Chapter 52: Playing A Six-Fingered Hand
A/N: Before we begin, I have some AMAZING news! I personally am pretty awful at art (I'm a writer not an artist), but BADWOLF1221 is very much NOT an awful artist like I am, and they've graciously offered to do some illustrations for this story! So sometime in the near future I'm going to be publishing this story on DeviantArt WITH a few illustrations thrown into it courtesy of BADWOLF! (I have an illustrator! Wow! Never thought I'd see the day! My major is freaking economics! Like whaaat? Haha.)
To start off though, BADWOLF wanted me to ask you guys to send in requests (via reviews) for which scenes from this story you want to see illustrated the most. Whichever scenes are requested most often will get drawn up, and there's no limit to the number of scenes you can request (for those who just can't decide)! Though, um... Maybe don't request every single scene from start to finish, yeah? ^^;
There's more I want to say, but it can wait until the end of the chapter, so for now, enjoy the story~! Talk to you on the other side! ;)
Bill couldn't breathe, his lungs ached as he coughed from the smoke, and there was heat all around him. He could feel where the flames licked at him just below him, creeping their way quickly up to engulf him. If just the first touches of the flames were agony on his human skin he didn't want to know what being entirely covered in them felt like, but that seemed inevitable at this point...
Then he felt it. At first just a light mist, then a few drops, and within a moment he was suddenly sopping wet from head to toe and for a few seconds he couldn't breathe not because of the smoke or the burning in his lungs and throat, but because he was drowning. Water pushed past him in a heavy downpour that would have knocked him to the ground had he been standing, an uncomfortable pressure, but he welcomed it because it instantly banished the scorching heat that had been about to consume him moments before. As soon as the water came it went again, passing as it spread out over the area around him. Bill gasped and coughed, sucking in air and still heaving because of the damage that had been done to his lungs and esophagus, on top of the results of the brief moment where the air around him had been replaced with liquid.
Bill blinked slowly before looking up, his neck strained by even the slightest of movements. His gaze traveled the rest of the way up and there, standing before him on the platform, was Stanford Pines.
...
Anyone would later say that it was quite marvelous to behold. Dipper, especially, looked on in awe as it happened. His Grunkle Ford had come running out from between two buildings and had sprinted up the burning wooden stairs to the platform. He'd stopped in front of Bill, lifted his ray gun, and pointed it directly upwards just as the Gravity Falls water tower finished its decent down the hill, rolling up over a building with knocked-over trees providing it a ramp from the ground to the top before flying directly over the stake in the middle of town.
Just as it was about to pass overhead Ford fired, effectively destroying the water tower, flinging the wooden bits from it well out away from town and into the tree line where there was no risk of them hurting anyone. Seeing this, the majority of the Gnomes scattered, only Shmebulock and Jeff remaining. The water from the now decimated water tower seemed to hang in the air for a moment before continuing in the same trajectory as the water had been going, but much more downward. The entire stake was drenched in the volume of water and Stan had to brace for impact, holding Dipper and Mabel to keep them from getting knocked off their feet as the water rushed past them. Soos actually did trip and fall as he was knocked over, unprepared as the water pushed at him since he had still been staring in awe at Stanford.
Mabel, Dipper, and Soos cheered as the rest of Gideon's thugs scampered off while Gideon and Ghost-Eyes high-tailed it out of there, their plans effectively foiled for the time being. Stan couldn't help but look smug, as if he was silently screaming to the world "that's my bad-ass nerdy brother!"
….
Bill peered up at Ford through his drenched golden hair, breathing in shaky breaths and trembling. Ford stepped forward, dialed down his gun to a thin concentrated ray, and carefully positioned it before firing, easily slicing through the handcuffs and leaving a scorch mark in the street.
Bill was still gasping. "You have the key," he said, reminding Stanford that they'd given him the key to the handcuffs earlier and hadn't bothered to take it back.
"I lost it," Ford lied, but everyone knew he just wanted to shoot the cuffs off because it looked cooler that way.
Bill would have said as much, but a coughing fit struck him and he doubled over, clutching his chest and side where he was certain at least one of his ribs was still broken.
"You're alright," Ford assured him, resting a six-fingered hand on his back. "It'll fade in an hour or two, since your healing is so advanced. Take it easy though." Bill managed to nod as he regained control of his respiratory system.
"... Thank you..." Bill whispered it, barely audible as he was still hunched over on the platform. Ford reached down in response, scooping Bill's small form up into his arms. Bill wanted to protest, wanted to demand that this didn't mean anything and they were still enemies, but he didn't have the breath nor the conviction for it, so he closed his eye and let his head lull onto Stanford's shoulder as he was carefully carried down off the hellish platform, away from the spot where he'd been certain moments before he would die.
