Oof, it's been a while and I really don't feel good about that. I haven't been feeling very good lately- mentally, emotionally, all that. For most of the time it took to write this chapter, there were times I'd go even a couple weeks without writing. Looking back on that it's not something I'm proud of. Now though, in more recent time, I've really been been trying to get back into better writing habits again. I hope that continuing forward things will once again be more persistent as far as my writing and updating goes. I thank you all, genuinely, for being so patient. I know it has been some time, but I hope what all is coming (And what is yet to come) will have made the time away worth it.
This chapter was kind of hard to write with all it contains. The intense parts took the longest to get though. It gets pretty brutal later on. Let me give a warning ahead of time for some extremely graphic violence, as well as detailed descriptions of blood and injury. It's... intense. Just read on with caution.
Here's chapter 65 of "Welcome Home".
The next day arrived soon enough, Ford still aware of his plans for that afternoon. The day before he had brought up a favor to Stan, requesting that he come along with them to the studio. He didn't very well understand just why he needed to come with, despite Ford explaining that to him. He had questioned why he couldn't just leave Bill home, to where his brother explained how they had come up with an agreement that they were both willing to settle for. Stan hadn't exactly seemed thrilled that Ford dragged him into their deal, but figured it wasn't such a bad thing. And after all they had gone through to get Bill back from that place, he didn't want him in danger, either.
"Can't he just wait in the car himself?" Stan asked Ford in the present when they were both downstairs in the living room. Stan sat on the couch and had one of his morning TV programs on, acting as white noise as he spoke with his brother.
"I just don't want to take chances." Ford clarified, adjusting his glasses. "I worry he'll try going after me."
Stan groaned. "Why can't you just leave 'im here?" He asked.
"I can't do that to him." Ford replied.
Stanley narrowed his eyes. He huffed. "Alright, fine. But you owe me a favor for this, Poindexter." He said, pointing a finger towards his brother.
"Fair enough." Stanford agreed. "We'll be leaving just before noon. It'd be best to get in before whoever's there is on lunch."
"What if they moved your laser thing?" Stan questioned.
Ford stopped and took that into consideration. "Well," He started. "We'll see what happens." He replied.
Stan snorted. "Surprised ya' didn't plan this in your sleep." He joked.
"I just don't know if they'd move it far," Ford said. "The guy who took it seemed interested. As far as I know, it could still be in the same room." He continued.
"If he didn't take it home." Stan said with a laugh. He returned his attention to the TV. Ford rolled his eyes and left the room to the kitchen to get coffee while Stan flipped through the channels, growing bored of what was already playing. He had yet to tell Ford about the date he had set himself up with the day before, but figured that was a conversation that could wait. He knew to call Susan later that afternoon. At first he had told himself that he could just cancel, but knew better than to take back a date that he had offered another person on. Stan confirmed to himself that he would call once they returned from Bratsman's studio.
"There's no getting out of this one." Stan mumbled to himself, scratching his nose and turning his attention back to the TV. As he got lost in the mindless television, another person passed through the living room without a word.
Ford had a mug beside the coffee maker and poured himself a cup of the warm beverage. There was extra left in the coffee pot after getting some for himself. He grabbed the coffee mug and brought it closer to himself, giving it a gentle blow before going to take a sip. Just before the beverage could reach his mouth, he stopped at feeling a presence behind him. Ford set the mug down and turned his head to the side to see his boyfriend resting his head on his shoulder, nuzzling into the crook of his neck while having his arms wrapped around the other man's waist.
Ford smiled at this and gave the blonde a gentle head scratch. Bill's hold just tightened.
"I assume you slept decently?" Ford asked, glancing down at what he could see of the other. He received a monotone hum in return.
"Decently," Bill repeated. "I guess."
Ford was confused, and couldn't tell if it was still the morning fuzziness or if Bill was upset about something. He turned around but put a hand on the other's shoulder.
"Is something wrong?" Ford asked him.
Bill's head was kept slightly hung, but he shook his head.
Ford wasn't fully convinced with the answer. It just didn't match his behavior. "Are you sure?" He questioned.
He wasn't given a verbal response of any kind. There was a short silence, and Ford raised an eyebrow when instead his boyfriend just put his arms out and around him, leaning against the scientist's chest. The man furrowed his brows slightly.
