Chapter Text
Ridiculous.
That’s the only word Bill could use to describe his situation.
After making a deal with The Axolotl, Bill was brought back. Only, he was different. Human. Powerless.
He had gone to the Pines as his only resort and was happily surprised when they’d agreed to let him stay with them. At first, tensions were high– and reasonably so. Bill had tried to make their universe his personal scrapbook of chaos and destruction, after all. But it only took a few months for Bill to start fixing his relationships with some of the family he’d come to know as his friends. There was one, however, who didn’t take so kindly to Bill’s presence.
Stanford Pines had a long history with Bill. Throughout his years as a young scientist looking to make it big, he worked with Bill. They were quite close, more than simply research partners. Ford had seen Bill as a god, all-powerful and knowledgeable. He worshiped him and the very ground he hovered over. Now, after the hurt and betrayal that Ford had gone through at the hands of his former muse, he hated him with a spark that was kindled into a flame, growing stronger each and every time he saw Bill.
In his new form, Bill was weak. His build was slender and bony, his skin was an olive-tan color with a blue, static-y scar running across his face and creeping down his collarbone. His long hair was a mix of browns with a natural streak of blonde through it and parted at the side, obscuring the right half of his face. This happened to be the side that his grayed over in cataracts, always lidded, and nearly completely blind eye was on. The other was a deep brown with small accents of gold scattered within.
He had many new human feelings to card through as he swept up dirt brought in from the daily customers, doing a half-assed job as he scattered the shoe prints with the rough bristles of the broom. He thought about the way his new body felt so restrictive, the way gravity held him down, the way his hair got in his face in the most inconvenient of ways, the way his skin felt like mud if he went too long without showering. He thought of the fear that spiked through him at things he would’ve previously found hilarious, the way his human instincts took over any logic when his emotions came into play, and he began to think about the odd ache in his chest whenever Ford would look at him with a clear expression of disdain on his face, the way it made his heart feel painfully heavy when Ford would show his discontent with Bill’s presence in the home, the way his pulse raced when he would accidentally brush hands with the six-fingered scientist as the walked passed one another in the hall, the way he felt his face heat up anytime Ford spoke to him, even if just to give him another chore to do.
His thoughts were cut short when he heard the sound of Ford’s boots kicking onto the floor as the man came through the front door of the shack.
“Sixer! You’re home late, what’ve you been up to?” Bill asks, his voice shrill as ever as he follows Ford to the sofa and sits next to him, much to Ford’s annoyance.
“Nothing special” Ford grumbles, flicking the TV on and attempting to tune out the ex-demon prying into him about his day. He has a flush to his skin that shows he’s had a drink or two, and his brain is fogged as he pinches the bridge of his nose between his index finger and his thumb.
Bill is just barely close enough to catch the faint scent of alcohol on the scientist's breath as he breathes out a sigh.
“You don’t drink,” Bill says quizzically, leaning a bit closer to the larger man beside him, who slumps away “Something on your mind, Fordsy?”
“Yes, though it’s nothing you’d understand.”
Bill backed off a bit, a hint of sincerity in his voice. “Do you..- Do you want to talk about it..?”
“You’re the problem, Cipher,” he starts, “you expect me to treat you kindly after everything you put me and my family through? After you took advantage of my mind and used me to cause the near end of the world?” he spat, his voice growing to a near shout as he dug into Bill.
The demon backed off a bit “Oh, that? Water under the bridge, right Fordsy?” he chuckled, coming awkward and nervous rather than blasé as he had intended.
“You don’t even care a little bit, do you?”
Bill sunk back into the couch, silent for a brief moment. He didn't quite know.
“Are you even listening right now?” he hissed.
“I- uh, yeah, yeah.. I just-” Ford is unconvinced as Bill pleads his case.
Ford remains unconvinced as Bill pleads his case.
“I should've known you wouldn’t change.” The words dig into bill in a way he cant quite place a finger on.
“.. Sixer, I-”
“I don't care for your pitiful excuses, Cipher.”
“I was wrong, Stanford, OK?” he blurts defensively, crossing his arms over his chest.
Ford looks surprised, but quickly scoffs and rolls his eyes melodramatically. “Too little, too late. You should’ve said that years ago. I don’t know why the others insist on you changing. You’ll always be the same selfish monster you’ve been your whole life. You just want me to feel sorry for you.” He puts harshly. Bill is taken aback by this statement, tears pricking his eyes and his burning as he goes to voice a retort, voice cracking slightly. He shouldn't be caring what Ford- or anyone, for that matter- thinks about him. He's been called so much worse, so why did this seem like such a big deal? When he tries to speak, all he's able to manage is a choked sound as he finds himself crying, warm tears pooling in the corners of his eyes and falling down his face.
He sits back and wipes the tears from his face, but they keep coming. “..I- no, I-it’s- thats..” he sniffles, voice shaky and small. “I’m not- that’s not true.” he pulls his knees to his chest.
“Pft, you’re an interdimensional demon, what’re you crying for? Can’t handle the taste of your own medicine?” Ford tries hard to upkeep his anger, but his expression softens minutely slightly as he watches the other man begin to break.
“I-I don’t know.. I dunno why…” Bill buries his face in his knees and begins to sob, feeling feeble and stupid. His human body is filled with thoughts and feelings he has seemingly no control over and he hates it. “I'm pathetic.” he sobs, curling into himself, “You’re right, Sixer. I’ll never be able to change. I’m a monster.”
“Bill, I- shouldn't have said that..” Ford, voice softening, places a hand on the former demon’s shoulder.
Much to Ford’s surprise, Bill pulls the older man into a tight embrace, sobbing into the chest of his sweater. “Bill, what are you-”
“I’m sorry, Stanford. I’m so, so sorry.” his voice cracks as he speaks, his stomach churning at the words leaving his stupid human mouth. He flinches lightly as a six-fingered hand gently rests on his back.
“Me too, Bill. Me too..” Ford murmurs, letting the other continue to hold him tight, snaking his arms around him as well.
“I’m so sorry..”