Chapter Text
“64452… calling number 64452…”
Stanford rubbed a thumb over his palm, wondering if perhaps he was in ‘hell’ after all. It wasn’t at all surprising to learn that there was an afterlife- even the method of his passing was entirely expected.
He had mentioned it so casually – but the prediction of his death remained in the back of his head. A part of him was grateful for the morbid prediction as it allowed him to ensure his affairs were perfectly in order by the time he turned 92. His grandnephew and niece should have nothing to worry about, financially at least.
And Stan… He hoped Stan would finally act his age and settle down. As much as Ford missed his twin, he didn’t want to be reunited with the former con artist too quickly.
“64453… Calling 64453…”
“…Was it the sandwich dimension?” he murmured to himself bitterly. He supposed that would count as a massive genocide, but it wasn’t like he did that on purpose! The numbers 546124945 glowed hauntingly on his palm. A number so long, it nearly wrapped itself around the back of his hand.
There were no doors.
No windows.
Only an empty liminal room filled with thinly padded chairs. He wasn’t sure if the place reminded him of a doctor’s waiting room or a DMV. It seemed like a perverse mixture of the two, without any expected amenities.
No clocks.
No magazines.
Nobody.
He tried escaping this room already – nothing he did seemed to affect the room permanently. The walls remained undamaged despite his every effort to break them down. The chairs seemed equally indestructible.
“64454… Calling 64454…”
He tried calling out to the disembodied voice more than once. He tried every summoning ritual he had committed to memory.
Well. Almost every ritual.
“64455… Calling 64455…”
He wasn’t that desperate.
“It wouldn’t be possible anyway…” he murmured. He already knew what had become of Him. He was just as trapped in his own hell—except He had puppet hour.
Ford sank his face into his hands and groaned.
This was hell. He was convinced of that now.
“64….64….64…”
The aged scientist shot up to his feet- something was changing. Something was different. Fear and anticipation twisted in his 'gut' – a strange thought considering he didn’t have a physical body anymore.
“…Stanford Filbrick Pines.” A new voice replaced the monotone, tired one. It sounded…gentle. Almost youthful. “You will be seen now.”
The scenery around him twisted and blurred into nothingness. Ford found himself in an endless white void—pure nothingness. But it was better than that damned room. He glanced at the numbers on his hand, finding them gone.
“Oh thank god.” He didn’t have to wait until that number was reached after all.
“Typically, we don’t have souls wait so long for processing… But yours is a special case.”
That same gentle disembodied voice spoke out.
“Please have a seat.”
“A seat-?!” Ford felt his body sink into the fabric of a partially comfortable armchair. It reminded him of the one back at the shack—the fabric and scent were familiar enough. But visually, there was nothing there.
But… He doesn’t recall sitting down.
“…I don’t appreciate being toyed around like this.” He snapped as he stubbornly struggled to stand. The fact that he couldn’t anger him more than he expected it would. “I’ll sit when it suits me!”
“Apologies!” The voice responded in what seemed to be a sincerely panicked tone. “I only meant to make you comfortable. I’m… new to this.”
Ford let out a sigh of relief as he regained the freedom to move as he pleased. “That’s… concerning.” He smoothed out the fabric of his shirt. “One would expect someone more competent to guide departed souls.”
“…You didn’t like the waiting room?” The voice asked sheepishly.
“Didn’t like the- are you insane?! Of course I didn’t!” Ford cried out, exasperated. “Why on earth would you think that I would like something like that!?”
“But according to my research, humans spend so much time in-"
“Your so-called research is a pathetic joke! Couldn’t you rip a copy of a room from my mind? Did you even consult a single human?!” Ford clenched his fists, tightening every ‘muscle’ in his body. He was scolding a god, most likely. An incompetent one, yes. But this thing clearly had power beyond his understanding.
It could punish him for lashing out.
…Not that he planned on apologizing, of course.
“…Why was I even in a waiting room to begin with?” Ford spoke again, holding his anger in check. “Is there a reason why I wasn’t… ‘processed’ normally. “
Whatever that meant.
“W-Well… you see…” The voice shakily responded. A twang of guild stung the old man- a sensation he quickly pushed down. It wasn’t like he was on the phone with some fledgling receptionist. Not really. “The administration from the Soul Rehabilitation wished to propose an offer… in exchange for your assistance in-“
“NO.” Ford barked the word out faster than he could properly think. He knew what this was about. Who else did he know that was in ‘Soul Rehabilitation’. There was only one possibility.
“D-Don’t you want to hear the full offer first?!”
“No! No, no, absolutely not – just process me! “ Ford snapped. “There is nothing, and I mean nothing, that you ‘people’ can possibly offer me that will convince me to help that demon!”
There was silence for a moment. Just for a moment.
“…Your brother is due to pass in 445 earth days.” The voice spoke again, seeming slightly more confident now. “I could process you now, but… arrangements can be made so you can meet him when his time comes.”
“…what?” Ford croaked out the question, feeling as if the air had been ripped from his 'lungs'. Not that he had lungs, or a need to breathe- he was breathless all the same.
“The two of you… could be processed together. You could be siblings again! The administration thought this would be a fitting reward, considering your largest regret when passing.
Ford found himself wanting to sit again. He doesn’t. But the offer was enough to make him pause. To reconsider.
He loved Stan, more than he hated Bill. That much was a fact. And the opportunity to… have that second chance… To be a better sibling to him…
“…You don’t even need to really do anything. The folks at the Theraprism are way better at this sort of thing than I am! And you’ll have your reward- regardless of the outcome.”
“…”
“…He’ll… He’ll be completely powerless. Absolutely no chance he could hurt you!” The voice pushed further, seeming to sense that the human was coming around to the idea.
“…Powerless you say…” Ford takes a long, deep breath. “…I’ll do it. But I need something, on top of what you’re already promising me- otherwise you can forget it.”
“…if it’s within reason…” The voice replied carefully.
“I want to punch Bill Cipher. At least once.”
Silence filled the void.
Ford swears he can hear… something akin to whispering in the distance.
“…Stanford Filbrick Pines.” The voice chirped in a beaming voice, breaking the silence at last. “Your request for ‘one punch’ has been approved!”