"January. It's- Ford, it's January." Stan told him in disbelief.
His brother nodded, taking in the information. "I see..." Then there Ford went, obviously thinking about it. He honest to God had had no idea.
People forgot what day it was all the time. Even the right week, sometimes, sure. The month entirely though? Even after all the times he'd been imprisoned or went off the grid, Stan had never forgotten which month it was. Maybe near the end of a month he wouldn't be sure if it was April or May for instance, but that didn't really count.
"Ford," he started, putting a hand out and getting his attention, "listen, you're killing me here. Who was on the phone?" A thought hit him. "Tell me ya didn't already find a cult or something, tell me that at least."
"What? No." Ford said, waving a hand. "No, although," he looked down briefly, "now that you mention it, that's not an entirely bad idea."
Seriously, Ford?
Ford shook his head then to Stan's own relief, continuing, "but no," he said, "that was a call from the university."
Stan relaxed. "The university? They got a book or something for you?"
"Oh, no. It's an interview."
"What?"
"Well," Ford explained, "there were some books locked behind a case for staff use only. So, naturally, I applied for a couple open positions." He frowned, letting out a nasally breath. "It's really unusual to be looking for professors with only a dozen days before the first week of class though."
"Okay." Stan said. "Okay. So," he pressed his hands together, "let me get this straight real quick." He separated his hands back again. "There were some books on lockdown so you just decided to get a professor gig? You know you could probably have just broken the lock on the case and taken what you needed, right?"
Ford pulled his head back slightly to give Stan a look. "Why would I do that when they can just give me the key? Additionally," he said with an effort to pull his coat to cover himself more, "I'll have access to other Gotham U resources this way."
He then frowned, looking off to the side. "Unfortunately, I've never precisely led a course before and more importantly they're apparently expecting a lesson plan."
There were a couple things to really tackle in all of that, but he just decided to go for the last bit. "When do you gotta come up with that?"
"Two hours from now when the interview takes place."
Stan snorted. "Two hours? Dean's really streamlining the hiring process. I guess after losing so many professors, she's gotta though."
"They lose a lot of professors?" He asked, eyebrows furrowing together.
"Yeah, don't worry though. It's mostly just people new to town that get scared back out because of Gotham itself." He assured him, hesitating after his own words hit him. It wasn't a lie. That was the main thing that scared new professors. If the whole of Gotham didn't scare them off though, Jonathan's visits on campus usually did the trick.
"I've got more important things to worry about than the crime here, even if it is really odd." Ford said, completely nonplussed.
"Right," Stan said, looking back at Ford, not realizing his gaze had trailed off until he'd heard Ford talk. "Just don't stop worrying about it entirely, crime hits you whether or not you care about it."
Kind of pointless to say considering who he was talking to. Ford had always had a paranoid streak, but now it was just through the roof thanks to some literal demon.
"Ya want a ride to campus?" Stan asked. "Less walking in the cold while you're sick."
"I'm not sick." Ford said, the slight yet consistent stuffed up quality of his voice already saying otherwise. Stan just raised an eyebrow to look at him and Ford quickly relented. "I may be getting sick." He admitted.
"Yeah, I'm guessing that's the reason I woke up finding you passed out."
"Well-" Ford started and stopped.
"Well, what?" Stan looked at him.
Ford stayed silent, obviously thinking. After a moment or two, he eventually concluded with a shrug. "Well, in all likelihood, it was probably a long line of things which includes the sickness if I was sick by that point."
"Yeah, you did stay awake for most of that ride." He agreed. "Here, come on, I'll drive ya before I swing by work."
"I should probably take a shower." Ford noted, less than enthusiastic.
"... Wanna just rinse your face and spray some air freshener stuff on yourself?"
Ford considered that for only half a second. "Do you have some?"
"Yup." He nodded.
"Then yes."
Ford didn't look that great, but he wasn't actually moving that slow or anything. He'd probably be fine for the next few hours. It wouldn't take all day for whatever cold he'd gotten to really catch up to him though. Stan would have to remember to pick up some medicine for him while he was out. Ten bucks said Ford wouldn't even think about getting himself anything.
First things first though. After dropping Ford off, he went and parked nearby the lounge, somewhere empty for right now.
Stan checked around the parking lot before getting out of the car. He opened the door to the back seat and leaned over to reach the stash he'd hidden way back in Oregon. Bending back the fur lining, he got a hold of the paper to slip the whole thing out. Leaning back against his car, he unfolded the paper to separate it from the photograph.
In one hand, he had the photo of Ford and him just before boxing practice.
