Chapter Text
In Ford’s humble (and most often objectively correct) opinion, the worst part of torture isn’t so much the physical pain- though it does, admittedly, suck- but rather the fact he can’t think. With every volt of electricity that sears through his veins, all of Ford’s carefully formed thoughts scatter into pain, pain, pain, painpainpainhurtsohgodithurtswhenwillitnothurt.
Then, with the brief reprieve from it, he’s only given about 20 seconds to try and scrabble up the remains of his sanity into something even close to resembling its normal luster. His ears are ringing, his throat is dry and raw from screaming (which he’d be embarrassed about if he had the capability to think about it), and his arms ache from holding his weight as he sways in the glowing blue chains.
Bill’s saying something. He can tell, because even fried beyond belief, his brain can recognize that god awful voice in any dimension, and at any point in any timeline. Still, though, the words don’t make sense. He seems to try raising his voice, but it’s still not forming into anything coherent. Ford can guess though- it’s the same question he had when this all started, and it’s the same question Ford would rather die than answer. Not that Bill would be so kind as to let that happen.
Ford’s a bit more aware, now that he’s not actively being forced to endure the frankly inhuman amounts of electricity being shot through him repeatedly. He still can’t make out the words Bill’s saying, but he can tell he’s addressing his Henchmaniacs now instead of Ford. Which, if Ford’s been keeping track of things correctly, probably means he’s about to up the voltage again. Ford braces himself for the pain when Bill’s voice fades out, when he hears the snap of his fingers. His eyes screw shut and he cowers in on himself as much as he can-
Only to fall flat on his face as the chains holding him up disappear. He grunts in…well, normally it’d be pain, but it’s admittedly closer to surprise at this point. The dull throb from smashing his nose into the floor is nothing compared to the way his entire body still seems to buzz and sizzle with leftover currents. He pushes himself on arms that shake uncontrollably under even the slightest of weight, manages to hold himself up for a few stuttering heartbeats, then collapses like a puppet with its strings cut. Even out of his mind with pain, he can tell that he hates that metaphor.
“YEESH. THAT WAS KINDA PATHETIC EVEN FOR YOU, IQ,” Bill says from where he lounges above him. Ford pushes up onto his arms again, manages to hold himself up for another shuddering beat, then drops back into the rug. His body spasms, fingers curling into the plush material below in a way that’s overstimulating his raw skin.
There’s an annoyed huff, another telltale Bill fingersnap, and the pain is gone. It leaves Ford gasping, feeling raw in an entirely new way with the suddenness of it all. There’s still the lingering traces of something, just under the skin, but he can’t even call it phantom pain. He jerks to sit up, then to stand on legs that now shake for reasons that clearly are no longer physical, even if he wishes they were. The humiliation of the torture is really starting to set in now- the fact he broke down screaming and sobbing, in front of his nemesis, of all entities, makes his cheeks flush.
Ford takes a second to check his surroundings. Bill is still floating in a casual sprawl, his eye closed in what looks to be contentment as Ford gets his feet under himself. They appear to be back in the room at the tip of the fearamid- the penthouse suite, as Bill had called it. Ford isn’t sure how to feel about being back here, but he knows he doesn’t want to spend a second longer here than he has to.
As soon as he feels like he’s balanced enough to not topple over the second he moves, he lunges for Bill. He must still not be fully in his right mind, because his lunge quickly turns to a stumble. Without even opening his eye, the demon sways out of the way of Ford’s attempted attack, making a sound that could be the disappointed cluck of a tongue if that tongue was made entirely of teeth and metal.
“ANOTHER PATHETIC MOVE FROM THE PATHETIC MAN STANFORD PINES HAS BECOME,” Bill sighs, sitting up and pulling a chalkboard from the ether. There’s a particularly crude drawing of Ford at the top, and dozens of little white lines underneath. Bill adds a tally with an obnoxious squeak from the chalk, pressing so hard the piece snaps in half with a sound suspiciously like a scream. Ford wants to scream- though he’s clearly done enough of that for the day, and plans to never do so again.
“ANYWHO, YOU AND ME NEED TO HAVE A TALK. MAN TO GEOMETRIC SHAPE, YA DIG?”
“You and I,” Ford mumbles under his breath. Bill snaps, and chains reappear on Ford’s wrists, dragging him back down to his knees sharply enough to make him cry out.
“UGH, YOU AND YOUR GRAMMAR. CAREFUL FORDSY, WITH THAT ATTITUDE I CAN SEE YOU PICKING BEING GRAMMATICALLY CORRECT OVER THE FATE OF YOUR ENTIRE UNIVERSE,” he pauses, looking thoughtful, “ACTUALLY, THAT MIGHT BE AN EFFECTIVE TORTURE METHOD FOR YOU.”
“I’m still not giving you that equation, Bill,” Ford spits, quickly redirecting Bill’s attention from what, indeed, would probably be a pretty good torture method. Bill scoffs and places his hands on the wider part of his sides that could arguably constitute as hips.