He was also grateful that he didn't have to walk down the stairs himself, seeing as there were places where a step or two were now missing. He didn't think he would have been able to manage that with his breathing still so labored and his previously broken rib still aching. Hopefully it had only been one rib with a clean break and not multiple ribs.
Mabel was the first to greet them at the bottom of the stairs. Ford knelt down to give her access as she wrapped her arms around Bill's neck and squeezed tightly.
"Can't... Breathe... Shooting Star..." Bill gasped out, trying to squirm away from her. Mabel held on a moment longer before letting go, coming away with tears in her eyes.
"Don't you ever do that to me again!" She demanded. "I would have gotten you free!" Bill knew that she wouldn't have, but he didn't argue with her. Mabel wiped tears from her eyes. "When we get home you can take a warm bubble bath and I'll make you some hot chocolate, okay?" Mabel asked, noting how Bill was shivering from being so soaking wet outside in the middle of the night. Ever since Bill had arrived he'd been strongly averse to the cold and he never managed well being outside at night: Dipper had already theorized that it was because Bill naturally gravitated to heat and fire... When the fire wasn't trying to burn him alive, that is.
"Maybe later," Ford clarified, "but right now he's not returning to the Mystery Shack." Ford stood with Bill still in his arms as a black BMW rolled up. Everyone turned to the car; Ford was the only one not surprised by its arrival. Bill looked up at Stanford, confused.
"What? Why isn't he coming back with us?" Mabel asked, voicing everyone's confusion.
"The Shack clearly isn't safe for him right now," Ford explained. "He was taken from there, so people must know that's where he's been staying. That's the first place they'll look for him."
"So? Let 'em come! We can hold 'em off, now that we know they'll be comin'!" Stan said somewhat arrogantly. "The Shack's been given defenses on numerous occasions. With those there's no way anyone's getting; in or out withou' our approval!"
Ford shook his head. "You'd have to close the Shack to everyone, tourists and the townspeople alike. The defenses aren't complicated enough to know the difference once you turn them on. Plus, I don't want the kids to be put in danger over this." Dipper and Mabel instantly made as if to protest, but Ford steamrolled over them. "Besides," he emphasized the word, "Bill will be safer if he's someplace else, just until we get to talk to the town and convince them that what happened tonight was wrong. It'll only be a couple of days," Ford promised. "He'll be back before you know it, and he'll be safe. I promise."
Mabel still looked skeptical, but she could see the logic in her Grunkle's words. Part of her wanted to resist, to say that he'd broken one too many promises recently for her to trust him (though trust him she still did), but Stan comforted her with a hand on her shoulder. He, too, was all-for keeping her and Dipper out of harm's way... And it was also true that he didn't want to have to close the Shack for so many days. Mabel reluctantly remained silent as Ford approached the black car with Bill still in his arms. Bill squirmed, afraid but too drained to properly protest.
Ford opened the back door and set Bill inside. Bill stared at him, confused, scared for numerous reasons, a little lost, and clearly wondering where he was going, but Ford didn't say anything as he shut the door. The car slowly rolled into motion and drove off, the last two Gnomes disappearing as well now that they were reasonably sure that Bill was safe.
"Come on," Ford said, "we'll leave clean-up to the rest of the town. It's the least they can do, considering everything they've done lately." Dipper instantly nodded and began to follow his Grunkle Ford to the StanlyMobile.
"I'm... Sorry I thought you betrayed us," Mabel said part-way to the car. "I just... I know how much you hate Bill..." Ford turned around.
"I'm sorry I had to trick you Mabel," he said, kneeling down and looking at her eye-to-eye. "It's good that you were so convinced though. Your reaction to me 'turning' is part of what convinced that little weird kid that I was actually switching sides. Besides, I didn't expect you to see through my façade and predict what my plan was. That was Dipper's job." Ford smiled over at Dipper, who smirked in return.
"I had my suspicions. I mean, I couldn't be totally sure, but I know you pretty well Grunkle Ford, and I at least trust you enough to believe you wouldn't betray us like that, even if you didn't want to save Bill." Dipper continued to smile as he climbed into the car.
"I'm with Mabel, I was totally fooled!" Soos said as he clambered into his truck.
"Eh, I knew my brother wasn't no turn-coat," Stan said. Everyone gave him a look that just screamed "Really?"
"What, you don' believe me?" Stan asked, feigning hurt. He looked at his twin. "After all the time we've spent together over the past year!"
Ford rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt." Stan grumbled something under his breath, clearly not satisfied with that answer, but he didn't persist. They drove back to the Shack, talking all the way about how they would organize a meeting with the townsfolk and how they would go about convincing them not to try and execute Bill again.
"How long do you think it'll be?" Mabel asked quietly at one point. "Before Bill can come back to the Shack?"