"Bill..," He started again, not liking the small lack of communication.
"Nothing's wrong." Bill assured. "I just feel weird." He muttered.
Ford leaned back uneasily against the counter slightly. "Oh Newton, are you sick?" He asked, looking at the shorter with a look of both fear and concern.
Bill scoffed. "No." He answered, offering the other a brief glance before looking away. "I guess I'm worried," He continued. "About you." He muttered, quieter.
Ford relaxed his position and raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sick." He claimed.
Bill stared up at him with a deadpan expression, his lips pursed slightly. "And I call you a genius." He said in a tone that did the eye rolling for him.
"I don't understand what you're inquiring." Ford replied. "If you're talking about today, I can assure you that I'll be just fine." He claimed.
"You don't know that." Bill stated.
The scientist folded his arms. "Well, I know my limitations." He continued. "And I know that I can grab what I need and get out." He said.
"You couldn't last time." Bill shot back. Ford had opened his mouth to say something but quickly shut it. His previous expression was replaced with a slight look of hurt. Bill noticed the reaction and shifted uncomfortably. "No, I... didn't mean that." He muttered.
There was a short amount of silence before Ford spoke again. "You aren't wrong," He began once more. "But I... I was ill prepared last time. And we won't be making much of a scene for this." He added. "As much as I appreciate your concern, if you're trying to change my mind on things, it won't work." He stated.
"That's not what I'm doing." Bill replied. "I just don't want anything bad to happen." He said.
"I understand," Ford assured. "I'll be alright." He said again. He could see the look of unease on Bill's face. He put a hand on the side of his cheek and stroked it reassuringly. "I promise." He said, and gave him a short, gentle kiss.
Bill hummed. "You promise, huh?" He teased him. "That's a rare one. I'll keep you to it, Pines." He said, folding his arms.
"I expect so." Ford replied, and looked down at one of the blonde's hands. He stared at one particular ring encircled around one of his fingers. Bill raised an eyebrow at noticing the man's directed attention and also glanced at his folded arms. He hesitantly unfolded them and looked up at the other in confusion. Ford took hold of the specific hand and held it up closer to himself, looking down at the ring he had originally slipped into the blonde's coat pocket when he thought it would be of use to him. Ford furrowed his brows and gave a short hum before letting it go.
"What?" Bill questioned, looking down at the ring and narrowing his eyes. "Do you want it back?" He asked the other. He stopped and looked back up at him. "And in response to follow a supposed 'yes' to that question- too bad." He continued.
"No, it's not that." Ford answered. "And you're free to keep it." He said.
Bill grinned to the response. "Oh, good. Because I think it's cool." He commented. "Human jewelry is an interesting thing."
"I just haven't gotten all the information that I should have on its material yet." Ford proceeded. "Was the ring beneficial to you like I had previously predicted?" He asked.
"It was, I know it was. I could feel it," Bill responded. "It was just too late to use it more than I actually did then." He said.
Ford gave a nod of his head. "And what happened when you got to use it?" He wondered.
"Well," Bill started, "Those bars that prevented my magic barred the window in the cell, so it wasn't too effective there." He said.
"What about before you were sent there?" Ford questioned.
Bill looked away and laughed awkwardly. "I didn't realize I had it then." He admitted. He looked back at the scientist. "But it wouldn't have mattered anyway, the cell was surrounded with those bars. So unless it was there in the walls too, even the cell was weaker." He informed.
"I see." Ford muttered. He would have to do some more experimentation to find a better use to the gold. "So it didn't work, then?" He asked.
"Well, I wouldn't say that." Bill replied. Ford raised a brow and folded his arms, leaning back against the counter. "It did work, but only for a second. After some struggling it would, anyway. I kept trying with it, but it never really got stronger." He said.
"I suppose I have more work to look into than I thought." Ford said. "I don't even have a confident answer on what this material is yet." He continued.
"No gold I've ever known increased my power." Bill thought. "And I know them like the back of my hand. Maybe it isn't gold at all." He suggested.
"That's possible, but unlikely." Ford replied. "Maybe my theory wasn't too far off." He said.
Bill folded his arms. "I doubt it." He mumbled, narrowing his eyes and looking away.
