Nothing is Sacred Here

The Waterfall Chapter is finally ready to try. Enjoy, and happy holidays!

Ford felt heavy as he trudged up to his front porch. He passed the mailbox on the way and saw it was full. He had a bad habit of putting off collecting the mail. It looked like mostly junk. One envelope from the MBU grants department looked particularly concerning. He knew he was late on submitting his expenditure reports. No doubt they were getting antsy to see the financials. 

“This is going to be fun.” Ford groaned to himself.

He went straight for his study upstairs once he made it in the door. He’d rather go over the paperwork in a room with a window. Some sunlight would be nice after the night he had. Ford had spent the night at a Corderoy family home that was rumored to be haunted. On the upside the rumors were indeed true, he did manage to observe and catalog a wide range of ghosts. Unfortunately, his observations of the undead were not as helpful as he hoped they might be. He still didn’t have any leads on unlocking the secret to Weirdness Magnetism. He was at an impass and felt like he was running in circles. Discovering new anomalies was all well and good but if he couldn’t prove where they were coming from or why they all congregated in this one town his theory was a bust. There had to be some reason Gravity Falls was so weird. It couldn’t possibly have been a coincidence.

Ford sat down at his desk with a heavy sigh and pulled out a letter opener. Tossing the junk mail straight into his waste bin and opening up the envelope from BMU.

“You run into Death while you were out?” A tangy metallic voice rang off the walls of Ford’s study.

Ford looked around for a moment. Still holding the folded-up papers in his hands. “Bill?” He called out. Trying to spot his muse.

“Over here.” The voice chimed from every direction at once.

Ford swiveled his head to try and identify the source of the sound only to have his nose bump into something.

“Boop!” Bill cheered as Ford ran his face into Bill's cane. The little yellow triangle’s gleeful smiling eye came into focus just inches from Ford’s face.

Ford jerked his head back. Disoriented by the closeness. He tossed his papers down on the desk and reached up his hands to rub his eyes. Pushing his glasses up his face for a moment. “Uhg, yeah, I saw him.” He confessed. He pulled his hands away and readjusted his glasses. Narrowing his eyes at Bill as he reoriented himself. “You know him?” He asked.

Bill plopped his feet down on Ford’s desk. Leaning lazily against his cane next to the paper. “He owes me fifty bucks.” He replied glibly.

“Ah.” Ford nodded. Bill had an odd way of making conversations of the paranormal seem downright mundane. 

Bill looked down at the folded papers with passive curiosity. “So what’s all this about? That loser school sending you love letters?” He teased. 

“Hardly.” Ford scoffed as he snatched up the papers. Rolling his eyes as he unfolded them. Bracing himself for the contents of the letter.

“Well, they better be. You’re the only graduate they have who’s worth a danm.” Bill replied indignantly. He started pacing Ford’s desk like a little sergeant. “Those maggots better appreciate genius while they’ve got it.” His irritable expression and the faint hint of red on his face as he huffed and puffed alleviated some of the tension in Ford’s chest.

Ford let out a sincere chuckle watching the little man wave his cane about.

Bill looked back up at Ford and directed his cane waving at him. “Well don’t just leave me hanging IQ, what’s it say?” 

“Ok, ok, give me a second.” Ford soothed. He leaned back in his chair and began combing over the letter. The brief fleeting joy slowly drained from his face as he read.  “Oh…” He sighed softly. “I guess I knew this was coming.” Ford couldn’t hide the soul-crushing weight in his voice.

“What?” Bill questioned. He hopped up into the air and swirled around to perch on Ford’s shoulder and read the letter for himself. Leaning over his cane where he stood. He squinted harshly when he read. A bit of a slow reader actually. Ford had noticed this once before. He wondered if his muse might have needed corrective lenses. Rather ironic for a creature that was mostly eyeball. 

“They’re threatening to cut my funding.” Ford summarized before Bill could finish reading.

“Well obviously.” Bill huffed. Shoving Ford’s face away. Catching that Ford had noticed him struggling and clearly flustered by it. He paused a moment though as the statement seemed to click. “Wait a minute, why?” He asked.

Ford tossed the papers back on the desk and hung back in his chair. Letting his head dangle over the back. Rocking himself softly with his foot. Bill remained glued to his shoulder all the while. 

“I haven’t published anything. They’ve been expecting some kind of publication by now but I’ve been putting it off. I want to prove my theory. That’s what I came here to do.” He explained. “I could tide them over with reports about leprecorns and ghosts but submitting proof of the paranormal presence in Gravity Falls will only attract more researchers.”

