#I do think bill would love using fords voice to praise himself

[spoonyspine]

I do love drawing bill possessing ford heh there’s so much there have these silly doodles‼️

[maximumjinx]

Steven Universe Gravity Falls AU

~Yknow what they say, if you run out of content, ya gotta make it yourself. This is a ? shot (I might continue or not who knows not me) please don’t ask for more I have 18 unfinished fanfics on this site.~

California was nice, Steven had to admit. The people were nice, the food was fantastic, and the weather was splendid. It reminded him a lot of Beach City. Though there were just so many people, and traveling north, Steven was beginning to long for something small and simple again.

Oregon was the perfect place for that, right?

“Ronaldo wants pictures of Bigfoot, and if anyone can find him, its you Steven.” Petey’s voice was faint on Steven’s phone speaker, tossed into the passenger seat as Steven blindly picked a highway exit.

“Sure Petey, but couldn’t Ronaldo just go to a circus?”

“Not big feet Steven,” Petey emphasized, “Bigfoot.”

“Saying it twice isn’t helping buddy.” Steven was half paying attention. He was focusing on the winding roads and the looming trees surrounding him. Deep, in the pit of Steven’s stomach, he felt something start to tug him toward one direction farther away from the highway. He wasn’t quite sure if it was a good or bad feeling yet.

“Forget it, I’m going to take a blurry photo of that mean Gem in the woods and say its Bigfoot.”

“Just don’t let Jasper catch you, she’s no joke when she’s angry.”

“I saw her ripping grass out of the ground I think I’ll be fine. Later dude.”

Steven heard a small click and smiled to himself. He’s happy to see how far the people of Beach City have come and how they’ve taken to the gems. He remembers when the Crystal Gems were once the outcasts of town that locals warned you to stay away from.

He looked up to see a welcome sign.

“Gravity falls. Well, that’s a funny name.”

—

Steven wanted small and simple but he feels he may have overshot it.

This small town had exactly three attractions. A town museum that mentioned marrying woodpeckers (Steven couldn’t figure out if that was a normal human thing, like taxes and velcro), a small diner, and as one local described it ‘some tourist trap’ deep in the woods. It was a sticky summer day and the former two attractions didn’t have airconditioning. Steven gambled on the last stop in hopes of stretching his legs and maybe finding a source to the strange feeling in his gut. It had become much stronger since he entered this small town. Alluring, but nothing related to Gems as far as Steven could tell.

He parked in the nearly empty lot and stepped out. Jacket wrapped loosely around his hips, Steven made his way inside.

A girl that looked about 13 was petting a pig on the front porch. She was incredibly reflective, and depsite the heat wore a knitted bedazzled sweater that made her glow like a disco ball in the sun.

She looked Steven up and down as he approached, a wide smile taking up her face and Steven saw bright braces with colored bands.

“Hi!” She launched upwards, startling the pig away, “I’m Mabel, but you can call me anytime.” The girl winked and stuck out her hand, palm facing the floor.

Steven blinked.

“Mabel, stop scaring away the customers!” A gruff voice yelled through the screen door, and soon an older man stepped out in a suit, wearing a fez and eyepatch.

Immediately the old man squinted at Steven, sizing him up.

Stanley Pines knew this teen wasn’t local, but he wasn’t sure if he had any money. For all he knew he was another boy trying to hit on his giftshop cashier, Wendy.

Oh well, a customer is a customer.

“Come in, come in, and see our mystical and magical wonders!”

“Magical?” This could be it, Steven could figure out why this town has felt off. Maybe it was gem related after all.

Quickly this older man who had introduced himself as Mr. Mystery gave Steven a tour of what looked like failed taxidermy projects. Now Steven may have a lived a sheltered childhood, but he felt pretty confident there was no such thing as a Sashcrotch. And so far, nothing had felt magical or mysterious.

“That concludes our tour! Here is our mistifying giftshop and it’s purchasable wonders!”

“Right...” Well, at the very least he was able to spend some time in airconditioning.

There was a girl behind the desk in plaid that looked about Steven’s age, and just a half inch shorter than him. She looked bored, flipping through a magazine as a young boy that looked a lot like Mabel made googly eyes as he swept by the door.

Steven guessed there was no harm in asking around.

“Hi, I’m Steven.” He smiled easily, walking up to the register.

“No refunds, even if an exhibit bit you.” She sighed, peeking up before turning back to her magazine.

“Oh no, nothing bit me, I just wanted to know something.”

She looked up to get a better look at Steven and gave a small smirk.

“Sure, but only because I like your shirt. Mr. Universe merch, now that’s a deep cut.”

Unbeknownst to Steven, Dipper Pines would had been watching the exchange felt a twinge of uneasiness as this out of towner talked with Wendy.

“Have you ever seen anything strange or weird actually happen in this town?”

Wendy’s smile dropped.

“Why do you ask?” Her eyes flickered to Dipper, just for a moment, and that was all he needed to rush over.

“Excuse me sir, please buy something or exit the store.” Dipper spoke in the deepest voice he could muster.

Steven looked over with a questioning expression.

“Oh sure uh-“ He blindly reached for the wad of bills that his dad had given to him before he left. Steven pulled out a hundred dollar bill and put it on the counter. Wendy looked up baffled as Steven stuffed the other cash back in his wallet.

“Boy was I wrong about you kid!” Mr. Mystery, seemingly materializing out of nowhere, now bounded over. He had loosened his tie and lost the eyepatch which turned out he never needed.

“Whaddya wanna know? I’ll tell you everything. There’s gnomes in the woods you know-“

“Grunkle Stan!” Dipper protested loudly, dragging his Stan away and harshly whispering at him.

“Did you steal that money?” Wendy asked as Steven watched the pair whisper fight in the corner. He turned back to the girl and gave a sheepish smile.

“Uh no, my dad gave it to me before this roadtrip. He’s actually Mr. Universe.”

Wendy lit up.

“No freaking way! Your dad is Mr. Universe? I only got into him since he managed Sadie Killer and the Suspects and they always perform covers of his songs on tour, I can’t believe he’s your dad!” She rambled, stars in her eyes. Steven beamed, he loved when people praised his dad’s music. Greg really deserved it.

Steven learned Wendy’s name and they swapped stories back and forth, only interrupted as the girl from outside slowly rose from the behind the counter beaming.

“A cute musician that loves weird stuff, take me now.” She swooned. Steven blushed profusely, not used to the attention.

“Sorry, my girlfriend Connie probably wouldn’t like that very much.” He said gently. Mabel looked him up and down and pouted.

“I can wait, but not forever.” She warned, and winked, bounding to break apart her grunkle and Dipper, who are now whisper screaming with arms flailing.

“I wasn’t going to mention that Dorito shaped jerk! Just the normal stuff!”

“It’s dangerous! He could be a spy, or government, or another stack of gnomes!”

Steven raised an eyebrow and looked at Wendy. She chuckled and shrugged. Steven carefully approached them.

“He can hear everything you’re saying anyways so might as well tell him!” Mabel interrupted, nodding towards Steven as he came up.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m definitely not government.” Steven technically didn’t exist at all. He never had a social security card and didn’t have a birth certificate.

Dipper only glared. Rich strangers with an interest in the paranormal didn’t come through gravity falls without some kind of agenda.

Steven hated the conflict he was starting. No information was worth this family fighting.

“Okay,” he surrendered, hands up, “I’ll just go. I’ll stick around town until tomorrow if you change your minds”

“Wait Steven-”

“Let him go Wendy,” Dipper glared as the boy in pink walked out, “We can’t trust him.”

“But I was going to ask for Sadie tickets...” Wendy groaned, defeated.

“There’s something weird about him.”

“Great!” Mabel beamed, “He’ll fit right in.”

~.~

Steven wasn’t crazy about sleeping in his car, but was seriously considering it after seeing the state of his motel room. It looked like it hadn’t been used in decades, a thin line of dust covering every surface. He was also pretty sure they didn’t even have free ice. 

“Wish Pearl were here..” He mumbled, exhausted. He curled up on top of the covers, fully clothed, and let sleep take him.

Being Steven Universe however, meant rest was sure to allude the half alien. 

Steven found himself in a dark space, fog all around him. Before a word could come out of his mouth he heard a fast, repetitive muttering. 

“Stranger...Wendy looked pretty today..Can’t trust...Tell no one...Ford isn’t here..”

“What, the-” Steven quietly walked toward the source of dialogue, and saw the faded silhouette of the boy from the Mystery Shack. His back was turned to him, but Steven recognized the blue vest and mosquito bitten legs. 

“I thought I was over the dream hopping.” Steven spoke a tad too loudly, starting the young boy - Dipper.

“What-” Dipper’s eyes grew wide in panic, and the boy fell back harshly.

“No, no, you can’t be in my head!” 

“Wait, I’m not-” Steven tried to reassure him, stepping carefully towards the boy but Dipper let out a screech of terror, sweat gathering around his temples.

“Bill sent you didn’t he?! He’s not really gone- he’s going to hurt Mable again-” Dipper began to hyperventilate. 

“Dipper please,” Steven took a step back, arms in the air in surrender. 

“I-”

“I’m not going to hurt you I swear on the gems.” He placed a hand over his heart. “This is a total invasion of privacy but it’s something that happens when someone’s emotions are out of control-”

“How are you here?” Dipper demanded, scrambling to his feet. “Tell me what you are and what you want.”

“I’m just passing through!” Steven insisted, then lowered his tone to calm the younger boy. “I’m kinda of magnet for weird stuff. I just wanted to help in case anything was going on.”

“We deal with things just fine around here.” Dipper spat, then watched as Steven deflated. He seemed tired, like he hasn't slept well in a while. 

“So what are you anyways? How can you be here?”

Steven winced, and laughed nervously. “It’s kind of a long story..”

Dipper raised and eyebrow and swept his arm around the void dramatically. 

“You have until dawn.”

~

“I thought that was a conspiracy theory, it wasn’t even covered by major news outlets.” Dipper look exhausted, cross legged on the unseen floor as he ran his hands through his hair. 

“I think Garnet is pretty persuasive when it comes to government and reporters. They all kinda fall in love with her.”

“She’s the one that’s really two aliens?” 

Steven shook his head with a small smile. “It’s hard to explain but yes, I guess that comes close.”

“That’s actually insane. I’m insane, aren’t I?” Dipper stood up, leaving Steven on sitting next to an empty space. “It’s been too quiet around here and now I’m so desperate for weird, that I’m making it all up in my head.”

“I get that feeling.” Steven smiled without humor, “but no, this is real. I’ll prove it when you wake up.” Steven felt a shift, the fog in the void getting denser. 

“Sooner than I thought, you’re an early riser huh?”

Dipper looked back at Steven, panicked. “You’ll come to the Shack again right? In just a bit?”

Steven smiled. “Promise.”

~

Dipper woke up to his sister braiding his hair. Mabel still had her pjs on, and a make up kit next to the bed. Dipper frowned, tasting strawberry shortcake. 

“Stop testing party looks on me, Mabel.”

“Stop having my face structure and maybe I will.” She grinned, covered in blue glitter. 

Dipper quickly washed up and got dressed for the day, feeling like he was anxiously waiting for something but not quite remembering what. 

He felt like he had a strange dream last night...

He quickly remembered, choking on cereal as Steven walked into the shack right as it opened. Hair slightly frizzy from the heat and eyes strangely tired. Maybe dream hopping took energy that he anticipated. 

“Steven!”

“Meal ticket!” 

“Grunkle Stan.” Mabel chastised as Dipper rushed over to the older boy. 

“Good morning everyone.” 

Dipper stopped short, slightly hoping that everything he experienced wasn’t just his imagination. That everything exciting and weird and interesting wasn’t always trying to kill him, ruin his life, or steal his candy. 

Steven looked tired, like he had been doing this much longer than Dipper, but he had still come out with enough energy to smile. 

“Not insane?” Dipper asked hopefully, quietly. Steven snapped his attention from his Grunkle and Mable bickering down to the Dipper. He gave a reassuring smile, eyes quite serious. 

“Not insane.”

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - How A Star Is Born ch.IX

Hercules AU, founded by @evaroze, whom this fic is a gift for. I hope y’all like it!