In the other, the pages with Ford's research for the portal.
One was aged and familiar.
The other was wrinkled, ominous, and some super dangerous research for a doomsday device or whatever. The messy rip on the side of both papers didn't match up with the precise lines written down. Even outside of the book, just standing on their own, the pages just gave off this vibe that this didn't belong here.
Or maybe it wasn't a vibe and Stan just really didn't like it. He didn't really care either way. Point was he didn't like it, and it shouldn't still be here.
You'd think with the whole apocalypse deal that this stuff would have been shredded a while ago, but oh no. Ford wanted to just hide this stuff instead. He couldn't just get rid of the two stupid global-destruction-y pieces of paper. It didn't matter that hiding it was just tempting fate.
Who cared, right? Not like a certain someone had been harping on about the end of the world or anything like that. Yeah, no, not at all.
Well, Ford wouldn't do it so Stan would just burn the pages himself.
Just don't let Ford know about. As far as he knew and saw, the journal wasn't missing a single page. If it happened to come up and someone got the journal then that just proved Stan had made the right choice.
Just burn the pages and rest easy knowing there wasn't going to be a random plot twist down the road with some mad scientist. Avoid the eventual goose chase that would only happen in the first place because Ford was too stubborn to destroy some paper.
Just take the lighter from his pocket now and let it go. He could even just tear it apart and let it scatter in the wind or toss it into a soggy trash can.
Just... come on, anything.
Stan scornfully looked down at the offensive paper.
It would be easy. It wouldn't even take ten seconds.
He sighed to himself, looking over the pages. The paper had creases all over it from when he'd first shoved it into his coat pocket. There were a few places where the paper had the barest centimeter of a tear.
Just take Ford's hard work and destroy it all over again.
He scowled, hand bunching the paper up a bit, making more wrinkles. "Stupid," he muttered to himself.
He'd ripped the pages out so he could get rid of them like Ford should have. Fat lot of good that did though. He had the paper in his hands and a dozen ways to ruin it, but he couldn't get himself to get rid of it either.
Frustrated, he lifted the fur lining up again and shoved the paper back in hiding. Whatever. It wasn't like some wacko trying to figure out a portal would be checking his car anyway.
He let out a sharp breath through his nose, standing beside the car as he looked to the photo in his remaining hand.
Okay, so...where to put this now.
He started to put it towards his pocket, but stopped. It wasn't big enough, he'd just end up wrinkling it. Maybe if he put it in the car door's- no. No, he couldn't do that. It could fly out from the wind then he'd have to try to stupidly chase it back down. Or worse he wouldn't notice and then it'd just be gone. What if he stuffed it somewhere like the head rest? Shoot, no, what was he even thinking? It'd get mangled just by him trying to shove it in there.
Stan ended up staring down at the photo, tapping it into his other hand with a huff. It was nostalgic, sure, but now it felt outdated. Not that it wasn't already outdated before, but the difference was that now it actually felt like it. Maybe because he was actually seeing Ford again. All of this was really hammering in how far behind the photo actually was.
It was the only photo Stan even had of them from before though. He couldn't just... let it go.
What was he going to do with it though? Put it in a frame inside where Ford would see it? Slide it into a photo album he didn't have? Heck, it's not like he had a place for memorabilia. It didn't belong anywhere, but here Stan was, still holding onto it like an idiot.
Stan tore his eyes off of the photo and got into his front seat before flipping down the sun visor and opening the small mirror on the other side of it. He caught a glimpse of himself and the long hair reaching his shoulders. Ugh.
He put the photo against the mirror and flicked the plastic cover closed over top of it before pushing the sun visor back up for good measure. There wasn't a reason for Ford to drive again so it'd be fine there.
He let out a long breath, now looking at the empty side of the sun visor where the photo used to be. Not like he'd really moved it. It was still there. He'd just covered it up.
He started up the car to drive over to the other parking lot. Alright, he'd split up the cash and take care of a few errands. Ford was going to take a few hours at least, so he had plenty of time. More time than he really needed.
Stan pensively threaded a hand through his hair with a sigh. He was going to cut this mess off after New Years. It was about time he actually did it.
All things considered, the interview had gone well. The dean had seemed maybe a tad rushed, but he really didn't mind that. She barely glanced at the lesson plan and she'd been happy with it. The interview had actually turned from just that to Ford getting hired rather quickly.
The meeting had noticeably changed after an exchange in which she'd asked what was on his criminal background and he'd told her there was nothing on it. She then asked about petty theft, which Ford assured was not present in his history. Then after that, she'd listed several misdemeanors to which Ford assured her, yet again, that his criminal background was nonexistent. After the final assurance, she'd immediately asked about his schedules and started getting him to pick out the classes he was willing to take.