“PUH-LEASE, SIXER. IT’S CLEAR THE ELECTROCUTION WASN’T GETTING US ANYWHERE. IT WAS EVEN WORSE THAN THE VIVISECTION; THAT AT LEAST HAD LOTS OF BLOOD.” Ford shivers a bit at the memory of having his organs removed, reassembled, and replaced only to start all over again. He still isn't quite sure his spleen is back in the correct place…
“So, I take it we’re moving onto your next brilliant torture plan then?” Ford asks, grinding his teeth together in horrified anticipation. Bill stares at him for a moment in that unnerving way of his, eye wide open and pupil fully focused on him. Ford pulls at the chains uncomfortably and redirects his own gaze as silence continues to permeate the air around them.
After what feels like an agonizing lifetime and less than ten seconds (which, it could have been both since time no longer existed), Bill shatters it with a “HMM, NAH!”
Whatever Ford had been expecting, it wasn’t that. His chains melt away as he jerks his chin back up to look at Cipher.
“What?”
“I SAID WE’RE NOT MOVING ON TO MORE TORTURE. NOT YET AT LEAST,” Bill waves casually and floats over to what looked like a petrified manotaur being used as a coffee table. He gestures widely with his hand, and a chess set elegantly sets itself up for play. Bill hovers above his seat, which appears to be breathing, and crooks his eyebrow at Ford meaningfully.
Oh, absolutely not.
“You really think I’d play a game with you?” Ford spits, hackles raised. He stumbles back up to his feet and points at Bill accusingly, “do I need to remind you that you are currently planning to try and take over my entire goddamn dimension?”
“IT’S MY PLAN, SIXER, OF COURSE YOU DON’T GOTTA REMIND ME,” Bill moves his first piece. Ford’s eye twitches as he stares at it. That’s…not one of Bill’s usual openings. In fact, it looks more like one of Ford’s. Bill says nothing, just crosses his arms behind his hat and leans back in the air. Ford hesitates for another minute before he decides to storm over and slump down across from his foe. He’s only doing this to see what Bill’s planning, of course. Plus, his legs were starting to shake again.
Ford can feel Bill’s gaze burning into him, worse than the electricity from earlier, as he examines the board. He rubs at the scruff on his face thoughtfully. Despite the circumstances, Ford finds himself easily lost in the familiar comfort of strategic thinking. Time continues to not march on, and Ford finally makes his first move. Bill makes his only seconds later, and Ford scowls.
Ford makes the mistake of relaxing as they fall into a pattern. Despite the strange opener, Bill’s moves still feel familiar overall. He plays aggressively, too eager to assert his dominance over the board. Ford takes his time, thinking about the best course of action. With thirty years in the multiverse under his belt, Ford has come to realize Bill’s way of playing is much better for general adaptability, and as such it is the way he played the game that was his life on the run. But with chess, it’s nice to fall back into old habits. Too nice.
“YOU KNOW WHAT BLOWS, FORDSY?” Bill asks as Ford finishes his turn. He moves his own piece without even really looking at the board, “YOU MANAGED TO DO THE IMPOSSIBLE AND MAKE TORTURE BORING. BORING! IT’S TORTURE, IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE INHERENTLY EXCITING.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” Ford hisses, eyes not leaving the game at hand.
“I ACCEPT YOUR APOLOGY,” Bill says, making Ford sputter indignantly at the blatant ignorance shown towards what was obviously sarcasm.
“Bill-”
“ISN’T THIS NICE, FORD? I MISSED THIS.”
“Chess?” Ford asks, throat a bit dry again, though this time he thinks it's for reasons other than the screaming.
“PLAYING A GAME AGAINST A WORTHY OPPONENT.”
Ford blinks, then scowls as he leans back in his seat. He finally notices that it’s made from the same material as the couch and leaps to his feet in disgust. He turns that disgust onto Bill and points accusingly, “You don’t think I’m a worthy opponent! You never did!”
“MAYBE NOT,” Bill shrugs, and Ford hates that the nonchalant agreement on his perceived inferiority still sends a sharp stab to his heart; maybe that’s just the aftershocks from the torture, though. “HOWEVER, YOU’VE PROVEN YOURSELF TO BE MORE CAPABLE THAN ANY OTHER OPPONENT I’VE FACED.”
Bill stares directly into Ford’s eyes, setting his non-elbows on the table and folding his hands directly under his eye, “IT’S YOUR TURN, IQ.”
Ford breathes in deep, looks down at the board. He’s been holding his own quite well, all things considered: he currently has more pieces left than Bill does, but Bill’s slowly working on cornering him. He sinks back into the chair without noticing, then thinks for a long, long moment before moving a rook.
Bill takes the rook. “LOOK, FORD. I KNOW YOU AREN’T ENJOYING THE TORTURE. AND NOW I’M NOT ENJOYING THE TORTURE EITHER. HOW ABOUT YOU JUST SURRENDER NOW SO WE CAN MOVE ON TO TORTURING THE REST OF THE WORLD INSTEAD. I’LL EVEN LET YOU HAVE FIRST DIBS ON WHO TO TURN INSIDE OUT!”
“Fuck you,” Ford spits, taking one of Bill’s knights. Bill’s eye twitches, just slightly.