ch.VIII - ch.X

AO3 link

~~~~~~~~~~

Mabel never thought the day would come when Grunkle Ford would ask her to go down to Earth. Sure, she was allowed to go visit as long as she was hidden and back at Olympus at a certain time, but she never thought she would be standing before her father-figure and be asked to specifically go down to Earth, but here she was.

“I… I want you to check on Stanley.” Grunkle Ford asked solemnly. “And Mason, too, for that matter. See if they’re alright.”

“Um… okay.” Mabel was a bit unsure if she dared believe his instructions. “You want me to go down there and pay them a visit?”

“No.” Grunkle Ford said. “I’m sorry, but no. I want to project yourself onto the art of Thebes and see if they’re alright. Bill says Stanley isn’t… with him, but he is very busy thanks to a small war in the Middle East. Do not make yourself known, simply see if they’re both okay.”

Mabel smiled slyly at him. “You want me to spy on our mortal family members?”

Grunkle Ford sighed and nodded. “Yes.”

“YES!” Mabel cheered and punched the air. “Finally, a chance to use my sneaky peaky spy skills!” And she ran out of the temple, tripping and breaking a vase along the way.

And so Mabel went down to Earth, traveling from statue to statue, painting to painting, floor art to floor art, all throughout Thebes. She had never been to the Big Olive and was excited to see the new place and to find Dipper and Stan’s home.

It was well into the night at this point. The stars twinkled and the night air was warm and soothing. Mabel thought he heard a familiar voice filled with laughter, and she looked down the street and grinned widely from the stem of a birdbath. She was ecstatic to see her brother on a date with a beautiful young lady; she decided to follow them and listen carefully. This was also good reassurance that Stan was okay; Dipper wouldn’t have left his side otherwise.

“Wow, what a day.” Dipper sighed. “Dinner by the ocean, that play… oh boy, I thought I had problems.”

Pacifica and Dipper both laughed, but one was having to force it more than the other. Slowly, steadily, Pacifica could feel herself becoming distracted. She had to focus. Her freedom was on the line. Still, as much of a nerd Wonderboy may be, able to tell the measurement of an item by glancing at it and solve impossible equations in his head in a second, he was actually a really nice guy. Getting tired of pretending, she decided to try a bit harder to find Dipper’s weakness so this whole thing could end.

Walking down some steps, Pacifica faked a trip at the last step. Dipper caught her swiftly and Pacifica winced. “Ugh, I think I stepped funny, landed on my ankle wrong.”

“Ouch,” Dipper sympathized. While he may have super god-like strength, that didn’t mean he never twisted an ankle or bent a wrist wrong, a small pain but no damage or hardly an injury. “Here, we can sit for a sec.” And he scooped her up gently and carried her to sit on the edge of a giant water fountain, the same water fountain Mabel was projecting herself into the heart of the small wall, eagerly hoping her twin would at least get a kiss.

“Oh. Thanks.” Pacifica was a bit taken back by his extra effort in manners, but quickly reminded herself that with strength like his picking up a girl was nothing. So she moved on with her plan. “So, do you have any issues with weak ankles?”

“Hm? Oh. No, not really.” Dipper chuckled.

Pacifica giggled alongside him and sat closer. “Really? No trick knee?” She asked slyly. “No bad shoulder?”

Dipper was blushing heavily, a bit uncomfortable with the praise and trying to remain humble as he gave an honest answer. “No, I’m… I’m pretty healthy…” And his smile dropped at remembering that the same couldn’t be said for Stan.

Pacifica rolled her eyes, ready to give up on her quest. Bill would just have to find some other way to kill him. She then noticed how down Dipper appeared, much more so than he had been all night, and before she realized what she was doing, she asked, “Hey, you okay?” Pacifica instantly bit her lip. Why did she say that? And why did she actually care?

Dipper looked at her with heavy eyes and sighed tiredly. “It’s Stan. He’s… He’s not well.”

Pacifica softened a little. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Dipper looked up at the stars to make it easier to talk. “It’s just… he… I dunno. I was raised in an orphanage until I was twelve and went looking for him. Stan’s looked after me ever since, and… and he feels like family. I’ve never had one, and… it sometimes feels like he’s all I got.” Dipper was being very careful not to talk about the fact that he had a family waiting for him, but after only talking to Mabel here and there for so long, having never met them in the flesh or been at home, it sometimes felt like Stan was truly the only one there for him.

Pacifica scoffed and stood up to make some distance. “Family isn’t that great.”

Dipper blinked and stood to follow her down the street. “What do you mean?”

“I dunno, people just make such a big deal over families or whatever.” Pacifica complained. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. They’re just a bunch of people who would turn their backs on you just as quickly as anyone else.”

Dipper was a bit taken back by the harshness of her tone, but he shook it off to try to comfort someone who was clearly hurt. “That’s not true. Some families, sure, maybe. But not all families are like that.”

Pacifica gave him a sharp look. “How would you know?”

Dipper was a bit hurt by that, but it only made him more determined to change her mind. He took her hand as they were at the doorstep of his home, and he said firmly, “My family might be really small, and kinda broken, but it’s still an amazing family. We look after each other. We care for one another. And… And you could be a part of that.” Dipper bit his lip. Why did he say that? And why did he actually mean it?

It was Pacifica’s turn to be dumbstruck. She shook her clear to try to clear it and said, “I gotta go. Goodnight, hero.” And she kissed his hand, let go, and hurried down the street.

Dipper’s mouth was open so wide a fly nearly threw in, but luckily he coughed it out before he accidentally swallowed it. He brought his lucky hand up shakingly to smile at it, swearing he would never use it for anything ever again. Okay, maybe for one thing.

Mabel, meanwhile, knew that Pacifica liked Dipper and hurried after her, ready to perform a musical number to convince her to admit it and follow her heart and say she was in love, but as Pacifica hurried into the outdoor museum full of art, Mabel felt a chill go down her spine. She stopped at a brick wall-art of the sun and hid herself behind a bush, remembering her grunkle’s orders to stay hidden, just in case.

A small pyramid glowed yellow and with a small poof the triangle with a black toga appeared, smiling (as much as one can without a mouth) at Pacifica. Mabel stared, a little confused; this must be Grunkle Ford’s friend, the one Uncle Fiddleford didn’t seem to like very much. Instantly she could understand why Uncle Fiddleford didn’t like him, but so far Bill hasn’t done anything to learn Mabel’s dislike, so she kept an open-mind and listened.

“Hey-o, Llama, so whatcha got?”

“Nothing.” Pacifica said coldly, her arms crossed.

“Nothing?” Bill repeated.

“Nothing. No weak spot, no bad nerves, no tricks. Nothing. He has no weaknesses.”

Bill growled in his throat, floating back and forth in a pacing kind of way, his black hands behind his back. “No! Everybody’s got a weakness! We just gotta find it!” The demon stopped as he looked at a statue of a couple in love. “Maybe… Ugh, if only Sixer wasn’t so overprotective of Shooting Star. We could use her as bait.”

Pacifica snorted. “Yeah, good luck getting your hands on her.”

“But maybe…” Bill held his… well, he doesn’t have a chin, but he did put a hand to the front of his body in that type of manner. “... there’s someone we can get our hands on.”

“What?” Pacifica asked, not seeming bored for the first time in this entire conversation. “You mean Stan? I guess… Dipper did say he was like family.”

Bill cackled. “Oh, if only he knew.” The triangle gasped and punched his hand with the side of his fist in thought. “Hey! We can use that! Great work, Blondie. Now c’mon, we got a whole galaxy to conquer!” And he swooped himself and Pacifica away in a burst of blue fire.

Mabel had both hands over her mouth to keep herself quiet. She had so many questions and was confused on a few things, but she did know this: Bill wanted to hurt Dipper. Bill wanted to take over the galaxy. And he was lying to Grunkle Ford.

Without another thought, Mabel dashed as fast as she could for home. She accidentally gave herself such bad tunnel vision out of fear and desperation that she didn’t hesitate until she was at the entrance of her shared temple with her great-uncle. The young lady peered his office to find him hunched over his work, finding it hard to concentrate with the fate of his brother on his mind. Mabel didn’t know much about Bill, despite being a fellow god, but she did know that Ford considered him a friend, so this would be difficult news to deliver.

Mabel gently knocked on the column beside her to alert her guardian of her entrance. He turned and smiled genuinely at her. “Mabel, I’m happy to see you’re home safe. How… How is Stanley?”

Mabel winced; she had completely forgotten to check on her long-distance uncle in the excitement of her brother’s date and the harsh discovery. “Grunkle Ford, I need to tell you something.”

Immediately Ford feared the worst. It was too late. He would never see Stan again, and it was all his fault. Mabel sat on the desk and took his six-fingered hands. He bit his lip and braced himself as Mabel looked down, trying to find her words. After a moment or two that nearly killed the immortal god, the young muse asked carefully, “Bill… Is he your friend?”

Ford felt the wind being kicked out of him from the shock. He could have cried, he was so relieved, but instead he laughed and nodded. “Yes! Yes, my dear, Bill is an old friend of mine. If it wasn’t for him, the world would still be in complete chaos. My leadership position, and really the existence of you and your brother, is all thanks to him. He helped me save the world.” He praised.

Mabel looked even more nervous; Ford had hoped that this answer would assure any worry she had, but clearly this wasn’t the case. Before the god could ask what was wrong, the muse said quietly, “I think he only helped you save it so he could have it someday.”

Ford blinked like a confused owl at her. “What… What are you talking about?”

“I… I think… no, I’m sure that…”

“STANFOOOOOOOOORD!”

Mabel and Ford turned to the direction of the call and ran for the exit of their temple. They watched Fiddleford use his super speed to dash to them, pale and stuttering with fear. “HONEY FOGELIN’, SALT-LICKIN’ SKULLDUGGERY! OH, WE’RE IN TROUBLE! OH!”

“Fiddleford, buddy, calm down.” Ford gripped him by the shoulders to give him a chance to breathe and adjust his small glasses. “What’s the matter?”

“We’ve got an army o’ monsters that are practically at our gates!” Fiddleford informed. “There’s only a few minutes until Olympus is overrun!”

“What?! Alert the other gods! Prepare for a counter attack! Go, go!”

“Gone, babe.” Fiddleford said sarcastically with a roll of his eyes and ran as fast as possible as he blew his trumpet loudly throughout Olympus.

“Mabel, sweetie, I want you to go keep an eye on your brother.”

“But…”

Ford whistled loudly and the giant goat, Gompers, came trotting toward. Ford lifted her like a child and ignored her kicking and squirming. “Grunkle Ford!”

“I’m not asking!” Ford growled and gave her a firm look. “I can’t lose you! I just can’t! Now I’m ordering you to go check on M-... on Dipper. Now go!” And he smacked Gompers to make him gallop off the mountain and down to the mortal world.

~~~~~~~~~~

Just a few minutes after Dipper arrived back home, thinking about his amazing date with Pacifica, he decided to check on Stan. After making sure he was nowhere else in the luxurious house, Dipper gently knocked on his teacher’s bedroom door. “Stan? You okay?”

Praying the old man was at least wearing a toga, he carefully opened the door, but was a little surprised to find the bed empty. After a quick look around the lavish bedroom, Dipper concluded that Stan wasn’t here. He closed the door and turned away, wondering if Stan had gone outside for some fresh air, but was suddenly greeted by a high-pitched laughter and the lit torches made of stone were now blue. Dipper looked all over and was startled to find a huge golden triangle with one eye staring at him.

“Hey there, kid, name’s Bill, big guy of the Underworld, nice to meet you.” Bill said, a smooth-fast talker like a chariot salesman.

“Uh, hi.” Dipper greeted with a small, hesitant wave. There was no way the Ruler of the Underworld, the most mysterious god of them all, would be paying him a visit unless it was important or he wanted something.

“So, listen, Pinetree,” Bill said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and floating alongside him, walking like they were old friends catching up. “I’m an old friend of your great-uncle, Stanford. He’s a fun guy, great god, you’re a lot like him, you know that? Anyway, so, as a friend of the family, I need a favor from you.”

Dipper wasn’t sure what to make of this. This was his first time meeting a god apart from Mabel, and now to be needed by one was a bit confusing. Why now? Was it possible he was on his way to becoming a true hero? Was he almost a god again? Was this a test? He smiled nervously and shrugged. “Uh, sure, what do you need?”

“Oh, boy, look at this guy! A real trooper he is! You’re alright, Sixer Jr!” Bill laughed and clapped his shoulder. “Now, I would be eternally grateful if you took a day off from this hero gig. I mean, c’mon, monsters, natural disasters…”

All hope that this visit was a good thing died. Dipper scowled and shook his head, shoving Bill’s hand off his shoulder. There was one reason and one reason only someone would want him to stop being a hero, even if it was only for a short time. “No way…”

“Not so fast,” Bill said coolly and he locked his own fingers cunningly. “Cuz I have something that might change your mind.” And he snapped his fingers.

Out of thin air an old man appeared in chains, on his knees. “Stan!” Dipper gasped.

“Dipper, what the h-...” And more chains covered his mouth.

Dipper ran for his teacher but Stan was gone before the young hero could help. “Let him go!” He dove for Bill, but only fell through him, like the demon was made of mist.

“Here’s the deal: you give up your strength for the next twenty-four hours,” And Bill snapped his fingers again and Stan reappeared, gagged and trapped. “And Knucklehead here is as free as a bird and safe, we dance, we kiss, we schmooze, we go home happy. Whatcha say, c’mon?”

Dipper stared at Stan, who was shaking his head. The young man looked away and then back at Bill. “People are gonna get hurt, aren’t they?”

“Nah,” Bill dragged, flicking his wrists downward and then instantly shrugging with his hands behind his back. “I mean, maybe, there’s a possibility, it happens cuz, y’know, life sucks. So what?” The triangle joined Stan and cupped his face teasingly. “Isn’t your great uncle more important than they are?”

Dipper opened his mouth to order him to stop, but his jaw fell and his voice was stolen from him. Bill smiled excitingly and asked, “Oo, struck a nerve, did I?” He laughed maliciously. “You seriously didn’t know he’s Sixer’s brother?! Oh, man! This is sad! Ever wondered why he had a grudge against Fordsie? Ever wondered why he even gave a worthless orphan the time of day to begin with? It’s cuz he only barely cared cuz you’re blood. Duh.”

“You’re lying.” Dipper said firmly. “Stan, he’s making it up, isn’t he?” He begged, his brown eyes on Stan, the same eyes that matched his own. “Because… you would have told me if it’s true… wouldn’t you?”

Stan looked away.

“Daw, don’t blame him, kid. It’s not his fault you didn’t inherit Mr. Lightning Bolt’s brains. Now, c’mon, you really wanna lose another pwecious famwy member?”

“OKAY!” Dipper yelled to get Bill to fall silent. There was a moment of pause and Stan stared at his nephew. “Okay… okay… But you gotta swear Stan won’t get hurt.”

“Fine, whatever. Stan won’t get hurt.” Bill said and walked towards the birthmarked hero, leaving Stan alone for a moment. “Otherwise you’ll get your strength right back, fine print, blah blah blah. It’s a deal?” And he held out a hand encased in blue fire.

Dipper hesitated, looking down at it, and that made Bill a little irritated, a dangerous game to play. Bill withdrew his hand. “Y’know I really don’t have time to bat this around, I got places to be, people to see, I need an answer, like, now. Going once, going twice…”

"It's a deal!" And Dipper ceased Bill's hand.

At once, the demon's thumb sharpened, cutting into Dipper's hand and seemed to be sucking the strength out of him. The young man sagged and Stan fought harder than ever to break free, but it was too late. Bill let Dipper go and he fell to his knees like a puppet with his strings cut off. One could say Dipper should have made sure he agreed to only give away his "god-like" strength, rather simply "strength," for this loophole left Dipper far weaker than any man, arguably weaker than an infant.

Bill cackled as he held his three-sided body and wiggled his legs in joy. "Thanks for the favor, Pinetree! Now if you'll excuse me, there's an entire cosmos out there with my name on it! Oh! Right, can't forget." Bill snapped his fingers and Stan was set free from his chains. "The guy ashamed to be your family is all yours, hero."

He instantly ran to Dipper's hunched-over body and rubbed his back. "Easy, buddy boy, I got you. It's okay."

Dipper swatted his hands away and groaned from the effort. "Stan… why… why didn't you say…"

Stan was hurt, but pushed it aside to focus on how hurt his nephew was. He rubbed the back of his neck. "I… I wanted to. Believe me, kid, I wanted to, but… I couldn't."

"Oh, and one more thing. Lil'Llama, thanks for the info." Bill sneered, curling a finger from the shadows to himself, and his slave emerged with her head down in shame. "A deal's a deal, you're free to go."

Dipper stared, heartbroken more so than ever. "Pacifica?"

"Hey, that's the blonde damsel from the river." Stan growled. "Tramp. C'mon, Dipper, let's get you to…"

"Don't." Dipper snapped as he steadily got to his own feet. "I… I can take care of myself…"

Stan withdrew his hand and took a step back, letting Dipper hold himself up by leaning on a column, catching his breath. The proud uncle bit his lip and was distracted from his misery and shame when a big bang could be heard outside.

