Chapter Text
How long has this been going on for?
Ford had always considered himself quite adept at timekeeping - a skill he had acquired during his travels beyond the portal. Being able to tell the days apart from one another became an invaluable asset at times, keeping him grounded and sane. It is with great frustration that Ford finds himself unable to properly harness this ability at the moment. He's sure that he's been the unwilling public entertainment for Bill and his cronies for at least several hours now, but with Time Baby dead, the demon had long since twisted and warped Ford's sense of time to draw out every second into an agonizing eternity. The only thing stringing one torturous moment into the next is white-hot agony.
Ford's experienced a fair share of pain throughout his life - far more than the majority of the human population, he'd say - and as such, he knows he has an unusually high tolerance to it. He's been at death's door more times than he can count on his abnormal amount of fingers. However, being tortured by Bill is on a whole different level from anything he's ever had the displeasure of experiencing before - the difference between the most amount of pain he'd experienced before Weirdmageddon and the pain he's experiencing now is like night and day. He's always been able to shut off the animalistic part of his brain that bent to the pain and simply focus on his intellect, to endure whatever it is that the world had thrown at him. But here, now? It is a completely different story.
Whatever beam Bill had been blasting him with for the past few hours had succeeded in completely shattering his pain tolerance. Within the first few seconds, he had been bordering on hysteria, and yet it went on for hours afterwards - hours which Bill had so graciously slowed for Ford to the point where they felt like years.
Every moment that he is forced to endure this hellish agony feels like Bill has isolated each and every one of his molecules, pierced them with the heat of the sun and the intensity of a supernova, and incinerated them from the inside out until they melted down into nothingness. Then, in the nothingness that Bill had burned into him, searing excruciation flooded into the gaps and took the place of everything that had once been Ford. Bill hollowed him out and replaced every part of him with nothing but liquid torment that continued to boil him from the inside out.
It had only taken half an hour of this for Ford to break down in front of his mortal nemesis, a humiliatingly short amount of time that left him hating himself - even more than he hated Bill - for not being strong enough. When Bill brought the horrible shocks to an end, watching as Ford's battered form convulsed and then fell limp with a few spare jolts, it was like salt being rubbed into his wounds as he felt the sheer amount of joy emanating from the demon's pleased form. Ford knows that the bastard loved watching him splinter and break in front of him, because of him, and it was utterly mortifying - a fatal hit to his already fragmented pride.
"Ready to cooperate, Sixer?" Bill had asked cheerfully, the question smug and rhetorical. He already knew what Ford's answer would be, after all. He just wanted to break him all over again.
Ford had clenched his fists and grit his teeth, tried and failed to stop himself from trembling, and lifted his head to present his tormentor with the most furious and defiant glare his charred form could muster. Bill let out a huff of a laugh, his eye narrowing with a cross of fondness and mockery at the pathetic display, and promptly resumed the torture.
As unbearably horrible the pain had been before, Ford was sure that Bill had increased it tenfold after that. There was a heinous sound in the air, one that Ford did not recognize as a scream coming from his own mouth until his throat gave out from howling for so long. It was all so much; the humiliation, the excruciating pain, and oh, God, the pressure. The knowledge that he had to just keep enduring this. No matter what Bill would end up doing to him, he has no choice but to just suffer through it, for the fate of the universe is hinged upon his humble, exhausted shoulders.
He cannot give in. No matter what, he must never give into Bill! This in itself is a great motivator, but Ford notices with no little amount of shame that the sheer hatred he possesses for the demon is the real driving force behind his titanium-plated resistance. He will resist because he does not want Bill to succeed. He will defy Bill for every moment he lives as the smallest, most insignificant form of payback for the sheer amount of horror and heartbreak and trauma that he's had to suffer through at the hands of this insufferable monster.
Ford has no idea how much time passed between his last break and the next. To him, it was no less than eons, but in reality, it could not have been any more than a few hours. Ford openly sobbed with relief when Bill granted him a brief respite, as the jarring shocks that had rendered him completely scorched and blistered finally came to an end. Ford is sure he would have thrown up if he had any sort of sustenance in his body, but instead he went slack and dry heaved a couple of times, phantom shocks still wracking his trauma-inflicted form.