It would have been concerning if he hadn't already known why the university needed professors so badly. He was actually glad the process was going by so fast since he had gone from feeling cold to absolutely burning up by the end of the interview. As much as he'd have preferred it to not be true- he was indefinitely sick and that was obvious by the time he was walking back to the apartment.
He had issues going up the stairs, exhausted by the time he'd reached the fourth floor... for the second time in a row, he grimly realized, remembering last night. This really needed to stop.
Ford set the newly acquired papers and information down on counter near the phone, reading it over as he set it down. She'd been explaining as she handed him the papers, but he'd missed the details through a combination of her hurry and the effects of his own fever.
Different buildings. What to do in cases of emergencies (just in case, of course, she'd tried telling him before spending a rather fair amount of time on it). The resources available to him, he'd look over this again later. Fellow department professors. General expectations. So on and so forth.
After his hands were empty again, he checked his pockets for the miscellaneous items. A pen with the university's name. A small card with a list of emergency numbers to call. A key to the office that was now his for the time being.
His hands paused on it, the photo, his presence of mind instantly coming back. He'd just been mindlessly checking all his pockets. He wouldn't have checked this pocket if he'd just been paying attention though. Without thinking, he carefully pulled it out to look at it.
He didn't normally carry photos on his person. Certainly, he didn't make it a habit to carry any photos of Stanley and himself. He'd only picked up the photo on a whim months ago.
Yet here Ford was, still holding onto it like an idiot. The photo, very clearly, depicted Stanley and himself when they were kids posing on the Stan O' War shortly after finding it. He swore he could feel the New Jersey sun beating down on him now, burning him through.
This had been before everything had started to go wrong... whenever that had even been. Ford didn't know. At what point had it changed without him realizing? He always realized those sort of things far too late.
Ma had shipped over quite a few boxes after he had moved to Gravity Falls. She claimed her and Pa had needed the space and Ford should have some of the boxes, anyways.
Sometime since he found out the truth about Bill, he'd taken the photo out of one of the boxes. Again, he didn't normally carry photos on his person. This wasn't a common practice. He'd never done this previously- or rather, he didn't- Well.
This wasn't a common practice, Ford assured himself whilst sternly keep his mind on the present. He was a man of science and reason, not sentiment. It was simply just... he had taken the photo in the middle of a particularly hard night when everything had felt particularly out of control.
There hadn't been any sense or reason as to why, really. He had gone into the storage space, pushing aside boxes until he'd found the one with all the albums crammed inside, then sought out the photo. He didn't know why he had taken it with him instead of putting it back inside the photo album. He didn't even know why he'd felt the need to take the photo out of the album itself to begin with.
None of it made sense. It didn't even particularly make him feel happy. In fact, every time he looked at it he was immediately hit with unarguably negative feelings. It made him feel small and, frankly, sad. Then childhood memories would stir up and after they died back down he would feel even worse than before.
There wasn't any point in looking at the old photo. There wasn't a point in looking inside any of the decrepit boxes from back then. There was no point in missing old ghosts.
There was a spot for this photo in an album from that dusty box just in the storage room. Logically, he fully well knew that, but even still that didn't feel right. It didn't belong there, but yet that's where it was suppose to be. It was confusing and ultimately, very frustrating.
However, every time he considered the photo he got caught up looking at it. In no time he would remember that moment as Ma had taken the photo. He remembered it. He could remember thinking nothing could stop them.
Damnit. He tilted the photo down just a little.
It really didn't matter. This photo was too far in the past for any of it to matter at all now. There was no reversing the clock. Not after what Stan had decided to do. There was no going back to...
Christ, this was just wasting time. What was Ford doing here? What was he doing?
'What was he doing with himnow? '
He was... He didn't know. Stan had brought up the apartment in Gotham and a few possibilities. Then just as quickly as he did he had started retracting the offer, and Ford had rushed to talk before Stan took it back entirely.
Ford had just... He had just wanted...
The photo in his hands was starting to bend slightly and Ford consciously relaxed his grip on it again, his vision blurry. It had to be the fever.
He slipped the photo back into the inner pocket on the left side of his trench coat. As always there was the illusion of the slight weight of it in the pocket as he set it inside, but he knew that's all it was.
Ford looked at one of the open pages left from one of the books he'd set out, but after 15 minutes of trying to read the same sentence he finally stopped. Maybe he simply needed to eat. He hadn't had anything since this morning, after all.