He stood outside his home and his mouth was open as the sky was an unnatural sea of colors and the ocean was raging with waves that seemed to make everything it touched weird. Bushes were coming to life and eating ghosts. Old women were being turned into furniture. Men were going delusional and eating their togas. Stan cringed at the weirdness, and it only got worse when some big goblin-looking monster with Eight Ball eyes was bringing havoc to Thebes.

~~~~~~~~~~

The planets aligning created a weak spot in the dimension, and in the depths of the sea, Bill peered down and could practically see his old minions in the Nightmare Realm. “My friends!” He called, pointing a finger at the weak spot and tearing a whole in space-time. “We finally have a new home, boys! But one guy stands in our way. An obnoxious poindexter with six fingers. So, since I’ve given you guys a stable home, whatcha gonna do about it?”

“DESTROY HIM!”

“Good answer.”

And so, when Fiddleford was disturbed from his nightly slumber on a low cloud outside of Olympus, he screamed and ran as fast as he could to alter his friend and the leader of the gods. Huge monsters scaled the mountain. Flying eyeballs flew like bats and screeched, turning fighting gods into stone and flying them away.

With Mabel gone and no longer terrified for her safety, Ford stood on a tall cloud just inside the gates of his home and shot down bolts of lightning with his golden crossbow. The monsters were sturdy, and while the attacks did slow them down, the battle was not looking good for the gods. Ford caught his breath and was very disturbed when a giant gray-blue loaf of bread with arms and legs but no face broke down the gates.

“What’s our status?!” Ford asked his best friend.

“Everyone’s bein’ turned t’stone!” Fiddleford yelled as an eyebat shined a beam down at him. “Even me!”

“NO!” Ford threw his last bolt at the eyebat, but it swerved out of the way and scooped up Fiddleford’s frozen body.

Ford looked left and right, waiting for an idea to come to him, but he was too clouded with anxiety and worry that he failed to notice the huge, now three-dimensional demon behind him. “Fordsie, I’m home.” A shrill voice sang.

“Bill?” Ford breathed, his eyes narrowing in anger and he shook with rage. He should have listened to Mabel and knew he was behind this. He growled like an angry bulldog and tried to throw a punch, but with a lift of a finger Bill had total control over Ford’s body and made him float lifelessly in front of him.

“Well well, looks like you truly are as dumb as you look. Tell me, did you really think such a powerful being would ever be friends with a six-fingered monster?” Bill laughed evilly and moved two arms close, creating lava and ice to work together to encase Ford in a stony prison. “This dimension is mine, Sixer, and it’s all thanks to you.” He said as Ford climbed and crawled to try to escape, but was steadily being encased, like quicksand. “Now all I need to do is make sure those brats stay out of my way.”

“NO! NO!” Ford screamed. “NOT MY KIDS, YOU CA-...” And he was completely covered.

“I’m the one giving orders now, Freak.” Bill sneered and sat in his new throne the eyebats had made for him, made entirely out of gods and goddesses. “And I think I’m gonna like it here.”

[a-mad-scientist-approaches]

The Cipher Conspiracy (8)

Here! Have a chapter entirely about Ford!

I estimate at the moment there will be fourteen chapters in total of this, but that may chang, as in the past my estimates have been very off XD.

Adeline Marks is @hntrgurl13‘s, and the Addiford ship is @scipunk63‘s. 

She doesn’t have a direct appearance in this chapter, but @missinspi‘s OC Madeline McGucket is still part of the fic, so I’m going to mention her anyway.

AO3  1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12  13  14

Gravity Falls, Oregon (USA)    ∆

Ford groaned as he straightened up. How long had he been hunched over this desk for?

Too long, he reflected, scanning through the work he had completed.

He made his way towards the elevator, intent on getting himself some food before proceeding to the next step. The doors opened before he could reach them, revealing Bill.

“Okay, smart guy, let’s see these plans,” he said, strolling out. Ford turned around and led the way back to the schematics he had been redrawing.

“We – uh – I altered the gun’s design in Russia, so there should be less chance of it malfunctioning during use now. I just finished making the final copy, so all that’s left is to start constructing it,”

Bill straightened up from pouring over the plans and clapped him on the back. “I knew you could do it, Sixer! A few problematic hangers-on aren’t enough to slow you down!”

“Right.” Ford said, deciding to move past that comment as quickly as possible.  “I think I should start putting together microcomputer first.”

Bill nodded, moving around the desk so he could scrutinise the plans more. “Use the precision instrument from China. Calibrate it to, oh, a working range of eight hundred nanometres to two centimetres. Lock it in position five for the circuit board, but position six should do for the rest.”

Ford was taken aback at the sudden rattling off of instructions. “You’ve used one before, then?”

Bill laughed. “Of course not Fordsy, I just know my stuff. Good thing I’m around, huh? Not to say that you don’t know what you’re doing, but, well . . .” he shrugged amiably.

“It’s good to pool knowledge,” Ford finished, choosing to think optimistically rather than be offended.

“Whenever you need me, pal! I’ve got things to do upstairs; you don’t mind if I take over the place for a bit while you’re not using it, right? Catch ya later,”

Ford did not like to criticise Bill: he had, after all, given him the opportunity to prove the full extent of his abilities to the world, if not in quite the way Ford had anticipated while growing up. For this reason, Bill was more like a friend than a boss, a sentiment that Bill had stated when Ford first met him, and which he had kept reinforcing through the years. However, it did irk him slightly that his residency was also morphing into Bill’s base of operations. On the other hand, it was also rather gratifying to see how much Bill trusted him. As far as he knew, no other agents were overseen as much as himself.

Monitored as much as myself.

. . . it was difficult to deny how freeing the weeks away had been. Perhaps he would like a little more breathing room.

That would no doubt occur once he finished the memory gun. Bill just wanted it complete, and then work would resume more like how scientists usually worked: in a less-than-imposing manner. Such as how he and Fiddleford had collaborated.

Speaking of Fiddleford, Ford was sure he would have loved this part.

He set up the machine on the desk, turned it on, and watched it knit together a circuit board with liquid fluidity.

∆

Bill swiped a squeezy toy from a couch as he passed. Making his way to the kitchen, he leaned back in a chair and put his feet on the tabletop. Then he took out his phone, tossing the toy up in the air.

“Ivan! I want an update. One that doesn’t ruin the good day I’m having,”

“McCorkle just had a meeting. I recall that Pines encountered two of Jheselbraum’s agents in Oklahoma . . .” The voice became more reluctant, as if the owner wished it wasn’t him that was bearing this news. “She was meeting one of them. You were right sir, Oracle Division is definitely involved.”

“Hmm. Well, good thing I was expecting that, or this would be really unpleasant for you.” Bill stood up and began walking around, tossing the toy from hand to hand, the phone jammed between his shoulder and ear.

“It’s time to shut Oracle Division down. Don’t blow your cover, Jhezzy’s pup’ll be outta your non-existent hair soon enough. Bigger problems to worry about, et cetera,”

“As you say, sir. I should also mention that Stanley Pines has reappeared,”

“Leave him. He’s out of the game now, or close enough. Besides, he just wouldn’t die. Four rounds of one-sided Russian poker and he’s still around – he’s like a roach! Whose underpants are stitched from luck! Maybe I’ll make him a job offer one day,” Bill mused, bouncing the toy off the wall.

“Yes sir. And what about the other Pines?”

“On track, finally. How long does it take to get some materials for cryin’ out loud? No need to come out here. But be on standby, just in case. Our resident genius is wising up.” The ball thudded into the wall again, but Bill didn’t catch it. He walked away, leaving it to ricochet behind him, where it cracked a glass frame and popped.

∆

Ford’s eyes were burning. He hadn’t blinked in a while. That was it.

Ow. Blinking hurt too.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, keeping his eyes closed. His fingers were trembling.

This was ridiculous. He had not even been working for that long! Granted, affixing the circuit boards to the hard drive of the microcomputer was slightly harder than he had anticipated, but he was getting there. And arranging the trigger mechanism had been frustrating. And positioning the internal reflective mirrors was an ordeal, to say the least. But all in all, he had about a third of the gun constructed (if he counted the tiny wires which he had laid out over the blueprints in preparation for their insertion), and it was only –

What time was it?

Ford opened his watery eyes and tried to make sense of the clock on the wall.

One o’clock? That can’t be right, I got home at one-thirty.

. . . I should really change that display to show twenty-four-hour time.

As he moved back towards the elevator room to find a chair, he realised that standing very still while bent over a table for six hours was not a great decision on his part. Every inch of him ached, even the parts that were not involved in keeping him upright. Sitting burned.

Midway through Ford’s groan, Bill came through the elevator, muttering.

“Those Oracle superiors better be awake . . .” He noticed Ford awkwardly slumped in a swivel chair. “Taking a break already, are we? It’s only been, what-”

“Eleven and a half hours,” Ford croaked.

“Come on, you’ve done longer than that at university!” Bill grinned, striding over to stand in front of him.

“Probably.” He yawned. “Just give me a minute.” A thought struck him. “Did you say Oracle? Like that Oracle Division you mentioned a couple weeks ago?”

Bill stiffened slightly, then shrugged.

“Yeah, they’re causing some trouble that I’ve gotta put a stop to. Banging on about the ‘Cipher Conspiracy’ again. Don’t ya just hate it when people won’t listen? Anyway, they won’t be a problem for much longer. That whole shebang is coming down pronto.” A momentary dark flicker crossed his expression. “I got a special gal who’ll be taking the fall, and when she does, so will the rest of those cage-rattling do-gooders.” He clapped his hands suddenly. “So! You gonna get back to work then, or do I have to find another genius?”

Ford chuckled and Bill laughed, but made no move to leave, and kept staring at Ford expectantly. The amusement fizzled out of the air. Ford suddenly wondered if it had ever been there.

“Well, I was thinking I could get back to it tomo- later this morning,”

“Come on, Sixer, we’re so close! Don’t tell me you traversed the globe for this, only to give up now?”

“I don’t think it would be giving up-”

“No? Sure looks like it,”

Ford stared at Bill, floored. Bill’s expression was the same as always: friendly, encouraging, betraying none of his thoughts.

Slowly, he stood up. He walked back to the desk where the almost one-third of a gun was.

“I knew I could rely on you, buddy!” Bill praised (or perhaps crowed) from behind him. “You’ve got some insane dedication, I think it’s safe to say, which means that device should be raring to go in no time! Got it? This is your ticket to the stars, and my ticket to the throne. It’s going to be great. You’re doing me a huge favour, you know that? You’re one of a kind, Fordsy, one of a kind. Don’t prove me wrong! That head of yours has to be good for something, haha, you know I’m joking. Catch ya later! I reckon you’ll be about half done by then, whaddaya think?”

∆

One third complete. Fully complete, not almost complete. Ford did not consider it a victory. He did not spend too long thinking about why. There was nothing to be gained from that, anyway. Nothing that could be considered important right now, per se. Nothing that, while worthwhile to consider, could probably just be attributed to the stresses of directing an agency. Nothing that could not be overlooked in favour of the . . . probably overall good that would come of the invention. Nothing that –

Ford sighed. He had been staring uselessly at the wall for five minutes now.

It would be better to throw himself into the work, he considered.

∆

God I’m tired.

I need to try harder.

Bill is right, we have waited far too long for this device’s construction, and I need to complete it, although he could be more helpful. He has already shown how adept he is with the machines. There’ll be plenty of time for rest afterwards. What is a few hours’ sleep deprivation in the face of an invention that could change the world? This is a personal challenge that I am entirely willing to accept.

have reluctantly allowed myself a five-minute break to write an entry in this journal. It is this, or fall face-down, unconscious, onto my desk. I am determined that, after two weeks of often having to share a room with Stanley S who cares? that the next time I sleep, it will be snorelessly. Is that a word? silently.

His snoring was strangely reassuring, however. It certainly made things seem less alone, cold, and dark. Or perhaps that’s just what the basement is like all the time.

I may need to head upstairs for a meal soon. I have not eaten since breakfast with Stan yesterday. Stan was a good cook. He made pancakes. Stan made pancakes. Stancakes. I think it may have been inadvisable to become so reliant on him for food.

∆

But what did he mean? Ford unwillingly wondered for the umpteenth time. It was happening every few minutes now, as he impatiently waited for the precision machine to complete another task.

Bill said odd things every now and then. It was just something Ford had learned to live with. Why was he noticing it now?

The answer was obvious.

But then again, no, it was not. Ford might occasionally become irritated with some of his boss’s mannerisms (arrogance), or his way of working (uncommonly close-at-hand), however he had never before felt as uneasy as he did now. He had always had the idea in his mind that while Bill might be his employer, he afforded Ford the same amount of respect he received. That idea was diminishing.

Simple answer.

But was it?

Yes.

I’m noticing it now because I’ve seen what it’s like to be without it.

∆

My mind keeps returning to our goodbye. Stan said to make sure that I did not get too caught up in my work. More occasions than the present one apply to this statement: for instance, once in primary school I became completely engrossed in a science project. It was a volcano with real lava, all contained on a miniature island. When I was unable to test it properly on the day it was due, I found myself having a panic attack. Now, the entire affair seems inconsequential, especially with the threats problems I face in the present. It mattered a significant amount at the time, though, and fortunately Stan knew me far better than I knew my project. He was able to calm me down, and the next thing I knew, the presentation went off without a hitch.

I miss him. And his Stancakes.

I meant what I said when I saw him off at the airport: I was going to come see him when I finished the project.

All the more reason to finish it soon, then.

∆

Ford took the clock off the wall. It was distracting, not to mention discouraging.

∆

The machine was obviously not accustomed to being handled manually: it had made the circuit boards on its own far easier than it let Ford use it to arrange the delicate piece of filament at the end of the gun.

He could feel Bill watching over his shoulder every step of the way. It was like at any moment he was going to snatch control for himself. The tremor had moved to Ford’s stomach now, leaving his hands feeling slow and heavy. Tiny pinpricks of sweat were forming on his forehead, nose, eyes. His glasses were about to give way and fall straight onto the gun, effectively smashing to pieces all his hard work. The microscope lens Ford’s face was glued to in order to see what he was doing would not stand a chance at stopping it. The glasses would fall, and everything was doomed. He might as well accept it now. No. That would be giving up. He did not give up. Bill was unmoving. The damn machine was not tilting properly. The filament would undoubtedly be lost forever in the ensuing chaos brought on by Ford’s crappy eyesight. He had not breathed in for a while. His stomach was lurching now.