“Potential competition.” Bill replied knowingly. Ford didn’t have to explain his concerns. Bill was already on the same page. They were alike in that regard. Bill crossed his arms and sat down on Ford’s shoulder. He rubbed the space under his eye thoughtfully, above his bowtie. 

“Did someone ask for a Ghost!” 

Oh, sweet Moses that voice. God that grating nails on a chalkboard- Ford spun around in his chair and chucked the nearest heavy object he could find in its direction. As it turned out that was an empty mug he had left on his desk. It flew right through the childlike body of the category one that had manifested in his study. The damned thing had followed him home apparently. Ford’s mug smashed against the wall with a loud shatter that barely even made it flinch.

“Leave me alone!” Ford barked.

“But I-” The ghost started to protest. Not hurt, unfortunately. The stupid thing was too unabashedly cheery to be upset or scared. Only optimistically confused. Ford would strangle the thing if it had a neck.

“No one asked for you. Now get out of my house!” Ford insisted. Pointing aggressively at the door.

Bill cackled wildly. He’d left Ford’s shoulder and was floating behind him now. “Wow, easy Fordsy, don’t pop a blood vessel.”

“Annoying little shit-” Ford grumbled under his breath as the ghost kept trying to talk to him. He turned back around in his chair to give it the silent treatment. Crossing his arms and waiting for it to get the hint.

“Why so worked up buddy?” Bill questioned playfully. 

Ford waved his arms about in exasperation. “I’m about to lose my funding Bill! That’s why! I have a year to publish something or I lose everything!”

Bill floated lower and seemed to ease up sympathetically. He patted a hand on Ford’s knee. “Right, you humans need money. Like, to eat or whatever you people do with it.”

“I need it to afford food Bill.” Ford clarified. Still, despite his frustration he couldn’t help but relax a little under his muse’s touch. He placed his fingers over the tiny gloved hand on his knee. Savoring the warmth of another soul. Like the tiny paw of a cat. Reminded him of his mother’s cat. The way Isis would paw at his leg when she wanted something from him. It was comforting even if Bill didn’t fully appreciate the consequences of Ford’s situation. 

“If I lose my funding everyone will think I’m a fraud.” Ford explained. “I’ll be very unlikely to get funding elsewhere. I’ll have to find some alternative source of income just to support myself, never mind to continue my research.” 

“You could always rob a bank.” Bill offered.

“I’d rather not.” Ford replied dryly.

“Ooh, I wanna rob a bank!” That fucking voice again! The category one flew loop-dee-loops excitedly in Ford’s peripheral vision. “I can get us bad guy costumes and everything-”

“No one is robbing a bank.” Ford stated firmly.

The category one made a disappointed whine. Ford ignored him. Bill shrugged and backed up for a moment. Considering alternatives.

“Alright, alright, we’ll save that for plan B.” Bill conceded. “In lieu of the easy option,” he mused. “It sounds like you need a little push.”

Ford raised an eyebrow at Bill. “A push.” He asked.

Bill grinned up at him with his single wide eye. Ford felt lighter than air as he realized what Bill was offering. It wouldn’t be the first time Bill gave him clues that furthered his research. He was a muse after all. Inspiration was his forte. 

“Well, you need to turn that hypothesis of yours into a theory in the next year, and I think I might have an idea how to get you there.”

Ford leaned forward and clasped his hands against the edge of the desk. Practically pressing his nose to it as he brought himself to eye level with Bill. “You know the source of Gravity Falls's weirdness don’t you?” He gushed breathlessly. 

Bill chuckled and reached out a hand. Patting the top of Ford’s head and ruffling his hair. His cane tucked under his other arm. “Oh Fordsy, I think you're ready. Buckle up kid 'cause I’m gonna put that big brain of yours through the ringer.” 

A portal. A portal that would punch a hole in the fabric of their reality. Open a dorway to the alternate dimension from which all of Gravity Falls's weirdness had bled through. Once he had it working Ford would have definitive proof of his theory. Not only that, but this world was Bill’s. Of course, his muse knew where the anomalies came from. He always knew. He was one of them after all. Ford's dreams that night had been long sessions of discussing the logistics of the project. Despite the hours of advanced physics, Ford slept better that night than he had in years. He woke up absolutely buzzing. Invigorated by his new project.