"Ready to cooperate, Sixer?" Came the jovial voice for a second time. Ford trembled. God, why? He knew that it was his duty to raise his head again and tell the demon 'no' - to subject himself to hours more of this torture. His heart pounded against his ribs, thrashing around in his chest, like a restless bird in a birdcage, at the thought of continuing. In that moment, he couldn't, he couldn't keep doing it! It was so much... it was too much, too painful, too agonizing, too much of everything that had ever been bad in this world, and he knew that if he just said yes, he won't have to- he won't have to-
No! No! Don't give in! Ford's hands clenched, he reminded himself of the situation, and he knew what he had to do. In the brief moments between Bill's question and Ford's answer, the human did his absolute best to compose himself, to pick up as many of the scattered pieces that Bill had broken him into as possible and try to piece some sort of a fragment of his resolve back together again.
I won't, Ford tried to tell him, but his ability to speak had been compromised by his nonstop wails of anguish. Ford took in a deep, shuddering breath, and then shook his head, denying the demon once again.
The electrocution resumed, and Ford came to believe that Bill had finally managed to break off a piece of him for good as he found himself disassociating from his body. He'd heard of this happening to people before - apparently a product of trauma - and he was ashamed of himself. How could he be cracking so easily? He's been so much further than any other human has, done so much more than anyone else, and yet he is so quick to crumble because of a little pain. He's supposed to be better than this! He's supposed to be stronger, and yet his momentary lapse in judgement had almost cost him the entire world! Could he even be trusted with the knowledge of the equation at this point? What if he does end up breaking and handing it over to Bill? Maybe it's better if he just-
No! He's going down a dangerous path with such thoughts. He'll snap out of this. He'll continue enduring just like he always has, and things will be fine.
Ford observes his own torture like he is a spectator within his own body, detached from himself, feeling as if he is doing nothing more than reading a book about his own life, or perhaps watching a movie. He wonders if this is really all that bad. He cannot feel pain right now, after all, and he isn't in hysterics any longer. He's safe here, in this space that is between himself and the void.
He does not feel as if he fully exists - it is like the whole world has been cloaked by a veil, his senses dulled and muted and his mind and intellect disconnected from his physical form. This probably isn't healthy, as a scientist, he knows that, but it is so inviting here. There is no pain, no terror, no scent of burning hair and flesh. No screeching, laughing, demented audience watching him struggle. No Bill.
No Bill.
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He... must have passed out at some point.
Ford can't recall the last moments he experienced before he ended up here, wherever he is now. His entire body no longer feels like it's being consumed by flame and agony, and for a moment Ford dares to hope that he's been rescued. The thought, while more appealing than he would like to admit, is selfish. Ford knows that no one is coming for him, he had made sure of that during his last interaction with Dipper at the top of the town church.
He had just set down the suitcase containing the quantum destabilizer, Dipper kneeling behind him, radiating anxiety as he fidgeted with his hands. Ford huffed as he opened the suitcase and took a glance at his weapon. He only had one shot here. Bill was distracted for the moment, facing away from them, but he probably wouldn't be for long. He turned to his great nephew and regarded him solemnly.
"Dipper," he called, and the young boy's features lit up with curiosity upon being addressed. No matter how many times Ford spoke to the boy, it never seemed to get old to him; having his greatest idol right in front of his face. Ford swallowed the distaste that came with the realization that Dipper's admiration for him reflected that which he himself used to harbor for Cipher.
"Yes, Grunkle Ford?" Came his anxious reply. Ford sighed. He knew that what he was about to tell the young boy was likely not going to be taken well.
"In the event that this does not work out, and I am captured," Ford says as he begins setting up the destabilizer. "I want you, Stan, and your sister to leave Gravity Falls immediately. I want you to promise that you won't come looking for me."
"What!? Are you crazy?" Dipper reprimanded with a hushed shout, trying not to attract the attention of the demon about fifty meters away. He opened his mouth to continue, but Ford cut him off. There was no time for him to humor Dipper in that moment.
"I have a theory," Ford explained as quickly as he could. Dipper, luckily, had the foresight to bottle up his emotions and just listened. "I studied the weirdness of this town for years before I entered the portal. If I'm correct, there may be a chance that Bill's madness is confined to the physical barrier of this town."
"What are you saying?" Dipper asked, his voice shaky and small.