He went for the same bread Stan had used earlier, not even bothering with the toaster, eating a few pieces. After taking a drink from the faucet, he ended up slashing his face with the water as well.
As he was drying his face on his shirt he heard knocks and stood up straight, looking over at the door. However, he calmed back down when he heard Stan's voice from the other side. Unlocking everything, he let Stan inside and turned all the locks back again.
"Hey," Stan said, "how'd it go?"
"Good. I'm hired." Ford told him looking back to Stan.
"That's good news, hope you don't have to go in for anything soon because you're looking pretty sick now." He said with a frown. "Here." Stan pulled something out of a bag and tossed it to him.
The small item bounced off of his chest and his hands before landing on the floor. Ford let out a breath, before bending down to pick it up and look at it. It was a small bottle of pills, but... what were... the side effects...? "Is it drowsy?" He finally asked, after a dozen seconds spent fruitlessly searching the bottle for his answer.
"Maybe. Even if it's not, you gotta sleep. Heck, sick or not, you do have to sleep."
"I'm really fine-"
"-You're really not."
Stan cut into Ford's baseless claim, and Ford couldn't even find it in himself to try to argue.
"Alright," Ford admitted, letting his shoulders drop, "I'm not 'fine' persay. I'd rather avoid sleep for at least a bit longer though."
"Why?" Stan asked raising an eyebrow.
Worries about Bill taking over his body. Of course that was always true. In all honesty though, that wasn't the driving reason right now.
"I'm tired of the nightmares, Stan," Ford admittedly openly. "I'm tired, and the chances he'll let me have a peaceful sleep are very low."
Stan stopped at that, caught a bit looking at him.
Waiting for whatever Stan had to say next, Ford finally noticed Stan's hair was no longer reaching his shoulders. It was trimmed short again. "You got a haircut." Ford noted, speaking the obvious.
"Yeah... mullet lifestyle wasn't exactly what I wanted." Stan rubbed the back of his head, glancing off briefly. "Hey, Sixer?"
"Hmm?"
"Listen," he said, "I'm not sleeping anytime soon so why don't you. I'll be around to make sure he doesn't try anything, and how about this." He pointed to him. "If you start moving in your sleep from a nightmare, I'll wake you up."
Ford thought about it for a moment, looking down at Stan's finger. He was exhausted, and this was possibly the best setting he could even really hope for at this point. He slowly nodded his head. "That assistance would be much appreciated." He finally said.
Stan breathed out a short laugh. "Even sick, you're a nerd. Alright, go ahead and take a couple pills and change. I'll find a blanket." He walked past him, putting a hand out to clap him on the shoulder, but apparently thought better of it.
He hummed, taking a breath before opening the pill bottle as he walked over to the sink. After some effort of finding proper pjs, he changed in the bathroom. When he walked out Stan was over by the sink running some water over something.
Ford simply went over to the couch, settling down on it and grabbing the blanket. He leaned against the corner of the cushion and the arm rest rather than laying out across the whole couch. Shortly after, Stan walked by, handing him a wet rag before sitting down at the other end of the couch.
The shredded cloth was a blessed cold compared to his skin. He didn't wait, placing the rag over his forehead, and letting out a sigh of relief at the cool sensation. His eyes closed, and he heard the staticky sound of the TV turning on with the sound quickly muted.
Something about it all was- somehow comforting, even if he was burning up and felt as sick as he evidently looked. Ford couldn't place why that was though, but he didn't bother trying. He could think about it later. For now, he was going to let himself fall asleep, regardless if it would go well or not.
Ford came to in the mindscape, and his gut immediately curdled, if not from his surroundings then from Bill who was already in front of him and staring. It was fine.
"You really tried booking it, huh!" Bill said, his fists against his sides, the tone suggesting he wasn't bothered in the slightest although Ford knew better. "I gotta be honest though, you didn't pick the smartest direction here, smart guy."
"Get out." Ford directly told him. Would he listen? Unlikely, no, but Ford didn't care in the slightest to even entertain a conversation with him.
"Relax, it's just some constructive criticism, and sure, you'll figure out later that you made a big mistake, but hey!" He continued with a squint to his eye. "That doesn't mean I can't let you know ahead of time!"
Ford didn't let the obvious threat faze him. "The research is hidden and I'm far away from the portal so you may as well go." He emphasized with open contempt.
Bill waved a dismissive hand, rolling his eye. "See, here's the thing about that." His eye refocused on Ford, his pupil eerily thinner than before. "Just because you tried to run away that doesn't mean I'm d o n e." He stretched out an arm. "Ohoho, no. Not by a long shot, Sixer!"
