Fiddleford wasn't sure how long he lay there; it could have been anywhere from a day to a day and a half.
Every once in a while his brain became so worn out with being terrified that he would fall into a restless sleep, and when he woke up he would squeeze his eyes shut for a few seconds before opening them in the hopes that the nightmare had ended.
It hadn't.
He was still in a dark, damp cave in the middle of an asteroid, listening to occasional unearthly noises echoing in the aether outside.
Fiddleford whimpered and closed his eyes again, and wished he had his memory gun so he could make things better, just for a little while, just wipe out all the fear and replace it with mindless bliss, maybe then he could sleep peacefully and when he woke up things would be back to normal-
"Otrom è?"
Fiddleford whirled around with a shriek, managing to scramble back on his hands crab-style from the cluster of creatures which had just emerged from the shadows.
Even in Gravity Falls he'd never imagined anything like these things could possibly exist. None of them looked even remotely human, instead having forms shaped like different types of beasts mixed together. He blanched at the amount of claws and fangs and shiny, probably venomous skin he could make out amongst them. If it came down to a fight, he wouldn't stand a chance.
One of the monsters, at the head of the group, looked like some kind of strange mixture of a very large guinea pig and a very small pirate, with a checkered bandanna tied around his head and an eyepatch covering one eye; Fiddleford also noted through the fresh fear rendering his thoughts incoherent that he had a mechanical arm, and his interest and curiosity about how it worked almost managed to distract him from noticing that they were getting closer for a moment.
"Ies ihc? Onailati ilrap?" the guinea pig monster demanded, tilting his head.
Fiddleford looked around wildly for a potential exit, but they had surrounded him, cutting him off. There was no way out.
Maybe they're just your orderlies, here ta take you back to your cell, his thoughts suggested.
A hysterical giggle escaped Fiddleford's lips, and he curled up in a ball, clamping his hands around his head and rocking slightly.
"It's okay, it's not real, they're not real, it's not real…"
He whispered the words in a rapid mantra, digging his hands into his hair and tugging lightly in a futile effort to ground himself.
"Ilaer omais," he heard one of the other monsters hiss, and shuddered. Maybe that was monster for, "let's eat!"
No no no remember it's not real none of this is real-
"Aruap ah, ottiz iats," the guinea pig monster's voice said. "Acsipac ic ehc oderc non." There was the soft thump of boots walking across stone, and then something leathery grabbed his wrist; Fiddleford shrieked again and tried to pull away, but the firm grip would not be denied.
Oh banjo polish no no no he's gonna eat my hand no no PLEASE
"Àretuia otseuq esrof." Something metallic clamped around his wrist; a second later, Fiddleford felt a strange tingle run all over his body, in particular lingering around his ears. As it did, the voice of the guinea pig monster began to change.
"Tset tset-one two three. Can you understand me now?"
The sound of an English-speaking voice (and a surprisingly sophisticated one, at that) startled Fiddleford into looking up. His eyes met a single brown one, gazing back at him with an expression that was...much less malicious or hungry than he was expecting. In fact, more than anything it seemed rather sympathetic as it gazed down at him.
"Are you hungry?" the guinea pig monster asked. "We have food and shelter, if you'd like to come with us."
Fiddleford's stomach inadvertently rumbled, reminding him that it had been awhile since he'd last eaten.
The guinea pig monster smiled reassuringly and tugged on his arm; Fiddleford noticed that there was a large metal bracelet wrapped around it now, with strange symbols and some kind of antenna.
"That's a universal translator," the guinea pig monster said, following his gaze. "I'm sorry if I frightened you, but I thought it would be easier if we could communicate. Now come with us; we can help you."
Maybe they're gonna give me my medication now. Might as well obey my doctors.
Fiddleford allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, and meekly followed the group deeper into the labyrinth.
They came to a section that looked like pictures Fiddleford had seen of Hoovervilles, with ragtag shelters set up in a ring around a large purple campfire which had something bubbling in a pot above it. A smell that was surprisingly appetizing wafted up from inside it.
The guinea pig monster sat Fiddleford down on a log in front of the fire, and looked him over curiously.
"You're a carbon-based lifeform, aren't you?" he asked. "Most of us are, but it doesn't hurt to ask."
Fiddleford nodded numbly.
"Good; this should be safe for your system to digest, then." He grabbed a bowl and a ladle, and dished up some of whatever was in the pot (it looked like a kind of stew), before placing it in his hands. "Try getting some of that into you, you look like you need it."
Fiddleford hadn't realized how hungry he was: he barely registered that he burned his tongue gulping it down, not even bothering to notice the taste.
Another of the creatures, a large bug-eyed alien who appeared to be missing its hand, hissed with laughter as they watched him. "He may be a newbie, but he sure knows how to eat out here."
A small, blue-colored pig whose hands only possessed two fingers and a thumb glared at them. "Are you disparaging my cooking?"
"Absolutely."
"Then he can have your share too."
"Don't even think about it!"
The guinea pig rolled his eye at them as he ladled out more food for Fiddleford. "Here you go."
This time Fiddleford remembered his manners enough to say, "Thank you," before sipping from the bowl more slowly.
Despite the alien's dry commentary, the stew wasn't half bad; maybe it needed a few more spices, and his mama would definitely have added some flour to thicken the broth, but it was good enough for him to drain the bowl again.
The feeling of a full stomach worked wonders for drawing the worst of the tension and panic out of Fiddleford's heart, and as he set the bowl down by his side he was able to look around with more curiosity than terror.
He had to squint, on account of his lost glasses, but even without them he could see that the comparison to a Hooverville had been disturbingly accurate. Most of the items here were in various stages of falling apart: clothes, scraps of furniture, science fiction-esque weapons that he was finally calm enough to be interested in-all of it looked like it had been salvaged from wreckage.
Maybe it was from all those games of D, D&D he and Ford used to play in college; Fiddleford had taken every opportunity to use as many steampunk elements as possible, so that must have leaked over into his hallucinations.
"You doing all right?" the guinea pig asked, nudging him.
"Yes, thank you, doctor," Fiddleford murmured absentmindedly.
The guinea pig gave him a sharp look. "Excuse me?"
"Um-sorry, I'm just-kinda assumin' you're the head doctor here." Fiddleford gave him a sheepish smile. "I'm seein' some pretty strange things right now, so sorry iffen I mixed ya up with someone else, I just-"
"You're not hallucinating."
The smile slowly drained from his face, along with all the color he'd just gotten back.
"No, n-no, I-I know I am, this-none of this is real, I must've-"
I need my memory gun I need my memory gun I need my memory gun
His fingers started trembling and clenching around each other, and his knee started to bounce so fast it was almost a blur.
"I-I think I need my medicine or whatever you folks have me on, because you-ya look like some kinda giant guinea pig or somethin', and ever' one else looks like-"
"Aw, pellets," the guinea pig muttered. "I think we better take him to Jheselbraum."
Hooverville: a name for a type of shantytown created for many people during the Great Depression. They were named after Herbert Hoover, who many people blamed for the Depression in America.