"But it's possible." Ford pressed.
"No, it's not," Bill defended, his voice raised. He unfolded his arms. "If that was even possible, we would have more to go off of about it from my knowledge. It can't be possible and it can't be real because if it was, I would have known something about it!" He stated, his hands clenched by his sides now.
Ford went silent for a moment at seeing how defensive the blonde was getting about his opinion. "I don't see it being very likely," He assured. "But let's not leave it off the table. Especially not so early." He said.
Bill huffed. "Well, why don't you let me take a better look at it, then maybe we'll have a better explanation." He volunteered.
"That's..." Ford started with ruffled brows, putting a finger up. He stopped for a moment, reconsidered his train of thought, and put his finger down. "...Actually an excellent idea." He finished, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.
"Good, I'll look forward to being right." Bill stated.
"Of course you will. When are you ever wrong?" Ford responded with a roll of his eyes.
Bill narrowed his. "Hey, that's not funny." He said. "I'm right about a lot of things."
"We'll see." Ford replied. "In any case, it'll have to wait." He said. "I don't want to take much longer waiting around here when we have to get going soon."
"Or we could hold off going until tomorrow?" Bill suggested with a cheeky grin.
"Bill," Ford grumbled.
The blonde's expression dropped at the unpersuaded response. "Worth a shot." He mumbled.
It wasn't long until the three had piled into the vehicle. Fiddleford came along with (Calling shotgun) if only to visit the area once more. He made a mental note to not say much aloud, however, as he didn't want to upset the blonde by doing so.
Bill, who sat behind Fiddleford, looked over beside him as Ford opened the door, getting in behind where Stan would sit to drive.
When the door was shut the blonde looked away and towards his window. If he so much as saw Bratsman again, he didn't know what he'd do. His fists clenched by his sides. Bill wanted nothing more than to see him suffer after all that he had done. He told himself not to get into trouble, knowing Ford wouldn't like that, but also couldn't find it in him to make any promises to himself.
Ford glanced over at him and noticed his hand was curled. He placed his larger hand atop the blonde's and wrapped it around his. Bill looked at him at the touch.
"Things will be just fine." Ford assured. The blonde offered him a weak smile and a nod, staring back at the window. His expression went back to how it was.
The front door to the car opened and Ford withdrew his hand. Fiddleford watched the con man get into the car. Stan shut the door and, after the unapproving look from his brother put his seat belt on. In a matter of moments, they were off.
"You owe me for this, Poindexter." Stan told his brother.
"Yes, yes, I heard you the first time." Ford replied, folding his arms.
Bill turned to look at his boyfriend with a raised eyebrow and received an unknowing shrug in return. He wasn't sure what Stan may later have in mind and couldn't quite give any reliable answers.
A few minutes later they arrived at the studio. They parked in the same place as the last time they had been there. To Ford's annoyance Stan hadn't parked in a parking space and instead stopped the car horizontally, taking up two spaces.
"You're going to draw more attention to us." Ford chided.
Stan gave a careless wave of his hand. "I'm sure it'll be fine." He replied. "Besides, you keep sayin' that ya' won't take long, so it won't make much of a difference." He added.
Ford huffed in an annoyed manner and started to get out of his seat. "Everyone just stay in the car. And Stan, make sure Bill doesn't try and leave." He said, directing his speech to his brother.
"Relax, Poindexter. Go get your laser toy." He said, shooing the other away. Ford scowled at the name but got out of the car, shutting the door behind him. Bill watched intently as the man left towards the building.
Stan snorted. "I bet ten bucks he won't make it back without causin' trouble for himself." He said, folding his arms. Bill shot him a scowl, but went back to looking out the opposite window.
"Aw, I'm sure 'ill be fine." Fiddleford dismissed. "He's smart." He said.
"Wasn't smart last time." Stan grumbled.
"Quit it." Bill snapped at him.
Stan looked back at him and put an arm out in exasperation. "What? You heard about what happened." He defended.
"That doesn't matter anymore." Bill replied. He looked back out the window, Ford no longer in sight but instead another person. He squinted his eyes, focusing on the figure, and gasped at realizing who it is he saw. He unbuckled his seat belt and lunged to the other side to get a better look at the person. His eyes narrowed. Bratsman.