“FINE. I FIGURED AS MUCH YOU SPOILSPORT,” Bill sneers. “HOW ABOUT THIS THEN- LET’S PLAY A GAME.”
“Aren’t we already playing one?” Ford asks. Then, before Bill can reply, “and even if we weren’t, isn’t this whole… thing a game to you anyway?” He gestures widely to the universe at large.
“HA! SURE IS,” Bill says, delighted, “BUT I MEANT ANOTHER GAME BETWEEN JUST YOU AND I.”
“Just you and me,” Ford notes, moving his queen. Bill moves his in turn, “and I don’t see why I would agree to do anything with the being who’s still trying to destroy my entire universe.”
“WELL, A) YOU CLEARLY NEED TO DO SOMETHING FUN. GET THAT STICK OUT OF YOUR ASS,” Bill reaches over the board suddenly and Ford jerks back as the arm stretches to reach behind him. Fingers trail down his back, and every muscle in his body tenses, ready to flee. Bill’s hand stops at the base of his spine, lingering for just a moment, tracing the fucking tattoo he knows is there, before pulling back abruptly. His arm shrinks back to its normal length with a sound like a fishing line being reeled back in. Ford touches his lower back nervously, half sure Bill did something, before noticing that Bill is holding…a stick?
“AND B),” Bill continues, gesturing towards Ford with the stick, “ANY GOOD GAME’S GOTTA HAVE STAKES! SO I’M THINKING HEY- LET’S THROW STANFORD A BONE HERE,” he twists the stick until it turns into a femur, then tosses it over to Ford. He fumbles with it, unsure what exactly to do, before scowling at Bill and tossing it into the fireplace. Bill snaps his fingers, and a fire lights, licking up the sides of the femur and creating a sharp cracking to accompany the usual warm pops a fire usually brings.
“And what bone, exactly, are you planning to throw? Aside from femurs from god knows where,” Ford asks dryly.
“HA! I KNOW EXACTLY WHERE THAT THING WAS FROM, BUT NICE TRY,” Bill says with a wave. He glances at the board a moment, as if just now realizing it is his turn again, and makes his move with a casual flick of the wrist. Bill is quiet as Ford takes his own turn, an oddly polite move that Ford takes advantage of by taking his queen with a pleased hum.
“A PRIZE,” Bill finally says.
“What kind of prize? Your tastes aren’t exactly a reflection of what others find appealing,” Ford grumbles.
Bill is quiet again for a moment, though this time there’s a thickness to the air that wasn’t there prior. When Ford looks up from the game he finds Bill staring at him in a way that is particularly unnerving.
“You could say that again,” Bill mumbles, uncharacteristically soft.
“What?”
“WHAT?”
“I- never mind,” Ford dismisses whatever that was with a wave, “you didn’t answer my question. What would I be winning from this hypothetical game?”
“WELL, WHAT DO YOU WANT?” Bill asks. Ford nearly drops the pawn he was moving at the question.
“What do I- I want you to leave my dimension for good!”
“ALRIGHT, SURE,” Bill says, taking his turn as Ford’s jaw drops. Unfortunately, it is too good to be true, as he continues, “IF YOU WIN, THEN I FUCK RIGHT OFF. BUT IF I WIN THEN I GET THE EQUATION, AND YOU HAVE TO CHANGE YOUR NAME TO SHMEBULOCK THE WORSER.”
“What?!” Ford yelps, “Absolutely not, are you insa- oh wait, of course you are. Either way, there’s no way I’d risk the fate of this entire dimension on one of your outrageous games!”
“WHY? SCARED YOU’LL LOSE,” Bill mocks. Ford grinds his teeth as he takes the comment right to his already rather bruised, bloody, and electrocuted ego. Because if it were anyone else, the answer would be no, of course not! But because it’s Bill- his greatest rival, his nemesis, the entity he’s been tricked by again and again…well, the numbers don’t lie, and Bill has every advantage. Ford only has his intelligence, his wit, and 30 years of survival training, but Bill has what is essentially unlimited power within the confines of Gravity Falls. Pairing that with a history of falling victim to Bill’s schemes…
“I won’t agree to that,” Ford reiterates, a bit calmer this time, “the stakes are too high.”
“YOU’RE TELLIN’ ME! I JUST GOT HERE, I DON’T WANNA PACK UP JUST YET,” Bill says cheerfully. Another turn taken, another piece moved. Ford makes his move as well. “‘SIDES, I WAS THINKING THIS THING WOULD BE REAL CASUAL. A NICE BREAK FROM THE STRESS OF YOU BEING A TOTAL WET BLANKET.”
Ford scowls and crosses his arms a bit petulantly at that. He sees Bill move a pawn out of the corner of his eye, but keeps his gaze firmly on the crackling fire. The femur has fully charred and blackened. Bill doesn’t prod him to take his turn, simply letting him sit- giving him time to consider things. When he finally makes a decision, he takes a deep breath, sits up, and turns his attention back to chess in order to avoid Cipher’s stare.