That energy did start to wane a bit though as the days turned to weeks. Hunched over his desk working out the finer details and getting lost in the numbers. After a while, he realized he was going to need some help. This was too advanced a project for just one person. At least if he planned to get it done in a year. He kept hoping Bill would visit again, maybe assist in some of the more difficult equations. He was absent, however. Bill’s periodic absences weren’t anything new, though they were frustrating under the circumstances. 

“What ya got there Sixer?”

Ford jumped at the sudden intrusion upon his trailing thoughts. Holed up in the lab this time. Declining sunlight for lord knows how long. At least that obnoxious ghost had finally stopped interrupting him. Ford thoughtlessly brushed a wet ink splatter off the notepad in front of him. “Bill, there you are.” He sighed with relief. “I was wondering when you’d turn up again.” 

Ford looked back down at the new stain on his hand and the ugly black smear on his notes. He’d been working on drafting his pitch before calling up an old friend for assistance. Bill’s proposal was a groundbreaking one. Spectacular and fascinating, if a bit hard to explain. Well, perhaps not to Fiddelford. He was brilliant. Ford was sure he’d understand it, but still, he was going to be asking a lot of him.

Ford’s muse floated around and plopped himself down on the desk. Seated on the shelf just above Ford's writing space. Bill hung one leg over the other and twirled his cane in his hand. “Aw, whatsa matter Fordsy? Miss me?” He cooed playfully.

Ford winced as he reached for some tissues on the desk to wipe off his hand. He could feel the heat rise to his cheeks. It was embarrassing being read so easily. “You could say that.” He replied. Doing his best not to take Bill’s disappearances personally. The last time Bill disappeared for so long was after the most intense night of Ford's life. He woke up to find he’d tattooed himself somehow in his sleep with a sewing needle and one of his quill pens he'd cannibalized. He vaguely remembered Bill showing him how to do it in his dream but that was as much explanation as he could give for his first bit of body art. A bit of alien text scrawled across his rib.

“You just caught me in the middle of something.” Ford apologized.

Bill looked down at Ford’s notepad and hopped onto the lower level of the desk. He walked little circles around the paper reading all the things Ford had written and scratched out. Squinting again and taking his time. “Workin’ on an elevator pitch?” He asked.

“In essence, yes.” Ford replied. Looking back down at his notes. He looked over at the phone beside him. “I was just about to call.” 

“This is our project.” Bill observed in a flat monotone.

“It is.” Ford answered. A bit unsure what Bill was getting at. “I was going to ask an old friend of mine to assist. I assure you Fiddleford McGucket is a brilliant man. With him on board, I’m sure I could build the portal in half the time.” Ford couldn't help but beam a little with pride. He knew how talented Fidds was. He couldn’t wait to share Bill’s knowledge with him.

Bill narrowed his eye and stepped on the paper. Crickling it under his feet as he walked. “I never told you to bring in an assistant.” Bill looked up at Ford clearly irritated. 

Ford hadn’t been expecting this response. “You didn’t say I couldn’t.” He argued.

“Hey!” Bill pointed his cane accusatorily at Ford. “I don’t go around sharing my brilliance with just anyone IQ. If I wanted someone else taking credit for my inspiration I’d have picked someone else. I wouldn’t have proposed it if I didn’t think you could handle this on your own.”

Ford snorted. Struggling not to laugh. Bill was adorable like this. So small and angry. Even still, Ford did feel a little guilty. Knowing how much faith Bill was placing in his abilities. How blessed he was to be bestowed with his insights. Ford reached out a finger and gently stroked the side of the tiny triangle near the top of his head. “I know.” Ford reassured. “And I’m sure with enough time I could do it by myself, but I only have a year. I can’t afford to take my time on this.” He pleaded.

Bill continued to fume but felt delightfully warm under Ford’s touch. He grumbled and looked away but didn’t stop Ford from touching him. “If you don’t think you can manage it in three-hundred and sixty-five days then maybe I should have chosen someone else to gift with my insights.” He huffed. Arms crossed and indigent. 

“Oh Bill, don’t talk like that.” Ford pulled his hand away. A bit hurt by his words. “I’m doing my best but this could make or break my whole career. I really don’t want to waste this opportunity. If I don’t make the deadline I won’t have the resources to complete the project without my grant. You want to see this through together don’t you?”

Bill seemed to mull over his words for a moment before he looked back up at Ford. A piercing gaze that told Ford to go on.