In a fit of desperation and frustration, he jerked the controls roughly forward.

Miraculously, the filament slid exactly into place.

“HAH!” Ford shouted – or tried to. There was no air in his lungs for that to happen.

He heaved in a huge breath, straightening up as he did so. His glasses fell forwards and made a gentle tap on the lens of the microscope. Ford laughed hysterically. Bill made no comment. He just stood to the side, silent and watchful.

“Four fifths of the way done!” Ford said cheerfully, turning to him. To empty space.

Bill had left hours ago.

The elevator rumbled down, grating on Ford’s nerves, depriving him of a momentary relief.

Bill caught sight of him and laughed briefly. “Well I can tell you’ve been working! Never seen anyone so tired they put their glasses on the wrong seeing-hole.” He gestured to the machine, which Ford’s glasses were comically hanging off.

“Ah! Yes,” Ford said brightly, jamming them back on his face.

“Almost done I see.” Bill said, looking hungrily at the almost-complete gun. “Let’s get that last stretch over with, pal! I gotta tell you, I am longing for a chance to try it out. You know, you should be proud. It was you who brought all this into being.” Bill swirled an upright finger around to encompass the general vicinity.

“I appreciate it,” Ford said, banging a hand down onto the table to emphasise his statement. The gun jumped half a foot into the air, making a loud clunk as it fell. Ford laughed again when it did not break. The thing was invincible!

“Good to see you’re finally gaining a sense of humour,” grinned Bill.

“Who are you going to test this on? Not me, I hope,” said Ford grinning equally wide. Everything seemed very hearty at the moment. He remembered this feeling – first from university, and now every so often from the five years he had been working with Bill.

“Oh no, Fordsy, you’re my number one! There have been a few pains in the neck hanging around though. I’m sure I can think of someone,”

Ford nodded in agreement. Bill was good at thinking.

“Anyway, time to make that bulb! You’ve got some shimmern to melt down and some specific heat calculations to redo. You see that there? You forgot the indices.” He pointed casually at a sheet of working paper.

Ford managed an acknowledgement through tightly grit teeth and a strained smile. It was becoming painful, actually. How did Bill keep it up all the time?

∆

There had been stabbing pains in his stomach a few hours ago. He only remembered them when he reached precisely twenty-four hours without food.

Coffee counted as food, Ford decided, heating up the kettle.

The kitchen was really bright and his eyes did not want to adjust. He squinted into the –

He glanced at the clock.

-  eight AM light rebelliously.

Coffee in mouth.

HOT.

His legs felt really tired. He was fine, but his legs ached. So did his back. And arm muscles. And fingers. Taking a moment to sit down might be advisable.

Ooooohhh it was.

It was rather peaceful up here. Very quiet. Cool. The makeshift forge was making the basement incredibly hot, so until it was at the temperature it needed to be to melt shimmern, he would wait up here.

He should stretch out his neck more. A few cricks, but nothing too painful. It felt especially pleasant when he rolled his head forwards. Quite heavy, too. Maybe he would just lie on the table like this for a moment. Wait for the coffee to cool down. Wait for the forge to heat up . . .

Where are they?

There was blood everywhere, but no one in the chairs. No one in the room. A light was growing – a bright blue-white light. Not emanating from anywhere in particular. Just growing.

Someone shouted his name.

Fiddleford.

Was not with him. He must have found them. Ford turned to go.

There they were. All three of them. Standing just beyond the threshold of the door. They stared at him expressionlessly. Addi and Stan had bloodstains on their clothes. The ever-increasing light threw the colours into sharp relief. Everything trembled around the edges as though it was about to explode. Stan’s left hand was being held by someone he could not see. Fiddleford was looking at a photograph.

Where did you go?

"You were the one who left," said Addi.

A hum he had not noticed rose to a peak. He started forwards, needing to let her know he hadn’t, he was right here, he was going to see Stan so soon, he was going to ask Fiddleford to help on his next project, he was going to kiss her for real one day, he just needed some time, just a little –

A bulb exploded. Sparks. Silence. Dark.

Dark.

Dark.

Laughing next to his ear.

He jerked upright, lashing out beside him, eyes wide despite the glaring light, but he was alone.

Ford gasped for breath. How long had he been asleep for? Sleeping was – was not good. He scrubbed his face with his hands and downed the cold coffee with a shudder. Better than nothing.

Looking at the clock, he saw it had only been ten minutes. Plenty of time. He had plenty of time. He was not even on a time limit. That was how much time he had.

∆

When shimmern melted, it glowed a bright yellow-white and radiated incredible heat. Ford had to wear goggles and gloves just so he could stand to be near it, and even then he was sweltering.

The lovely tear-shaped pendant gave him one last sparkle before it liquified completely. A flash of a playful grin danced in front of him, the memory of an immense wind determined to drive him back briefly hijacking his senses.

“So much for returning it,” Ford muttered.

“Oops, might’ve forgotten to mention that we needed to use all of it,” shrugged Bill from the other side of the glowing material. “Ah, memories, memories.” Before he sauntered away, he gave Ford a look that was all too piercing.

Then again, a voice in his head weakly protested, everything looks hazy over here. You might be seeing things.

Ford snorted. “I really need to talk to someone that I actually want around,” he informed the blazing liquid.

He grabbed the last machine from China and started to shape molten shimmern, steadfastly ignoring an image in his mind’s eye of Adeline smiling as he had tried to dismantle the very same device he was using.

∆

“Y’know Ivan, he’s really come through,” said Bill, raiding the fridge. “I thought for a while he was going to pull some crazy stunt-” he waved his hands around wildly – “but it looks like he held out. Our genius is back on track!”

“So the device is complete, then?” asked Ivan on the other end of the line.

“It will be. VERY soon. Ol’ Six-Fingers can be amazing if he’s pushed. So anyway, just calling to let ya know I don’t need you to, ah, how to put this delicately,” he swiped a hand across his neck, miming a beheading, “murder him painfully. I mean, I haven’t exactly been keeping everything under wraps lately, but like I said, no crazy stunts, ‘You betrayed me!’, yadda yadda yadda.”

“Very convenient, sir. Is there any word on your solution for the situation over here?”

“Oh, yeah, our very own Agent Marks should be touching down right . . . about . . .” Bill checked his watch theatrically, “now. Once she’s blown off a head or two, you rush to her place having heroically tracked her down with your fantastic FBI training and arrest her. Events, cover-ups revealed, bing, bang, boom, Oracle Division topples like dominoes. And then I’m free to put that memory gun to some use.”

∆

“Sixer!” No answer. Bill frowned and walked back downstairs. “Weren't you . . . hey, Sixer!” Again, no answer.

Bill moved decisively towards the basement entrance.

“Well, well, well, well, well. My memory gun finished yet?” Silence. The entire basement was still. All the lights were off, like they were no longer needed.

“Pines . . .” Bill growled. Not taking his eyes off the dark space ahead, he took out his phone and pressed and selected a contact to call. No answering phone rang, apart from on the other end of the line.

∆

Ford fumbled one-handed with the phone, managing to answer while keeping a set of bloodshot eyes on the road.

“Bill! Yes, I’m here,”

“No, y’see Sixer, that’s the problem. You really AREN’T,”

“The memory gun’s finished. It’s on the worktable. Do you need something? I’m a little preoccupied right now.” Should he be talking to his employer so disrespectfully? Welp, too late now.

He careened around a bend in a move he felt his brother would have been proud of.

“You’re testing my patience, Fordsy. I’m sure I don’t have to phrase my question, since it should be OBVIOUS,”

“I didn’t tell you? I swore I did.” Ford said, genuinely surprised. After a second’s reflection, he reconsidered his position. “Oh. No, I only thought about telling you. That was probably when I got into the car,”

He revved the El Diablo’s engine enthusiastically.

“I’m going to visit Stan,” he informed Bill lightly, speeding past the “Welcome to Gravity Falls” sign so fast it was a blur.

“Why,” stated Bill coldly, in a way which was very emphatically not a question.

“Because I said I would!” Shrugged Ford happily. “I like being around him. I don’t like being cut-off and alone. I think the Cipher Wheel could benefit from a new point of view! Also, I need to return his car.”

He might regret saying most of those things later. He did not at the present moment, however, which was the important thing. It really was amazing what thirty-two hours without sleep could do for an individual’s self-confidence. In fact, this had been nothing; he felt like he could continue without sleep for days more.

“This is a little off-the-rails for you, you gotta admit. Pretty unexpected. A bit of a crazy stunt, you might say,”

“I suppose so. I think I’m overdue, to be honest. I will see you in a few days, sir!”

“Oh, you never know. Anything could happen. For instance, I bet you’re going to receive one heck of a welcome in Sacramento!”

“I’d settle for anything at this point!”

They both laughed. And kept laughing. And laughed some more. Ford ran out of breath first.

“I suppose you gotta make a stand at some point, Stanford! Might wanna scout out the turf beforehand, though. Seeya, kid!”

∆

“Ivan! You remember what I said about painfully murdering Pines? Yeah, let’s do that. He’s headed your way, and I wouldn’t miss him if I were you. In fact, same goes for anyone who gets in your way. We’ve got the means to deal with the fallout now,”

The memory gun glinted as Bill turned it over in his hand.

[lamerdeseslarmes]

Silent Lies

Mabel falls head over heels in love almost every week. Stan shrugs it off -Dipper and her are just kids, and who hasn't had an awkward crush when they were twelve ? (Stanford didn't.) Dipper tries not to show it but it frightens him, his sister's ability to love someone at first glance, to become obsessed with them like this, finally to move on quickly. (He's still not over Wendy, but he won't admit it.) He cares for Mabel, and doesn't want her to get hurt.

As for Stanford, he says nothing. The others never ask for his opinion on this, at least. But Stanford sees it all, and says nothing. It's easier this way. So when Mabel asks him if he's even been in love, Stanford says : no. The lie is easy. Easier than to tell your grand-niece, whose biggest dream is to have a summer romance, that yes, you did fall in love once.

You fell in love once, and the world almost ended.

Mabel pouts, but she doesn't insist. Yet, somehow, there's something in her eyes, a glimmer of understanding that should definitely not be there. Mabel hugs him and Stanford can feel himself shudder, because Bill, Bill was so warm too, in the quiet of the mindscape.

*

They burn the artefacts, all of them. They watch them burn, all of them, and they roast marshmallows with the fire. They laugh, all of them, and it's the best evening Stanford has ever had in... (something like thirty years, whispers a vicious voice in his mind.) Forever. The best evening he's ever had in forever.

The best evening. In forever. With his family. And Stanford laughs and he fits in there, with Stan and Dipper and Mabel, even with Soos and Wendy. He belongs there, he knows it.

Bill's all-seeing eye burns in the night, till nothing's left but ashes. And Stanford knows Dipper double-checked after him, to see if Ford didn't hid one of his many (too many, not enough) Bill related objects. The lack of trust should make Ford uneasy, but no. Dipper is right. Dipper is right and goes as far as to scratch away every tiny Bill Ford engraved into the walls, carved onto the floors. The boy's eyes glow with panicked fervor as he goes on with this task. Dipper knows better than anyone what harm Bill can do, how dangerous Bill can be. (Lies. It's all  l i e s. Stanford knows better.)

So they burn the artefacts, all of them, and Dipper silently asks Ford if he hasn't concealed one of them, somewhere else. Ford says : no. The lie is easy. Easier than to tell your grandnephew, whose biggest fear is a dream demon now forever haunting his nightmares that yes, there are more.

There are more of them that you branded into yourself, carved in your own skin with quiet devotion, and they make your heart burn, burn into the dead of the night.

Ford smiles and ruffles Dipper's hair. His nephew looks at him with admiration, and Ford can feel himself shudder because he knows this look, he knows it. He used to look at Bill with the same adoration in the eyes, too.

*

Smart guy, Bill says. (smartguygeniusbrainiaciqbrilliant m i n d--) Ford wakes up to the feeling of black silk-like arms touching him. His mouth is dry, his throat tight. Slowly, he puts a six-fingered hand over his mouth, nails scratching slightly at his stubble. His hand is calloused and feels rough, nothing like how Bill's inhumanely soft fingers used to feel against his heated skin all those years ago. Ford closes his eyes, tries to fight back the memories of Bill that surround him.

He remembers how Bill would possess him, how they had learnt to share his body, how Ford relished in having the control taken away from him. Unconsciously, his lips have started moving against his fingers. (He remembers how he used to kiss his own hand, the one Bill had control over. He remembers how good it felt, to be this intimate with a god, his god. How he felt his own breath hitch, more heated than before.)

Then Ford bites down, hard, and blood trips on his shirt. Everything was a lie, and he shouldn't delude himself further. Hasn't he already made a fool out of himself long enough ?

The day after, he'll tell Stan that he fought off a monster (that's Gravity Falls for you, right?!). Stan's eyes will narrow, but he'll say nothing.

But for now, as he tries to fall asleep again, his wounded hand clutched on the fabric of his shirt, right over his heart, Ford knows that he has lost.

…

He falls asleep soon after, a shy smile on his bloodied lips, hollow praises echoing through his mind.

*

The two brothers spend a lot more time together now. They don't fight anymore, and the bitterness has gone. (Well. Mostly. It isn't visible anymore at least.)

(Stan still wakes up shivering at night, convinced that Ford resent him, that Ford never loved him.) (They're just thoughts, he tells himselfs. Nightmares.)

Stan is glad to have his brother back. Ford is glad his brother regained his memories. Most of the time, they make it work. But once in a while, one of them slips. Memories from another time haunt them. Stan isn't sure they're even real. Ford knows they're too real, and they taste like regret.

“Hey Sixer”, Stan says. And sometimes Ford's eyes widen, his smile shatters and his hands tighten into fists. “Hey bro, is something wrong ?” Stan worries.

Ford shakes his head, faking a smile he hopes convincing. Stanford says : no. The lie is easy. Easier than to tell your twin brother, who sacrificed himself for his family, for you, because he loves you more than anything, that you hate this name now.

You hate this name now, because Bill tainted it, Bill went as far as to ruin your childhood memories.

Ford says nothing, listens to his brother, to his rapsy voice that's nothing like Bill's. Bill's voice, as annoying as it really were, sent shivers of pleasure down Ford's spine, and Bill called him Sixer and touched him and it was perfect.

*

