Ford opened his eyes to the mindscape and found himself distinctly unexcited to be there. Hardly surprising, given he'd just deliberately chosen to forsake keeping on schedule for a few extra minutes of sleep. But when he thought about it, he couldn't actually remember the last time he'd been truly excited to be here. Couldn't remember the last time he'd entered the mindscape to tea thoughtfully set for two and a chess board waiting for Bill's opening move. Couldn't remember the last time he'd been eager to impress Bill instead of anxious not to let him down.

Bill appeared before him, and when Stanford smiled it was only slightly forced. Bill was his friend. If he'd been a little over-invested in the portal recently, well inspiring Stanford to greatness was his job after all. Besides, it wasn't anything more than Stanford himself was guilty of. He was being ridiculous.

"Hey there, Sixer. Stanley bossing you around again, huh? Someone ought to tell that lug he's here to parent the rug rats, not you," Bill said.

"Stan is just concerned about my well-being," Ford said waspishly. Unfairly so, as he had had a similar thought about the matter earlier, but it felt different coming from Bill.

"Hey, calm down, no one's questioning his good intentions, just his methods," Bill said. "That, and you know what they say about good intentions."

"What do you mean by that?" Ford demanded.

"Nothing. Jeez, you sure are crabby tonight. I'm just here to help you out, but if you don't want to talk to me…"

"No, no, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped," Stanford said quickly.

"You're human; you can't help your dumb emotions sometimes. I forgive you. All I was trying to get at was I don't think Stanley understands how important your work on this portal is."

"Oh, I'm sure he doesn't fully grasp the entire scope of it. But I don't think it would matter to him regardless." He had practically explicitly said as much earlier. Dipper and Mabel first, then Ford, then fuck the rest of the world. Changing the world, possibly, probably even saving the world, came in distant second to Ford's well-being as far as Stan was concerned. Ford didn't know if that was right or if he agreed with it, but he couldn't argue with it either. Even if he could, he knew he wouldn't be able to change Stan's mind. It might be a little frightening in its intensity in some ways, but it was comforting too.

"You're probably right," Bill agreed. "That's why you're the genius of the two of you. Though I guess even a stopped clock is right twice a day."

Stanford liked the descriptor of Stan as a stopped clock even less than he liked Bill's earlier comments, but he didn't want to upset Bill again either. "How do you mean?" he asked in a calm, level tone.

"You do need to sleep more. You can't keep up with the schedule we set for you."

"I'm sorry," Stanford said. "I really have been trying to push myself as hard as possible to keep up, but-"

"Hey, hey, it's not your fault your frail human body is just incapable of doing what I expected of you. That's why I'm here, because I felt bad for you and all the limitations you have being a weak little human, and I wanted to help."

"Really? That would be great; thank you," Stanford enthused. "What did you have in mind? I know we seemed to run into the upper limits of the specific details of what I could recall from the time we spent working in the mindscape while I'm asleep, but maybe if we try again…"

"No, I got something more direct in mind this time. I've been thinking, when you're asleep it's not your body that needs the rest, it's your brain that needs to go offline for a while to recharge itself. So why should your body get to lay there like a useless lump when there's work to be done?"

"That's an intriguing notion, but my body can't do any work if it's not receiving directions from my brain," Stanford pointed out.

"Not necessarily. You're not the only one in your head these days. All we have to do is make a deal, and then while you're asleep and not using your body anyway, I can slip in and take over for a while. You can get your sleep and I'll use your body to get done whatever work needs to be done to keep you on schedule." Bill theatrically extended his hand to shake, blue flames bursting into being around it. "Whaddya say?"

The words, the implication of the words hit Stanford like a blow. He half-expected to be sent reeling with the force of it. Instead he stood there shock-still. A word dropped from his lips as small as he felt. "No."

He imagined – he had to have imagined it – he saw Bill, the flames, the entire mindscape go bright, searing, hateful red. Then it was gone in less than an eye blink. He had to have imagined it. He had to.