So he did. Ford held his hands to his chest as he smiled down at his muse. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize you wanted this to be just the two of us.” He apologized. “If you want to do this, just us, I don’t have to call up Fiddleford. As long as you promise to stay and help me.” He leaned down to Bill’s eye level. “I certainly wouldn’t mind having you here more often. You know I love having you around my muse.”

Bill’s eye curled into a coy smile before he burst into a fit of laughter. “Aw, that’s adorable.” Bill hopped up and tapped Ford between his eyes. “You’re adorable.” He teased. “Alright fine. I’ve got better things to do than hang out here all day so if you want help so bad go ahead. We’ll see how your fleshbag does.” 

Ford made a light-hearted attempt to snatch Bill up in his hands. Clasping them both around the little golden creature like a child attempting to catch a butterfly. Alas, his hands were empty when he opened them again. Unsurprising. When Ford looked around he heard laughter above his head.

“You know the sooner I make this call the sooner I can get back to drafting the portal.” Ford reminded Bill with a wry smile.

A slight weight landed on the top of Ford’s head. Just the faintest whisper of a touch. Like the hand of a ghost settled in his hair. “We’ve got time.” Bill chided. “Tell me about this buddy of yours.” He asked.

“Oh, well, Fidds and I go way back.” Ford grinned. He looked back over his notes while Bill got comfortable. “We were dormates back in college, best friends. It’s been so long since we talked." Ford hadn't spoken to him since Fiddleford's wedding. Ford had been the best man. For some reason, he didn't feel like calling Fidds up again after that. It felt like an intrusion on his friend's life to call without reason. "It’ll be nice to see him again. If anyone could keep up with us it’s him. You should see what Fiddelford is capable of when he puts his mind to something. He’s a brilliant engineer. If a bit short-sighted. Wasting his time on unambitious pet projects. This'll really put his talents to use.” Ford couldn’t help but let the eggar glee spill out. He was looking forward to seeing his friend again. Reaching for the phone and dialing his number a kind of giddy anxiety set it. He hoped Fiddleford said yes. He could use some company around the lab.

“Fidds huh? Cute.” Bill replied dryly. Clearly unimpressed. 

“You don’t believe me?” Ford replied. “I promise you Fiddleford will prove himself in no time. You’ll see. I can’t wait for him to meet you.” 

Bill laughed again. Louder this time. He kicked his little feet against Ford’s forehead, prompting him to reach up and swat at the little creature. “Ow! Knock it off!” Ford huffed. 

Bill vanished and reappeared again leaning next to the phone. “You can tell him about me if you want IQ but don’t come crying to me if he thinks you’ve gone off the deep end.” He teased.

“I beg your pardon.” Ford replied. Holding the handset and listening to it buzz at him while his other hand hovered over the buttons.

“I’m just sayin’ I don’t plan on talking to anyone else.” Bill told Ford. He propped up one of his sides on one hand, his elbow resting on the base of the phone. Reaching out he walked tiny little fingers up the back of Ford’s hand. “I chose you for a reason Sixer. Like I said. I don’t share my wisdom with just anyone. You’re the only mortal for me.” 

He looked back and Ford and his eye flashed red for a brief moment. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” He warned.

Ford felt that gitty excitement sink into the pit of his stomach. The joy drained out of him for a brief moment. He stared back at the phone again. Maybe… maybe Bill was right… What if Bill wasn’t even real? Just a figment of an overactive imagination. Fiddleford would think Ford had gone crazy. Maybe he had. He wanted Bill to meet Fidds because he wanted to introduce his friends to one another, but it was more than that. He wanted to know for certain Bill was real. He felt real, but only Ford ever saw him. He didn’t have concrete proof of his existence like he did his other anomalies. When Bill disappeared it was like he was never there.

But the tattoo? There’s no way Ford could have tattooed himself upside down in his sleep on his own. Bill had to have helped guide his hand right? He had to have helped keep his hand steady enough to draw while he was utterly wasted. Those seizures were a product of something, something real and tangible. Or maybe it was gas leak… some weird mushrooms he found in the woods? A sick prank by some gnomes? 

Bill had kissed him that night. In his dreams, of course. Ford wasn't confident Bill had understood the meaning of the gesture. They'd both been drinking. Bill had simply been trying to make his birthday a memorable one. The rats were definitely real. Ford wouldn’t forget disposing of their little cold bodies anytime soon. Bill had to be real. He had to be. 

