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I must be dreaming, rationalized Ford, since the sight before his eyes was one he’d long since accepted to be impossible. The warmth of the summer sun radiating off the concrete sidewalk and the slight breeze seemed almost comical, juxtaposed with the roaring of his heart in his ears. Towering above him was the Institute of Oddology, its buildings far exceeding the shack Ford left behind in his own Gravity Falls. It wasn’t the impressive buildings that left him weak in the knees, however, since standing before him was none other than Fiddleford McGucket.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl as if Fiddleford was a black hole that caused everything except him to undergo time dilation and seem to freeze completely. Even the birds that had been chirping just moments before had ceased, though maybe it was just because Ford couldn’t hear anything over the steadily increasing roar in his ears paired with a ringing that had begun adding to the cacophony in his mind.
The black hole must have sucked everything else up, since all Ford could see was Fiddleford; everything else faded to static. It was only them, for nothing else existed and nothing else mattered. Dimly, he also experienced a sense of weightlessness. The ground must have been sucked in already, leaving the two of them to float in the air at the mercy of the black hole. Upon trying to speak, Ford learned his face felt numb and uncooperative, like when he and Stanley would, when they were really young, eat the Jersey snow he’d never see again and their speech turned slurred, too cold to form words properly. The word he managed to force out felt like it was swimming through tar, or perhaps under the effects of low gravity itself. It managed to claw its way to the surface regardless, one that, under normal circumstances, would have torn out of his throat as a scream, or maybe a cry, or maybe something else Ford couldn’t remember the name of through the haze of nothing existing. Whatever it may have been if under the effects of normal gravity, it came out as a weak “Fidds?”
As if saying his name would make him vanish, like he was some sort of apparition not meant to be in this world, even though Ford was the one who wasn’t supposed to be here, Ford blinked and Fiddleford was gone, instead replaced by concrete that was getting closer and closer and closer and
Nothing. The black hole must have taken Ford, too.
***
The familiar hum of machinery told Ford he had fallen asleep in the lab again.
That was until he became aware of the cuffs on his wrists. Instantly, his fragile hope perception of safety shattered, and he wasted no time in attempting escape. More than once, he’d gotten in trouble with some kind of alien authority, but luckily for him, their security systems did not have humans in mind and sometimes he was able to slip out. He was not so lucky this time, since every attempt at escape left his hands firmly stuck, with the added bonus of red marks digging into his skin from struggling against the metal. Bill—since he was sure it was his lackeys who had detained him—must have made this especially for him.
The click of the doorknob turning rejuvenated Ford’s attempts to escape, struggling harder to get away before whoever it was could get to him. Alas, a steel will was no match for actual steel, and, despite his best efforts, he remained firmly stuck. The door opened, but instead of one of Bill’s henchmaniacs, Fiddleford stepped in, gently shutting the door behind him. So that hadn’t been a dream. Or maybe he was still dreaming, and he’d wake up and he’d be at home in the lab again, and Fiddleford never left, and he’d never gone through the portal, or, better yet, he was still in college and had never been tangled up with Bill to begin with.
Dream or not, Fiddleford would of course side with him over Bill, even though last they spoke, Fiddleford had said he’d never wanted to see him again. Even though this wasn’t even his Fiddleford. Even still, this parallel Fiddleford was better than no Fiddleford, and besides, maybe he could help.
"Fidds! I'm so glad to see you!” Ford said, leaning forwards in the chair he was trapped in. "Help me get out of here before—“
"I'm afraid I can't do that, Stanford," Parallel Fiddleford said, his facial expression was uncomfortable, like he didn't want to be the one to tell Ford that.
The hope Ford had stupidly let grow died in an instant, withering and falling into the pit in his stomach. "What?
Why not?” he asked, voice much smaller than intended. His struggle to escape turned frantic, throwing his whole body into yanking his hands free. "What do you want from me? Are you working with Bill?”
"No, settle down now," Parallel Fiddleford said, taking on the same tone Ford had heard his Fiddleford use on a startled animal.
"I'll never cooperate! I'd rather die than let Bill win!" Ford shouted.
"Shh, yer safe, yer ok," Parallel Fiddleford coaxed, but Ford was having none of it.
“I will stop him! I won’t let him trick anyone else!" he continued, completely ignoring Fiddleford.
That was until he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Ford. Stanford. Yer safe. I aint workin' for Bill. I have ya detained so ya didn’t encounter this dimension’s Ford. Does that make sense?" Parallel Fiddleford’s tone now reminded Ford of how his Fiddleford spoke to his son, Tate, when he was upset. He had just been, quite literally, kicking and screaming just a moment ago.
Ford nodded slowly. “Yes, but why does that matter?"
"While travelin’ between dimensions, an officer on my team encountered an alternate version of himself,” Parallel Fiddleford explained, “an' when they touched, both him, an’ that entire dimension disappeared. Fizzed into nothin'."