Stan saw the blonde's hands had made their way onto the vehicle's window and stared out his own. He adjusted his glasses and narrowed his eyes, identifying the man after a moment. Stan blinked in surprise and moved his attention to the person behind him. Bill glared and his hands balled into fists on the window. He wanted nothing more than to leave the vehicle and score his revenge. Stan noticed this behavior based on his actions. He gave one more quick look at the unsuspecting producer, then back at Bill.
"Go." Stan then said.
Bill was taken out of his thought process and looked over at the con man. He would have assumed the man was speaking towards something else had they not locked eye contact. He blinked in surprise.
"What?" Bill inquired.
"I could recognize that look you've got on your face anywhere." Stan responded. "So go."
Fiddleford too was surprised with the encouragement, and looked over at Stan. This didn't feel like the right thing to do. "But Stanford said-"
"What Sixer said don't matter right now." Stan shot back, giving the other a look that made the passenger look away. Stan looked back at the demon and grinned. "Give 'im hell." He said, balling up a fist.
The shock wore off and Bill mirrored his facial expression. With a swing of the back door he was gone. Fiddleford flinched at the door when it shut and looked on in worry as Bill left.
"Are ye' sure this is a good idea?" McGucket asked the other.
Stan returned his attention to the front. "Probably not," He said and looked out the window beside him. He watched as the blonde went further away. "But it's for the greater good." He said.
Bill advanced towards the building, his fists clenched as he approached Bratsman. It wasn't until he was dangerously close that the producer even noticed his presence. When he did notice, he took an uncertain step back. No one else was out there alongside him but this stranger. The blonde came to a stop and scowled up at him.
Bratsman looked away, then back at the blonde. "Can I help you?" He asked, putting his hands into his pockets.
Bill kept his glower. "Yeah," He began. "I think you can." He said with a glare. Bratsman raised an eyebrow at the supposed stranger and didn't expect the sudden attack to hit him. Bill kicked his stomach, the impact causing the producer to stumble backwards. His arms waved slightly and he tripped on his own ankle after trying to stabilize himself. He fell down and sat up, one arm resting on the hard ground.
"Hey!" Ergman exclaimed, glaring at the blonde. Bill sunk down to his knees and grabbed the man's shoulders, pushing him down onto the ground. The producer cringed at the hostility and looked up at the stranger.
"Who the hell do ya' think you are?" Bratsman spat at him.
Bill grabbed the man's wrists to keep him from trying anything. "What, I don't ring a bell?" He asked in a sarcastic manner. "That's too bad, pal. But I'm still gonna make this as painful as possible- just for you!" He added, an unsettling grin on his face that intimidated the other. Nevertheless Bratsman tried to push the blonde off him. Bill snarled and kept his hold, his eyes flashing crimson. The producer's expression quickly turned to one of horror. His body froze.
"Wha-what are you? Some kinda- some kinda freak?" Bratsman asked, his voice toned with more fear than he otherwise would have kept under better control in a better situation.
"Sure! Well, maybe more of a puppet in your eyes, but I'll take it." Bill said. The grip on the man's wrists increased, and in a matter of seconds Ergman could feel a burning sensation surrounding the skin the blonde had a hold of. Bill was using a controlled level of fire up against his skin. Bratsman hissed and tried to pull his arms away to very little avail. His hissing turned to pain-filled groaning. Bill looked down at him with a grin, watching him begin to writhe from the pain he had no control against. It felt like his skin was making an everlasting contact with a hot stove, unable to pull away from the pain it caused.
Bill hummed in satisfaction when Ergman started crying out pleads to be let go of. Despite the begging, of course, Bill kept his grip.
"What'cha lookin' for, money?" Ergman asked, shaking. "I don't have the millions that I used to. Please, just go somewhere else!" He wailed.
"I'm not looking for money." Bill retorted. "What I'm here for is to give you every moment of pain that you deserve. Consider it payback for keeping me locked up by myself all that time." He stated, his blood boiling at the reminder to himself of how easily he had been pushed around. Even after removing his hands from the other man's arms, the producer could not find the ability to move them without immense pain. The skin around his wrists were burned and bloody now.