Ford looked back at Bill. If he didn’t want to talk to Fiddleford then there was nothing Ford could do for that. Perhaps it would be for the better just to take his muse on faith and not worry about clinging to another human for validation. Bill was real. Ford didn’t have definitive proof of that but he could feel it in his gut. This creature was real and rare and he’d chosen Standford for a reason.

“Alright then.” Ford assured Bill. He rubbed the little triangle with his pinky. “We’ll just keep our little talks between us.” He promised Bill. 

“That’s the spirit Sixer.” Bill purred. He slapped Ford’s hand encouragingly and hopped up into the air. Divorcing himself from gravity once again. “Go get 'em tigger.” He encouraged. 

Headlines across eight years. Who you vote for really does matter. None of these headlines delve into the Boar's Head listeria outbreak because I can only post ten photos in one post. But the slaughter house self regulate headline? Yup, that's why.

“I've got you buddy.” Ford reassured. Huffing softly as he shifted Fiddleford's weight onto one arm. “You're gonna be fine.” Fidds was in no condition to walk. Ford had carried him all the way back to the cabin. 

Fiddleford yelped and whimpered fearfully when he felt Ford's other hand leave his body. Tightening his death grip around Ford's neck. “It's alright. I'm not going to drop you.” Ford reassured. He hoisted Fidds up a bit over his shoulder and did his best to unlock the door as quickly as he could. Pushing it open with his boot once he heard the click of the knob. He brought his hand to Fidd's back. Keys still hooked in his fingers as he rubbed little circles into Fidd's shirt.

“I've got you.” He breathed.

Fiddleford hugged Ford like his life depended on it. Shivering violently in his arms. His clothes torn, battered, bruised, filled with quills Ford desperately needed to remove. All of that paled in concern compared to the horrified thousand-yard stare Ford had been greeted with once the dust had settled. Fidds eyes were closed now. That seemed like an improvement. Maybe. At least Ford hoped it was.

He shuffled inside with the temporal displacement hyperdrive they needed slung over his other shoulder. The blasted thing better work. Its sudden alarm nearly got them killed. Not to mention all the supplies they lost. Left behind in the woods while Ford wrestled his friend back from that cursed beast. Oh well, what's done was done. They both made it home in one piece they got what they needed out of their expedition. A sloppy victory but a victory nonetheless. 

Ford carried Fidds upstairs to his room where he had the supplies he needed to a magic cure that should hopefully work for the gremloblin venom. At least he hope so. He knew less about this creature than he’d like and didn’t yet know the full effects of its toxins.

He gingerly draped Fiddlford across the couch Ford called his bed. “Fidds, I need you to let go.” He pleaded gently as Fiddleford clawed at his shoulders. Refusing to let go of his coat.

“No, no, no, no, no-” Fiddleford kept mumbling incoherently. He opened his eyes again. Looking up at Ford with a manic pain and desperation that felt like a dagger to the heart. His eyes still glowing faintly.

“Fiddleford, please.” Ford reiterated gently. Placing a hand over one of Fidds. “I need to go get the first aid kit.” And set the drive down, and close the door.

Fiddleford was still shaking. His chest heaved as he started back at Ford. His intense gaze seemed to scan Ford's eyes for something before he finally relented. Loosening his grip on Ford's coat enough for him to escape.

Ford wasn't sure what Fiddleford was looking for but he was glad he could provide it. Whatever it was. “I'll be right back.” He promised.

He slipped the hyperdrive off his shoulder and let it thunk heavily onto the floor. Flexing his aching shoulder once the weight was off him. He’d had to swipe a bit of rope from the barn they had crashed into so he could strap the piece of machinery to himself for the walk back. All in all, he wasn’t carrying much more weight than the travel supplies they had left with but the load hit differently after the day he’d had.

“Stay right there. I’ll only be gone a second.” Ford stressed before rushing out.

Fiddleford didn’t look keen on moving anytime soon. Curling up and facing away from him. Burring his face in the back of the futon and muttering incoherently to himself. That was probably not a good sign. None of this was good.

Ford rushed downstairs to slam the door shut and lock it before hurrying to the bathroom for first aid supplies. He kept splints and plaster on hand thankfully for breaks. Fiddelford’s arm was in bad shape. It had broken in the fall and the injury had only grown more obvious on the walk home as the bruises set in. Not that it stopped Fiddelford from gripping Ford like a drowning man at sea. The strain probably hadn’t done wonderful things for his injuries.

Ford grabbed what he needed and hurried back upstairs to his room. “Alright, let’s get you fixed up.” He tried to reassure his friend. Ford placed the first aid supplies on the end table by the couch and set to work.