"I never recorded any of this information in my journals," Ford continued as he hoisted the weapon upright and peered through the lens, aligning it with Cipher's form in the near distance. "Bill has no way of knowing about this theory. My point is, you and the others will be safe on the outside. If I fail, please leave this town as quickly as possible. Evacuate everyone you can without getting caught by Bill. Once you're on the outside, maybe you can contact the government or something and devise a plan from there."
"But what about you?" Dipper started. "We can't just leave you here!"
Ford sighed. "Dipper, I need you to trust me. If Bill captures me, he will do anything, and I mean anything, to get answers about the force keeping him in. It's not beyond him to go as far as hurting the people I care about." Ford held the gun with as much steadiness as he could in his shaking hands and spared a glance at Dipper.
The boy looked horrified, betrayed, indecisive. Ford simply gave him a firm nod, prompting him to return the gesture. He knew Dipper understood. Ford's family was his only weakness. As long as they were accessible to Bill, he would use them as pawns in an attempt to force Ford's hand.
Ford would not allow that to happen.
"All of this is only a precaution," Ford said as he fixed his gaze back through the lens, watching Bill on the other side. "I have no intention of failing here, but if I do, promise me you won't come for me. No matter what Bill or I do or say, don't risk your life or the fate of the world."
Dipper had inhaled sharply with a pained sound. "I promise."
In the present, Ford feels himself beginning to stir. As he gains consciousness, he can feel the remnants of the earlier agony he was subjected to marinating in his skin, his bones, his blood. He twitches slightly at the recognition of pain flooding his senses, and he hears the telltale sound of chains as he does so. His heart sinks with the knowledge that he's still in shackles, and he can now feel the heavy weight of the cuffs around his ankles.
He's still in chains. Still in Bill's house of horrors... And no one is coming to save him.
No one is coming to save him.
Ford blinks a few times, clearing the blurriness from his vision as he examines his surroundings. He's in the middle of the room that Bill had described as tip of the pyramid - his penthouse. He attempts to lift his head and take a look at what his cuffs are attached to, but is punished with sharp, fiery agony as he tries to prop himself up on one arm. Hissing through his teeth, Ford realizes that his shoulders are, at the very least, dislocated. He had been suspended from the ceiling for so long, after all. It only made sense that sometime during that horrible experience his shoulders had simply given out and slipped out of their sockets.
It takes Ford an exceptional amount of effort and resolve to sit up. His entire body cries in agonizing protest as he does so, trying to dissuade him from doing anything but lying down, but if there is one thing that Ford will not do in front of Bill Cipher, it is lying down and groveling. So, he forces himself up onto his knees, grunting with a great deal of pain, and examines the damage his battered form has sustained.
He can't help but shudder as he observes his hands, which are covered in scathing burns. Even curling his fingers into his palm has him biting back a shout of pain, his entire body horribly tender. He knows that his hands did not receive even close to the worst of it; Bill's beam had been aimed directly at his torso, and he's sure his whole chest and the majority of his stomach looks far worse. He notes with vague interest that only his skin has been affected, his clothing and glasses remaining untouched. Even the pen he keeps in his coat pocket seems completely fine. He wants to check how bad the damage to his torso is, but as he goes to do so, the resulting pain demands that he refrains from making any movements that aren't completely necessary, and his arms slump back down to his sides.
Instead, he directs his attention to the glowing cuffs around his ankles, which have been perfectly tailored to the girth of his boots. How annoying - if they had even the most miniscule amount of give, Ford would be able to slide his footwear off and free himself. Each of his legs is chained to a different wall, directly opposite from one another, preventing him from moving from this exact spot. Frowning, Ford wonders what ungodly nightmare Bill plans on subjecting him to next, and how much time he has alone before the demon inevitably appears to continue his torment.
He doesn't have to wonder for long, because of course, Bill appears before him as dramatically as possible, having summoned a ring of blue flames. Even seeing the color blue associated with heat has Ford stifling a tremble after earlier. Damn it, he needs to stop - he needs to be stronger! The world is depending on him here, and all he can think about is himself, how terrified he is. He hates it.
Ford notes the portrait of Bill hanging above the fireplace, picturing the demon standing tall with one foot planted over the Earth. What ludicrous taste Bill has - has always had. He recalls once being fond of such a taste. How foolish. Bill's taste had never been endearing or comical, like he once thought, it's always been ridiculous and childish and Ford hates it. He must have always hated it - there's no way he ever liked it.
