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It's the kids, Stanley decides. It has to be the kids.
Because here's the thing. Stan knows just as well as anyone that Gravity Falls is irreconcilably weird. It will never not be weird. Hoping for a “normal day” in Gravity Falls is not unlike hoping for a warm day in Antarctica. It's just not going to happen.
Stan knows this. He's lived in Gravity Falls for over thirty years. But with the kids comes a larger concentration of weirdness that makes it so he can't step out of the door in the morning without zombies, or gnomes, or a hovering, pulsating alien prism ruining his day.
Case in point. “Ford!”
There is the telltale sound of explosions, shattering glass, and the thundering of steel toed boots for a few moments before his twin brother shows up at his side with his gun raised.
“What is it?” He demands, because Ford has not grown past demanding things. It's fine. They're working at it.
Stanley gestures at the prism. It is still hovering, and it is still pulsating. “You deal with this. I need to set up shop, and I don't want anything distracting customers.”
Ford lowers his gun, shoulders relaxing slightly. “Oh,” He says, and adjusts his glasses. “Yes, I can take care of this. Shouldn't be a problem at all, Stanley. It's quite harmless.” He takes the pulsating prism in his hands and walks back into the house, a distinct furrow in his brow as he examines it.
“Good,” Stanley grunts, and flips the sign to “open”. He eyes the thing as he starts unpacking boxes. “What is it, anyways?”
Ford snaps out his daze. “It's a…” He snaps his fingers thoughtfully. “I'm not sure there's a word for it in English. It's a stable portal to somewhere in the multiverse, but also an invitation? It's like if a person in a limo pulled up to your house with a letter from someone offering to take you somewhere.”
Stanley raised a brow. “An interdimensional limo?”
“It doesn't have any of the fancy things a limo has,” Ford says with a smile. “But in interdimensional terms it is as fancy as a limo. These things can be pretty expensive, and from what I can tell, this one has lots of security and safeguards. I wonder who sent it…?”
The thoughtful pause Ford makes is the perfect entrance for the twins to come tumbling down the stairs. Stan smiles at the sight of them. Thirteen and a half, turning fourteen at the end of summer. Time flies.
“We heard explosions so we came to see what was going on,” Mabel says, already placing a sticker on the light switch. It’s a smiling rainbow. “Were those normal Ford explosions or “we're in danger” Ford explosions?”
“Normal Ford explosions,” Stan grunts with amusement. “Pointdexter was just taking a look at a weird glowy crystal that showed up on our doorstep. Help set up shop, will you?”
“A crystal?!” Mabel gasps, Stan's request falling on deaf ears. She and Dipper rush over to stare wide-eyed at the shimmering object in Ford’s hands.
“Not quite,” Ford chuckles. “It's a ________ .” The syllables that come out of his mouth are impossible to understand, but Dipper is already taking out his notepad.
“Was that an alien language?” He asks eagerly, clicking his pen at a million miles an hour.
“Yes! It's a type of mechanism that creates a stable portal between dimensions.”
“Cool!” Dipper scribbles some notes down, then pauses. “Weren't we trying to avoid portals between dimensions last year? Because of Bill?”
The mention of Bill always sends a jolt through the room, but Ford recovers quickly. “Yes, good catch, Dipper. But not to worry. I've been examining this ________ and the security on it is very tight. Only verified individuals, that means the person whomever this has been sent to, and a plus one may step through. It also seems to scan for weapons, malevolent intentions, and interdimensional criminals.” He pauses. “Like me, I suppose. In any case, Bill is quite dead, so we don't have much to worry about anyways.”
“But he's not dead, right?” Mabel cuts in with a worried look on her face. “That book we got from him last summer after we beat him… he's only mostly dead. Like, 90% dead.”
Stan grunts to himself. He doesn't like being reminded of that fact.
Neither does Ford, who sets his jaw testily. “Right. That's good to keep in mind. Regardless, you can't open the portal until you listen to the message it came with first, so if I can just… aha!” He presses something on the prism, and it keeps in a rhythmic tone, then projects some sort of holographic logo into the air.
“Greetings from the Theraprism,” A smooth, slightly robotic voice says. “We hope this message finds you well. The reason you are receiving this is because you, Stanford Filbrick Pines, are noted on record as having personally known Patient #323322, otherwise known as Bill Cipher. After having shown adequate improvement, Patient #323322 has earned visitation rights for family and friends. Please note that visitation is not mandatory, and you are under no obligation to visit Patient #323322. Just know the option is open. We are aware of your criminal record, and we would like to assure you that you are under no threat of arrest inside the Theraprism as long as you comply with our policies. You may bring a single plus one to each visit. Reminder that no weapons, recording devices, or any unauthorized equipment is allowed in the Theraprism. Thank you for your time. Praise the Axolotl.”