“I think-” Ford hates himself for this. He licks his lips, “I think we should discuss this game before we settle on potential winnings…”
Bill, quite literally, lights up as he beams at Ford, “ATTA BOY!”
He snaps his fingers and a pot of tea appears midair, pouring into a teacup that deposits itself into Ford’s hands. Ford considers rejecting the drink, but after smelling it and dipping the tip of a finger into the liquid, he deduces that it is just normal tea. Probably. And he really is parched…
“SO HERE’S THE THING, FORDSY,” Bill says, kicking his legs up over the arm of his chair as he summons a little vial of something that looks suspiciously like blood. He swirls it thoughtfully before dumping the whole thing in his own cup, “I’M SURE THERE’S LOTS OF GAMES YOU’RE GOOD AT, BUT VERY FEW THAT YOU WOULD EVEN STAND A CHANCE AGAINST ME IN-”
“That hardly seems fair-”
“-BUT THERE IS ONE GAME WE USED TO PLAY THAT I HONESTLY KINDA MISS,” Bill sips his tea loudly and sighs, “YOU KNOW. ASIDE FROM CHESS.”
“You missed playing chess? With me?” Ford asks, completely ignoring the main point. Bill rolls his eye.
“UH DUH? WHO ELSE AM I GONNA PLAY WITH? TEETH? KEYHOLE? PLEASE, SIXER, ALL MY OTHER HENCHMANIACS ARE EITHER TOO STUPID TO UNDERSTAND THE RULES, OR ARE BUSY TRYING TO STEAL, EAT, AND/OR DESTROY THE PIECES.”
“Maybe you should keep better company,” Ford notes.
“I’M TRYING, BUT YOU KEEP RUNNING AWAY! WHICH BRINGS US BACK TO THE GAME-” Bill sets his cup down on a saucer, which immediately starts screaming about the hot teacup being placed on its poor face. Ford opens his mouth to complain, but Bill beats him to it and with a snap, the cup and saucer disappear entirely. Ford looks down at his own cup, silently hoping it isn’t also sentient. It is then, however, that what Bill’s saying clicks, and he interrupts:
“Wait- are you implying the game you want to play is-”
“HIDE-AND-SEEK!” Bill cheers. Ford drops his cup, and it screams when it shatters against the floor. Bill twirls a finger, the cup reforms, un-spills itself and sets itself back in Ford’s hands. But Ford can’t even be horrified because…
‘SIXER WANTS TO PLAY HIDE-AND-SEEK! FIRST ONE TO FIND HIM AND BRING HIM TO ME GETS THEIR OWN GALAXY.’ And Ford can never rest, he can never sit still, he’s always running and the wanted posters are everywhere and some are for things he’s actually done, and some are promising a galaxy. He wakes up in a cold sweat as he hears that laughter. He knows that he can never go home, and until he finishes his weapon, he will never be safe, and neither will anyone else-
“No,” Ford snaps. Bill stares at him, fists raised above his head like he’s still mid-cheer. He slowly lowers them, and his eye turns black around the edges.
“NO?” Bill floats across the board, getting far closer than Ford is comfortable with, “WHY, SIXER- WHY NOT?”
“I’ve spent thirty years running and hiding from you, I don’t exactly think it’d be fun to do it again,” Ford snarls. Bill doesn’t blink, just tilts his body slightly to the side with his hands clasped behind his back.
“BUT STANFORD,” Bill says slowly, like he’s talking to a child (and god, if that doesn’t make Ford bristle), “DON’T YOU GET IT- LAST TIME WE PLAYED, IT WAS A DRAW.”
“What? No, it wasn’t. It wasn’t even a game, Cipher! But if it was, I would have won, considering you never caught me.”
“HAH! SURE, BUT SEE,” Bill floats away to look into the fireplace, making Ford relax a bit now that he was no longer directly in his face, “MY GOAL WAS TO CATCH YOU, WHICH I DIDN'T- BOO, HISS! BUT YOUR GOAL WASN’T JUST TO AVOID BEING CAUGHT, WAS IT?”
“I-”
“YOU NEVER GOT TO WIPE ME OUT OF EXISTENCE USING YOUR LITTLE GUN,” Bill says gleefully, “ERGO, YOU ALSO LOST! A DRAW!”
He floats back down into his seat, throws one leg over the other at where the knee would hypothetically be, “SO EVEN IF YOU WOULDN’T FIND IT FUN, WOULDN’T IT BE SATISFYING TO SAY FOR SURE THAT YOU BEAT ME AT SOMETHING?”
“I don’t even have the quantum destabilizer anymore,” Ford argues weakly.
“WELL, MAYBE WE JUST NEED TO AGREE ON WHAT IT MEANS TO WIN OR LOSE THIS TIME. SO THERE’S NO CONFUSION, AND NO DRAWS.”
Ford doesn’t like this. This is a bad, bad idea. But he will admit…he’s good at avoiding Bill at this point. The only reason he was captured this time was because he directly put himself in Bill’s line of fire in an attempt to destroy him. If he’s purposely trying to evade him, he doesn’t doubt that he’d succeed- at least for a while.