"Likely only a couple of days," Ford assured her.
"Yeah Mabel," Dipper jumped in. "Once we speak with the town I'm sure we can convince them to leave Bill to us! I mean, we can be pretty convincing when we have to be!" Mabel smiled in agreeance.
"And in the perhaps likely event that simply negotiating doesn't work," Stanford continued, "I have a few ideas as for how we can force them to leave Bill alone. I did traverse the multiverse, after all: Protecting Bill from these simple townspeople will be a synch now that I have time to prepare and think it through."
Dipper nodded. "See? He'll be back before you know it."
Mabel smiled. "Okay, I guess I can go a couple of days without him around then. I just... hadn't really noticed until now that I'd actually gotten used to him being at the Shack."
Dipper only nodded in silent agreement.
….
The windows were very darkly tinted, and there was once again glass separating the back seat from the front, though this time there were thankfully no metal bars and the back doors had door handles that Bill could utilize if he had to try and escape.
Bill tried not to think about the panic which was gripping him as the car moved at an indeterminable speed down the road. He did not feel safe in this car with who-knows-who driving, but Bill also couldn't muster up the energy to properly freak out. He was parched, his throat sore and burning from the heat and smoke inhalation, and the suffocation he'd experienced had left him completely drained of energy, not to mention the strain of his body attempting to heal itself. If fighting became necessary, Bill highly doubted he'd be able to manage to even as much as put up a shield, so whoever Ford had left him with, Bill hoped it was someone who could be trusted.
Only one person's name ran through Bill's mind at the moment, one person that he highly suspected was sitting on the other side of the tinted glass separating them, and Bill honestly didn't know how he felt about being left with this person.
Bill's suspicions were confirmed as the car pulled up at what had previously been the Northwest Mansion, but which was now the property of Fiddleford McGucket. McGucket parked the car, turned it off, and stepped out. He opened the back door and looked in at Bill, who was regarding him with skepticism written all over his face, his eye dull with exhaustion but squinted in a warning: 'Don't you dare try anything...'
Fiddleford's own eyes widened because, last he'd checked, Bill had had two eyes, hadn't he? He almost commented on it, almost asked "what happened to your other eye?" But he refrained himself at the last moment and covered his tracks by raising a fist to his mouth and clearing his throat. 'Perhaps,' Fiddleford thought, 'now is not the time for me to ask such questions. He's had a long night, after all.'
"Well, Little Fella," McGucket began, his words reflecting a tiny bit of his hillbilly-ness, but his tone was perfectly civilized and regal; soft, warm, and welcoming, "you wanna come inside?"
McGucket moved out of the doorway, still holding the car door open, and he waited. Bill only took a moment before gingerly climbing out of the car, limping a bit as he stepped away from it. Fiddleford shut the door softly, as if knowing that loud noises could be harmful at the moment, before motioning to the front door. He walked at a leisurely pace up the steps, giving Bill time to take it easy as he went without leaving him behind or rushing him. He didn't offer to help Bill up the steps since he figured Bill wouldn't appreciate the gesture, but part of him still wanted to offer.
McGucket did, after all, have a son, so seeing any young-appearing child in pain struck a chord with him deeper than any chord Bill could ever strike in Ford.
Fiddleford held the front door open and waited patiently as Bill finished climbing the steps before walking inside. As soon as they were in Fiddleford motioned to a white couch in front of a lit fireplace off to their left.
"Go rest while I grab my medical supplies," he ordered. Bill opened his mouth to protest, but Fiddleford would have none of it. He shook his head and held up a hand to silence him. "Let's have none of that, Cipher. You clearly need to be checked over and I'm better versed in medicine than Stanford is." Bill huffed a little, but complied, making his way over to the couch, not caring that he was dripping water in a trail along the polished floors. Fiddleford didn't likely keep any staff living at the mansion, but Bill suspected that he had people stop by once a week or so to tidy up and maintain the mansion's upkeep.
Bill plopped down on the couch, almost falling asleep as he relaxed into the comfortable cushions, the warmth of the fire seeping into him. He was barely conscious when Fiddleford came back, carrying with him a dark-grey medical bag. He took out his stethoscope first and tapped Bill on the shoulder. Bill cracked his eye open to look at him.
"Sit up," he commanded gently, and Bill complied, automatically continuing by lifting his shirt and sweater so that Fiddleford could press the cold metal end of his device to Bill's chest. "Take a deep breath," he commanded, and Bill complied. The same process was completed with the stethoscope pressed to his back in various places before Fiddleford motioned his completion of the exam.