Ford nodded somberly. "I won’t mess with alternate me,” he said. “Can you release me now?”
"I can,” Fiddleford said, "but I'm goin’ to keep a close eye on ya.”
"What?" Ford huffed. “What do you think I'm going to do?”
"Listen," Parallel Fiddleford said, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Ya had multiple guns on ya. It’d be irresponsible of me not to keep an eye on ya.” Ford supposed that made sense. “Plus," Parallel Fiddleford continued, “ya don’t seem the most… emotionally stable.”
Ford supposed he couldn’t really argue with that, and chose to acknowledge that simply with a grunt. He said nothing when Parallel Fiddleford unlocked the cuffs on his wrists. Not even when he noticed the wedding band glinting on Parallel Fiddleford’s ring finger. Not even when their hands briefly touched. Not even when Parallel Fiddleford fussed over the angry, red marks left behind by the cuffs.
“We really should get these taken care of,” Parallel Fiddleford said, gingerly inspecting Ford’s wrists.
Ford shrugged. “They’re just a bit raw. They’ll heal quickly.”
Parallel Fiddleford sighed in a way that was almost loving, rather than exasperated. All Fords were the same, it seemed. “Well, it’ll heal faster if ya take care of yerself for once.” He stood up. “I’ll get the first aid kit. Do ya want anythin’ else? Maybe somethin’ to eat?”
“No,” Ford lied. He didn’t have time for this; he had to find his portal gun, finish the quantum destabilizer, and get out of here to defeat Bill. Not to mention the fact that every moment spent here was a special kind of torture. He’d accepted the fact that he’d never be able to go back to his dimension a long time ago, but faced with the familiar smell of earth air, the success he could have had, and the face of the man he once, no, still loved, that resolve crumbled. All thirty years of accepting his dimension-hopping reality vanished in an instant, and he was 28 again, fresh out of the portal. Once the anger and adrenaline faded, he was left lying awake at night (or whatever constituted for night in the nightmare realm) with some other creatures hiding from Bill, wanting nothing more than to go home. In that moment, even his drive to save the multiverse from madness was dwarfed by the desire for familiarity, closeness, safety. Despite all of this, he couldn’t bring himself to leave and look for the guns himself, not when Fiddleford thought he’d be waiting here for him.
Footsteps outside the room startled Ford out of his thoughts, and he dove behind the chair he’d been detained in. It wasn’t much cover, but it was cover, and though it was probably just Parallel Fiddleford, it was better to be safe than sorry.
“Good afternoon, F,” Ford heard his own voice say. Outside must have been Parallel Ford.
“Good afternoon, my love,” Parallel Fiddleford replied, and there was the unmistakable sound of a quick kiss. “I got ya some coffee.”
“You’re the best, Fidds!” Parallel Ford said. “You know, Stanley said that Italian place was pretty good, and we were thinking of going there tonight,”
Parallel Fiddleford chuckled. “That sounds great, Stanford,” he said, then added playfully: “now finish yer work so we can go to dinner an’ we ain’t here ‘til midnight!”
The sound of footsteps told Ford he left, and it was safe to come out. He didn’t, though, not until he schooled his face into something neutral. When he did, he was lucky enough that Parallel Fiddleford had only just stepped into the room.
“I know ya said ya didn’t want anythin’, but I got ya a coffee an’ some jellybeans,” Parallel Fiddleford said, and then produced the aforementioned snacks and a first aid kit from his bag. “I wasn’t sure how ya like it, so I just made it the way I do for my Ford.”
Indeed, the coffee was excellent, among the best he’d had in the past thirty years, though that could have been it was the only earth coffee he’d had in thirty years. Ford still said nothing as Parallel Fiddleford cared for his wrists. He knew what would come out if he did, and he wasn’t going to force his need for closeness onto Parallel Fiddleford.
Like his own Fiddleford, Parallel Fiddleford had an effect that made him say things anyway. As if on cue, Parallel Fiddleford said “what’s on yer mind, Ford?”
“Well,” Ford started, thinking of something to say that wasn’t I miss the you from my dimension and it’s a good thing I can’t interact with this dimension’s Ford because it’s not fair that he gets success and happiness and a good relationship with Stanley and you and “after I finish my quantum destabilizer, I’m going to fight Bill.”
Parallel Fiddleford’s knee began to bounce at around 6.7 KBPS. Not that Ford was keeping track, of course. “Quantum destabilizer, ya say? How’s it work?”
“It doesn’t,” Ford explained. “I haven’t been able to find an element with the necessary power and stability.”
Parallel Fiddleford hummed in acknowledgment. “I might know just the thing. Follow me.”
Sticking to the lesser used hallways to avoid detection, Ford followed Parallel Fiddleford to a lab full of substances not native to earth, some he’d seen throughout his travels, some completely new. It was truly a marvel; Ford could have spent his whole life in here, studying each of the materials, testing their different properties, applying them to different uses.