Everything is calm in Gravity Falls now. Sure, there are still some weird occurrences sometimes -gnomes stealing pies, a triple-headed bear blasting off Disco Girl so loudly the entire forest can hear- but that's about it. Nothing too weird, nothing out of the ordinary. And it's fine, truly.

For the first time in thirty years Stanford doesn't have to run, doesn't have to watch his back. Days in Gravity Falls are sunny, filled with Mabel's laughter and Dipper's last discoveries.

And Bill is dead.

Bill is dead and finally Ford can sleep without fearing the demon will haunt his dreams. Bill is dead and they burned everything.

Sometimes Ford still flinches, though. Because of a sudden noise like an echo of laughter in the woods, or a triangular shaped hole in a tree. But Bill's All-seeing Eye is closed forever now, and Ford is safe.

… It is hard to believe he is truly free of Bill. Hard to believe that it's finally over, after all these years. His brother sacrificed himself for them all, and he saved them all.

And Bill is dead and the days are bright and slow, perfect and uneventful.

Isn't this life boring ? He asks himself.

Stanford says : no. Nobody can hear him now, nobody will ever be able to hear his thoughts again. But he says no, of course he's not bored, he loves everything about this life. If he says it loud enough maybe he will convince himself. Maybe one day he will truly feel this way.

So the lie is easy. Easier than to admit that you're bored. Bill is dead and you didn't even get to kill him yourself. Bill is dead and the only thing you've got now is a statue in the woods. (He thought about desecrating it, once. He will do it, one day.)

The truth is that Stanford Pines is bored and wishes he had something to look forward to.

(you lost, Ford. D'you really think you could get rid of me this easily ? Calm down buddy ! I don't wanna ruin it for ya but it's a bit too late, don'tcha think ? Oh, you can say whatever you want. That you don't love me anymore, that you never loved me, you hate me, you wanna kill me, yadda yadda. I don't care, Stanford. Thing is : you lost. Because guess what ? For more than thirty years I've been the only thing on your mind, Fordsy. Doesn't matter if it's because you wanted to annihilate me. The result's the same : now I'm gone and you're bored. Don't worry though, Ford. Not everything I say is a lie ; you're really gonna die at ninety-two. So, think you can bear to live so many years without me ?)

This is no good this is no good this is no good-

Ford can't recall the last time he heard Bill's voice inside of his head. He knows he's dreaming it, he has to be, because Bill's fucking dead and he won't come back, never

(Hey Ford, do you miss me yet?)

Stanford says nothing. It's only been a few days, and he's already tired of lying. His entire mind begs him not to answer, to laugh at Bill -like he should, because Bill isn't even there anymore, Bill is d e a d and

“Yes.”

Everything is quiet. Ford's heart is hammering inside his chest. He expected Bill's laughter to taunt him. But everything is silent.

Oh. Yeah. Right. Bill can't answer him after all.

If you made this far, thanks !! I actually wrote this some months ago, but I was wondering if I should add some other scenes in it (I decided against it) so that’s why I’m only posting it now. English isn’t my first language so it was a bit of a challenge -hopefully there aren’t too many mistakes left. But I had a lot of fun writing it, so I can only hope you liked reading it too !! -^^-

[thepeanutbutterwizard]

Precipice Chapter 5: The Saddest Song

Here we go!  The angst train is leaving the station!

Chapter 4       Chapter 6

Warnings for blood, violence, and some...freaky-deaky eerie magical implications.

This one guys, this one got painful.�� Enjoy!

Ford was paralyzed.  No, no, nonono.  This can’t be happening.  This can’t be real.  His breath hitched in his lungs, and it felt like ice was forming in his chest, squeezing his heart.  He was caught like a deer in the headlights under the yellow glare coming from his brothers eyes.

”IN THE FLESH FORDSY!” Bill cackled through Stan. “WELL, NOT MY FLESH YET, BUT THIS IS BETTER THAN NOTHING.  ESPECIALLY SINCE YOU DECIDED TO BLOCK ALL MY CALLS.”  Bill awkwardly moved Stan’s broken arm and knocked the plaster cast against his head, hard. “TALK ABOUT RUDE.”

Blood stated to seep through the bandages around Stan’s head where Bill had banged the cast against it.  The sight of the crimson stain growing on the white bandages snapped Ford out of his stupor. “BILL!”  Ford yelled, his voice thick with fear and rage “Get out of my brother!”

”AWW LOOK AT YOU FORDSY, PRETENDING TO BE A CARING BROTHER AFTER FORTY YEARS OF HATING OL’ STANLEY’S GUTS!  IT’S ADORABLE WATCHING YOU MEAT SACKS AND YOUR DELUSIONS OF LOVE AND ALL THAT JUNK!”  Bills grin impossibly got wider, stretching Stanley’s face to the point that it made Ford’s cheeks hurt just looking at him.  “BUT HEY, IF YOU INSIST ON PRETENDING TO LOVE YOUR DUMB BROTHER, I’LL PLAY ALONG!”  Bill twisted, swinging Stanley’s broken arm over to the one that was tied to the bed.  Before Ford could even process what Bill was doing, he grabbed Stan’s thumb and gave it a hard wrench.  A sickening ‘pop’ echoed through the hospital room, and Bill slid Stan’s hand through the restraint with a loud, pleased laugh.  “OHH MAN!  I FORGOT HOW AMAZING IT FEELS TO DISLOCATE FINGERS!  I MEAN, A DISLOCATED ARM IS FUN AND ALL, BUT THERE’S JUST SOMETHING SO INTENSE ABOUT DISLOCATING SOMETHING SO SMALL!”  Bill reached down and undid the restraints around Stan’s ankles, before throwing the thin hospital sheet and Mabel’s beautiful gift to the floor.  He swung around, hanging Stan’s legs off the side of the bed, and threw his arms out as best he could, tugging the IV lines taught.  “COME GIVE YOUR BROTHER A HUG SIXER!  WE BOTH KNOW YOU WANT TO!”

Ford took a step back, mind racing.  “This is a trick!  Enough of your games Cipher!  Leave me in peace!”  This was all a dream.  That was the only situation that made sense.  Ford must have fallen asleep in that chair, and left himself open, vulnerable to Cipher and his power over the Mindscape. That had to be what was happening.  Ford knew that Stan would never fall for Bill’s tricks and flattery.

“OH HO HO, YOU WISH THIS WAS A TRICK SIXER!”  Bill cackled  “YOU WISH THAT THIS WAS JUST ONE OF YOUR NIGHTMARES!  BUT, NOPE, THIS IS 100 PERCENT, CERTIFIABLY REAL!”  Bill waved Stan’s arms around, doing his best to aggravate Stan’s broken arm by banging it against his chest repeatedly.  “Y’SEE, EVEN THOUGH HE ISN’T QUITE PRESENT, STANNY BOY’S MINDSCAPE IS VERY MUCH ACTIVE!  WELL,  IT’S AS ACTIVE AS AN IDIOT LIKE YOUR BROTHER’S CAN BE!”

“Don’t you dare!”  Ford roared, pointing a finger at Bill and taking a step forward.  Hot rage and icy fear were both swirling in Fords chest, making it difficult to decide what to do.  Part of him wanted to flee, and part of him wanted to fight.  But Ford was certain of one thing: whatever he did, he wasn’t going to leave Stanley.  “Don’t you dare insult my brother!”

Bill waved Stanley’s right hand dismissively, making the dislocated thumb stick out at an awkward angle.  A small trickle of blood started to flow out from under Stanley’s bandages. “OH PUH-LEASE SMART GUY!  DON’T PRETEND THAT I’M NOT SAYING ANYTHING THAT YOU HAVEN’T THOUGHT!  I’VE SEEN EVERY INCH OF YOUR MIND STANFORD!  WE BOTH AGREE THAT STANLEY IS JUST A GOOD-FOR-NOTHING LYING BUM!”

“Shut up Bill!  Shut up and leave him alone, he’s hurt!”  Ford took another step towards Bill, hands held out in a placating gesture.  Over Stan’s shoulder, Ford caught sight of a small metal tray next to the bed, with a single needle filled with a clear drug, resting on it.  One of the doctors must have left it, in case Stanley had woken up violently again.  A vague plan, more like a snippet of one, started to form in Ford’s mind.  Perhaps I could use that to expel Bill from Stanley’s body.  I just need to get around him with out Bill figuring out what I’m trying to do, or else who knows what he could try to do to Stanley. Let’s see if I can get him rambling.  Bill loves to talk about himself.  “Leave, before one of the doctors comes to see why his breathing tube disconnected.”  Ford knew it was a clumsy change in topic, but he had to try.

“PFFT, AS IF SIXER!”  Bill didn’t seem to notice or care about Fords desperate conversation switch.  “I’VE BEEN TRYING TO GET AHOLD OF THIS BODY SINCE STANLEY BROKE HIS SKULL OPEN!  EVEN WHEN HE’S HALUCINATING ABOUT YOU TWO BEING ON THAT STUPID BOAT, STANLEY’S PRETTY CRAFTY!  A CONMAN AFTER MY OWN NONEXISTANT HEART, HE IS!”  Bill’s voice was filled with mock pride as he spoke.  It made Ford sick to hear him talking about Stanley, his Stanley, his brother, his twin, like he was some sort of prized protégée.  “I’M INSULTED THAT YOU THINK I WOULD WASTE ALL OF THAT EFFORT TO GET HERE WITHOUT MAKING SURE THE MEAT SACKS THAT FIX BROKEN MEAT SACKS WERE OUT OF THE WAY!  NO ONE IS GOING TO BOTHER COMING AROUND HERE FOR AT LEAST AN HOUR AND A HALF.”   Bill’s grin shifted into something more taunting.  A spike of fear stabbed Ford in the heart.  Oh no, what now?  “IN FACT I’M SO INSULTED, I THINK I MIGHT DO...THIS!!”  In one swift movement, Bill dislocated another one of Stan’s fingers, letting out another insane peal of laughter.

“STOP!”  Ford’s voice cracked as he screamed at Bill.  “Bill, please, please I’m begging you!”  He reached out to Stanley, taking another step forward.  Ford’s outstretched hand’s were mere inches away from Stanley’s wrists.  Maybe if I go now, I could get to the sedative, and end this now!

“REALLY?  THE HIGH AND MIGHTY DR. STANFORD FILBRICK PINES PhD TIMES TWELVE, BROUGHT SO LOW THAT HE’S BEGGING SOMEONE FOR SOMETHING?  I NEVER THOUGHT I’D SEE THE DAY!”  Bill taunted  “AND I NEVER THOUGHT YOUR DUMB BROTHER WOULD BE THE THING YOU’RE BEGGING FOR!”  Bill laughed, smacking Stanley’s thigh with his broken arm as he did so.  The cast clunked as it hit the brace on Stanley’s leg, and Bill laughed harder at the pain  "THAT IS RICH I TELL YA FORDSY!  BUT HEY, SINCE YOU’RE BEGGING AND ALL, YOU MIGHT AS WELL DO IT PROPERLY!”  Bill placed one of Stanley’s injured fingers on Fords forehead and gave a weak push.  Ford had no choice but to step back, further away from the demon wearing his brother’s skin and the syringe that could end the living hell Ford had to rescue Stan from.  “WHY DON’T YOU TAKE A COUPLE OF STEPS BACK FORDSY?  GIVE US SOME SPACE, AND KNEEL FOR US SIXER!”  Bill cackled.

Ford hesitated.  He couldn’t kneel to Cipher!  He needed to stay on his feet, needed to get to that sedative, before Bill tried to throw Stanley’s body down the stairs across the hall, or something even worse.  And even though he wouldn’t admit it to himself, a small part of Ford felt repulsed at the idea of showing any sort of subservience to the triangular demon, for any reason.  Ford was long past the days he thought Bill was worth any sort of praise.

Bills smile twisted sinisterly.  “WELL, THAT’S A SHAME THAT IS.  YOU CAN’T EVEN BEG FOR YOUR OWN BROTHER’S LIFE PROPERLY!  BUT HEY, WE BOTH KNOW YOU DON’T REALLY LOVE THIS GUY SIXER! YOU JUST WANNA PLAY THE HERO LIKE ALWAYS, DON’T YOU?  BE THE BETTER BROTHER AGAIN, RIGHT?”  Bill scoffed.  “BUT REALLY, THIS GUY ISN’T WORTH YOUR PITY.  YOU CAN DROP THE ACT FORDSY, IT’S JUST US TWO OLD FRIENDS HERE!”  Bill rolled his eyes in disdain and absently waved Stanley’s hand around, gesturing vaguely towards the ceiling with Stanley’s dislocated fingers. “WELL, STAN IS FLOATING AROUND HERE TOO, BUT HE’S A LITTLE, ‘OUT OF ORDER’ AT THE MOMENT, IF YOU CATCH MY DRIFT.” Bill laughed, lower and more sinisterly than normal.  The demons words alarmed Ford.  What could he mean by that?  Bill reached over and grabbed another one of Stanley’s fingers.

Ford’s heart leapt straight into his throat, almost choking him as he desperately cried out to the demon “WAIT!”  Ford held his hands up and dropped to his knees, looking up at Bill.  “Wait.  Please, I’m kneeling Bill. I am kneeling and I am begging you to leave Stanley alone.”  Ford watched in trepidation as Bill eyed him with an unreadable look on Stanley’s face.  A familiar feeling of unease settled in Ford’s stomach.  He could remember the days when Stanley and him had been able to read each others faces like open books.  Ever since Ford had been brought home, that bond had been achingly absent despite Ford’s attempts to ignore that feeling of loss, but it was the times when he would look at Stanley and not be able to read anything off of him that Ford felt the absence of that connection the most.  This time was a thousand times worse than all the other times though.  “Please, just give me my brother back, Bill.”

Bill laughed. “THIS IS PATHETIC SIXER!  YOU SOUND JUST LIKE STANLEY HERE DID WHEN WE MADE OUR DEAL LAST NIGHT.” 

Ford blinked in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Bill groaned  “STAN’S MINDSCAPE HAS BEEN STUCK ON ONE PARTICULAR MEMORY SINCE HIS HILARIOUS LITTLE ACCIDENT.  SOME DUMB THING WITH THE TWO OF YOU ON THAT BEAT UP OLD BOAT.  HE KEPT IGNORING ME WHEN HE THOUGHT THE TWO OF YOU WERE STILL BUDDY-BUDDY, AND HIS MINDSCAPE IS SO MUDDLED THAT IT TOOK ME AWHILE TO DREDGE UP A DIFFERENT MEMORY TO STICK HIM IN.  BUT BOY, WAS IT WORTH IT!  IT TOOK BARELY A MINUTE BEFORE STANLEY WAS BEGGING ME ‘I WANT MY BROTHER BACK, PLEASE, JUST GIVE ME MY BROTHER BACK.” Bill mocked. “AND, AS A BONUS, THAT MADE HIM START FREAKING OUT OUT HERE.  NOW THAT WAS A GREAT SHOW!”

Ford gaped up at Bill.  “What memory did you-did you put Stanley in?”  Ford knew Stan had gone to jail before, and a vague memory having to do with the trunk of a car poked the corners of his brain.  He had no idea what could have been so bad, so terrible, to make Stanley react the way he did.

Bill smirked at Ford, leered at him down on the ground.  The blood running down Stanley’s face had increased, and had started to drip off of his chin.  The crimson droplets fell all the way down to the floor, landing on the blanket Mabel had knit.  The grey wool of the sailboat absorbed the blood, turning a murky, ugly color.  “I JUST TOOK HIM BACK TO THE WORST NIGHT OF HIS LIFE FORDSY.”  Bill said in a manner-of-fact tone.  “THE NIGHT HE GOT KICKED OUT AND STARTED LIVING IN HIS CAR.”  Bill held Fords gaze for a moment, yellow against brown, before he wrenched Stanley’s finger backward.  There was a sickening ‘snap’ along with the horrible ‘pop’, and Bill laughed hysterically as Ford cried out in desperation “STOP IT!”

“OH MAN OH MAN OH MAN, I THINK I BROKE THAT FINGER AND DISLOCATED IT AT THE SAME TIME!  I’VE NEVER DONE THAT BEFORE SIXER, NOT EVEN WITH YOU!”  Bill wiped a mirthful tear off of Stanley’s face, smearing the blood from Stanley’s head wound.  He grabbed another one of Stanley’s fingers, smiling with cruel glee.

“PLEASE BILL, PLEASE!”  Ford screamed at the demon, tears filling his eyes again. His hands smacked the ground, fingers spread wide.  “LEAVE HIM ALONE!!”  Ford couldn’t look up at the demon anymore, couldn’t bare to see those yellow eyes in his brothers face.  He bowed his head, screwed his eyes shut, and tried to look as submissive as possible.  Ford clenched his teeth, holding back a sob.  He felt so useless!  The only reason Stanley was in this mess in the first place was because of Ford and his research and his stubborn pride.  Ford had to play along with Bill’s sick game until he could get the sedative, and hopefully that would work.  If he had to kneel and beg, he would kneel and he would beg.  For Stanley.

“HMM, YOU KNOW, THAT’S A REALLY CONVINCING ARGUMENT STANFORD.”  Bills voice dripped with sarcasm.  “I THINK I’M ACTUALLY GONNA LISTEN TO YOU AND LEAVE THIS WORTHLESS WASTE OF SPACE YOU CALL A BROTHER.”  Ford’s hands clenched into fists on the ground as Bill insulted Stanley again, but he forced himself not to react.  There was a tense pause.  “HAHA, JUST KIDDING!  WE BOTH KNOW I’M NOT GOING ANYWHERE UNTILL I GET WHAT I WANT FORDSY!”  Bill said in a sing-song tone, swinging Stanley’s good leg back and forth to beat out a solemn rhythm on the side of the hospital bed.

“The Rift.”  Ford breathed out, eyes snapping open to stare at the hospital floor.  Of course that was what this was all about.  Bill was holding Stanley hostage in order to get the Rift.  Ford’s stomach dropped in despair.