“We’d need a time limit,” Ford finally says grudgingly, “I’m not going to spend another 30 years doing this.”
“AW, FORDSY! I KNEW YOU’D COME AROUND,” Bill says, “HOWSABOUT 20?”
“20 years?!”
“YEAH!”
“Absolutely not. 20 minutes?”
“BOO, THAT’S NOTHING! YOU’D BARELY EVEN GET A CHANCE TO HIDE.”
“Good, we’d be getting this over with faster.”
“UGH FINE. ONE OF YOUR HUMAN WEEKS?”
“Seven days? I’d rather be tortured. I’ll do three, at most.”
“THREE DAYS? FINE. STILL A BIT SHORT IF YOU ASK ME, BUT I SUPPOSE WE CAN PLAY ANOTHER ROUND, ANOTHER TIME.”
“We won’t,” Ford says with finality. “I’d also like to lay down some ground rules, if we simply must do this.”
“I MEAN, WE CAN GO BACK TO THE TORTURE, IF YOU REALLY WANT,” Bill says helpfully. Ford groans, and Bill continues, “PLUS, THIS IS WEIRDMAGEDDON! NO RULES, NO LAWS! IT WAS PART OF THE WHOLE HENCHMANIAC PITCH, REMEMBER?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Ford says, unimpressed, “but I’m quite certain you mentioned that ‘time is dead’ as well. You already agreed to make an exception there, so why stop now?”
Bill raises a finger, like he’s about to protest, then lowers it with a scowl.
“FINE. WHAT RULES DO YOU WANT? IF THERE’S MORE THAN TEN I’M THROWING YOU TO GREGG.”
“Which one is that?”
“THE THING THAT USED TO BE GRAVITY FALLS’ WATER TOWER!”
“Right, well, I actually only have a couple,” Ford says, probably not disturbed enough about the threat Bill just leveled against him. That’s just because he knows Bill needs him alive, though. Probably. “First of all, I’d like to establish the rules of capture. In a traditional game of hide and seek, the game ends when the individual hiding is found, but since it sounds like you want to recreate the experience of hunting me across the multiverse, you’d want there to be an element of capture involved. Am I correct?”
“DING DING DING!” Bill cheers then, to Ford’s surprise, moves a piece on the chessboard. He’d honestly completely forgotten about their game briefly. “SO THE GAME ENDS WHEN I GRAB YOU, RIGHT? THAT WORKS FOR ME!”
“Not quite,” Ford butts in, moving one of his remaining rooks, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you changing size! Between that and your telekinetic abilities ‘grabbing me’ as you say, would be far too easy. I propose you win if you are able to successfully physically transport me from my hiding place back here, to the fearamid. No teleporting allowed.”
“HMMM,” Bill rubs the spot between his eye and his bow tie thoughtfully, “I DUNNO, IQ. I DON’T IMAGINE YOU’D BE EXACTLY MAKING IT EASY ON ME IF I TRIED TO BRING YOU ANYWHERE.”
“I wouldn’t. That’s the point.”
“TRUE! BUT IF YOU END UP GETTING FAR ENOUGH, DRAGGING YOU ALL THE WAY BACK HERE KICKING AND SCREAMING, WHILE FUNNY, WOULD ALSO BE A MAJOR PAIN.”
“It seems only fair,” Ford argues, “don’t you want an interesting game?”
“HOW ABOUT THIS,” Bill slowly slides a piece across the board, “SINCE WE’VE ALREADY BROUGHT TIME BACK INTO THIS GAME FOR SOME REASON, WE COULD MAKE THIS A TIMED THING TOO. I WIN IF I MANAGE TO IMMOBILIZE YOU FOR A SET PERIOD.”
“That…could work,” Ford says thoughtfully. “If that is what we’re going with, however, I’d also like to propose that you cannot use your powers to immobilize me, like the way you did at the chapel. You wanted a physical form, Cipher, so I expect you to use it. Physically restrain me for ten seconds, and you win.”
Ford hadn’t really been focusing on Bill at all while laying down this proposal, too caught up in his own thoughts. When he finally meets his gaze again, he notices that Bill’s pupil has dilated quite an alarming amount.
“DEAL.”
“Ah! No! No deals yet!” Ford yelps at the phrasing on instinct. Whatever strangeness that had entered Bill’s expression disappears quickly and he groans.
“WHAT, YOU GOT MORE RULES?”
“Just one,” Ford says, grave seriousness entering his voice. “You said you wanted this game to be between just you and me, and I want to hold you to that. You may not harm, capture, or otherwise involve any other sentient creatures for the sake of giving yourself an upper hand. Especially my family. Trying to lure me out in such a way would be considered cheating, and you would automatically lose.”
The fire crackles in the resounding silence that follows, and Ford…isn’t intimidated. He’s been all across the multiverse. He’s faced dozens of foes, and just because Bill is the most dangerous by far doesn’t mean he gets to just cower and back down because he’s acting odd. He’ll be able to hold his own if Bill disagrees, he has been holding his own just fine. Just because this rule feels a bit too much like showing his vulnerable underbelly doesn’t mean Bill’s realized it. He must stay calm, he must-
“CHECK,” Bill says across the board. Ford snaps his gaze to his hand, seeing the way he flicks a knight into place, looming over Ford’s king. He swallows thickly.