Then the message cuts out.
There’s a moment of silence, then--
“This is a portal to Bill?” Dipper shrieks, and then-
“Bill’s in THERAPY?” Mabel exclaims, and then--
“Hey dudes, I made waffles!” Soos walks in holding a plate of waffles, and then--
“Grunkle Ford, we have to destroy this!” Dipper’s broken his pen, and then--
“He can’t get us, right?” Mabel’s so worried she hasn’t even noticed the pancakes, and then--
“Hey guys, anything interesting happen yet?” Wendy asks as she walks in through the front, and Ford hasn’t said a thing, he’s still just staring at it, and Stan needs to regain control over the situation, and--
“Alright, everyone out!” He bellows. Mercifully, everyone shuts up. Stan’s shout also seems to have snapped Ford out of his daze.
“But--” Dipper starts, brushing pen ink on his pajama shorts.
“Out. Go take a shower. You’re a teenager now and you smell like one.” He points up the stairs. Dipper looks like he's going to protest, casts a sideways glance at Ford, then trudges up the stairs. Mabel finally spots the waffles and starts going to town on them. Soos helps with the toppings. Wendy looks confused, but starts setting up the gift shop. Then it’s just him and Ford.
“Thank you,” Ford says quietly. The prism sits heavy in his hands.
“No problem,” Stan grunts. He nods to it. “Whadd’ya gonna do with it?”
“Put it somewhere safe,” Ford says, some of his old bravado coming back as he tucks the prism into his coat. “I’ll do some tests on it, make sure it isn’t some sort of new trick Bill’s trying to pull to get us to free him. I’m going to-- to contain it.”
Stanley’s gotta give it to him, he almost believes Ford until he stumbles on that last sentence. He crosses his arms and lets his expression do the work.
“Possibly destroy it,” Ford adds hastily. “If I can figure out how to.”
Stan lets the silence sit a bit more, turning things over in his mind.
Ford is… Well, “closed off” is a light term for it. One of the few things they have in common, but his brother is even better at keeping things locked up than Stan is. They’ve done a lot of catching up over the year since they reconnected, so he knows a few things about what’s happening right now.
He knows that Bill and Ford were close, once. Like, actually close, not just acquaintances or work partners. Bitter shame twists Ford’s face into an unpleasant shape when he talks about it. He genuinely, truly trusted Bill at one point.
He also knows that Bill betrayed that trust. Thoroughly. Painfully. And for a tortured genius like Ford, well, that’s about the worst thing that could happen to him. Bad enough that he spent thirty years jumping through dimensions trying to hunt Bill down and redeem himself. Bill hurt his brother as bad as anyone can hurt anyone, and Stan feels like finding wherever that bastard is now and punching him again.
Sometimes, he can tell the shape of the things Ford avoids talking about, can see the outline of all the pain he isn’t sharing. Ford’s sleep schedule was absolutely fucked for the first few months on the sea. He still wakes up screaming sometimes.
Stan can see the shape of it now. He pokes at it. “You don’t owe him anything, you know.”
Ford looks up sharply, a flash of anger on his face. “I know that.”
“I mean it. You owe that freak zip. Zilch. Nada,” Stan sets his jaw. “If this thing is telling the truth, and Bill’s locked up in some interdimensional psych ward, then that’s it. We’re done with him. He’s someone else’s problem now. We can throw this thing in the trash and forget this ever happened. Alright?”
Ford lays a hand over the pocket with the prism inside, and for a moment Stan almost has him. Then his face goes hard and unreadable, and he’s gone.
“Alright,” He nods stiffly and brushes past Stan to his lab.
Stan stares at the retreating form of his brother and sighs. Better luck next time.
It’s late when one of the kids finally brings up Bill again.
Ford keeps expecting Dipper to talk to him about it. The boy is certainly a lot more nervous and fidgety for the rest of the day. There are a few moments where Dipper opens his mouth seemingly with the intention to ask, but then gets cold feet and says nothing instead. Stanford is sure that it will come up eventually, but Stanley’s rather forceful attempt to get everyone to back off earlier in the day probably scared Dipper off, at least for a while.
Mabel, on the other hand…
“Grunkle Ford?”