Parallel Fiddleford made his way to a shelf and returned with a sample in a clear plastic Tupperware. “This here’s an element I call NowUSeeItNowUDontium.” Ford almost laughed, because that is something Fiddleford would come up with, but this was not his Fiddleford. “Ya see,” Parallel Fiddleford continued, “it’s completely safe when observed, but when unobserved, it’s highly radioactive. That’s why we keep it in a clear container. We found it in the paradox dimension, an’ I really think we can get this to work.”
Working side by side on the quantum destabilizer reminded Ford a little too much of working on the portal together, or even college. Especially when their hands brushed. Especially when Fiddleford got excited explaining something and his KBPS went up to 7.4. Especially when they finished with a celebratory photo the same way they did proving the universe was a hologram.
Only, the good mood didn’t last, because finishing the quantum destabilizer meant it was time to fight Bill, and fighting Bill meant Ford had to leave. Staring down the portal to the Nightmare Realm, Ford was reminded of the last time he’d seen his own Fiddleford. It had been just like this: barely on the other side of the safety line while the blue glow washed over them, the air charged with the sense that, whatever happened after this, there was no going back. Back then, things had ended badly. You’re the one with the sickness! Fiddleford had said. That still haunted Ford’s dreams even after all the other nightmare-worthy things he’d seen. He should have listened. He should have shut down the portal long before Fiddleford had to see what was on the other side. He should have heeded the warnings in that cave and never summoned Bill to begin with. But he did, and now he was stuck here, and Bill was at large, and Fiddleford hated him for a good reason, and he never even got to say goodbye except for when he said he didn’t need him or anyone and was happy to see him go and now he had to leave him again even though this was never really his Fiddleford to begin with and “Fidds, I don’t think I can do this.”
Fiddleford put a hand on Ford’s shoulder. “‘Course ya can, Ford. If anyone can take down Bill, you can.”
Ford shook his head. “No, Fidds, I—“ breathe in. “—I never even said goodbye—“ breathe out. “—I’m not ready to—“ swallow. “I’m not ready to leave you again.”
Before Fiddleford could process what was going on, and before Ford could think through what he was doing, Ford pulled him into a tight hug, like if he squeezed hard enough, Bill would apologize for trying to destroy his dimension and Ford wouldn’t have to face him and wouldn’t have to leave even though, if that happened, there’d still never be a place for him in this world. “Don’t make me leave yet. I love you, Fidds.”
Tentatively, Fiddleford hugged back. “No, ya love your Fiddleford. I ain’t yer Fiddleford.”
“Well,” Ford sniffed, “can you pretend? Just for a moment?”
Fiddleford sighed. “Ford, I really don’t think that’s a good—“
“I don’t care!” Ford interrupted. “I don’t care, Fidds. I’m never going to see him again. You’re the closest I’ve come in thirty years. Just for a minute, pretend you love me.”
“Ford, I do love ya,” Fiddleford said slowly, “but I ain’t gonna pretend to be your Fiddleford. We both know that’s only gonna hurt worse in the end.”
Ford was silent for a moment. “I know. I just miss him so much.”
Fiddleford pulled him a little tighter, just tight enough to tell Ford he was there. “If he’s anythin’ like me, he misses ya too.”
“He doesn’t,” Ford said, and part of it felt like a lie, since Ford wasn’t even sure if he really believed it himself, or if he was just saying that because the more tragic his story seemed, the more love he’d get from Fiddleford. “Last we spoke, he said he never wanted to see me again.”
“I did say that,” Fiddleford said after a moment. “But I forgave Ford in this dimension, and if he’s anything like me, if ya put in the effort to apologize, if ya really care—an' if this is proof of anything, ya do—he’s gonna forgive ya”
“You really think so?” Ford asked. It was a stupid question. He knew it was a stupid question. He also wanted to stretch this moment out just a little longer.
"I wouldn't be married if I didn't think so,” Fiddleford said, and pulled away just far enough to wipe the tears off Ford's cheeks. “Ya said yer from dimension 46’\, right? We mastered safe dimensional travel here. Maybe ya can just forget about Bill an’ I can send ya home?”
Ford paused for a moment. He was ashamed to admit it was a tempting offer. He had the metal plate; Bill couldn’t get to him. What was stopping him? "No," he said finally, "thirty years ago, I promised I'd stop Bill, and, for the good of the multiverse, that’s what I'll do.”
"Alright," Fiddleford said. "If ya ever make it back here after ya save the multiverse, an’ ya still need a way back home, don’t be a stranger, ya got that?
Ford nodded. "I won't."
"Good," said Fiddleford. "Now, go save the multiverse."
Instead of pulling away. Ford crashed their faces together in a quick, messy, desperate kiss. Parallel Fiddleford did not kiss back.
Just as suddenly as it started, it was over. Before Parallel Fiddleford could even comprehend what happened, Ford was gone, into the nightmare realm to see what destiny awaited him.