“DING DING DING, YOU GOT IT IN ONE TRY!”  Bill mockingly cheered, clapping Stanley’s injured hands together.  Ford felt nauseous when he saw the angles Stanley’s finger were bent at.  “NOW, HERE’S WHAT WE’LL DO.  I’LL PLAY COMATOSE FOR A BIT WHILE YOU RUN HOME AND GET THE RIFT!  WE TRADE OFF, ONE TEAR IN THE VERY FABRIC OF SPACE FOR ONE USELESS BROKEN OLD MEAT-SACK, AND THEN WE’LL CALL IT A DAY!  HOW’S THAT SOUND FORDSY, DO WE HAVE A DEAL?”  Bill offered Ford a handshake with Stanley’s mangled hand, a smug, self-confident grin on his stolen face.

“No.”  The word barely made it out of Ford’s mouth, but it still stung and burned his throat as he forced himself to say it.  “You can’t have the Rift.”  Ford knew he was condemning his brother to further torture, and every molecule he was comprised of protested.  But if Bill got the Rift, Stanley, as well as everyone else in Fords home dimension, would be as good as dead.  Ford knew he could force Bill out of his brother’s body, he knew that this was the right decision, the only decision that could be made.  But that didn’t stop him from hating himself for it.

“HMM.”  Bill hummed contemplatively, and Ford felt his heart stop and his blood run cold.  He had been expecting Bill to rage, and more than likely make Stanley suffer more.  Ford had been hoping that Bill would get so angry he could make a dash for the sedative.  Now, he froze to the ground, terrified of what Bill had planned for Stanley.  “WELL THEN,” Bill pulled Stanley’s hand back and leaned closer to Ford.  Ford sat up higher, leaning back on his heels, his face less than a foot away from where Bill’s eyes shone out of Stanley’s face.  “WHAT IF I SWEETEN THE DEAL?”

“What?”  Ford’s voice cracked as he spoke.  The knowing smile Bill had twisted onto his brothers face was unnerving, and his yellow eyes were far too close.

“Y’SEE FORDSY, THE PHSICAL WORLD THAT YOU’RE PART OF TIES DIRECTLY INTO THE MINDSCAPE.  IT HAS A LOT MORE INFLUENCE ON MY DOMAIN THAN I’VE LET ON BEFORE.”  Bill voice took on a tone that Ford remembered him using back when they were working on the Portal together.  It was candid, with a touch of condescension that had always slightly irked Ford back then, but he had ignored it in favor of learning from what he had considered a muse at the time.  Now, it sent unpleasant chills down Fords spine.  “STANLEY TOOK A HUGE HIT TO THE HEAD, AND ALL THE TRAUMA TO HIS BRAIN HAS REALLY DONE A NUMBER ON HIS MINDSCAPE.  THAT, PLUS ALL THE DRUGS THAT ARE PUMPING INTO HIS FLESHY MEAT-SACK BODY,”  Bill waved Stan’s arm, straining the IV lines further and causing blood to bubble up on Stanley’s arm where they were inserted.  “LEAVES STANNY HERE A PRIME CANDIDATE FOR SOME MUCH NEEDED...REWIRING, YOU COULD CALL IT.”  Bill gave Ford a sly grin.

Confusion swirled through Ford for a moment, before the full implications of what Bill was saying crashed down on Ford with the force of an asteroid careening through Earth’ s atmosphere and landing on him.  A small, choked gasp wheezed out of Ford.  Pure panic clouded his thoughts, turning them into a jumble of not possible, can’t be true, need to save Stanley, what has he done, and leaving him frozen in place.  “You didn’t...” Ford coughed out, horrified at what he might hear.

“DON’T WORRY, I HAVEN’T DONE ANYTHING YET!”  Bill said  “I WOULD NEED TO MAKE A DEAL WITH SOMEONE TO HAVE ENOUGH POWER TO RESHAPE A HUMAN’S MIND AND PERSONALITY.”   He smacked Stanley in the head with the cast again.  “EVEN WHEN IT’S AS SCREWED UP AS THIS ONE IS.  SO!”  Bill clapped Stanley’s hands together in excitement.  “YOU HAND ME THE RIFT, I GIVE YOU A NEW-AND-IMPROVED TWIN!” 

“...new-and-improved...”  Ford murmured numbly.  This was worse than he could have imagined.  Bill was in Stanley’s head, and worse than that, Bill could...he could...alter Stanley’s mind and personality.  Bill could rewrite the core of his brothers being, his very soul.

All he needed was someone to make a deal with him.

And Bill thought Ford would want-would be the one to-his own brother-

“SOUNDS PRETTY GREAT, DOESN’T IT?”  Bill said eagerly, leaning closer to Ford with a conspiratorial look on his face.  “WHAT DO YOU WANT DONE?  YOU TWO ARE ALWAYS FIGHTING, SO I BET YOU’D LIKE HIM TO BE MORE SUBMISSIVE.  I CAN FIX HIS SENSE OF HUMOR TOO, MAKE IT MORE YOUR STYLE.  I CAN MAKE HIM LIKE THAT NERDY GAME YOU THINK IS SO GREAT.  AND I KNOW YOU HATE THE MYSTERY SHACK, SO WE CAN HAVE STANNY HERE SHUT THAT DOWN EASY-PEASY.  OH!  I CAN EVEN MAKE HIM SMARTER, BELIEVE IT OR NOT!”  Bill leaned back, throwing Stanley’s arms wide and finally managing to rip the IV lines out of Stanley’s arm.  Blood spurted, landing all over the knit blanket on the floor.  Bill didn’t notice.  “THE SKY IS THE LIMIT FORDSY!  YOU CAN MAKE THE TWIN BROTHER YOU ALWAYS WANTED!  WHADDAYA SAY?  DO WE HAVE A DEAL?”  Bill held Stanley’s hand out to Ford again.

Stanley’s mangled hand hung in front of Ford’s face.  He looked at it, and his eyes trace up Stanley’s arm, past the fingers that were sticking out at odd angles, the blood that was dribbling down his arm and dripping onto the blanket, and Ford focused on Stanley’s face.  Not the lurid yellow eye’s with slit-like pupils, not the too wide, unnerving grin, but the ghost of a six-knuckled bruise on his jaw.  The bruise Stanley had gotten because he was stubborn, and unwilling to listen to reason, and loyal to a fault, and for some reason he though that Ford was worth more than an entire dimension.  The horror Ford had felt at Bill’s talk of remaking Stanley ignited into rage.  Ford pushed himself off of his knees.

“No.”  This time he said it firmly, his voice stronger than it had been during the whole cursed conversation with Bill.

Bill looked affronted “NO?  YOU’RE TURNING DOWN AN OFFER LIKE THIS?  YOU GIVE ME ONE MEASLY TEAR IN THE FABRIC OF REALITY, AND I GIVE YOU THE PERFECT TWIN BROTHER, A ONCE IN A LIFETIME OPPORTUNITY, AND YOU’RE TELLING ME NO!?”  Bill growled out the last word.

“I would never agree to doing something like that to anybody, no matter the circumstances!”  Ford growled back, fists clenched at his sides.  “I’ll never hand the Rift over to you, and I’ll never take your deal for the ‘perfect twin’” He spat the words out like they were venom.  “All I want is to have my brother back!”

Bill was silent for a moment, then he let out a derisive snort and forced Stanley’s body to stand.  He swayed for a moment, distressing Ford, before he found his balance, standing with most of his weight on Stanley’s left leg.  Ford saw his chance to grab the sedative. “WRONG CHOICE SIXER.”  Bill snarled.

Ford dove around Stanley’s right side, aiming to vault the bed, but Bill lifted Stanley’s broken arm, and Ford’s face collided with the hard plaster cast.  Ford reeled back, stunned, and Bill staggered, but managed to keep Stanley’s body upright.  Ford recovered first, diving onto the bed and reaching for the sedative.

“WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?”  Stanley’s cast clipped the side of Ford’s head, spinning him around.  His fingertips clipped the edge of the tray holding the sedative, tipping it over onto the bed.  A bony knee pressed down onto Ford’s stomach, and Ford instinctively curled his hand into a fist, pulled it back, and-

-he dropped the fist as quickly as he had made it.  Don’t hurt Stanley!  Ford put his hands again Stanley’s chest and started to push-

-until he felt the broken ribs.  He couldn’t do anything to defend himself without hurting Stanley!

“WHAT’S THE MATTER FORDSY? AFRAID OF HURTING YOUR IDIOT BROTHER?”  Bill laughed over Ford, and reached for his throat with Stanley’s right hand.   “HEY! THIS’LL MAKE A GREAT STORY FOR THE NEWS! ‘STAN PINES WAKES FROM COMA JUST TO MURDER HIS BROTHER AND JUMP OFF THE ROOF’!”  The dislocated and broken fingers meant Bill had to press the heel of Stanley’s hand against his wind pipe, forcing Ford’s head down and back, the top of it pressing into the mattress.

Ford struggled to breath, and already darkness started to encroach upon his vision.  Upside-down, Ford was able to see the syringe. Clumsily, with his sight dimming and everything starting to go fuzzy, Ford wrapped one hand around Stanley’s forearm, and with the other he snagged the syringe, miraculously without stabbing himself with the needle.  With a strangled gasp, Ford plunged the needle into Stanley’s forearm.

For a moment, nothing happened.  Everything around Ford faded to a murky blur, with the bright yellow of Bill’s eyes staying vibrant.  The word’s I’m sorry, Stanley echoed through Ford’s head.

Then, Stanley’s arm buckled.  Ford gasped, sucking in a desperate breath of air.  Above him, Bill was resting Stanley’s forearm on Ford’s chest, the syringe sticking out of it.  Ford could feel blood soak into his sweater.  “WHAAT WAS THA SHTUFF?”  Bill slurred, blinking and shaking Stanley’s head back and forth.  His yellow eyes got hazy and half-lidded, and Bill struggled to keep Stanley’s body upright.  “YOU THINK THISH IS OVER SSHIXER? WON’ BELON’ FOR I’M BACK STANFERD.  GONNA MAKE ‘NOTHER DEEL SHOON, ‘NTHEN I’LL GET TH’ RIFT.  YER GONNA SLIP UP, N’ WHEN YA DO...”  Bill struggled to say more, but Stanley’s body finally gave out, succumbing to the drug, collapsing on top of Ford.  “UUUGHHHnnn...”  Bill gave a final groan, his voice fading out and Stanley’s deeper, more gravely voice filled Ford’s ears.  The yellow faded from Stanley’s eyes as they slid shut.

Ford lay on the bed for a moment, stunned and trying to catch his breath.  Stanley rested on top of him, unmoving.  With a sudden jolt, Ford remembered all of Stanley’s injuries, and his IV’s needed to be reinserted, and his breathing tube was- Stanley’s breathing tube was out!

As quickly as he could without being too rough on his brother’s battered body, Ford wormed out from underneath him.  Ford checked Stanley’s breathing quickly, and was relieved to find a trickle of air passing through his brother’s lips, though it was weak and irregular.  Ford felt bile rise in his throat as he redid the restraints around Stanley’s wrist and ankles, but he couldn’t let the hospital staff know what had really happened.  At best Ford could see them removing him from Stanley’s room, and at worst they would retain him on suspicions of mental instability.  Neither was a viable option.

Ford carefully relocated and set Stanley’s injured fingers, which were swelling and turning lurid shades of blue and purple and green.  Stanley’s arm was still bleeding, so Ford peeled his new sweater off and wadded it around Stanley’s arm.  Before leaving he retrieved the button-down from the bathroom and threw it on, only doing up a few buttons as he sped out of the hospital room.  Stanley was the only patient in the ICU, and there wasn’t a doctor or nurse in sight.

Ford skidded out of the ICU, swinging his trench coat on.  He made it down two more hallways before almost literally running into a pair of doctors.

After some shouting and overly excited arm waving, Ford was able to rush the doctors into Stanley’s room.  Luckily for Ford, his frantic behavior discouraged the doctors from asking too many questions.  While one doctor tended to Stanley, the other insisted on looking at Ford’s bruising face.  Not for the first time, Ford’s nose had been broken, although this was the first time Ford had been injured by Stanley’s hand.

At a request from Ford, the blanket and sweater Mabel had knit were taken and washed quickly.  He couldn’t bare to think of Mabel seeing that the gifts she had made for Stanley and him were missing.  One of the doctors, with the help of a nurse he had brought in, jury-rigged a restraint for Stanley’s broken arm.

After Ford was left alone with Stanley again, he collapsed into his chair.  Ford couldn’t take his eyes off of his brothers face, which was slack and relaxed now, a contrast to the manic grin Bill had forced onto his face.

Ford sighed, hanging his head.  Bill had possessed Stanley.  It was something Ford hadn’t considered a possibility before, and now because of his short-sightedness, Bill had manipulated his brother, tormented him both physically and mentally. 

And then, there was the...rewiring Bill had talked about.  Simply thinking about what Bill was suggesting made Ford feel terrified.  More than that, it made Ford feel completely helpless.  Ford could protect Stanley physically- though he had already failed at that-but there was nothing Ford could do to protect Stanley in his own mind!

All Bill needed was a deal.

It didn't matter who he made it with.

And Ford would lose his brother again, but this time, there would be no possible way to get him back.

“Oh Stanley, what are we going to do?”  Ford sighed.  Unsurprisingly, Stanley didn’t answer.

Ford stood and paced, trying to think of a plan, a course of action, anything!  But the only thoughts that filled his head were of Bill, poking around in Stanley’s mind, scrambling it, reshaping it, remaking his brother into someone he wasn’t, and the knowledge that Bill could be doing so at that very moment.  If there was any food in Ford’s stomach, it would have come up again.  He couldn’t think, there were too many thoughts swirling through his head.  Ford longed for one of his Journals, just so he could have some way to organize his thoughts!  At the thought of his Journals, a small plan started to form.  He would have to work fast, and he needed to look through his Journals first, but maybe, just maybe, he might have a chance to fix things.  But first he needed to get his Journals, and he couldn’t wait till morning.

The door clicked open, and Ford whirled to face it.  A young nurse walked in, holding Stanley’s blanket and Ford’s sweater, freshly cleaned.  She started at Ford’s behavior, but she quickly relaxed and gave Ford a kind smile.  

“Here you go sir.”  She held the knit items out to Ford, and he snatched them out of her hands with a murmur of thanks.  Ford gently draped the blanket over Stanley, feeling a twinge of painful nostalgia when he saw the sailboat again.  He quickly turned back to the young nurse, catching her attention before she left.

“Excuse me, miss?  I need to use a phone.  And a phone book.”

The nurse lead Ford to the desk just outside of Stanley’s room.  Ford felt immediate unease leaving Stanley alone, but it was necessary.  

It took Ford far too long to find the number for the Ramirez household, and even longer for him to get the exhausted Soos on the other end of the line to give him the number of Wendy’s cellular phone.  Then it took him two tries before Wendy responded.

“Whotheflipisthisit’soneinthemorningIhopeyouhavelifeinsurancecauseI’mgonnashankyouwhenI’mconsciousyouflamingpieceof-” 

“Wendy, it’s Dr. Pines.”  Ford cut off her slurred, half-awake tirade.

“It’s one in the morning.”  Wendy said flatly.

“Yes, I am aware of that-”

“Why’re you calling me at one in the morning old man?”  Wendy growled into the phone, before giving a small gasp.  “Did something else happen to Stan?”

Ford hesitated briefly before answering “No, Stan is fine.  I need you to do me a favor.  It’s urgent.”

On the other end of the line, Ford heard Wendy shifting around.  “Okay.  What do you need me to do at this ungodly hour Stan Two?”

Ford blinked, mildly surprised at her quick cooperation.  He was about to request that she collect his Journals and bring them to him at the hospital, but he saw two looming flaws in that plan.  One, the time it would take for the Journals to get to him, and two, he would have to leave Stanley alone if he were to put his plan into action.  

“Hey, Stan Two, are you still there?”  Wendy’s voice brought Ford out of his reverie.

“Yes.  Wendy, I need you to listen to me, very carefully.  This could help Stanley’s recovery, but speed is of the essence.”  Ford carefully listed off everything he needed Wendy to do.  Occasionally, Wendy would have him repeat something, and Ford could hear the sound of something scratching against paper on the end of the phone. 

“Is that everything Doc?”  Wendy asked.

“Yes.  That should be all.”  Ford said, running through everything in his head.

“Okay.  I’ll get started on all of this...weird junk you need me to do.  See you in a bit.”

“Wendy?”  Ford stopped her from hanging up on him just yet.  “Thank you.  For helping me and my family with all of this.”

“Yeah.  No prob, dude.”  Wendy’s voice had a touch of concern to it.  “Just hang in there.”  She ended the call.

Ford returned to Stanley’s room, finally changing back into the sweater from Mabel.  It was still warm from the wash.  Then, he waited.

An hour passed.

Then two.

As the third hour passed, Ford was ready to tear the hospital room apart.

