of wind. “I myself am going to bed, if you need anything I'll be down the hall and…”

Ford's voice faded into the background as Bill narrowed his eyes, intrigued. He never understood the need for sleep. Well, not for trillions of years, anyway. It was the same with eating or drinking, though he did enjoy partaking in both of those. He could recall many times where Ford would be so utterly exhausted from staying up for days to the point that his portal work had been delayed several times. He hadn't expected to have to deal with this sort of thing again, and especially not from himself. Sure, that food he'd eaten seemed to have filled some kind of hole he'd seemingly gained from having this new human body, but surely sleep wasn't a necessity here. Frills wouldn't be that cruel. A sudden alarming thought floated to the forefront of his mind that he had, in fact, been shut down and unconscious for a bit when Ford had found him, but that wasn't sleeping, that was obviously just him suffering from a slight malfunction, or his true form adapting to this flesh shell, or-

“...Muse?” Ford's voice broke through his musings, and was now kneeling in front of him. “Bill, are you alright?”

The ex-demon shook his head, clearing his spiral away. “Huh?” he tilted his head at his author, the question he'd been asked registering a second later. “Oh, uh, yeah. It's nothing.”

“If I may, it doesn't seem like nothing.”

“Can't keep anything from you, can I?” Bill chuckled, cracking his knuckles lightly while he rolled out his neck. “Y’see, the thing is, when you've existed for forever, things like sleep seem to become non-existent for you. That is to say, uh, I probably don't need it. Yeah, I definitely don't. I'm like a major ball of energy and I-”

“Muse.” Ford's voice was stern. “With all due respect, you are in a human body, and you are definitely exhausted.” He reached a hand tentatively to place it on Bill's, who didn't pull away at the touch. “Your eye bags have eye bags! I can help instruct you, if you'd like.”

Bill paused for a moment, weighing his options. Sleeping didn't really seem ideal, but there had been a sort of heaviness dragging at him all day that he'd been pushing away. 

He let out a languid sigh. “Alright, sixer. Lay it on me.”

Ford stood up suddenly. “Right, er, lay on your back, with your head upon the pillow.” Bill swung his legs up onto the cushions, giving a mock attentive look to his devotee. “Now, uh, pull the blanket up-” Bill yanked the blanket up over his head, which resulted in a quick grab from Ford, who gently pulled it down to rest on Bill's chest. “Not that far, Muse,” Ford chuckled. “Now all you have to do is close your eyes, and your brain should take care of the rest.”

Bill complied, eyes closing. He kept them closed for what felt like an hour, though it was only maybe two minutes. He peeked them open, glancing up at Ford who stood a few paces away now. 

Bill sat up slightly. “Well, nice try, Ford! Seems like I was right!” He made a move to throw the blanket off of him, but Ford was quicker, and swiftly held it in place at Bill's chin level.

“I have another idea, Muse.” He let the blanket fall back onto Bill, though indicated with a finger for the ex-demon to stay put. He was only gone for a moment or two, returning with a decently sized book. “This sort of thing always used to work with-”

“A bedtime story?” Bill asked, quirking a brow. “Isn't this a bit…childish?”

Ford sat heavily on the floor, near Bill's head, giving him a look. “Now, now, don't be like that. A good read can help anyone to relax. Now…” He opened the first page to something way too awfully familiar to Bill. It was ‘The Great Gatsby’, much to his chagrin. Ford began to read, the words from the page flowing from his tongue like a cool brook. Bill, for what it was worth, was starting to feel a teensy bit tired, but come on. This was taking way too long. 

He reached an arm out to paw at the page his author held between his index finger and thumb. “Come on, Fordsy! Turn to the next page! Turn to the next page!” 

Ford, in a surprising move, swiped the book away from Bill, and stood to keep it out of his reach. “Uhp, uhp, uhp, uhp! I'm not done reading this page, Muse.” He gave Bill a soft grin, moving now to the arm of the couch near Bill's feet. “Where were we…Ah! Here!” He continued on from his place, his voice floating in the air like a sweet melody. His eyes slipped close, and Bill’s mind wandered back to a time, long, long ago, when his devotee had rambled on and on about anything, and he couldn't help but relax into the sound. It was nice, and gravelly in a soft way. It reminded him of the past. It reminded him of something familiar, at the tip of his tongue. It reminded him of home. 