"What was that?" Bill asked. Each word was carefully picked, precisely annunciated.

Stanford's palms were sweating like they could already feel the heat of flames pressed against them. His stomach had dropped somewhere down into his knees. His fingertips felt numb. "I appreciate the offer, I greatly appreciate it. I'm honored you are willing to go that far to help me, but I…" He licked his lips. "I don't think it's a good idea. No."

"Why. Not."

He didn't know. He didn't know why the suggestion caused dread to settle and spread knot-like in his chest until it felt like he couldn't breathe. He trusted Bill. Bill was his friend. It was an exceedingly practical suggestion. It would allow the work to get done while still giving Stanford time to take care of himself, leaving everyone satisfied and happy. And he trusted Bill, with his life. But this was more than just his life. Bill was already free to move in and out of Stanford's mind as he pleased, so to give him access to Ford's body was a lot. Too much. He couldn't… he couldn't…

"STANFORD." Every line of Bill's body was rigid. But that was a nonsense thought. Bill was a triangle with stick limbs and a single eye; there was hardly enough of him for body language or facial expression. Not to mention Bill had barely moved an iota since Ford's first no, his hand still outstretched for the deal. Stanford's entire arm tingled. It would be so easy, so much easier, just to take it back, to reach up and take that fiery hand. He didn't want to let Bill down; he couldn't upset him. But every line of Bill's body was rigid, hard, and unyielding, and if he touched Bill now, Stanford would shatter into a thousand pieces.

"The kids," Ford blurted out, desperate for some excuse. "What if Dipper and Mabel wake up from a nightmare and come find me while it's actually you in my body?" He'd offered it as an excuse, but the more he thought on it, the more his horror grew. What if that did happen? What would he appear like to them then? Would it be like mind control in old cartoons with his eyes startlingly blank and pupil-less? Or would he take on Bill's yellow cat eyes? Or most frightening of all, maybe he would appear exactly the same as he always did.

"Then I'll just pretend to be you and send them back to bed. Easy," Bill said.

"No!" Ford was neither stupid, nor entirely oblivious. He was aware that Bill was not especially fond of Dipper and Mabel. Stanford just didn't take it personally because he knew Bill didn't mean it personally. Bill was Stanford's muse, and his job was to inspire Stanford's work. From a very practical perspective the kids were an impediment to that cause, so it was logical that Bill might find them an annoyance. Stanford was sure that if Bill got to know them on a personal level he would come to like them – he couldn't imagine anyone with a heart not liking Dipper and Mabel if given the chance to know them – but as Stanford had explicitly asked Bill not to go into their minds, Bill had never gotten the opportunity. That was alright, because he still understood how important Dipper and Mabel were to Ford, and even tried to help Stanford with them on occasion. It had been Bill's suggestion that Stanford get help with the children, and look how well that had turned out, in ways that he couldn't have ever imagined at the time. None of which changed the fact that Bill wasn't fond of the children and Ford absolutely could not have them see that in his eyes and think it was coming from Ford.

"No," Stanford repeated. "I won't lie to them, especially not about something like that, but telling them the truth wouldn't work either. They don't know who you are, they don't even know you exist, so trying to explain this to them would only confuse and upset them. For their sake, I can't take your deal."

"That's the only reason. Because the kids don't know who I am and you think it'll upset them."

"Yes," Stanford said. That was a lie. Every nerve in his body screaming on edge at the very notion was a separate reason, but better a lie than that truth.

There was a long moment of silence, stretched thin and taunt like a tightrope. Then Bill waved his hand, shaking away the flames and calling up a blackboard with the calculations Stanford had abandoned at Stan's urging earlier. "Fine. We can try it your way for now."

Stanford felt like he'd just thrown up, weak and shaking and hollowed out and immensely better than he had been minutes before. He had been being ridiculous, panicking with no call for it. Bill had made a practical suggestion, that was all. Stanford had said no, and Bill had understood. He'd never force Stanford to do something he didn't want to. "Thank you."

"Sure thing, Sixer," Bill said. "After all, I am your friend."