Mabel he doesn’t expect. Ford chastises himself silently. He underestimated her too many times the previous year, and it nearly led to the end of the world. “Yes, Mabel?” Mabel takes this as permission to come in, though she didn’t need it in the first place. She flits around the lab like a butterfly for a few moments, gazing wide eyed at all the bits and bobs Ford has left cluttering the room. He hasn’t had time to organize yet after hauling it off the Stan O’War.
She finally arrives at the desk Ford is sitting at. The prism sits in front of him, hovering a few inches off the surface. Mabel eyes it. “Have you, um… done your scans? And stuff?”
“Yes I have, and I’ve even taken a chip off of it and made scans of that. Suffice to say, it isn’t any material that can be found on earth,” He pushes back in his chair and rolls a little bit away and grabs the chip from where it’s sitting in the container. He rolls back and hands it to Mabel. “Here. For you. A crystal from another dimension, isn’t that cool?”
Mabel takes it. “Very cool,” She whispers, holding it in front of her eye and peering through it at the room around her. She pockets it and glances back at the prism. “So… um. Is it…. Was it telling the truth? Can you tell?”
Ford sighs. “As far as I can tell, it is legitimate,” He says, and smiles at the relief in Mabel’s face. “I’ve never encountered property from the Theraprism, so there’s no way for me to tell how authentic it is, but there doesn’t seem to be any evidence of tampering. Wherever this came from, it came straight here with no interference. The security system seems to be intact, and from what I can gather, the form of transportation it uses wouldn’t even affect the barrier between worlds, so there’d be no way for any of Bill’s lackeys to use it to cause ruckus.”
“Plus,” He adds as an afterthought. “It does fit with what we know about his situation. It’s like Stanley said, wherever he is must be a place he doesn’t like, otherwise he’d have been bragging about it and using it to his advantage in his book last year. And if there’s one place I know that Bill would despise being trapped in, it’s therapy.”
“So we’re safe?” Mabel asks hopefully.
Ford pats her on the head. “Yes, Mabel, we’re safe.” She smiles, and for a moment Ford thinks that’s it.
Then she asks: “So what are you going to do with it?”
Ford’s mouth goes dry. He’s not sure why this happens. What he should say is that he’s going to find a way to destroy it, just in case. Or at the very least lock it up somewhere where it can collect dust and be forgotten about. It should be very easy to tell Mabel this with confidence. Instead what Ford says in response is: “I don’t know.”
Mabel nods sympathetically and hops up onto the chair next to him. Ford gets the impression that she knows more about what he’s feeling than he does. She kicks her legs in silence for a moment. “I understand how you feel, Grunkle Ford.”
Ford blinks. “You… you do?”
“Do you remember Gideon?” Mabel asks, kicking her legs a little more forcefully.
Ford clenches a six-fingered fist angrily. More than once he’s had the vindictive thought of finding that kid and teaching him a lesson, but his better judgment has always won out. “I do.”
“When he was in jail, I was really glad, because it meant he wouldn’t bother us anymore. We weren’t in danger from him anymore,” She continues, playing with the fabric of her sweater. “But even while he was in jail, he kept sending me letters. Asking me to visit him. And I never did! But, um…” Here she glances up at Ford. “But I get why you might wanna visit him. Just remember that no matter what he says, you don’t owe him anything. Not your attention, not your companionship, not your…” She trails off and winces before she can say the dreaded L word. Ford is grateful for it, because he’s already feeling uncomfortably vulnerable.
Does he want to see Bill? His first instinct is no, of course not. He hates Bill. Despises him. For thirty long years his one goal, the one thing that kept him going, was the thought of defeating that horrible demon. And now that he’s defeated, he wants nothing more than to never see him again. Never think of him again.
Easier said than done. Bill was the center of his world once. In a positive way at first, but then in a negative way for a very sizable chunk of his life. That kind of mark doesn’t disappear so easily.
“Grunkle Ford?” Mabel asks, jolting him out of his thoughts.
“Yes, Mabel?”
“I need to hear you say it.”
Ford furrows his brow. “Say what?”
“That you don’t owe him anything!” She huffs. She puts a pair of stern hands on her hips. “That if you do visit him, it’s because you want to. Not because you feel responsible for him, or because you think he needs you, or you feel bad for him, or whatever! Say it! Say you don’t owe him anything.”
Ford smiles, his chest filling with warmth. God, she really is such a special kid. He places a solemn hand on his chest and proclaims: “I, Stanford Filbrick Pines, don’t owe Bill Cipher anything. He is not my responsibility, and he can rot in hell for all I care.”