The room was less a bedroom and more a study. Ford didn’t care much. He didn’t mind what he slept on and when he realized he’d invited Fiddleford over and forgotten to secure a proper bed for him he simply gave his old bedroom to Fidds. He barely used it anyway and his study worked just as well. Moreover, his study was filled with all manner of artifacts and samples Ford had collected. Hopefully, something in here could treat any lingering effects of the venom. 

Ford started first with removing the quills. Gently rolling Fiddleford back onto his back as he started pulling the quills out one by one. They had little hooked barbs on the end like a porcupine. Removing them made Fidds wince every time.

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” Ford kept reiterating everything Fiddleford flinched from his touch. 

Fidds skin was swollen and discolored from the quills. Every one oozed a mix of blood and puss on removal that Ford drained and cleaned with alcohol wipes. He’s scrubbed his hands thoroughly in the sink but still wore gloves just to be safe. The pinky kept threatening to rip on him from having two digits squeezed into it but there wasn’t much that could be done for it. He needed disposable gloves for this. He’d have to work on making his own latex gloves in the future.

Ford breathed a sigh of relief once the final quill was removed. Fidds was still shaking but seemed a little calmer. Still covered welts from the quills. Not to mention the mass of swollen blue and purple that had spread up his right arm from the break. It wasn’t the worst break Ford had ever seen, but still a nasty one. Stanley took the prize for that one. The memory of his brother’s tiba peeking out from the mass of mangled meat that was once his leg would haunt him forever. Pa made sure to take the cost of that hospital visit out of his hide. Ford learned a lot patching up his brother after that. He didn’t need hospitals. He could handle things himself. 

Ford got up to go search through his supplies. Rifling through drawers and cabinets for every healing tonic he knew of. He didn’t have anything that could mend a broken bone sadly but he did have some purifying water from a magical glave he’d found not long after his arrival in Gravity Falls. Unfortunately, the space disintegrated after he left and allegedly would only appear to a chosen few once in a lifetime. He was told this water could cure any poison though Ford had never tested it. He had a limited supply and couldn’t risk wasting it. 

He heard Fiddleford whimper softly behind him and turned back to look at his friend’s pale horrified expression. He had no idea what the grembloblin venom would do to him and the welts were turning a very concerning and sickly green color. If there was ever a time to use his magic cure it was now.

“Here, here, I’m back.” Ford reassured as he returned to the couch. He knelt back down on the floor again and snapped his fingers near Fiddleford’s face to try and get his attention. Trying to get his friend to look at him and show some sign of lucid thought.

Fiddleford choked like he was trying not to cry but didn’t turn his eyes. Only screwed them shut and gripped his chest. He was sweating despite feeling cold to the touch.

“It’s ok. This should help.” Ford assured him anyway. “You’re going to be fine. I’ll get you some painkillers once we’re done.” He promised.

Seeing the extent of the wounds Ford decided the best way to apply the cure was to soak strips of gauze in it and wrap Fiddlefords arms in them. Taking great care to pace out the healing water evenly and trying not to use more than he needed. Even still it took up the whole bottle. Thankfully the green pallor seemed to subside a bit as Ford worked. The swelling reduced. That was good. At least something was going right. Fiddleford’s clammy shivering seemed to improve as well. Thank god.

“Almost done.” Ford still got no clear responses from Fiddleford but he liked to think it helped at least a little. Letting his friend know how much there was left to go. 

He took great care when setting and casting Fidds broken arm. Trying his best not to cause any more pain than necessary. That said Fiddleford still seemed oddly numb to the pain. It was the only reason Ford didn’t give him the medication upfront. Fidds reactions were muted enough as is and he needed to know if he was hurting him. Pain was a useful tool for measuring the damage and identifying any less obvious wounds. Ford felt ashamed he was a little relieved to see Fidds hiss in pain as his bones were set. He didn’t like seeing him hurt but at least it was a natural reaction.  

“There, there we go, we’re done.” Ford held up his empty hands to show Fidds once the cast was set. Fidds still didn’t look at him or give any indication he processed what Ford was saying. Ford desperately wanted some kind of acknowledgment from his best friend. Even if it was just to yell at him for putting Fiddlford in danger in the first place. Literally, anything would be better than this.