He figures the portrait on the wall is how Bill knew Ford was awake. He'd mentioned to the human once that every drawn interpretation of him functions as a peephole, allowing him to see the surrounding world through its eye.
Ford, battered as he is, has regained enough energy and willpower to set his jaw and glare at Cipher with renewed hatred.
"Good morning, sunshine! Did you miss me?" Bill starts, the overly cheery and loud nature of his piercing voice making Ford grind his teeth with annoyance. Of course, the triangle doesn't wait for a response, not expecting one. "Admit it, you missed me!"
Ford still doesn't respond. He's not sure if he is even capable of speech right now, given how much he had been screaming before he passed out. Not that Bill is worthy of a response anyway; anything Ford says to him would simply be a waste of words.
"Yesterday certainly was fun, wasn't it, Fordsy?" Bill continues, his eye fixated on his captive to drink up any reaction the human may accidentally let slip past his stoic front. "I can assure you today will be even better! I can hardly wait to see what kind of hilarious sounds you'll make when I break you in ways that haven't even been invented yet!"
Ford's eye twitches, the only indicator that he's processing what Bill's saying. He knows that Bill just wants a reaction out of him, and he's determined to not give him the satisfaction of seeing him cower. He's not even aware of the fact that he's trembling - how cute - but Bill is.
"Unless, of course, you've changed your mind! Just give me that equation, Sixer, and we can skip right past all this and get straight to-"
Ford's anger flairs, and he can no longer keep his mouth shut. "You seriously think-"
As soon as he begins speaking, his exhausted vocal cords catch, leaving Ford to double over - quite painfully - and suffer through a coughing fit. Bill watches with no little amusement as Ford heaves cough after dry cough, his lungs burning. Tears prick the corners of his eyes by the time the violent fit comes to an end, and Ford grunts, ignores them, and straightens up to continue glaring at Bill; angry eyes alight with cold determination behind the clear pain and exhaustion.
"Torture me all you want, Cipher," he growls, undeterred by how hoarse and weak his voice sounds even to his own ears. "It won't change a thing. You'll never get anything out of me."
There is a moment of silence save for his own labored breathing in which Bill is looking at him with an unreadable expression. Then his grating voice returns, jovial as ever. "I think you're forgetting one teensy, weensy, miniature, insignificant, dinky little detail, my six-fingered friend!" He starts, and then in the next instant he's grown to at least thrice his size, his eye blood red with fury and glowing, focused on Ford like a spotlight straight from hell. "I OWN you. I'll get WHATEVER I want out of you and so much more - it's only a matter of time. I have all the time in the MULTIVERSE, Sixer - can you say the same?"
Ford quickly bottles up the cocktail of emotions that Bill has unexpectedly stirred within him, nipping his impending breakdown at the bud before the boiling concoction can spill over. Fear, anger, hatred, and searing humiliation are all quickly shoved into their assorted containers and stored away in his brain, because it's not the time to unpack these emotions right now. Thirty years' worth of all sorts of negative feelings amalgamated with equally potent positive ones are boxed away and forced out of his head in an instant.
Ford's ability to stifle his overpowering emotions so quickly is quite impressive, Bill notes; most of the insufferable meat bags in this dimension let those trivial things control them. Boy, is he glad he doesn't have any! They seem like they must be a real inconvenience.
Stoic as ever, none of the emotions having been allowed to rise to the surface except for his anger, Ford yells, "The only part of me you own is my eternal hatred, Cipher! You have no control over me anymore! If you think you own me, you're deluded and a monster!"
Bill cackles, and floats over to Ford, now his regular size again. The human suppresses a flinch at his approach, the fear behind his eyes surprisingly well-hidden. He can't stifle the stuttering gasp, however, that is forced from his chapped lips as Bill sinks a small, inky black hand into his gray curls. The demon's fingers tighten possessively around a clump of hair when Ford tries to pull away, prompting another small, frustrated sound from the human. Bill drinks it up greedily, like sweet elixir. His obnoxious and loud voice drops to something akin to a whisper for the first time Ford's heard in his life.
"I look forward to proving you wrong, Stanford Pines."