“Woo! Say it, girl!” Mabel cheers, and throws her arms around his waist and almost falls out of her chair doing so. Ford returns the embrace, and they just stay like that for a moment.
“Alright, I think it’s bedtime,” He says after she peels herself off of him.
Mabel pouts. “I’m a teenager, I don’t have a bedtime.”
“Trust me, a regular sleep schedule is vital in your teen years,” Ford advises, steering her out of his lab.
“Speaking as someone who didn’t have a regular sleep schedule in his teen years?” Mabel asks teasingly.
Ford winces at the memory of all-nighters in high school for projects and tests that, with hindsight, didn’t really matter as much as he thought they did. “Yes.”
Fittingly, Ford can’t sleep that night.
His sleep schedule is erratic at the best of times. He’s doing better than a year ago, back when any noise had him sitting up in bed and reaching for his gun, back when he slept in his secret lab so he wouldn’t wake anyone up if he woke up screaming. The first few months with Stanley on the open sea were… rough. But he got better. Ford still has nightmares, and he still wakes up screaming some times, but less and less often.
Nightmares aren’t why he’s awake now, though.
“You don’t owe him anything,” Stan and Mabel whisper in his mind. They’re right, he knows they’re right. Bill, wherever he is, is not his responsibility anymore. He’s the responsibility of the staff at the Theraprism. Ford has paid his dues, has spent thirty years working to defeat Bill Cipher, and he has finally succeeded, so he should be able to sleep soundly knowing Bill will never hurt any of his family again.
…He should, but he can’t.
Ford turns over in his bed and sighs. “You don’t owe him anything,” He whispers to himself as he presses his face into his pillow and tries to go to sleep.
“You don’t owe him anything,” He whispers to himself as he walks down the stairs.
“You don’t owe him anything,” He whispers to himself as he opens the door to his lab.
“You don’t owe him anything,” He whispers to himself as he opens the casing and reaches for the prism. It lies heavy in his hand. Dimly, he can see his face reflected in its surface. He sighs. “What am I doing?”
“Somethin’ stupid, probably,” A gruff voice says. Ford lifts his head to see his brother holding a lantern, fully dressed and leaning against the doorframe.
He blinks, then rubs his eyes. “Stanley? How did you know I was--”
“You were thinkin’ too loudly,” Stan grunts, walking forward a few steps. “Figured you were gonna try something.”
Shame wells in Ford’s chest and his mouth goes dry. “I... I’m sorry. I just can’t sleep until I do this.”
Stan sighs and sets down the lantern. “Yeah, I know, Pointdexter. You gotta do what you gotta do,” He claps a hand on Ford’s shoulder. “But I’m coming with you.”
Ford’s mouth hands open briefly. “What?”
“You heard me. That automated message said you get one plus one. Well, I’m your plus one,” He sticks his thumb in his chest proudly, then softens. “I’m not letting you visit that guy alone, alright?”
Instinct tells Ford that he should insist Stan stay behind. That he can do it alone. But… how much pain in their lives could have been avoided if they had just stuck together? If history has proven one thing, it’s that Pines twins are always more powerful as a team.
He smiles at Stan gratefully. “Alright. Thank you, Stanley.”
Stan nods, then frowns at the prism resting in Ford’s hands. “So how’s that work, exactly?”
Ford brightens at the chance to explain something up his wheelhouse. “Oh, it’s actually fairly simple, you just--” He twists the top, “And then--” He taps his fingers on the sides in a specific pattern. “And voila!” The prism flashes brightly in a pattern, then flies out of his hands. A portal crackles into existence.
“Greetings, Stanford Filbrick Pines,” The same artificial voice speaks from the prism. “Thank you for participating in the Theraprism Visitation Program. A friendly reminder to please discard all weapons before entering the portal, or you will be detained. We hope you enjoy your time. All hail the Axolotl.”
Ford sighs at the reminder and begins to discard the various guns he keeps on his person. Yes, even when he’s asleep. Look, he keeps less guns on him than he did a year ago, alright? He’s making progress.
…There are still a lot of guns, though.
Stanley watches and decides not to comment. The jokes have worn thin by now. “So, who’s the Axolotl?”
“Hm?” Ford looks up as he shakes a small, short range blaster out of his boot. “Oh, the Axolotl is an interdimensional superbeing I’ve only heard tales of. I was never lucky enough to meet it, but I hear it’s even more powerful than Bill Cipher. If that’s the case, I’m not surprised he ended up here.”