Still, he steadied himself and peeled off his rubber gloves. He found his hands smeared with blood. He hadn’t even noticed his own wounds until now. Ford had cut up his hands shoving through thick brambles in pursuit of the gremloblin. More than his hands. His clothes were torn and bloodstained in places. All minor injuries though. He probably has some bruises from the crash but he wasn’t too concerned with them. He was overheated and sweating through his shirt though. He chucked his coat on the side table and peeled off his sweater vest and button down. Fanning himself briefly with his undershirt to try and cool off.

“Ok, aspirin.” Ford was talking to himself at this point. He knew Fidds wasn’t listening. At least talking helped him keep his thoughts clear. Ford got up to head back down to the bathroom for aspirin and a glass of water. Fiddleford might have been a bit numb now but he would be wanting those painkillers later once the shock wore off.

Ford was about to leave when he felt a tug on his pant leg. “NO! PLEASE!” 

Ford’s blood ran cold. He looked back at Fidds in stunned shock.

Fidds eyes were welling up with tears. Gripping Ford’s clothes with his good hand. “Please don’t go.” He begged. “Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.” There was so much pain and desperation in his voice. Ford had never heard his friend sound so broken.

His heart ached. He pointed timidly towards the door. “Asprin.” He repeatedly meekly. “I’ll be right back.” 

“Please don’t leave me again.” Fiddleford choked. His voice cracking from the strain of some overwhelming fear. Something primal and beyond what Ford had ever seen.

“I-I won’t.” Ford promised. He returned to the couch and knelt down beside it. He took Fidds hands in his and tried to comfort him. “I’m not going anywhere.” He promised. He wasn’t much for comfort. He was never very good at it. Baring Stanley most people didn’t seem to take kindly to anything he had to say when tears were involved. Crying people scared him. Emotions were messy and complicated and he didn’t know what to do with them. Studying psychology could only get him so far.

Fidds was crying now. Some kind of dam had burst and he was properly crying. Gasping wheezing sobs. Dripping with saline and mucus. Redfaced as loud unflattering sounds escaped him.

Ford didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to fix this. Poison he could cure, broken bones he could set. He didn’t know how to mend a broken soul.

“It’s ok.” Ford said it though he wasn’t confident he believed it. He hoped if he said it enough he could convince the both of them it was true. Whatever this emotional outburst was it was a side effect of the gremloblin. It would pass. Fidds just needed time to rest, to recover. He’d be alright. Ford had to keep telling himself that.

Ford lifted Fidd upright on the couch and crawled into the seat beside him. Supporting his friend by his shoulders as the wailing man struggled to hold himself upright.

“I’ve got you.” Ford reassured him. “I’m here.”

Ford stretched out on the narrow futon and pulled Fidds over top of him. Letting him rest on his chest and soak his shirt in his tears. He wrapped his arms around his friend protectively. Holding him close and resting his chin atop Fidds head. “I’m here.” He repeated. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Ford took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Focusing on his heartbeat and slowing it to a crawl. He held Fidds head, gently pressing his ear to his chest. Hoping the slow thump of his heart and the even rise and fall of his breathing would help soothe Fiddleford. It was a simple animalistic strategy but it was the only thing Ford could think to do. Slowly Fiddleford’s sobs began to wane. The shaking calmed. His tense body grew limp as he was lulled to sleep. 

WHO IS USING THIS

AN APP??? THEY HAVE A FUNCTIONING WEBSITE

Disclaimer: yes I know the movie is about generational trauma within Latin American culture and I am taking that into account. But I also know this (like all types of trauma) effect mental health GREATLY. Bruno also shows clear ND traits whether that be Autism, ADHD, etc… And are underrepresented in Latin American communities. If you disagree that is fine! But I never intend to ignore the culture in any way. When it comes to the OCD stuff, please know that I am not trying to depict superstition and the condition as being the same thing. Someone can be superstitious and not have OCD and vise-versa. OCD is a complex condition that can become disruptive to someone’s life while a superstition is a type of belief or practice. 

Another thing is that half of these will get pretty heavy in nature since trauma, OCD, depression, etc… Are real issues meant to be taken seriously. I will refrain from sharing headcanons that discuss more triggering subject matter ❤️

Alright here we go. 💚 I’ll start with the I guess, lighter ones?

I cannot remember who had this first one originally but I loved it. It’s basically an idea where Bruno likes tight hugs and deep pressure. So whenever he’s around people and feels overwhelmed his sisters will hug him really tight to ground him. (Over the years they’ve gotten better at recognzing his behavoiral changes since he has a hard time communicating when he’s experiencing overload or severe anxiety, even Alma has begun doing this) And of course he’ll only let specific people hug him like that. In the rare occasion that he isn’t around them in the village, he’ll either run back home or of course have his rats with him. His rats are wonderful comfort animals. Credit to the person who came up with the deep pressure idea!