A knock came from the window, making Ford jump.  He stalked over to it, cautiously peeking through the curtains.  Wendy was perched outside of the hospital window.  The fourth floor hospital window.  Ford pulled the window open and Wendy slid inside.  Instead of her typical Corduroy family flannel, she had on a dark tank top with a wolf on it and shorts, and she had a backpack slung over her shoulders.

“What were you doing out there?”  Ford scolded her.  “You could have fallen to your death!”

Wendy swung the backpack off and started rummaging through it.  “Relax old man.  I’ve been climbing trees higher than that since I was eight.”

“I don’t doubt your skill Wendy.”  Ford said.  “I would just prefer that no one else ends up in the hospital anytime soon.”

“Oh.”  Wendy gave Ford an unreadable look.  “Sorry, Dr. Pines.  Visiting hours are closed right now.  That was the only way I could get in.”  She started to hand things to Ford; a small cloth sack with contents that clinked softly, several old mercury thermometers stolen from the Gravity Falls museum, photocopies of Journal 3 that Ford had found in his basement lab, a bottle of glue, a few tools Ford had picked up from other dimensions and, to Ford’s complete surprise, a small sandwich bag full of rainbow toned unicorn hair.

“How in the multiverse did you manage to get this?”  Ford stared at the unicorn hair in wonder.

“Fairy Dust.”  Wendy said shortly.  “I’ll give you the whole story tomorrow.  Or, y’know, when today feels like daytime.”

Ford winced apologetically.  “I’m sorry that I had to wake you at this hour.”

Wendy shrugged her backpack on. “Eh, it’s cool dude.  You’re just trying to help your brother.  I know the feeling.”  She gave him a small smile before slipping back out the window.  Ford watched her make it safely to the ground before setting to work.

It took him around twenty minutes to bury the moonstones and mercury in the linoleum floor with the tools he had gotten from Dimension Z#’m, and another fifteen to glue the unicorn hair around the whole room, going up and around the door frame.  It was far too much time.

Ford didn’t finish the barrier completely.  Right next to Stanley’s bed, down near the floor, there was a tiny gap.  Ford didn’t know if Bill was in Stanley’s mind or not, and he had to make sure that Stanley’s mind was free of the demon before he sealed the room.  Ford moved his chair close to the head of Stanley’s bed and rifled through the copies of his Journal.  With a satisfied hum, Ford found the page he was looking for.  The incantation that would allow him to enter his brothers mind.

Ford reached out to place his hand on Stanley’s forehead, but he hesitated.  What would he see in his brothers mind?  If Bill was to be believed, Stanley’s mind was currently in a state of disarray.  There was a chance that Ford could cause more damage in there than good.  And, if he was being honest, Ford dreaded finding out just what his brother thought of him.  Stanley must hate him by now.  But if Ford did nothing, than Bill could-he could-

‘...MAKE ANOTHER DEAL SOON...YOU’LL SLIP UP AND WHEN YOU DO...NEW-AND-IMPROVED TWIN...MUCH NEEDED REWIRING...’  Bills sinister words came back to Ford.  It didn’t matter if Stanley hated Ford, and Ford wouldn’t blame his brother at all if he never wanted to see him again after this.  Stanley needed Ford’s help, not for him to turn away again!

Ford took a deep breath and placed his hand on Stanley’s forehead, carefully minding the fresh bandages and stitches, and read the incantation.

“Videntus omnium. Magister mentium.

Magnesium ad hominem. Magnum opus.

Habeas corpus! Inceptus Nolanus overratus!

Magister mentium! Magister mentium! MAGISTER MENTIUM!”

Everything faded to white.

[queenofcats17]

The Demon’s Train

A quick story based on The Devil’s Train by The Lab Rats.

Who’s gonna ride the devil's train tonight?

Stanford Pines and his brother had always been hardworking men. Their family had never been well off, so they’d worked from dusk till dawn to be able to put food on the table. Filbrick Pines was a stern man, and he dreamed that one day his sons would make it out of this dead end town and make the family a fortune. Since Stanley wasn’t the brightest bulb in the shed, Filbrick’s hopes fell to his other son, Ford. He praised his son’s aptitude in academics, or at least did the closest thing to praise the man was able to. Eventually, the family scraped together enough money to send Ford to college, leaving Stan to stay and work with his father. With the birth of the third Pines child, Shermie, Stan was needed at home more than ever. Meanwhile Ford dedicated all his time to his studies, never halting his pursuit of knowledge for an instant. But something wasn’t right with him. Every so often other students or even a professor would find him gazing out the window, straining his ears as though listening for something.

“The train...” He’d always murmur. He regularly went on walks near the train tracks to clear his head, so no one really thought much of that at first. But this wasn’t him longing for peace and quiet. His roommate Fiddleford knew something had happened on the train tracks one night, although Ford would never discuss it in detail. Ford had met someone on those tracks. Someone who promised him secrets.

“I can’t explain it.” Ford had said when he’d returned that day. “But he says he’ll teach me everything.” Fiddleford, of course, had been suspicious of this. The sorts of people who hung around on train tracks were hardly the sort Ford should be getting mixed up in. But Ford hadn’t listened. In later days, he tried to put the thoughts of the train tracks from his mind many a time, but the call only seemed to grow stronger with each passing day.

“Follow me, follow me. follow me, follow me.” And it got louder. “Follow me, follow me. I have something to show you.”

It was at this point that Ford began to act erratic, missing school, talking to someone no one could see, shutting himself up in his dorm room for hours on end. And one day...He simply disappeared. The school phoned Stanley, as Filbrick had passed away by this point, asking if he’d seen his brother. No one at the school knew where he’d gone and some had assumed he went home for a break. After all, the boy had been studying like his life depended on it. Stan panicked, since he hadn’t seen his brother either. Three days later, Ford appeared on his brother’s doorstep. He had no money, his shirt was on backwards, and he was stumbling as though he was drunk. He called out for Shermie, who came toddling out, only about 4 or 5 at the time. Ford took his littlest sibling on his knee and told them this,

“If you ever have grandchildren let them know that his great uncle loves them very much. And by the time they’re grown be sure they remember this. Don’t ever walk to the tracks alone.” Then he put Shermie down and left.

.

Sitting on the tracks waiting for the night train

Looking down the road ain't never gonna go back

Listen for the whistle through the wind and raindrop

Who’s gonna ride the devil's train tonight?

.

Dipper Pines had grown up hearing stories about his Grunkle Ford from his whole family, especially his Grunkle Stan. Ford had always been painted as a genius and a hard-working man, but the stories from his parents had always been tinged with a hint of warning and disdain. They thought Ford had been crazy. He’d just run off one day and no one knew why.

“He wasn’t right in the head.” They’d say. “Never cared about anything but his studies and experiments.” But Dipper didn’t think his Grunkle had been crazy. After all, he was more like Ford than anyone else in his family. Dipper had never been interested in the family pawn shop, choosing instead to bury his head in a book. He devoured any and all knowledge he could find. His sister Mabel shared his curiosity, but Dipper was a level above her. He had a burning desire to know everything about the world. Nothing his parents could say would stop him. Despite what his parents told him, Dipper regularly went on walks along the train tracks. It was the only place that was truly quiet since the train didn’t run too often anymore and hardly anyone was ever there.

“Aren’t you worried though?” Mabel asked him. “You could get hurt.”

“Mabel, it’s fine.” Dipper said. “Nothing’s going to happen to me on the tracks. I’ve gone there a dozen times and nothing’s ever happened.”

“But it’s dangerous there.” Mabel sunk down in her bed, pulling her sheets up to her nose. “You could fall off the edge, you could get run over.”

“What happened to, ‘Forget danger! Live life to the fullest!’?”

“This is different.” Mabel said. “It’s...” She trailed off “...Nevermind. Let’s just go to sleep, okay?” Dipper shrugged but rolled over and started reading. He always had to read before going to sleep. His favorite book to peruse was his great uncle’s journal. When Ford had vanished he’d left behind three journals filled with frantic ramblings and pictures of creatures that couldn’t possibly exist. Whenever someone wanted to claim Ford had been crazy they used the journals as evidence. But Dipper saw the journals as something amazing and inspiring. If what his grunkle had written was true, then this could mean so many things for the scientific community. It would open doors no one had ever dared to open before. His grunkle had been a genius, not a mad man. Dipper fell asleep holding the journal, contented. That night, something terrible happened. His Grunkle Ford appeared to him, body broken and bloody. Ford said nothing, just staring at his great nephew with sad eyes as his blood dripped onto the bed sheets. Dipper screamed and fell off the bed with a loud thump. Ford turned and stared after him as the boy ran out of the room, out of the house, and towards the train tracks....

.

Sitting on the tracks waiting for the night train

Looking down the road ain't never gonna go back

Listen for the whistle through the wind and raindrop

Who’s gonna ride the devil's train tonight?

.

Dipper’s head spun as he stumbled through the darkness. He didn’t know where he was going or why, all he knew was that he needed to keep moving. Keep moving or be doomed. He couldn’t explain why he felt like this. He shook his head, which only made his dizzier. Dipper slowed his pace and looked up at the stars, providing the only light in the moonless night. They burned like charcoal above him, putting him at ease somehow. He stopped for a moment, only for Ford to appear again. He was trying to speak this time, the only sound coming out of his mouth gurgling. Blood flecked his lips and dribbled down his chin. Dipper screamed again and took off running. Fear took over everything, telling him to run until he couldn’t run anymore. Before he knew it, he found himself on the train tracks, a fog rolling in. Far ahead, he saw a man walking towards him. The man was strange, to be sure. His body looked like it had been assembled by someone who only had a vague idea of what humans were supposed to look like. He was altogether too thin, limbs  too long and spindly, torso like a cardboard tube, hands like two spiders stuck onto the ends of the arms. His smile was too wide, golden eyes too large. One wasn’t even an eye, it was just a gaping socket. He had blond hair slicked back against his head with a battered top hat on top of it. His suit was also golden, but similarly beaten up.

“It’s a nice night for a walk.” The man said as he started to walk past,  his voice high pitched and grating. “Would ya mind if I joined you?”

“Do what you wanna do.”

“Well that’s great ‘cause I’m going to. And not to annoy you but see I really have to ask what a young dude like you’s doin out by the tracks?” He leaned in close with a sickening smile “You waiting on a train?”

“No!” Dipper said quickly, then regretted it. “I mean, let me explain.

“Alright.”

“ I’m minding my own business and you should do the same. I just saw something terrible. You should feel really lucky you missed it.”

The man laughed. “Easy with that tongue, kid. Try to listen carefully. What you’ve seen is scary, but nothing can compare to me. I could show you things that paint all your dreams haunted. I could make you scream if I wanted.” The man’s single eye widened as his smile did, and Dipper could have sworn he saw a flicker of light in the man’s empty eye socket, a threatening aura building. As soon as it appeared though, it vanished and the man threw an arm around Dipper’s shoulder. “Or I can be the bee in your bonnet, your best-friend forever. Two peas in a pod flocking like birds of a feather. And you never have a need to beg work or steal. If all this sounds worth it then let’s make a deal.  All you want in life for price of your soul, all the money you can fold, power that you can hold. I'll put you in control, only if you're down to roll down these train tracks tonight.”

“But where are we going to go?” Dipper found himself asking. “And who are you?”

“Name’s Bill Cipher.” The man stuck out his hand. “And that, kid, is an excellent question.”

.

Sitting on the tracks waiting for the night train

Looking down the road ain't never gonna go back

Listen for the whistle through the wind and raindrop

Who’s gonna ride the devil’s train tonight?

[canaliculi]

Take me somewhere nice (2/?)

Gravity Falls

Bill/Ford

M: slow loving romance between two best buds

Bill edges Ford towards the creation of the portal.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

You'll know exactly where I am

Days and nights pass, with no sign of his muse. Ford is hunched over his journal one afternoon, sketching out a new monster, but his heart isn’t in it. His thoughts are distracted, constantly drifting to his last interaction with Bill. Those hands stroking along his back, digging bruises into his upper arms, pulling him so close that his entire body felt hot from the proximity. It feels like his heart skips a beat, and he sets his pen down, heaving a sigh, resting his head in his hands.

Regardless of what he tells himself – what he has told himself – he finds himself replaying the moment again. The way Bill’s surface felt beneath his fingertips, the fluttering feeling of his lashes brushing against his skin. The half lidded look as his muse watched him, as Ford’s hands trailed up and down the sharp planes of his body. Half of him is embarrassed, ashamed of himself, mortified at the way he acted. And that part brays constantly, tells him that Bill is never coming back, has washed his hands of him in disgust.

The other part just thinks of Bill’s curved, glowing eye, of pointed teeth on display in a jagged smile, and the words see you real soon on repeat. It sends a shudder along his spine that is always chased by dread. Ford feels foolish, and strangely guilty, and all he wants to do is sleep his days away, until he sees Bill again. He’s even considered using the summoning ritual – truly, the act of a desperate man – but some part of him is at least wise enough to guess that such tactics would only serve to annoy Bill.

“Hiya, SMART GUY!”

Ford’s entire body jerks in surprise, and for a moment he is sure that he’s imagined Bill’s voice piercing through his mind. But he whirls around and, against all odds, against all reason, there is the triangle, a bright yellow stain amongst the dullness of the physical world. At first, he’s just confused. He knows that he isn’t asleep. Like Bill can hear his thoughts, his muse gives a laugh, floating closer.

“I’m a FIGMENT of your WILDEST IMAGINATION, Fordsy, but that DOESN’T MEAN I’m not HERE!” The contradiction inherent in the statement makes Ford smile, even it as it sets his mind to churning. “I can’t EXIST on your PHYSICAL PLANE! I CAN, however, make a PROJECTION of myself – for YOUR convenience! Just THINK of me as your VERY OWN AUDITORY-VISUAL HALLUCINATION!”

“You can’t exist here? Why not?” The questions escape him before he has a chance to consider if they might be rude.

“We might have a CONNECTION, Sixer, but we’re still FUNDAMENTALLY from separate dimensions! It’ll take something a LOT STRONGER to let us PHYSICALLY CO-EXIST!” The glowing triangle drifts closer, and Ford feels a phantom touch as Bill makes a motion of flicking the tip of his nose. “Doesn’t need to STOP US from having a GOOD TIME, right?”

“Something a lot stronger…?” Ford echoes, trying to ignore the flush the last question left on his cheeks. Was Bill implying that there was some way they could interact further than this, even outside of the mindscape?

“Yeah, but we can worry about that LATER! Right NOW, I wanna see what YOU’VE been up to!” Before Ford can even think about resisting him, Bill has disappeared, and the man whips around to find his muse floating over the pages of his journal, inspecting his halfhearted sketches.