Bill put a slightly bloodied hand on the man's chin, balling his other into a fist and punching Ergman in the face. The man cringed and tried to spit up at the other but otherwise could do nothing. He received seven more hard clocks to the face before Bill paused and glared down at the other.
"I really hope this was all worth it for ya'. Keeping myself and those other guys under your manipulation and control." Bill told him. "I hope all this pain I'm gonna put you through will have been worth the power." He continued, his fingertips beginning to tingle in an unfamiliar way.
"Please... leave me alone. I-I've never seen you in my life! I don't know you, I swear!" Bratsman wailed.
"You knew Chris." Bill responded through gritted teeth. "Well... you thought you did, anyway." He added in a mutter.
The tingle in his fingers became more intense and he looked down at them. Bill's nails appeared to be growing. He wasn't sure what to make of it until the nails grew more narrow, turning into something of individual claws. They were about an inch long and appeared sharp. Bill hummed and glanced at the ring encircled around his finger, wondering if perhaps that had something to do with it. He looked back at Bratsman who stared open-mouthed at the blonde's hand in horror.
"Interesting, I haven't had this happen to me before." Bill commented. He lifted his other hand and held his index finger up, sliding a nail across the tip. He hissed at the pain and observed his finger as blood began to drip out. He watched as the crimson liquid trickled down his finger. A chuckle was voiced. He started to laugh, the reaction starting quiet but getting louder as it continued. He looked down at the producer and stopped, noticing his terrified expression. A grin still remained.
"I'd say they're pretty sharp," Bill mused. "I think I'll double check them on you." He said.
Bratsman shook his head, tears forming in his eyes, the droplets just threatening to fall. "No, p-please," He begged. "I'll give you whatever ya' want, but please, just spare me!" He sobbed.
Bill brought his index finger up to the other's eye, making the producer's breath hitch. The blonde wiped away one of his tears before it got the chance to dribble down his face. He gave Ergman a false pout face, showing him faux pity.
"Whatever I want, huh?" Bill cooed. The other man swallowed hard but quickly nodded. Bill gave him a seemingly gentle smile. "Well, in that case," He started, slowly dragging the finger from Bratsman's eyelid. "You don't have to worry. This is pretty much all I could ask for." He said with a laugh, and there it was again- the grin that made the other shiver in fear.
The grin was the last thing Ergman could see clearly enough, for one couldn't expect the way Bill drove his nail into Bratsman's eye socket, not penetrating the eye itself but getting dangerously close. The man screamed bloody murder as the nail moved in his eye socket, slicing at the optic nerve at the back of his eye. The shouts only fueled Bill's intentions. He grinned a malicious grin and bit his lip as the eye started to come loose. He took his other hand and pinched the eye with a good grip before ripping the producer's eye out of his face.
The producer shouted at the immense pain. Bill put a hand over the other man's mouth- not that he didn't take pride in the commotion, but because he wondered if anyone was nearby and would hear him.
Bill took a closer look at the bloodied eye in his possession. The eye was green. "Huh," He said to himself. "Unique." He commented before carelessly tossing the eye behind him. It rolled a few feet away from them.
Blood pulsed out from the man's eye socket, running down along the side of his face. His screams came to a stop despite the overwhelming pain and instead he only cried. The hand was taken off his mouth.
"You-" Bratsman heaved, tears blurring his working eye. "You bastard." He sobbed, his head pulsing.
Bill frowned down at him insincerely. "Aw, come on." He said. "Don't worry, having one eye isn't so bad." He assured with a faux smile, clearly told in a mocking manner.
Bratsman had no clue of what to say to the man. If he could even call this creature that. "Look, if you're r-really gonna kill me, ju-just get it over with, already." He sobbed.
Bill's smile dropped. "I don't think you understood my intentions correctly the first time," He said. "I wanted to make this about as slow and painful for you as I could. And that's exactly what I'm doing." Bill stated. He grabbed the other's chin and lifted it up, giving better access to the producer's neck. Ergman tried looking at what the blonde was doing but it was difficult. His better sense of understanding came from the pain when he felt a nail dig into the side of his neck. He gasped and looked up at the blonde fearfully.
"The more you move, the more painful this'll be." Bill said. He stopped for a moment and then snickered to himself. "Oh, what does it matter? Slitting your throat is gonna hurt pretty bad regardless." He said with a laugh.