“Huh,” Stan says, then glances at the growing pile of guns. “That the last of ‘em?”
“I think so,” Ford replies with a frown, patting himself down. He catches another gun tucked into his sleeve and throws it onto the ground. “Okay, that was the last one. Let’s go, then?”
Stan cast him a sideways glance. “Only if you’re sure,” He says quietly. “You can still back out.”
Ford squares his shoulders and steps toward the portal. “I’m sure. Let’s go.”
The Theraprism immediately puts Stan off.
Maybe it’s the alarming concentration of shrinks in one place, maybe it’s the fact that it seems so similar to how his old friends used to describe their time at psych wards, maybe it’s because he’s in an alternate dimension, or maybe it’s because Bill Cipher is here, but he’s got his hackles up immediately.
A person who looks like a different arrangement of colourful wooden blocks every time he blinks greets them at the front desk. “Hello! Are you here for visitation hours?”
Ford steps forward to take the lead, and Stan’s honestly grateful for that, because his eyes are hurting already. “Yes, hello, I’m--”
“Stanford Filbrick Pines, yes, we sent you the message quite recently,” The receptionist says. It takes out a sort of… ipad looking thing with a blue holographic screen and taps something out. “And this is your plus one?”
“Yes, he’s my brother,” Ford nods to Stan, who is trying very hard not to blink.
He coughs. “Yeah, I’m, uh, Stanley Pines.” The receptionist hums, taps some more, and hands the pad over.
“Here’s the consent form I need you both to sign,” It says. Stanley wonders where the words are actually coming from. It doesn’t seem to have a mouth. Or, sometimes it looks like it might have a mouth, and then he blinks and it’s gone.
“Wait, visitation hours are right now?” He asks with a sudden realization. “We don’t have to wait or anything?”
“Oh, no,” The receptionist laughs. “The transportation you used to get here is temporally aligned with our visitation schedule. Every time you enter the Theraprism through it, it will automatically transport you to the next visitation hours.”
“Huh,” Stan blinks as Ford does a scan of the consent form. “That’s convenient, I guess.”
“It is, isn’t it?” The receptionist says with a smile in its voice. Its shifting body turns toward Ford. “The majority of it is to assure your safety and the safety of our patients, though there are some provisions added due to your criminal record, Mr. Pines.”
“Yes, I can see that,” Ford grumbles. Nonetheless, he signs the form and hands it to Stan. “I don’t see anything in there that could land us into trouble. The main gist is to follow whatever the aides tell us to do and go through the mandatory sanitization process.”
“Sanitization?” Stan asks.
“Again, for safety,” The receptionist says. “So you don’t introduce any foreign bacteria or viruses into the patient's wing. It’s quite non-invasive.”
Stan sighs and signs his name on the dotted line next to Ford’s flowery penmanship.
“We’re very grateful you decided to come,” Their head escort said. Her(?) name was unpronounceable in human tongue, but she told the two of them to call her Amber. She was also completely invisible to them because she was made of light that was not registered by human eyes. “Bill has been here for a long time, and it’s taken a lot of work to get him to the point where we can approve visitors.”
“I can imagine,” Ford murmurs. His fingers twitch, automatically reaching for a gun that isn’t there at the mention of Bill.
“He’s definitely one of our more… high maintenance patients,” Amber says. “But here at the Theraprism, we believe that even the worst harbingers of doom can be rehabilitated.”
Anger boils up inside of him. “Bill is a monster,” Ford grits out. “He--”
“We don’t use that word around here, Mr. Pines,” Amber cuts in sternly. “Whatever awful things our patients have done, they are still people. You’re only here because we believe that having visitors may help with Bill’s recovery. He’s certainly improved his behavior since he learned that you would be coming.”
Ford stops in the hallway. “He has?”
“Yes!” Amber says enthusiastically. “We also extended invitations to his other friends, his… Henchmaniacs, I believe he calls them, but we never got a response. Possibly for the best, they did enable his bad behavior in the past, we’ve just been struggling with helping him build positive relationships.”
Stan frowns, stopping next to his brother. “You mean those freaks we fought in the… uh, what did Soos call it, the Shackatron? Aren’t they just as bad as he is?”
“Very, very few people in the universe are just as bad as Bill Cipher is,” Amber says frankly. “These Henchmaniacs have done a lot of harm, but we’re hoping that without Bill’s influence, they’ll improve their behavior on their own, without intervention from us. Could we continue, please?”