“ANYWHO,” Bill leans back in his seat, “THAT’S A FAIR ENOUGH RULE I SUPPOSE, BUT WHAT IF ONE OF YOUR LITTLE MORTAL BUDDIES ATTACKS ME IN AN ATTEMPT TO HELP YOU? NOW THAT DOESN’T SEEM VERY FAIR…”
“I- I’m sure that won’t be a problem,” Ford’s hand trembles just a little before he takes a full, steadying breath, and gets it under control. He is in control. He takes out the threatening knight using his queen, knowing it means it will likely be taken out on Bill’s next turn.
“UH, AND I’M SURE IT WILL,” Bill does in fact take Ford’s queen with a little too much glee, “BUT I’M A GENEROUS GUY, AND ALWAYS OPEN TO COMPROMISE.”
“Really?” Ford asks in disbelief.
“SO, HOW ABOUT THIS. YOUR LITTLE FRIENDS AND FAMILY ARE GIVEN IMMUNITY FROM ANY OF MY DIRECT ATTACKS AND ACTIONS FOR THE DURATION OF THE GAME PROVIDED THEY DO NOT PHYSICALLY ATTACK OR PROVOKE ME THEMSELVES. THE SECOND ONE OF EM TOUCHES ME, OR TRIES TO HELP YOU ESCAPE ONCE I’VE CAUGHT YOU, THEY’RE FREE GAME. CAPICHE?”
“I-” Ford doesn’t like that rule, especially knowing his family. He thinks about Mabel, doing the impossible to get unicorn hair to help keep her family safe. About Dipper, seeing Ford about to be taken away by an alien prison-pod and saying no, I’ll save you. He thinks, impossibly, about Stan, and a portal that could have destroyed everything. He thinks about the way Stan put the damn thing back together over the course of thirty years despite knowing nothing about physics and everything about the risks, all in an effort to bring him back home. If they were to see Ford, running for his life from the being that’s caused them all so much heartache, would they be able to stand aside? He knows the answer to that hypothetical.
Well then he…he will just have to ensure he doesn’t run into them. His determination hardens, and he nods once. Then, again but more firmly, meeting Bill’s eye that’s curved up into something pleased and smug.
“Alright. I’ll agree to that condition,” Ford relents.
“GREAT! NOW, BEFORE WE MOVE ON TO THE REAL MEAT AND POTATOES OF THIS DISCUSSION, I GOT A RULE OF MY OWN I NEED YOU TO AGREE TO.”
“ What ? All that whining about not wanting too many rules, only for you to go and add one?!” Ford asks, indignant. Bill mocks him, using a hand to yap along with Ford’s complaint.
“YEAH, YEAH, I’M A HYPOCRITE. NO ONE’S PERFECT, BRAINIAC! THOUGH, I CAN’T BLAME YOU FOR THINKING I AM. I AM YOUR MUSE AFTER ALL,” Bill practically purrs the word, and Ford flushes at that embarrassing history being brought back up. “IT’S A SIMPLE RULE ANYWAY, NOTHIN’ YOU’D PROBABLY EVEN THINK ABOUT BREAKING, BUT IT’S A PRECAUTION I NEED TO TAKE NONETHELESS.”
Bill floats across the board, and Ford fully expects for him to get back in his face again. What he doesn’t expect, however, is for Bill to grab him by the chin and yank him up to the edge of his seat. He forces eye contact as he says, “YOU, UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES, ARE ALLOWED TO LEAVE GRAVITY FALLS IN AN ATTEMPT TO AVOID ME.”
Ford blinks, startled. He will admit, he hadn’t given that idea any consideration prior to this. He does see why Bill would establish it as a rule, though. He may not like the demon, but he can see what is fair, and if he can just leave an area Bill is bound to, then there really isn’t a game. He can also see now just what Bill is risking by letting him run free. If Ford escapes with the equation to break the barrier around the town, then Bill is trapped. It lights a spark in Ford’s mind, the slow formings of a plan.
“Of course; that rule makes sense,” Ford says. Bill’s still holding him by the chin, and doesn’t seem inclined to let him go anytime soon, so Ford decides to just continue on as is, “and if that’s it for rules…I suppose we can move on to prizes?”
Bill’s eye curves up again, clearly pleased.
“YES. LET’S.” Bill sets his other hand in Ford’s hair and slowly trails it through in a mocking caress. Ford grimaces, but doesn’t try to pull away as Bill asks, “SO. WHAT DO YOU THINK IS A FAIR REWARD FOR MY LITTLE BRAINIAC?”
Ford inhales through his nose, flicks his gaze away from Bill’s best he can without actually moving his head. The hand in his hair continues to gently pet him, and if Ford didn’t have any sense of pride or self-preservation, he might even call it soothing.
“I want you to release the townsfolk from your throne,” Ford starts, pausing for a moment to gauge Bill’s reaction. He doesn’t seem to have one, still looking at Ford with the same strange expression. He continues “On top of that, I want you to let me keep the freedom I’ll have earned from the game-”
The hand in his hair pauses, tightens its grip.