"The rib didn't puncture anything, but it is pressing against your lung and you may have a bit of internal bleeding. I'll have to wrap it tonight so it heals correctly; it already feels as if the healing process has begun. Here." McGucket handed Bill a vile of some horrible-smelling liquid. "It'll ease the burning in your throat," he clarified and Bill forced it down with a grimace, instantly pleased by the soothing it did.
Fiddleford ran a hand lightly through Bill's hair when he spotted blood on the golden strands, Bill flinching slightly when his hand roamed over where he'd been slammed into the cell wall. A flash-light was lifted to his golden eye.
McGucket hummed. "If you were a cat, I'd say you have a concussion. But since you're not a cat, and you're definitely not a human, I can't exactly tell if your eye is responding properly or not." Fiddleford clicked off the light. "For now let's assume you have a concussion. Better safe than sorry." Bill groaned, figuring that that meant he wouldn't be able to sleep for a few hours, but Fiddleford shook his head. "It's alright, one only has to stay awake after a concussion if they're incapable of holding a conversation. You seem lucid enough to me, so you can sleep as soon as I finish treating you."
"…. Speaking of eyes..." Fiddleford began cautiously, and Bill tensed a little, though his muscles were too sore to tense fully. Fiddleford pulled ointment out of his bag and began applying it to Bill's damaged wrists and the few burns licking Bill's calves. "Should I take a look at that too?" He motioned briefly to Bill's eye patch.
Bill shook his head. "Nothing much can be done at this point. It happened several days ago," he said hoarsely, his throat still scratchy and sore. Bill could tell that McGucket wanted to know what had happened but he was being polite enough not to ask. Bill sighed. 'He's housing me, and protecting me, so I guess I owe him this much.'
"Ford stabbed me," Bill said quietly. Fiddleford's hands paused in their treatment of Bill's wounds. "It was mostly an accident…. I think…."
A pause. "That's... Some accident," Fiddleford finally said, putting away the ointment and pulling out bandages to wrap Bill's side with. "And it was only a few days ago?"
Bill nodded. "Advanced healing. Combined with Stanford's invention: A food supplement for me he calls 'Crackers'. They've helped... But that stupid midget-boy took the ones I had on me."
Fiddleford nodded. "That's fine. Stanford gave me a box of them." Even as he spoke, the be-speckled man concentrated on wrapping white bandages around Bill's thin frame, his hands moving dutifully.
Bill scoffed. 'Of course IQ thought of everything...'
Fiddleford taped the bandages in place with medical tape. "That should do it. Don't think I have to wrap the head wound... Anything else bothering you?" Bill shook his head in the negative. "Alright, then follow me." He led Bill through a door towards the back of the room, towards what Bill recognized were supposed to serve as the servants' quarters. They were mostly sealed off from the rest of the mansion, containing a decent kitchen, a living space, and several bedrooms with individual bathrooms, as if there were a whole little house shoved into the back corner of the mansion.
'Makes sense he would live here instead of in the main rooms,' Bill thought to himself, noting the dishes still left out on the counter in the kitchen. The servants' quarters felt much more like an ordinary home than the rest of the mansion did; they were a much easier to maintain and realistic living space for a reclusive man.
Fiddleford stopped in front of a door. "You can stay here. My room is right here across the hall if you need anything," he said, opening the door on the right as Bill stepped through the one on the left. "Goodnight."
Bill shut the door behind him and walked over to the bed. There was a pair of neatly folded black pajamas already set out on the bed for him, which he quickly picked up and changed into before crawling into the warmth of the lush thick bed covers.
He fell asleep instantly.
A/N: Alright, hope you enjoyed the chapter! There is another thing I wanted to discuss real quick: You might have noticed that sometimes I misplace words. For example, I use "Omniscient" and "Omnipotent" as if they are interchangeable. I do actually know the difference between the two in every way... except for in sight. Because of my dyslexia, when I look at two words which are very similar in appearance I can't tell them apart. I see two words of the same approximate length which both start with "Omni" and both end in "ent". Virtually the same in my eyes; very difficult to tell the difference. Same goes for "Edmond/Edward" and "Exercise/Exorcise" and a number of other words. The longer the word, the harder it is to tell them apart. But also the shorter the word the easier it is to overlook, so I really am hopeless. ^^;
The point is, I'd like to apologize for this embarrassing occurrence and any repeat examples you may find of this phenomenon... but if I'm being honest I must also admit that I'm not going to give myself a headache going back to find all the places I switched up various words I can hardly tell apart, so it's unfortunately going to remain a flaw in this story which I can only ask forgiveness for. If I was getting payed to write this story then I might make sure it's all perfect grammar-wise, but since I'm not getting payed and this is just for fun... *Shrugs* I think you get the point.
Okay, I'm done blabbering now, so thank you all for reading and remember to leave a review, especially if you want to request any scenes for my new illustrator to depict!
'Till next time~!