It was odd, to say the least, when he opened his eyes to somewhere familiar. The exterior looked like a mixture of the shack in all its former glory, and a bit of somewhere else. His mind clicked. It was home. Not just any home but his home! He raced to the door, turned the knob, and…instantly was greeted with a round of applause. It was peculiar, but he felt a swell of enjoyment from it. It was a sound that fed his ego aplenty! He'd entered the kitchen door, his eyes staring at the person in front of him. It was his mother, standing at the stove, turning the dial down on what he could only assume was what she was simmering for dinner. Donned in blue attire, the evening light of the sun struck her face, casting a soft orange glow upon it. She turned to him, her eyes crinkled up in a smile, a small gravy stain freshly splattered on her apron.

“Billy!” she greeted him, as the crowd erupted into whoops and hollers.

Bill hesitated, stepping tentatively forward. “Uh, hi mom-” His words were drowned by a raucous laughter. 

“I wasn't expecting you so soon, Billy!” She swept her hand behind her. “Come and help me set the table, sweetie!”

Bill, ever the mama’s boy, set himself to the task, almost unconsciously. The placemats and silverware looked eerily familiar, but something was off about them. There was something off about his home, too. Pictures lined the walls in the kitchen, pictures of him and his parents, but they weren't actually them. Or, at the very least, he didn't think that's what they looked like. The door he'd entered slammed open, startling him.

“Scalene, I'm home!” A voice boomed.

“Oh, Euclid!” Scalene exclaimed. “You're home early!”

“Well, you know me! You can call me anything except late for dinner!”

The audience erupts into laughter again, but this time Bill recognises it as not just any run of the mill, stock studio laughter. It was the laughter of an incredibly popular laughing record from the 1920s. It was strange. It was right up his alley. It was horrifying.

“How's our son on this fine day, my darling dear?”

“He didn't manage to set anything on fire today, but tomorrow's a different story!” She glanced away from Euclid and turned her attention to Bill. He paused in his work to look back at her. Had her eyes always been this vacant? 

“Now, Billy, I know you're only here for a short while but don't forget to finish your homework after dinner!”

That caught him off guard. Bill hadn't been in school in…eons.

“What are you talking about? I graduated ages ago. I'm not in school anymore.” His words were once more greeted with laughter.

“Oh, there's our Billy! You always know how to crack us up!”

“That boy won't graduate college at all if he doesn't keep his grades up!”

Bill set another fork on the table. The same fork he'd been setting on the table. He gripped it in his hands, the metal bending with the force. 

“I don't have grades anymo-” The laughter cascaded over the sentence. He shut his mouth, trying to place the fork again. 

“Silly Billy!” Scalene giggled. “Ever the jokester!”

“Son, your mother and I paid good money for that school, you know! The least you could do is show some appreciation!”

Scalene scoffed, stirring the pot in front of her. “I can see where he gets his humour from,” she teased. “Just like his father, our boy is!” She lifted the spoon to her mouth, tasting the contents of the pot. “Mm! Just perfect, just the way Billy likes it!”

A short, shy knock drew Bill away from his repeated fork placement. He glanced towards the door, a new figure stepping through.

“I, er, hope I'm not interrupting anything-”

The audience erupted, their applause deafening to the point that Bill dropped the repetitive fork and covered his ears. 

“Stanford!” His mother greeted his author, who was glancing shyly at her. “We are so happy you made it! Billy's told us all about you!”

“He has?!” Ford's face turned red. 

“That's right,” Euclid replied. “Why don't you take your seat, Stanford?” 

The man complied, sitting across from where Bill was still setting the silverware down. He turned his head up, opened his mouth to say something, yet nothing came out. The fork had once again appeared in his hand and, as he set it down, Ford's visage changed. Instead of the shy, college aged Ford that had entered, the Ford that sat before him was old, grayed, and his gaze was hardened. The older Ford glowered at his enemy, who now stood stock still. He wanted to flee, but his feet were planted. His parents were chatting in the background, but their words were nonsense and quite literally the sound of background chatter. The fork reset itself into his hand, and Ford returned to himself again. Against his wishes, his hand set the fork down yet again, and the older Ford reappeared. Why couldn't he move? Why couldn't he say anything?! The audience erupted into the laughter of the laughing record. Loop after loop after loop, and yet everything was unchanging. The chatter of his parents grew louder in his ears, a cacophony of sound that filled his senses. The audience continued their laughter. It was maddening. Another loop, then another, then-

He had stopped keeping count after 15. He couldn't take it anymore. Bill, with a trembling fist, slammed down the fork, and unknowingly in his frustration, summoned a fistful of fire. The table erupted into blue flames, spreading fast through the kitchen and licking its way up the walls. The laughing record in the background seemed to warp and melt with its sound, and suddenly bled into screams. Screams of Euclideans Bill recognised. His friends. His peers. His parents. His surroundings warp and wobble, the flame wrapping itself around the whole room. Bill noticed this isn't the kitchen anymore. No, definitely not the kitchen. This was the living room of the shack. The living room where he'd died, not that long before. The kitchen table was still in place, despite the flames, and the fork was settled neatly where it belonged. Ford, stock still, was still sitting in his place at the table, no longer the Ford who first entered his home. This was Ford as he'd last known him. 