“No.”
“Let me finish, Bill.”
The fire crackles into the quiet. The hand loosens, starts moving again in a way that’d feel apologetic from anyone else.
“For three days. If I manage to avoid your capture, you will give me an additional three days to get my affairs in order without trying to capture me again, or without needling me about the equation. After that,” Ford inhales shakily, “after that you are welcome to proceed as before.”
“YOU CAN’T LEAVE GRAVITY FALLS DURING THAT TIME, EITHER,” Bill tells him.
“Of course,” Ford agrees, despite his heart sinking a little. He figured as much, but it would have been nice to have that option.
“GREAT!” Bill suddenly releases him all at once, throwing his arms up in a cheer, “IN THAT CASE, SURE! I CAN ALWAYS MAKE A NEW THRONE IF NEED BE. ESPECIALLY ONCE WE TAKE THIS APOCALYPSE GLOBAL. I DON’T NEED THE GRAVITY FALLS CITIZENS.” Bill’s body turns itself around brick by brick to face the table again, and he makes another move. Ford says nothing a moment, just watching him gleefully examine the new setup of the board. He either does not see, or does not care about the way Ford’s been quietly cornering him, pulling from Bill’s book of play.
“Bill,” Ford says, trying to reach to take his own turn without smacking his face into Bill’s back. It’s surprisingly difficult with the way Bill’s positioned himself in the air in front of him.
“HM?” Bill asks as Ford manages to grab a piece and move it with just the tip of his nose knocking up against Bill; it sends a jolt through him, like the soft crackle of electricity. He hadn’t really noticed it before, but while Bill has touched him a bit (his hands feel a bit like a Gumby toy that’s been covered in velvet), Ford hasn’t really made any proper contact with the main part of Bill’s body since it’s gained physicality. The scientist in him is curious, naturally, but he shakes it off.
“You, uh. You didn’t tell me. What you want if you win. It has to be of equal value to what I’ve asked of you-” so no equation, hangs in the air, unsaid.
Bill makes his next move slowly, like he’s calculating something, before he whips around in the air and grabs Ford by the chin again. This time, he yanks him so close that his eye is all Ford can see. He goes a bit cross-eyed trying to meet his piercing stare.
“WHEN I WIN,” Bill says lowly, rubbing his thumb across Ford’s chin in slow circles, “I GET THREE DAYS TO TAKE YOUR PATHETIC HUMAN BODY AND DO W H A T E V E R I WANT WITH IT."
Ford blinks in surprise, feeling dread, of course, but also…confusion? He is unsure what Bill means at first. Surely, if Bill wanted to continue torturing him, he could do so without all the theatrics of a game at this large a scale. There’s very little, in fact, that Bill couldn’t do to him at this point in time, so he’s not sure how this constitutes a reward. Bill’s grip gets a bit tighter, and on his thumb’s next circling path, it skirts up to trail slowly across Ford’s bottom lip. He’s not sure if that was intentional or not, as the thumb quickly returns to its post on his chin.
“WELL?”
Well…if it’s not torture Bill wants, what could he possibly get from Ford’s body? He thinks about the phrasing, turns it carefully in his mind, before it all clicks into place.
Bill wants to possess him again.
Ford’s breath hitches at the realization, and Bill’s eye, so close to him still, smiles as he puts the pieces together. He’s not sure why, but then again, why does Bill do anything? He thinks about the last time he let Bill possess him, and chills go up his spine. What would the demon do with him, now that he had even less to lose? He could ruin Ford from the inside out, tear him to pieces and have him beg for mercy. He could force Ford to do unimaginable things to himself, to others, and he would be unable to stop it. A brand new form of torture previously inaccessible to him. A new way to try and make Ford break.
Would Bill even be able to possess him, if he agreed? The metal plate in his head should prevent it, but then again…that was a weaker Bill Cipher, kept separate through layers of space and time. The current Bill, the one in front of him right now, may not have those same limitations: especially if Ford willingly agreed. The fact Bill was even suggesting it must mean it was possible to an extent, and that more than anything fills Ford with terror. The fact Bill knows something about this deal that Ford doesn’t.
But what other choice does he have?
“I- just my body, correct? My mind would be inaccessible to you,” he finally says. Bill looks at him curiously.
“JUST YOUR BODY. YOUR MIND’LL BE TOTALLY OFF LIMITS. UNLESS I MANAGE TO BREAK IT- HA!”
“That’s not very assuring,” Ford mumbles. Bill pulls back a bit, ruffles his hair.
“NOT SUPPOSED TO BE. NOW!” Bill claps and a scroll appears midair, unfurling dramatically. He grabs what appears to be a pair of glasses- if glasses were made for one, giant eyeball. A glass?- from the air and slips them on. He clears his non-existent throat:
“WE GOT THE RULES OF PLAY, OUR SET BOUNDARIES, AND OUR PRIZES ALL LINED UP FOR THE TAKING. ANYTHING ELSE YOU NEED IQ, OR CAN WE GET THIS SHOW ON THE ROAD?” He holds out his hand, blue fire licking up his palm. Ford freezes, staring at it like it might burn him. Again.