Ford’s fists are still clenched angrily but he stalks forward. We don’t use that word around here… who do these people think they are? If Bill isn’t a monster, then no one is. The idea that he could ever improve as a person is laughable.
“You good, Sixer?” Stan whispers beside him.
“Fine,” Ford mutters. “Look, Stan, we should be on the same page before we see Bill.”
Stan raises a brow. “About…?”
“Bill is a master manipulator, and he knows everything about our history,” The words “because I told him” are obvious and thus go unsaid. “He’s going to attempt to play us against each other, dig up old grievances and get us to argue. We must be a united front, no matter what he says.”
“Not a problem. I’m not letting that jerk get between us,” The word “again” is obvious, and thus goes unsaid.
“I’m serious Stanley. If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s fracturing relationships, getting people isolated and angry at each other,” Ford says darkly, thinking back to how Bill used to egg him on when he complained about Stan, how he pried him and Fiddleford apart at every turn. “Promise me that if you start getting mad at me, you’ll tap out.”
“I promise,” Stan claps a hand on Ford’s shoulder. “Same to you, though. Sidebar as soon as you start getting pissed off at me about old crap.”
“I promise,” Ford says quietly, placing a hand over Stan’s. It’s an awkward position as they walk, so it doesn’t last long, but Ford is grateful for these moments of physical affection that are becoming more common nowadays.
“Here we are!” Amber says, and they can only tell where she’s stopped because a light above a door flashes, and the door opens. “Right this way, sirs.”
Ford swallows. Bill Cipher is on the other side of this door. It takes all his effort to keep from trembling.
“Hey,” His brother says, a steadying presence at his side. Always at his side, even after everything Ford has done. “You ready?”
Ford straightens his back and lifts his chin. Yes, he can face this. With Stanley at his side. “Ready.”
Together, they step into a small white room. It is sterile and mundane, much like the many halls they've passed through. There is a table with two chairs sitting on one side of a blue forcefield.
On the other side of the forcefield is Bill Cipher.
“Well, well, well, Fordsy, isn't this a nice surprise!” Bill shouts. He is dressed, for once, in an orange jumpsuit. It does not cover the blue scar that snakes along his body.
“You knew we were coming,” Ford says, cautiously taking a seat. His brother sits down next to him. Bill narrows his eye at Stan.
“I knew YOU were coming,” Bill says, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “Why is HE here?”
“For entertainment,” Stan snickers before Ford can respond. He puts his feet up on the desk. “This whole situation is hilarious!” He gestures at Bill, whose eye darkens angrily.
“Finally found something funnier than your life, pal?” Bill laughs back, recovering quickly. “Must’ve been hard. Everything that's ever happened to you has been the punchline to some cosmic joke. Remember that time in Tijuana, where you--”
“Alright, that's enough,” Ford cut in before Bill could humiliate his brother. Ford didn't know what Bill was about to say, but he was sure from Stan's dark red face it wasn't something he wanted to talk about. “We're not here so you can take petty potshots at my brother.”
“But that used to be your favourite pastime!” Bill cooed, leaning forward. “Remember all those late nights spent laughing at whatever stupid scam Stan was running next? That was so much fun.”
Ford paled. That was not something he could deny, he'd vented to Bill many times about how frustrated his brother made him. He cast a nervous glance toward his brother.
“Pff, my brother complained about me to you? What a shocker,” Stan chuckled, having quickly recovered. “A sibling complaining about his sibling. I'm sure that's the first time that's ever happened. Get some new material, pal.” Ford gave a little breath of relief, glad his brother was holding his ground.
“Yes, you're going to have to try a little harder than that, Bill,” He crossed his arms, sitting up a little taller in his chair. “We've changed a lot since you last saw us. You don't know us as well as you used to.”
He watches as Bill squints at the two of them, pupil darting between one twin and the other. “If you say so, Sixer!” He adjusts his bowtie with a laugh, seemingly abandoning that line of manipulation. “So! If things are all fine and dandy, what brings you around these parts, huh? Missed your old pal Bill? Admit it, you missed me!”
“We’re just here to make sure you’re being kept under strict captivity,” Ford replied evenly. He didn’t deign to acknowledge the accusation that he missed Bill. A lifetime ago, he had responded with a joke. Well, he’d like to think his aim was getting better this time.
“Oooo, worried about me, were you?” Bill coos. “Man, I wish I’d been there to see the look on your faces when you found out I was still around! Must have been priceless.”
