Oneshots- Book 1

Bitter

A/N: It takes place before the finale. It's a Ford drabble I wrote a while back.

He woke up again, a harrowing nightmare summoning him into the waking world. The details of it were small, but lasting in his mind. This had been the third time the nightmares had come. Ford feared he was losing his sanity, much like he did thirty years ago. He looked down at his trembling, sweaty, six fingered hands and clenched them into fists. Perhaps he'd already lost it. He had to soldier on, no matter how much Bill haunted him. He hunkered back down into the couch where he slept, although he had no intention of falling back asleep.

The sounds of his family in the kitchen indicated that it was morning. He sat up, running a hand through his gray hair. Showtime. He put on his red turtleneck sweater and trench coat. The heat may have been exhausting, but it was the only thing to cover up his numerous scars. He stepped into the hallway, noting the details of his house that Stanley added to it. Although he'd never admit it, he enjoyed the addends Stanley put in.

"Morning, Ford," Dipper said, a smile across his face.

"Good morning, Dipper. Mabel." He sat down across from them, purposely ignoring his twin brother next to him.

"So Grunkle Ford," Mabel said, gaining his attention. "today's the Men In Black marathon! Are you still going to watch with us, like you said you would?"

"Still am," Ford reassured. He was actually still on the fence about it, but chose to spare Mabel of that knowledge.

"Great Uncle Ford, it's almost 98 degrees outside. You're still wearing that trenchcoat and sweater? Doesn't that heat overwhelm you?"

"It used to, but now I have a layer of coolant material that regulates my body temperature under my sweater." Ford was lying. The heat overwhelmed him and it was one of the reasons he was anxiously waiting for fall.

Ford drank the coffee he made for himself, knowing it wouldn't help the heat he already felt. In fact, Ford despised coffee. He let the bitterly awful taste of the coffee beans pass over his tongue and down his throat, followed by a strangely soft pain in his stomach. He hadn't eaten or drank anything like this for the past 30 years.
The twins and Stan ate in silence. Stan may have been avoiding eye contact with him, but he was definitely eyeing him. Ford knew the sensation of being watched all too well. This was definitely it. The tension between him and Ford was too difficult to ignore. He stood up and left the room to retreat to his bedroom.