Bratsman gulped and hissed at the pain, he physically could not find it in himself to scream like before. Bill watched the blood coming out from the sides of the wound. He pushed outward on the other's chin to get better access to his neck. Bratsman tried desperately to pull away and get the nail out of his neck to no avail. It only caused more pain. Bill didn't stop him however, as he didn't mind giving him something extra to suffer over. When the producer stopped, Bill began slowly dragging his sharp nail across, deep inside the skin of his neck. At this point Bratsman felt too weak to resist, he was sure he had already lost a decent amount of blood.
"You know, I really should thank you." Bill claimed. "These days I wouldn't do anything like this to a human. I don't think Fordsy would be able to let that go. And even to me it wouldn't feel right just killing a guy- not anymore." He said. "But you," Bill continued, his voice turning inhumanly deep at addressing Ergman- for only a second. He grinned and proceeded, his typical tone in place once more. "You insisted on screwing me over so bad, isn't that right? So bad that it's just thrilling for me right now, getting to watch you die. It's only fair that you pay the price for what you've done, right?" He questioned, continuing to drag his finger along the producer's throat, slicing the skin. Blood pooled from the growing wound. Bill received no response and laughed.
"It's funny, at first Stanford didn't want me coming back here. He wanted to protect me, isn't that sweet?" Bill asked, only to- again, receive no verbal response. "But I can protect myself just fine. In fact, you hardly put up a fight once you realized you don't have power over me. Not anymore, anyway." He said, and laughed. "How does that feel? Because I don't know about you, but for me it's feeling pretty great." He said, and quickly slid his nail the rest of the way, his finger reaching the end of the man's neck. Tears rolled down Bratsman's working eye as blood pooled out of his neck.
Bill removed his finger and watched as the man trembled, rapidly losing blood. The blonde moved in and looked down at the producer, their noses nearly coming into contact. He grinned. "You got any last words there, buddy?" He asked, mockingly patting the side of his cheek. There was no reply. He figured so. By now the producer ceased any movement, just laying there as blood escaped his body. His shirt was now stained in the crimson liquid. It was clear that he would not move again.
Bill stood up and looked down at the man. There was no doubt that he was dead now. The blonde looked down at himself and noticed his hands were coated in blood, some moving to his arms and parts of his shirt. He shook his arms beside him to try and rid of some of the substance to little avail. A few droplets landed on the dead man's face.
Bill breathed a sigh and relaxed his breathing. He felt a similar tingle at his hands and looked down at them, watching the nails shrink back to their normal state. He hissed at the uncomfortable feeling but did not find it to be painful. Bill stared down at the man once more and took a step back. His actions dawned on him more now, and he took another step back. Since he had become restricted to his human form he didn't think that he would- could- kill again, let alone a human.
"This... this is fine." Bill said to himself. He didn't regret it, but now that his intentions were acted on, the result of things began to surface. He sighed and turned around. Thinking on these things were no use. He adjusted his shirt and walked back towards the car.
Stan and Fiddleford both looked at Bill when he returned, but said nothing. Stan sighed and McGucket was shaking slightly. Catching sight of the blood only heightened his panic. Bill shut the door and went back to where he was originally seated, looking down at his hands then out the window. The tension was apparent but still, nothing was said.
Meanwhile, the front door of the building opened to reveal Ford with his weapon in hand. He looked down at it with a smile. "Not a new scratch on it." He pridefully said, examining the weapon for a moment before looking down at his waist and sliding it back into its holster. He put his hands in his pockets and emitted a gentle whistle as he walked towards the car where the others waited on him.
The sound of his boots against the ground became quieter and more moist sounding. Ford stopped and looked down towards his feet, quickly becoming aware of the pool of blood under him. His eyes widened and he looked beside him to see Bratsman's mutilated body laying idle on the ground. Ford jumped back and shouted (More high pitched than he would have admitted to) in complete and blatant surprise, covering his own mouth as he stared at the horrific state of the man. He gulped and slowly moved away from the producer. Ford looked away from the body and back towards the ground just moments before coming into contact with Bratsman's missing eye. He exclaimed in both surprise and disgust, leaning back and kicking the eye away. He shivered. This wasn't much of anything he hadn't been exposed to before, but he never would have expected to come outside to see Ergman had been murdered outside the building.
