Reality Is Stranger Than Fiction

Science & Faith (The Script)

Ford leans heavily against your shoulder. He's been doing so since you'd defeated Bill, not leaving your side, even as the twins and Soos worked to restore Stan's memory. When they'd sent out Soos for pizza, you excused yourself, telling Dipper and Mabel to come to grab the two of you when food was here.

Carefully, you plodded your way up to Ford's room, letting the door creak open. The moment you're out of eyesight of the twins, Ford slumps against you, his legs buckling underneath himself.

"Ford! Woah! Breath, come on, breath," you ramble, guiding him over to the couch carefully as his breathing rapid turns shallow.

"Sorry... (Y/N)... my legs don't seem to want to cooperate anymore," he confesses, slumping back against the couch.

"... what did he do?" you ask tentatively, awkwardly standing next to the couch, unsure if you should sit down or grab something.

Ford hangs his head down, dropping your gaze.

"Too much..." he admits with a shaking breath, clipped at the edges.

"... let's get you out of your jacket and check," you whisper, settling down on the couch next to him.

He allows you to carefully slip his jacket off of his shoulders, followed by lifting his sweater over his head. You don't have to remove his shirt to see the shattered remains of electricity under his skin, but you do have to remove his shirt to treat him. You set all three articles within his reach, standing up from the couch.

"Don't move," you instruct him, quickly darting off to the bathroom to grab the medical kit and cream.

Stepping back in the room, he seemed to have half-listened. His pants are sitting next to him, with a blanket across his legs. You settle back down next to him on the couch, setting the first aid kit on the coffee table.

You say nothing as you carefully check over his body for injuries. It seems it's most concentrated in the electrical scars under his skin, and the burned skin around his wrists and neck. You had your fair share of injuries from Weirdmagedon, but none as serious as these.

You stand up once more, carefully putting his arm over your shoulder.

"Sorry, Ford. I know you're comfortable but we need to get you cleaned off first."

He nods his head in agreement, stumbling with you as you carefully enter the bathroom. You let him sit down in the shower, keeping his boxers on, as you discard your hoodie into the laundry basket nearby. You're honestly surprised that the water still works, considering the state of the house, though you suppose you should stop questioning what you don't understand.

As you turn on the water, letting it warm up first before turning it to run in Ford's direction, you catch him staring at your shirt. A sudden realization hits you when you remember you're still wearing his shirt. You pretend not to notice as he watches you while you grab the shampoo.

You're rinsing off his hair, about to reach for the soap, when a sudden burst of strength hits him and he tugs you onto your ass in the shower.

"Ford!" you yelp as he takes the showerhead from you.

"Shirt. Pants. Come on, you're just as dirty as I am," Ford mumbles, undoing your bun.

"I - er - right," you mutter, stripping out of his shirt and your pants, tossing them into the laundry basket nearby.

He seems quite satisfied with this, carefully dampening your hair and running shampoo through it. The two of you take turns, reaching the spots that the other couldn't, as you wash off the chaos from your skin. He hisses each time your fingers ghost his injuries, and each moment that passes you find a new one. A large purple bruise blossoming on his lower back. Scrapes down his arms and legs. Bruises on his hands. You decide if he wants to tell you, he can, but he doesn't have to.