“Do we really have to…?”
“WE DON’T HAVE TO,” Bill muses, “BUT IT’LL LOCK EVERYTHING INTO PLACE. GUARANTEE THE RULES AND THE TIME LIMIT. IF WE SHAKE ON IT, IT WILL ALL BE OVER IN THREE DAYS, REGARDLESS OF WHO WINS.”
Ford stares at his hand. He thinks back to being young and dumb and trusting, saying “from now until the end of time” without thinking it through. Could all of this heartbreak, this anger, this fucking apocalypse, have been avoided if he’d just watched his phrasing? If, instead of the end of time he said “from now until next Tuesday. Just a test run, you see.” God, he was an idiot. An idiot that is about to repeat his mistakes all over again.
He thinks of his family, and reaches for Bill’s hand.
It still feels undeniably weird to hold. In the mindscape, it’d been like the buzz of static electricity combined with how he’d imagine holding a cloud would feel if it were physically possible. Something soft, malleable, but dangerous. It’s still like that, but the layer of hardness beneath is new. He almost wants to run his fingers up along the length of the arm- feel if the firmness follows all the way through. He’s interrupted from his train of thought as Bill says, with unabashed glee.
“IT’S. A. DEAL.”
His hand slides up to grip Ford firmly around the wrist as the flames die down, and then- to Ford’s shock and horror- snaps off from the rest of his arm. Ford yelps and throws himself back into his seat- which shifts under him with a displeased grumble- waving his arm frantically to try and dislodge the now disembodied hand from his wrist. Bill cackles as he watches.
“RELAX, BRAINIAC, IT’S JUST A PRESENT!”
“You really need to learn what humans find appealing!”
“JUST LOOK.”
Ford grimaces and does, in fact, look. He watches as the fingers meld together and the back of the hand morphs into a triangular watchface. A timer appears on it: 00:15:00.
“Wha-”
“FOR OUR GAME! SO YOU CAN SEE HOW MUCH TIME YOU HAVE LEFT,” Bill looks at the stump of his arm that remains and stretches it forward. The base widens out into a palm, and four little fingers sprout back out from it. Bill wiggles them at Ford, and Ford sighs out in exasperation and…something else. Something too positive for the current situation.
“I. Appreciate it,” Ford grits out as if he’s being stabbed repeatedly in his still displaced kidney, “but could you change the shape?”
“WHAT? WHY? YOU WANT SOME OTHER SHAPE GRACING YOUR BODY?” Bill snaps, looking far more annoyed than the request warrants.
“No, I just don’t want you spying on my location,” Ford points out, snippy with Bill’s attitude.
Bill freezes, something odd entering his eye for a moment before he blinks it away.
“UGH. FINE,” he waves, and the watch face changes. Ford expects something simple: a square or a rectangle likely, but blinks in surprise as it shifts into his symbol: the six-fingered hand from his journals. The time itself sits in the center of the palm, and the fingers glow in turn with each second that passes: one, two, three, four, five, six, one, two, three, four, five, six. Despite everything, Ford can’t help but be…oddly touched.
“Why is it set for fifteen minutes?” Ford says before he can fall victim to his own emotions: a strategy he’s well versed in.
“WELL, YOU NEED SOME TIME TO GET STARTED!” Bill coos, ruffling his hair again. Ford swats him away.
“Is fifteen minutes really fair?”
“I COULD MAKE IT LESS!”
“...fifteen minutes is fine,” Ford decides. Bill laughs at him, floating high above the table and doing an excited little flip. Ford will not give in to his attempts to manipulate him. Instead, he looks down at the chessboard, a smirk curling up at the corner of his lip. He bites it down.
“Bill.”
“STANFORD.”
Ford leans forward, Bill’s eye on him as he does so, but Ford’s not watching him in turn. Instead, he’s watching a pawn move across the spaces to settle in front of Bill’s king- the final piece he needs for:
“Checkmate.”
Bill stares down at the board in betrayal. Ford smirks fully now, sits back and crosses his arms proudly. In this position, he can really feel the chair’s breathing under him, but he’s already committed to his smugness and isn’t about to give even an ounce of it up to being disturbed by Bill’s furniture.
Bill’s suddenly in his face again, though much bigger than before. He’s actually somewhat towering over Ford, at least twice his height if he were standing he’d estimate. A hand large enough to crush his skull slams down on the backrest next to Ford’s head and squeezes, hard enough Ford can hear the non-leather creak and let out a cry of pain. Ford doesn’t flinch. He meets Bill’s stare head on.
“GOOD LUCK, FORDSY. I’LL SEE YOU REAL SOON,” Bill rumbles, and that finally gets Ford’s attention. He opens his mouth to respond, or maybe question, but then Bill shoves the chair, causing it to tip back with Ford still in it. It falls, and instead of hitting the ground it keeps falling. Ford stares up helplessly at Bill, who gives him a cute little wave with his fingers, as he tumbles straight through the floor.