While he noticed the unusual marks on on body, he did not question that too far right then. There would be time later to do so.
Ford put a hand over his heart, stopping to slow his breathing patterns from what they had increased to after the scare. He looked up and over towards the car that he could only assume the person responsible was inside. Slowly, he walked back towards the vehicle.
The car door opening caused Fiddleford to jump slightly, looking back to see Ford has returned. He sighed a breath of relief and watched as the scientist got inside.
There was silence for a bit. The only prominent sound was the car door shutting. Bill could only assume he was being looked at, considering what he had looked like returning to the car. He met no gazes for the moment and continued staring out the the window.
Stan sensed the quiet and cleared his throat. The others turned to look at him, even the blonde glancing his direction for a short moment.
"So," Stan started, adjusting his typical neck tie. "Did ya' find what you were looking for in there?" He asked his brother.
"Yes," Ford replied. "I-I did. It wasn't hard, really." He continued.
"Good to know." Stan said. Soon after they were met with another silence.
Eventually Ford sighed. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers, setting his hand back down beside him. "Dammit, what are we supposed to do now?" He muttered to himself. He turned to look at Bill. "Surely you won't be getting away with that. Did you even consider the consequences of your actions?" He asked the blonde.
Bill glanced at him for only a second before his gaze moved to the floor. "I'm not gonna apologize," He muttered. "That jackass deserved it."
Ford looked at the blonde and his overall behavior now. He could tell Bill had a lot of things going on in his head at this time, as did he. He know why Bill did what he did, however he worried about the consequences that would have to be faced. A part of him was more concerned about that than the actual killing that had gone down. A part of him understood. Regardless he couldn't leave it be like nothing happened.
Stanford sighed. "You don't have to." He finally said.
"The people in charge around here aren't very bright, Ford," Stan claimed. "It ain't too hard to get away with things." He said. He looked down and grabbed an old receipt off the floor, tearing it into a smaller piece and flipping it to the back. Stan reached his hand back. "Here, gimme your pen." He said to his brother.
Ford was confused with his request. "Why?" He asked.
"Just do it, Poindexter." Stan said, scowling at him.
Ford looked down at his jacket. He took the pen from out of his pocket and handed it to Stanley. The con man wrote something down on the back of the receipt and tossed the pen back at his brother when he was done. Ford flinched slightly but grabbed hold of the pen, placing it back in the breast pocket of his lab coat. Stan grunted as he moved to get out of the car. He opened the door and stepped out.
Ford's eyes widened at this. "Stan, Stanley, what are you doing? Where are you-" He frantically questioned, only to be ignored by the sound of the door shutting.
Fiddleford gulped. "Should- should we go after him?" He hesitantly asked.
"Well-" Ford began, watching through the window. "No." He mumbled. Whatever Stan was doing, it couldn't be too bad. He figured he'd ask about it later- and expect an answer.
Stanley walked across the ground towards the body. As he grew closer he progressively felt more uneasy. He noticed a stray eyeball in front of him and scrunched his nose. "Gross." He grimaced, looking away from the eye and advancing toward the body.
He glanced down and cringed at the sight of the mutilated man. He shivered and scratched the back of his neck if only to brush off the uneasy feeling.
"Damn, blondie." Stan said aloud to himself, just staring at the body. The torn receipt remained in his hands as he looked at the man. After about a minute he snapped out of what he was feeling and bent down, placing the receipt on the producer's stomach. The top edge and corners of the receipt were stained crimson after the contact, but for the most part remained dry.
Stanley looked down at the note and figured it would be good enough for the police to not catch on. The note read 'The goat did it.' An explanation good enough for the police to not dig far into the case.
Stanley stood up straight and noticed a bit of blood on his fingertips. He cringed and wiped it on the side of his pants. Stan gave the body one more disturbed look then adjusted his red tie. Finally he turned around and walked back to the car.
He was greeted with multiple glances when he returned. Ford was especially observant, staring at the con man for a minute while he got back in the car.
"What the hell did you just do?" Stanford asked.
"Cool it, Ford." Stan chided. He shut the door. "It'll be fine." He said.
"Don't tell me that, what did you do?" Ford persisted.