Along with the deep pressure theme, Mirabel had this idea for a “cuddle blanket” (or, a weighted blanket) for Bruno. So, the grandkids banded together to help her make it, adding in something special from each of them. Isabela grew Lamb’s Ear and Mullien leaves on the outside of it to give it differing textures (those leaves are EXTREMELY soft, it’s insane). There also little pockets on the sides for his rats to climb in. 

When the triplets were children, Bruno would write little messages in wet sand when he couldn’t verbalize what he needed. Pepa started doing this too when she’d give someone the silent treatment XD. 

This is probably surprising to no one but Bruno has a drawer full of salt containers. 

When Bruno returned, he still felt like an intruder so he would just stay in his tower. His sisters or Mirabel had to practically beg him to get out and be with the family.

He always had a fascination with hourglasses even before he got his gift, when he got his tower it came with a random array of hourglasses, one in particular would detect how much time was left until a certain prophecy was fufilled.

When the triples were younger, Bruno had a habit of tapping on of his sisters’ arm. It didn’t always mean he was nervous, it was just a soothing thing. He still does it occasionally. 

Still to do this day, Bruno will occasionally bury himself in the sand of his tower. 

Bruno either makes too much eye contact, or none at all. Literally, the “seeing your dreams” thing derived from him unknowingly staring at someone.

Bruno’s knowledge of theatre allowed him bond a lot with Camilo, and make him WAY less scared of him.

Sometimes in visions, Bruno will watch movies or plays that haven’t even happened yet and unintentionally spoil the details because he gets so excited. 😂

Sometimes on really bad depression days, the grandkids will play out telenovelas for him so he doesn’t have to get up and force any energy. 

Speaking of depression, since Pepa knows how deep and debilitating emotions can get, she tries her best to get Bruno to vent his feelings (When you know.. he wants to and is willing). This has been a great way to rekindle their sibling relationship, and Julieta, being the nurturer that she is, she does whatever she can to comfort them. There were times where all them have started crying. 

Alma has the hardest time communicating so sometimes she will just go into Bruno’s room just to be there to let him know that she cares about him. 

Bruno adopted some mannerisms that resemble his rats 🐀

Alright, now for the more agnsty ones.

Bruno absolutely despises crowds, before he left, riots would ensue around him made up of angry villagers and he would just shut down, unable to react. To try and distract them, Isabela would swing around on her vine and grow vibrant flowers. Being just a young child, she said she didn’t mind doing it but Bruno hated for her to even be around when it happened, along with any of the other grandkids. They were all too young to witness angry mobs, and he didn’t know how to handle them at all. 

There have been times where Bruno will be up all night sprinkling salt between the tiles of Casita and knocking on door frames. 

Okay so you know how I said he has a collection of hourglasses? Yeah well one day after having an argument with Alma over the townspeople and his gift, he broke one of those hourglasses in anger. What makes matters worse is that it was the large one tied to his power. Luckily, it gradually repaired itself. 

In the first few years of Bruno having his gift, he would cry whenever he had visions because he would have a really hard time processing everything that was going on, like the sights, sounds, bodily sensations, etc.. It was a lot to handle sensory wise, on top of him being a child. 

On the topic of his visions being overwhelming, there were times where Bruno would cause himself to bleed from scratching his eyes so hard, luckily he hasn’t blinded himself (well… yet any way).

Sadly there are things Julieta’s food can’t heal, like Bruno’s vision headaches and the recurring bruises on his knuckles. 

Bruno has a really bad habit of hitting himself in the head and puling his hair. His rats are fortunately able to prevent him from doing this by distracting him. 

Bruno has a very vague idea of what he looks like because of his eisoptrophobia (or spectrophobia, fear of mirrors). He only knows from Camilo or distorted reflections in glass or porcelian. His family has been trying to help ease his anxiety with gradual success. 

There are times where Bruno will be so disoriented from a vision or dream he had that he will have severe derealization for a few days. (A state of feeling detached from yourself and or your surroundings or feeling like things aren’t real). 

After Pedro died, Alma became hypervigilant and grew more superstitious for a few years, so she often blames herself for Bruno’s ecessive superstitiousness and anxiety. (She blames herself for so many things…)

more messier doodles. also pepa tooth gap undercut