"You can't activate the portal from here and we both know that, Bill." He countered, as though it were an argument. There a small hope inside of him that said if Bill only realized how fruitless it would be that he'd just leave entirely.
"Oh, look at the brain on you." His voice lilted patronizingly as his form gradually grew. He slowly doubled in size, the ordinary rounded angles now sharpening to points. He wasn't only taller than Ford now, but also taking up a substantially larger space floating in front of him.
The inherent fear was rising up, but Ford tried to let it go without focusing on doing so. He'd learned the more he tried to mentally tackle or acknowledge the feeling, the more aware Bill became of the effect his tactics had and resolved to crack whatever calm Ford had managed. Or if he had managed none then just to exacerbate the fear even further.
It was far better to try ignoring it and gamble on the chance that Bill would focus on something else rather than actively work to send him into a panic. Unfortunately, his mind completely blanked on anything to say.
"Well, you can't." Ford emphasized.
"Did you ever think that, just maybe, I had more than the one plan?"
Wait, he- Of course, Ford had worried about other possibilities and other plans. However, he'd never actively tried setting up any measures against anything outside of the portal.
"That's a no then!" Bill answered himself. He leaned farther into Ford's space, a bit to his own side which Ford responded to by taking a couple steps back.
Space may have been- No. Space in the mindscape wascompletely irrelevant. Distance meant nothing here. Even so, he couldn't quite stamp down his discomfort at Bill even just being on the edge of his personal space.
"Look," Bill said, closing his eye, then waving a hand as he opened his eye back up to the normal slit as he looked off. "Am I upset? Sure!"
He pointed to Ford as he looked back at him again. "Am I going to take that out on you? Definitely!"
He finally concluded with a liberal amount of air quotes. "But that doesn't mean you 'foiled' my 'chaotic' and 'cataclysmic' plan.'"
He then leaned back again, hands back on his side as he shrunk down to a less intimidating size. "Sure, you picked a bad direction for you, but for me?" He gestured to his front. "When I say you couldn't have picked a better town, I really mean it." He said, earnestly sincere. "Trust me."
Immediately, Ford snapped at him. "I'll find something to keep you out soon enough, whatever your other plans are!" His sharp anger completely knocked the underlying fear away.
"Well that depends on if that library really is a bust or not, huh? If I were you though, I'd worry more about not getting yourself killed!" He said, gesturing at him. "I mean, jeez, you already met Scarecrow. At this rate, you're bound to end up with a gun to your head within the week." He casually inspected his, nonexistent, fingernails. "It definitely doesn't help that your twin brother is hand in hand with the worst of it all."
"What are you talking about?"
"Your brother. He's a real criminal, practically right up there with the rest of them. The only thing he's missing is a costume!"
What an absolutely opaque lie. "No, he isn't." Ford replied dryly.
"Why not?" Bill asked, looking at him. "You think he'd actually tell you the truth?"
There was a sting to that, the answer plain to see, but he ignored it. "I don't believe you because you are the one saying it." Ford told him.
"Don't say I never tried telling you." He said as his arms shrugged up and back down his sides. "It won't take too long before you find out yourself though. Would have saved yourself a bad night down the way, but I'm not the one going to complain."
A few embittered thoughts swirled around Ford's head, but he didn't bother voicing any of them. All of them were par for the course whenever he talked to Bill or even really just thought about him.
"It couldn't be any worse than a night consisted of having to be around you." Ford countered factually. Alright, well.. He didn't bother voicing most of the embittered thoughts swirling around his head.
"Just remember that when you're getting held at gunpoint, IQ." Bill said pointing to him, snapping a finger and pointing to him shortly before disappearing with an identical snapping sound.
Gone.
Ford took in an imaginary breath of air. Thank Tesla. Being in the mindscape still made him feel uneasy, but at least Bill was gone now and he didn't have to-
Without any warning, Ford was abruptly falling with wind furiously whipping around him. It didn't take a genius to figure out why. Coinciding with his mind's instinctive fear of falling was the instantaneous and wordless irritation which more than abundantly outweighed it.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: HEY. So, the formatting wasn't checked so just keep that in mind. I'm running out of time right now, but I'll be fixing up the formatting tomorrow.
To make up for whatever formatting mishap you may be seeing... The next chapter's work title is 'A Tea Party.' ;)
8/22: Psst, so hopefully I caught all the formatting issues. I also spruced up some of the grammar in certain bits, but nothing plot relevant don't worry.