"Quit buggin' me, it's fine now!" Stan insisted.
Ford groaned and Stanley rolled his eyes. The others didn't say anything.
Within the next couple of minutes the four had left the studio and were back on the road. The vehicle was quiet as far as voices went. No one sparked up a conversation- in fact, no one said much of anything. What was there to say?
There was a lot to say. Even still, nothing was said aloud at this time. Were it because of tension or of privacy there would have been mixed reasoning. Fiddleford, on the other hand, hardly knew what to say in the first place. He had been only a mere witness to all the madness that the others were involved in- willingly or otherwise. Had he known what would have happened while coming along he was sure he would have just stayed home. Along with Ford he too wondered what he did when he stepped out of the car. Fiddleford hoped that later on things would be better explained- although he couldn't bet confidently on that outcome. He noticed himself anxiously messing with his hands and stopped, instead placing them in his lap. He stared out the window at the trees they passed by.
It wasn't long before the four reached the shack, nor was it long before they went up the steps to get inside. Stan opened the door that was already unlocked. Ford would have chided his brother about not locking the door could he have had the words on any other day. When he noticed he merely scrunched his nose at the carelessness of keeping the door unlocked after leaving with no one inside. He went inside with the others, Fiddleford trailing behind him. When he stepped inside and noticed the man missing he turned around to look outside. He saw McGucket moving up the stairs and kept the door open while he entered. Ford gave him a look of concern, raising an eyebrow as if asking him if he was alright. Fiddleford took his hand and put his own atop his, giving it a gentle pat of reassurance. Ford sighed and shut the door. He made sure to lock it behind the group. Stan had already left toward the kitchen whereas Fiddleford stayed beside him.
The room was silent aside from the sound of the door shutting and footsteps. Bill scratched the back of his neck and finally broke the silence. "I'm just gonna.." He started, before pausing. He looked down at himself- his hands especially, then looked away. "Freshen up." He finished in a mutter.
Ford looked over at him as he walked away. He let go of McGucket's hand and followed after him.
Bill stopped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked behind him before turning around. His boyfriend's eyes glanced back down at him. For a moment nothing was said- as though Ford couldn't think of what he was going to say to him. They had hardly interacted about this and Bill was sure this wouldn't be the last he would hear on the situation. He looked away in slight unease then back at the scientist.
Ford opened his mouth, then shut it. He sighed. "I don't even know what to say to you right now." He muttered.
"Then why'd you stop me?" Bill asked, putting his hands on his hips.
He felt the grip on his shoulder tighten. Bill looked at the hand then back at the other man to see his brows were furrowed. Ford too recognized this and loosened his hold, shutting his eyes and sighing before looking back at the other.
"This was insanely reckless of you." Ford stated. Bill frowned.
"I thought you weren't mad." He said.
"Well, I'm..." Ford started, but trailed off into silence. He couldn't find a clear answer. He took his hand off the blonde's shoulder and folded his arms. "Never again can this happen, Bill." He grumbled. "Do you understand?"
Bill shrugged. "I can't tell the future." He replied. Of course he didn't intend on killing, though he couldn't promise it never happening if he didn't know what the future could hold. "What if it's for the greater good?" He then asked.
"Bill," Ford rebuked.
"I don't want to," Bill clarified. "I don't." He repeated. Ford looked down at him with an unreadable expression. Bill took a step back. "But that doesn't mean I won't if it's important." He stated, turning around and walking away.
Ford didn't try and stop him, he only sighed. He was sure there would be more to discuss at a later time, but for now the author figured it best to just let him go.
Fiddleford remained by the door, not exactly realizing how long he had watched the interaction. Hesitantly he walked over towards Ford. He was given a glance in return after McGucket had looked up at him.
"How do you do it, Stanford?" Fiddleford inquired.
Ford was confused by the question. "What do you mean?" He asked.
"Ye' tend to find a way to stay so calm, even now. I don't know how you ain't freakin' out." McGucket said.
Ford frowned slightly at his friend's concern. "Well, I am worried about a few things," He admitted. He put his hands into his coat pockets and sighed. "But what is there to do?"
And that's the end of for this chapter. A lot has happened, and there's lots more coming in what's next. Stay tuned!