“Believe me, nothing brings me greater joy to know that you’ll be stuck in this sterile purgatory for the rest of eternity,” Ford says through gritted teeth. “This is a fate worse than death for you. You’ll rot here, Bill, because someone like you is incapable of getting better.”
“Oh don’t be like that, Fordsy,” Bill snaps, looking irritated. “Where’s the goodwill? I’ll have you know that I’m doing GREAT. Fantastic, even. I’m coming around to this place! I think I’m really starting to work through my issues.”
“Really?” Ford raises a disbelieving brow.
“Really!” Bill throws his hands in the air. They are wrapped in glowing blue chains at the wrists. “It turns out, I was only doing all that stuff because I was sad. Can you believe it?”
“I see,” Ford adjusts his glasses with a vague disinterest.
“Yup! I’m really realizing the error of my ways,” Bill bats his eyelashes. “I’ve been making so much progress. And these shrinks are saying that as soon as I can make amends, I’m outta here!”
Ford glances at his watch. “Hm.”
“So, whaddya say, Sixer?” Bill’s eye goes wide and sparkly. “Can we make amends?”
Ford looks up sharply. “No."
“WHAT?!” BIll exclaims, standing up in his chair. “But I said I was sorry!”
“No you didn’t,” Ford frowns. Bill is starting to turn red with anger.
“YES I DID!” He insists. “I just said I was sorry! Why are you like this?”
“Yeah, I’m with Ford on this one,” Stan grunts. “Didn’t hear a single apology. All I heard was a long, hot diarrhea stream of pure bullcrap.”
“SHUT UP. You’re not a part of this!” Bill points an accusing finger at Stan, fuming red and white.
“Don’t tell my brother to shut up,” Ford says harshly, bringing Bill’s attention back to him. “You didn’t apologize, and even if you did, I would never forgive you. What you’ve done is not something you can ever make amends for.”
“Wh-- forgiveness? HA! HAHAHAHAHA!” Bill laughs hysterically, his eye bulging. “I don’t need forgiveness from you! I didn’t do anything that needs your forgiveness! As if I’d ever apologize to you!”
“You ruined my life,” Ford growls. “You tortured me, you manipulated me!”
“I GAVE YOU EVERYTHING!” Bill shouts, pressing his face against the force field between them. “If you’d just DONE WHAT YOU WERE TOLD, you could have had EVERYTHING! WE COULD HAVE HAD THE WORLD, STANFORD!” He’s pounding on the forcefield now, chains rattling with each hit.
“I was just your puppet, your toy!” Ford stands up to gain some height on Bill, his fists clenched and trembling. He refuses to be afraid of him. “You would have given me nothing! You would have thrown me away once I wasn’t useful anymore!” Stan’s at his side in a moment, a steadying hand on his shoulder.
“Yeah, back off!” His brother growls, raising a threatening fist at Bill. “Don’t make me smash you to bits again.”
To Ford’s surprise, Bill actually flinches back at the threat. He’s yellow again, and back in his chair, a hand raised to cover his face. The action is so shocking it diffuses the tension for a moment, and the two brothers simply stare at Bill in surprise.
“Please refrain from threats of physical violence,” Amber says gently.
“What, and he’s allowed to pound at the forcefield and yell at us?” Stan grunts, but lowers his fist.
“Bill will receive disciplinary action later,” Amber tells them with an edge to her voice. “But if you’re feeling unsafe, you’re welcome to end your visitation period early. There’s no pressure to stay here for longer than you want to.”
Stan glances at his brother. “It’s your call,” He says softly. Ford looks back at Bill. Really looks at him for the first time since sitting down.
There’s a dark, tired circle around his eye. He’s not wearing makeup, and his eyelashes droop, no longer sharp and thick. He’s no longer shielding his face, but his hands are loosely gripping the table in front of him. He has a far off, unfocused look in his eye. Is he drugged? It wouldn’t surprise him, the Theraprism does seem to be some sort of mental hospital.
Furthermore, what had just happened? Ford has seen Bill get angry on a number of occasions, but he snapped so quickly this time. That wasn’t an attempt at a threat, that was Bill being genuinely upset. For a master manipulator, he’d lost control over the situation shockingly quickly. Maybe there was an inkling of truth to what he was saying before. Maybe this place was changing him. Ford isn’t sure if it’s for the better.
“Bill.” Bill’s gaze snaps up to Ford.
“Yeah, Sixer?” He asks, trying to feign a quick recovery. “Ready for round two, or what?”