Bill looked down at his hands as his whole body shook. He is as human as he was when he fell asleep, but the world that had stood around him was now soloed out, flat, and hit with a spotlight in the dark space that he now floated amongst. The fire was spreading along its corners, right into the center. He was frozen, watching the little Euclideans, who were now shapes again, attempting to run away from their demise. One by one, the fire swallowed them whole, until it surrounded his parents, who stood in horror at the center. His eyes widened, the beginnings of tears gathering, as he tried to move again and, no matter what he does, he still can't. Bill couldn't even scream as the fire swallowed them, too. He looked to Ford, who now stood opposite to him across the empty void on the other side of the burning Euclydia, letting out a choked cry, internally begging his devotee for help. Instead, all he is met with is silence, and that ever cold glare. Somehow, someway, he managed to scream Ford's name in anguish as everything burns, burns, burns-

A loud sob ripped itself from Bill's lungs, flinging him straight into consciousness. As he blinked the tiny pinpricks of tears from his eyes, he was greeted with a ‘thud’ which shook the couch, and a yelp of surprise. He heaved in a breath, his hands trembling as he grasped onto his new arms. Ford's head popped over the arm of the couch where he'd fallen off, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. As soon as he noticed the state Bill was in, however, he hurried over to him.

“Muse? Muse!” He held tight to Bill's arms, gripping them gently as the latter continued to tremble. “What happened?! Are you alright?” The ex-demon’s eyes were dilated, his skin clammy, with fear etched across the features of his face. 

Bill shook his head as a response, blinked his eyes once or twice, and then his mind completely blanked. The last vestiges of the dream had dissipated in his mind as he had awoken, and now he couldn't remember anything about it. No. No, that couldn't be right. How could something that caused such a reaction from him simply slip from his mind? 

How could he, the master of the mindscape, not hold onto his OWN nightmare?

He glanced up at Ford, who was still quite close to him, and blinked rapidly. “I can't remember,” he murmured, eyes wide. “I can't remember what it was.” 

Ford ran a comforting thumb against his left arm. “That's…alright, Muse.” His voice was soft, gentle. “It's honestly not surprising, given how new this is for you.” When Bill shot him an upset glare, he let out an awkward cough. “I, er, I just mean that this is something that humans experience a lot. It's nothing to be frightened or ashamed of.” In a quieter voice, he added, “It even happens to me on occasion.”

Bill shook his head to clear it of the misery threatening to fill it. “I’m supposed to be above this! Get a grip, Cipher!” he growled under his breath, hoping to the stupid frilly lizard that Ford wouldn't take notice of it. To his relief, Ford didn't perseverate on the topic, instead opting to stand and brush himself off. 

The man stretched, a loud crack from his back filling the space. “Well, uh, it looks like I've woken up on the wrong side of the couch, hm?” he chuckled, which did earn him a toothy grin from Bill. “I suppose I ought to start on breakfast.”

“Breakfast? But didn't we just have dinner?”

Ford laughed. “It's morning, Bill. You slept through the night, all things considered.”

“Oh,” Bill responded, quietly. 

“Do you have any requests this morning?”

Bill immediately looked thoughtful. “Eggs. Lots of them. With lots of cheese.” He scratched his head, as if to shake loose any ideas. “Hmm, and…”

“And?”

“More toast triangles. You toast a pretty mean bread, IQ!” 

Ford let out a hearty chuckle. “Well, I'm glad there's someone here to appreciate my cooking.” 

He reached his hand out for Bill to take, and as he helped to pull his muse to his feet, Bill couldn't help but see a flash of a cold, steely look from the warm, honey-brown eyes that crinkled up with an accompanying wide smile. He shook his head. That wasn't this Ford. Everything here was just fine, and this time, everything would go exactly as Bill planned. 

“And I'll be here for a long, long time to.”