Bill sighed as he lay on the floor in the dark.

It had been Ford's solution. To put him in the same room as him, on a pile of blankets on the floor, cuffed to a column heater that had been nailed to the wall which, fortunately, stayed off in the summer heat. He silently wondered what Ford planned on doing in the winter when the heaters warmth was necessary. Surely he wouldn't leave him there next to the boiling heat?

His hand was beginning to go numb from being held in one spot above his head for so long. For a moment he wondered how hard it would be to pull the screws out of the drywall and two by fours. One tug and a loud clank from the cuffs later had him holding his breath and begging Ford to still be asleep.

Ford wasn't. He jumped at the noise and turned to put on his glasses. He stared down at him for several moments before turning back over and laying down. Thirty years in other dimensions had clearly taught him to sleep with one eye open.

"Go to sleep," Ford nearly hissed. Bill closed his eyes, trying to follow the order.

It was odd, now that he thought about it. He'd been absolutely exhausted before dinner, but now, he couldn't sleep no matter how hard he tried.

Bill turned slightly and the cuff rattled. He winced and turned back to look at Ford in time to hear an exaggerated sigh. Ford turned to his back and Bill could just barely make out the lines of his face against the black. The windows in the bedroom were covered by thick curtains so most of the little light there was had been coming from the miscellaneous trinkets all around the room, but mostly piled on Ford's desk.

The cuffs rattled again when Bill tried to rest his near paralyzed arm on the cold metal.

"Would you go to sleep?" Ford nearly shouted.

"I can't," Bill said, turning a little more onto his side.

"Why not?"

"How should I know?"

Ford sighed and turned on the bedside lamp, both men wincing at the sudden light. He then stood and walked over to his desk. He rummaged through a drawer and pulled out a small bottle.

"Here," Ford said, handing him two dark purple pills, "take these"

Bill took them in his hand and looked at them suspiciously, "What are they?"

"Sleeping aids," Ford said, climbing onto the bed and pulling the covers up to his shoulders simultaneously. Ford flicked off the lights and set his glasses aside.

Bill stared at the pills in the dark for a moment more. If these were anything like the pain medication, they would work way more than he wanted them too. His new body wasn't used to things such as caffeine and medication so they easily worked on him faster and harder than on others. Though he couldn't bring himself to care enough and downed both pills dry.

It didn't take long for him to fall asleep on the pile of blankets, chained to a column heater.

When Ford awoke, he didn't feel nearly as refreshed as he would have liked. All accusations could be held to a certain tattooed demon who laid not ten feet away.

He sat up and rubbed at his face then grabbed his glasses from the nightstand, setting them in their accustomed place on the bridge of his nose. He stood and got ready for the day before grabbing a key and moving over to the fiend on the floor.

Bill was in a chaotic mess. The top blanket covered parts of his torso, one arm, and half of his face. The visible parts of his face showed a heavy sheen and slightly tinted cheeks and Ford reached down to feel his forehead for a temperature. There was one, but nothing bad enough to worry about.

He moved to shake Bill's shoulder, grimacing slightly at the clammy skin. Bill didn't react at all to the movement so Ford tried calling his name. The demon moaned quietly and turned into the pillow after the third call.

"Come on, get up" Ford ordered, pulling on Bill's arm to get better access to the chain. He unlocked the cuff and pulled Bill's wrist down, stopping when the demon hissed.

"Sorry," he mumbled then stood straight, giving the demon room to get up on his own. Bill didn't move, instead he pulled the blankets up and over his head again.

"Bill, no," Ford said, grabbing his arm and trying to pull him up, "I am not staying down here with you all day, get up."

Bill didn't respond and indifferently allowed Ford to pull him into a sitting position. He slumped in place and, on Ford's attempt to let go of his arms, he limply fell back onto the covers.

Ford sighed. Maybe the sleeping pills weren't the best idea. They sure had sounded great six hours ago. Of course, now he had a demon turned human that wouldn't move an inch.

With a frustrated scowl, Ford stood and left the room. He was not going to sit there with Bill all day. Besides, the demon was dead to reality. He wouldn't be surprised if he didn't wake until noon at the pace he was going.

Ford rode the elevator up to the ground floor and stepped out the vending machine. Popping oil drew his attention to the kitchen where he found Stan frying cubed potatoes and bacon.

"Smells good" he said, drawn in by the smell but stayed away from the piping hot oil.

"Where's the disturbance?" Stan asked as he pulled a carton of eggs from the fridge. The bright white bandage contrasted brilliantly on Stan's knuckles. It seemed he'd done his own first aid.

Ford turned to face his brother and leaned against the counter, a stickiness on his arm caused him to turn to find the forgotten tub of rainbow sherbet, "Down stairs, asleep"

"You left him by himself?" Stan asked as he set to cracking. Oddly enough, he didn't sound concerned, just curious.

"Yeah." Ford said, throwing the tub away and wiping the mess with a wet rag, "He kept me up last night so I gave him some Ambien to get him to go to sleep, but it seems to have been a larger dose than I anticipated. Or he's just more sensitive to the drug than I was."

Stan grunted an acknowledgement and poured the liquid yolks into the hot pan. Once finished with the ice cream, Ford helped by heating water for tea and instant coffee and soon the brothers were sitting at the table eating breakfast together.

"Have you decided what you're going to do with him now that he's more trouble than he's worth?" Stan asked before taking a sip of his cheap coffee.

Ford finished the food in his mouth before answering, "I think I'm gonna make him help me clean up the storage room, or maybe with some research in my study."

"Oh, yeah, cause that's a great idea." Stan said sarcastically, stabbing a potato and shoving it in his mouth.

Ford glanced up at his brother, "I have no idea what you mean, Stanley"

Stan scoffed, "Sure you don't. Let me guess, by this time tomorrow there's gonna be another one of your strange experiments in the dishwasher"

"For the record, it was the dryer. Besides, that's not the point" Ford said.

"It's exactly the point." Stan set his cup down and leaned forward, "Listen, Poindexter, I can't stop you from doing the things you want to do in your house, but I can't not warn you when I see it necessary. I don't think you really want Bill around your research. Look what he did to the journals. You're lucky they came back after we defeated him or you'd have lost years of research"

Ford sat back in his chair. His plate wasn't empty, but he felt full. "I know Bill probably has some big vendetta against us, honestly, I'm just trying to distract him to keep him from doing something stupid again. You know what they say, 'The best way to keep a prisoner from escaping is to make him forget he was ever locked up.'" he took a drink of his tea to help his suddenly parched throat, "Besides, I don't think I can kill him, Stanley."

"Why not?"

"For one, I promised Mabel. Aside from that, I just can't." He sighed, "As much as I hate to admit it, that idiot has me wrapped around his finger. Has since day one. He may be my enemy, but he was also once my friend. I don't think I could do it if I tried."

"You're in this too deep, this time." Stan warned, standing to dump the rest of the lukewarm coffee down the sink drain.

"I know," Ford sighed, and lifted his cup to his lips. The cup was set back down with the same amount of liquids as before he lifted it. "I know."

"If you're gonna have him help around the place, fine. I don't care, but while you're at it, teach him basic hygiene. He needs a toothbrush and a comb."

Ford gave him a weary grin. If Stan, a man who had a constant trail of flies on a good day, was commenting on the demon's hygiene...

"Yeah, I'll get on that"

A/N

And that brings the first chapter of the second arc to an end.

I've spent the short break rearranging things in my outline. Guys, this story is gonna be great. I'm so excited to write it! I just hope it translates well from brain to pen...or keyboard...

Thanks for sticking around and don't forget to favorite, follow, and comment your reactions and opinions!