“T-They’re not finished!” Ford rushes to defend himself.

“I can see that, Fordsy.” His muse turns, and blinks his eye weirdly; strangely… forcefully? “That was a WINK!” Ford isn’t sure what to do, and then Bill pantomimes flipping through the pages of his journal, only his spectral fingers go straight through the sheets and-

Oh, right. Ford clears his throat and leans forward, shuffling backwards a few pages. Bill is floating between himself and the desk, bracketed between his arms.

“BRILLIANT, as always, IQ, and quite PERCEPTIVE!” Bill sounds excited.

That familiar, spreading, almost buzzing warmth is in his chest, and his heart quickens and pounds. There is a large part of him that flourishes with the praise, but it is tempered as always by the nagging in the back of his mind, that he doesn’t deserve this, that it’s only a matter of time until this daydream scatters like fading light. Ford’s gaze drops to the pages, pressing a hand flat against them.

“Thank you, Bill, but this is nothing, really…” he says. He begins to leaf backwards through the pages, hyperaware of where Bill has drifted to float next to him, but he doesn’t dare look. “I still haven’t been able to identify their common origin – the only thing all these creatures seem to have in common at all is their weirdity.”

His muse’s bright glow in suddenly right before him, and Ford lifts his eyes. Both of Bill’s arms are stretched out, like his hands would be cupping the sides of Ford’s face if physical touch were a possibility. The triangle is gazing at him fondly.

“It’s a TRICKY ONE, that’s for SURE, but I have ABSOLUTE faith in you, Sixer! If ANYONE can figure this out, it’s you!” Some vague tension inside him releases, and Ford finds at least a small smile again. “HEY, I’ve got a little something FOR YOU next time we’re in the MINDSCAPE! Feeling sleepy?”

Ford wasn’t before, but he closes his journal and flicks the lights off.

Falling asleep into the mindscape is like blinking; one moment Ford is trying to force himself to lie still under his covers, calm his racing thoughts, and the next he is upright, standing in an empty field. In the distance, surrounding him on all sides are tall mountains, their peaks dry and barren and their sides obscured by dense forests. Strangely enough, he can hear what sounds like the quiet chiming of bells, ringing on unfelt winds.

“Bill?” Ford pauses for a few moments, feeling embarrassed in a weird way, like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He looks around, trying to appear as if he is not actively searching for any sign of his muse. After a handful of elongated minutes, Ford decides to take his chances with exploration.

Even without Bill’s presence, the mindscape is a wondrous thing to behold. Every sensation is realistic, to the point of being disturbing. Ford marches towards the nearest forest. His mind races with anticipation. The thrill of discovery drives him in the waking world, and he can feel its insistent tugging here. He’s sure that when Bill is ready, he will come find him.

The trees stretch up high above him, but green-tinted sunlight is still able to pierce through in sparse patches, dust and pollen drifting lazily in their golden shafts. It’s peaceful and calming, and Ford runs his hands across the rough bark of the trees as he passes. It reminds him of Gravity Falls, and as he goes he spots some of the vegetation he has documented in his journals, spots footprints of mundane and strange creatures alike beneath the undergrowth. The forest is thick and the ground is littered with gnarled roots, but there is always a clear path for him to walk along.

Gradually, the trees become sparser. The thick, dark trees with their canopies of wide leaves become fewer and fewer, and are replaced with the thin trees that Ford first encountered outside of what he now thinks of as Bill’s cavern. Their pale bark is comforting, and Ford isn’t even concerned that the strange whirls along their surfaces seem to track his movements like eyes. If anyone is watching him, it’s Bill, and the thought of his muse observing is more flattering than disturbing.

Flowers begin to encroach upon the path, with long stems that curve under the weight of their petals. Dark blue and bell-shaped – hyacinths, Ford recalls, and wonders what distant part of his mind has called them to root. They aren’t native to the forests around Gravity Falls, that’s for sure. Perhaps Bill put them there, and the idea of his muse laying out a path of flowers for him is ridiculous enough that he chuckles aloud. Ridiculous.

See you real soon. Static at his fingertips. Hands at his spine, pressing at his sides. Ford shakes his head, the skin at the back of his neck prickling. The feeling of being watched intensifies, and it isn’t comforting anymore. A breeze stirs through the leaves and branches. The sound of them brushing against one another is like rustling whispers and hushed laughter.

Bill isn’t human – what he is, exactly, is hard to describe, but that is one certainty. The muse was playing with him. Or, more likely (and Ford’s cheeks, the tips of his ears burn while his stomach roils uncomfortably), Bill has no idea of the possible implications of his actions.

Guilt and worry gnaw at him, and he tries his best to shove them both down as he traipses through the woods. The finer details of the environment are lost to him as his thoughts spiral, snapping at each other. It’s wrong to be thinking of his muse this way. He draws his hands together in front of him, staring at his matching sets of six fingers. It’s wrong.

Ford trips over a root.

Laughter – actual laughter, high pitched, almost irritating if not for who it belonged to – has Ford looking up from where he’s sprawled on the ground. Some little piece of him expects to hear – freak, loser – jeering, childhood insults, but of course no such things come from his muse.

“Walk much, Sixer? Don’t tell me your LEGS are VESTIGIAL too!” If he didn’t know Bill so well by now, he would almost take his ribbing seriously. Instead Ford chuckles, tries to ignore the burning in his cheeks as he rights himself. Bill stretches out a hand in an offer of help. “Also, it’s a DREAM, GRAVITY is pretty much OPTIONAL!”

Their hands clasp. His eyes are fixated on Bill, watching him flash with every word. Ford clings to the distraction like a life line, tries not to think about - tingles spreading up and down his arms, goosebumps prickling out across his skin, following Bill’s hands - his newfound and wholly inappropriate diversions. Being in direct contact with his muse isn’t helping, and as he watches Bill’s eye curves like he’s in on a private joke.

Like the whole world is his private joke. Ford’s never felt so exposed; he could swear Bill knows exactly what he’s thinking, what he’s been thinking.

The moment passes when Bill yanks him upwards, his black arm stretching and bending like taffy. Bill’s fingers are so tight around his hand that white impressions of them are left in his skin when the muse lets him go again. Ford’s unsteady on his feet for a moment but he tries to recover quickly, not wanting to disappoint his muse. His eyes drift to his hand, and he watches the pale stripes on his skin as he flexes his fingers over and over.

“Did you do all this, Bill? It’s a bit of a departure from the usual,” Ford says. Bill drifts down to the ground, eying one of the drooping flowers. He flicks one of the blue petal bells and then his stick arms move up and down his sides in a weird shrugging motion.

“Don’t look at ME! This is YOUR mindscape after all!” The flower he flicked is losing all its petals, the stem turning black and curling in on itself. Ford barely notices, too busy flushing. Of course, this is all his mind’s doing. “Feeling more GROUNDED than USUAL, Fordsy?” Bill floats back up until he’s hovering right in front of him. Ford pales.

“W-What do you mean? Grounded?” Bill’s smiling, and it’s almost – a part of his mind is screaming predatory, danger, run away, run far away, but that’s absurd - it’s Bill: his friend, his muse. Bill stares at him for another moment, and it’s impossible to read his features, but then he shrugs again.

“It’s a little less CONCEPTUAL in here, that’s all! Must be your focus on your RESEARCH! We’re in a FOREST, after all!” The triangle’s drifting around him in lazy circles now, and Ford can feel himself unwinding slightly. He latches onto Bill’s explanation.

“That must be it,” he agrees, and Bill pauses in his movements. Ford, if pressed, would have to label his expression as a smirk, but… that’s absurd.

For a moment, Ford can imagine the colors of the world inverting, the bone white trees become sharp, dark spears that jab through his skin and gut. Black isn’t the inverse of yellow, but he can picture his muse as a throbbing black hole, his eye the burning center, consuming him. Ford blinks and the image is cleared, and Bill is still staring at him, staring at him. In the back of his mind, just over his shoulder, Ford swears he can hear laughter.

“SO! Don’t you wanna know what it is I DID do you for?” Bill interrupts his nonsensical thoughts. Ford lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding as his mind sluggishly tries to catch up. Oh, right, there was a reason he fell asleep so easily in the first place, wasn’t there?

“O-of course I do, Bill,” Ford says. He hopes he doesn’t sound too ungrateful for everything that Bill has already given him. As soon as the words leave his mouth, Ford finds himself nauseous, the world heaving beneath his feet. He actually has to close his eyes against the swirling, pulsating actions of the outside universe.

A pale glow illuminates the thin skin of his eyelids, the only warning that Bill has come closer before small hands are cupping his face. His palms are smooth, like warm and living glass. Ford swallows around a lump in his throat. He can feel himself leaning into the touch, and a shiver rolls down his spine when Bill moves one of his thumbs in small circles along his skin. At his sides, Ford’s fingers twitch, and he fights to stay still.

He wants to reach out and touch Bill again, to feel his surface sparking beneath his fingers. He wants Bill to touch him, to keep touching him. Ford licks his lips, and he can hear Bill chuckle.

“Sixer,” Bill says, and Ford can feel his heart hammering in his chest. And then his touch is gone, Ford’s eyes flying open automatically at the loss. He’s still in the woods, but it’s dark out now, and Ford recognizes the night sky. Not the one from Gravity Falls or Jersey, not the one he used to stare up at from his window at Backupsmore. His personal sky, with its stars hanging undisturbed by moon or clouds and all the brighter for it. The stars shift, subtly, when Ford isn’t looking.

“Bill?” he asks. When he steps forward, he’s suddenly waist-deep in water, a cool placid lake that serves as a mirror of the sky above. Something swims by him, coils loosely around his legs, and Ford jerks back automatically. Whatever it was withdraws, and takes care not to touch him again, but Ford doesn’t notice. His eyes are glued to the surface of the water, which remains still and calm regardless of his thrashing.

He pulls his hands up from the water, evoking neither a splash nor a sound from the lake. Ribbons of water trail down his hands, fat droplets of it tremble on his skin and drop down. Not a ripple, not even the tiniest hint of motion. Ford throws his hands back under, like he used to when he wanted to splash Stanley, but they just sink into the water. It looks like he’s shoving his hands into the night sky.

“Something WRONG, Sixer?” Ford startles at his muse’s voice. How had he not noticed a floating, glowing triangle approaching? Bill laughs, drifting about him in his usual circles.

“I don’t understand,” Ford admits. One of Bill’s hands goes to his hair and ruffles it fondly.

“Oh come on, you haven’t even TRIED to understand it yet! Don’t UNDERESTIMATE yourself here, IQ!” Bill sounds so completely sure, completely confident in Ford that the encouragement actually makes him hunch, curling inwards to himself just an inch. Something has its fingers around his heart, has a fist twisting around in his stomach, at the thought of disappointing Bill. Of not being as clever as his muse believes him to be.

There’s obviously something here. The water doesn’t move, not for him, not for whatever other creatures are stirring below its tranquil façade. Bill drifts into his sight again, smiling like he always is.

“It’s not EASY putting a PUZZLE together without all the PIECES, huh? Talk it OUT, Sixer!”

“The water should be reacting,” Ford says. It’s the most basic observation, step one.

“YUP!”

“But it isn’t.”

“Doesn’t LOOK like it is, does it?” Bill comes to a stop in front of him. Waiting. Ford’s mind is shifting desperately, trying to shove something meaningful together. “I TOLD you you’re MISSING a piece of the puzzle! And it’s not JUST a PIECE – you’ve only got HALF the picture! But here’s the THING: YOU’VE got an ACE in the HOLE!” Bill takes gentle hold of his chin with one hand, guiding Ford to tear his gaze away from the water, to look at him. “We ALL need a HELPING HAND every NOW and THEN, right buddy? It’s not JUST about having all the ANSWERS – it’s about ASKING the right QUESTIONS!”

It clicks for him. “Why isn’t the water reacting, Bill?” Bill’s eye curves upwards, and Ford feels an echoing smile on his own face, feels – elated, smart, special.

“’Cause you’re STANDING in the MIDDLE of it, Sixer! You want things to get WEIRD, am I right? Well SOMETIMES that takes an OUTSIDE perspective!”

Letting Ford go, Bill floats away from him, down closer to the lake. And with one finger extended, he taps the surface of lake, ripples radiating outwards in waves. Ford’s trying to piece it together – weirdness, ripples, an outside perspective - but the ripples keep growing, faster and faster, turning the mirrored sky into choppy, frantic waters. He can hear things lashing below the surface now, and Bill comes back over to him, and extends a hand.

“You wanna SHAKE THINGS UP, don’t you?” Ford grabs onto Bill’s hand for the second time, and the muse yanks him out of the water effortlessly. Now when the droplets fall off of him like rain, they patter loudly against the churning lake, the ripples he produces cascading outwards, crashing into one another. His body floats in midair, hangs weightless.

“I-I don’t know, Bill.” Does he want to shake things up? Ford isn’t so sure. But then he imagines the shock and awe of the world when he releases his findings, the esteem of his colleagues when he extrapolates his theories. The pride, the delight in Bill’s eye when things finally slide into place. Maybe shaking things up is exactly what he wants.

“Go ON, Sixer, don’t be afraid!” Ford’s floating horizontally above the lake, less than an arm’s length away from the shifting surface. “I’m right here.”

Ford plunges his arm back into the water, and this time the lake reacts so violently it produces a splash, water drops speckling against his face, soaking into the front of his sweater. With the now constant waves, he can’t recognize the night sky as his own anymore, he can’t even recognize his own likeness, and funnily enough, the vague, smudgy outline of Bill’s reflection looks like one great, glowing eye.

The dream ends abruptly.

Ford sits up with a groan, rubbing at his eyes. His head is pounding. It feels like he’s gone to sleep with a fever, his skin hot and clammy, a thin layer of slick sweat coating him. He throws the covers off, almost expecting his clothing to still be soaked from the lake, but of course they’re not. His mind chews over the dream with Bill endlessly as he peels his sweater off, sighing with relief at the kiss of the cool air along his chest and back.

Kicking his legs over the side, he pauses, resting one arm on his knee and rubbing the other self-consciously along the back off his neck. Ford cringes at how damp the strands of his hair are. But it’s mostly a mindless, automatic reaction. His gaze strays to his desk and he stands, striding over to the cluttered mess. On top of various papers, toss away sketches and reference books lies his journal, and he picks up the heavy tome, laying his palm over the glossy handprint on its cover.

Weirdness. Ripples. And an outside perspective. Ford smiles, and not for the first time thanks the fates that have brought he and his muse together.