“You were the center of my life for many, many years. There was a time when being around you brought me great joy,” Ford takes a breath. “That time has long passed. You hurt me, and then you hurt the people I care about, and then you hurt me some more. You’ve killed any love I might have once felt for you. My life is better now that you’re not in it.”
“What a bunch of sanctimonious--” Bill starts, but Ford cuts him off.
“I never wanted the world, Bill,” He says quietly, casting a pitying look onto the creature he once called his Muse. “I only ever wanted to be understood. To have someone think I was worthy. For a while I thought you were that someone. But now I have people who do truly care about me, without any of the torment that you put me through, without any of the expectation you had that I be useful to you. I’m going back to those people, now.
“You can’t do this. YOU CAN’T LEAVE ME HERE!” Bill says, rising in his chair again.
Ford turns away from him. “Goodbye, Bill.”
He and his brother follow Amber out the door, the sounds of Bill losing it fading behind them as the door closes and they walk away from him forever.
“Feeling any better?” Stan asks over a can of beer the next day.
Ford sips at his own can. “I don’t know,” He admits. “I’m not sure what I was hoping to get out of seeing him again.”
They’re standing outside on the porch, just enjoying some alcohol on a Saturday afternoon. The kids are out chasing some monster of the week with Wendy. The breeze ruffles the trees, bringing birdsong with it. It’s nice to be outside in contrast to the cold, sterile walls of the Theraprism.
“Closure?” Stan guesses. Ford pauses and shakes his head.
“No. I’m not going to get closure,” He sighs. “He’s never going to be sorry for what he did, and I’m never going to forgive him.”
“You really think that?”
“Hm?”
“That he’s never going to be sorry?” Stan rests a hand on his knuckle. “That he’s just going to rot in there forever?”
Ford grimaces. “I don’t know. My gut tells me no.”
“And your head?”
“My head tells me it’s not my problem,” Ford says with a wry laugh. “You were right all along, yet again. He’s not my responsibility anymore.”
Stan snorts. “Now THAT’S nice to hear. The sweet, sweet sound of my genius brother telling me I’m right. Music to the ears, I tell ya.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts.” Ford says with a smile. Stan shoves him lightly and they both snicker at each other.
“And your heart?” Stan asks after a moment of quiet. Ford blinks, mentally backtracking in their conversation for a couple seconds before he understands what his brother means.
Ford sighs, taking a sip of his beer. “I once considered meeting him the best day of my life, did I ever tell you that?”
Stan blinks and shakes his head. “Um. Were you two…?”
Ford flushes and glances away. “I don’t know. Damn, I’m saying that a lot today, aren’t I?” He asks uncomfortably. “Maybe? I… he was important to me, Stan. I adored him. I was never good at making friends, and matters of romance were even more foreign to me. But Bill wasn’t a person, and had none of the… rules that I needed to follow. I meant what I said in there. He made me feel worthy, special. Like no one else had made me feel before then. You must understand, for a few years, he was the most important person in my life. Even Fiddleford, someone I considered a friend… If Bill had asked me to separate myself from him, I would have done so without reluctance. And he did! I lost Fiddleford to my… my obsession with Bill.” Ford cringes at himself.
“My heart says that it wants my friend back,” Ford continues. “That version of Bill I worshiped all those years ago. Maybe it always will. But I also meant when I said that I have people better than him now. So I’ll survive.”
Stan casts a long glance at him, then throws an arm around his shoulder and brings him in for a hug. “Glad to hear it, Pointdexter,” He says with a grin. “That weirdo triangle’s got nothing on the Pines.”
Ford leans into the hug. “Thank you for coming with me, Stanley. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
“Eh, no problem,” Stan shrugs. “First time I’m not the ex-boyfriend being visited in prison. Interesting experience!”
Ford shoves him off. “Stanley!”
“What? Too soon?” Stan throws his hands in the air, spiling beer on his shirt. “Trying to gauge when’s a good time to joke about it. Please tell me when I can start making jokes about it. There’s an untapped well of humor to be had here, Sixer!”
Ford snorts and covers his mouth. “Actually,” He starts hesitantly. “Do you remember that joke dad used to make?”
“Which one? The ex-wife one?” Stan’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. “Don’t tell me you used that one on him!”
“I did! And then I shot him in the face!” Ford says with some amount of pride. It feels oddly good to joke about Bill to his brother. Like a weight lifting off his chest.
“No way! Seriously?” Stan guffaws, cackling like it’s the funniest thing in the world. “HA! Your aim is getting better! That’s hilarious!”
And they laugh and drink beer and they laugh some more. All things considered? It’s a pretty good day.