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Chapter Text

Doctor Outis had become accustomed to dangerous and violent patients. By necessity, she had come to trust in the delicate immunity afforded her by being the only doctor near the Weirdness Bubble who was willing to put up with Cipher Loyalists and their ethical bankruptcy. In other words, she just assumed that no matter what they did, they wouldn't destroy her practice, her body, or her mind.

That's why her fight or flight responses were a little screwy. Today was the day usually reserved for administrative work. She wasn't supposed to have patients unless it was a medical emergency. If she had patients, they definitely weren't supposed to be in her record room. When she turned on the light, though, and caught a tall, greyish figure from the corner of her eye, she just sighed.

"Please remain in the waiting room until I can help you," she said. She didn't bother to check and see if it had a weapon. If today was the day she died, then so be it.

"Doctor Outis," the figure said.

"Correct. Please wait in the waiting room."

"I am not the patient."

"Then I will see the patient whenever I've had my coffee. Unless they're in danger of bleeding out?"

The figure - she finally looked directly at them; they were doing a passable job of imitating a human, but probably were not one - did not respond immediately. Their face didn't show any emotion whatsoever. It would have been unnerving decades ago before she began working with the most insane people you could find outside of prisons and mental institutions. As it was, Doctor Outis had come to see serial killers, compulsive liars, egomaniacs, and con artists as no different from any other patient.

She was unphased by the silent treatment. She was unphased by most things.

"Nothing like that," the figure said at last.

"Then please," she replied. "I have work to do."

The figure seemed to do some mental calculations, and then began speaking in quick, measured sentences, like a news anchor or an automated system.

"Doctor Outis, myself and my peers require your assistance with an urgent matter that we believe only you can assist with. If you choose to help us, there will be permanent implications for yourself, your race, and at least one of your patients. We have reason to believe that you will want to assist us. However, the choice is yours, and if you choose to come with me, you will most likely never return to this region of space again."

That caught her attention. "Are you going to tell me what this urgent matter is?"

"No. If you know, your life will be in severe danger. If you help me in any way, your life will most likely be forfeit." They cocked their head. "The fact I have visited at all means you are probably alread in danger, but unfortunately, there was no way to offer you a choice without exposing you to risk."

Any other sane and rational human being would flatly say no. This probably-alien stranger had just said 'Come with me on a mysterious mission and you will never return again.'

Doctor Outis had built a career on the fact that she was not like any other human.

The last time Outis had received an offer like this, it hadn't been presented as much of a choice. That had been the day she became the primary care physician for Bill Cipher, his loyalists, and his... his so-called pet, the highly intelligent adult human man who he treated worse than a beaten dog.

When word got out (despite her best efforts) what sort of political demographic her clientelle was composed of, she had lost quite a lot of friends. She didn't have much reason to stay anymore.

Of course, 'no reason to stay' isn't the same as 'good reason to leave.' That's where her screwy sense of danger came in.

"Can you guarantee my safety if I leave?" she said.

"Very nearly," the figure said. She appreciated their frankness.

"I'll come."

"You'll want your medical records."

That surprised her. If she was leaving her entire practice behind, then those records should probably go to whoever acquired her practice next - there were a few candidates nearly as foolhardy as her who would probably purchase her practice if she no longer occupied it. She didn't argue, though.

"Do you have a way I can carry my computer?"

The figure glanced around and pointed to a rolling file box she only rarely had to pull out. "I'll do the heavy lifting for you," they said.

"Alright then."

"You'll want paper records too."

Outis scrunched up her nose. That was deeply annoying. "Do you want to carry my entire filing cabinet?"

"You won't need all of them," they said.

"Alright. Which ones?"

They didn't respond.

"I can't just grab files at random."

The figure did emote this time. They looked... troubled.

"If I tell you," they said, "we will need to leave very very quickly. And you will no longer have the opportunity to change your mind."

Outis sighed. "I've already agreed, haven't I?"

The figure nodded. "I have to do some magic. Please turn all of the lights off."

At the mention of magic, Outis's heart began to pound in her chest. She knew that this figure was an alien. Magic, though, meant a category of being that was very dangerous indeed.

She turned the top light off, the only one that had been on to begin with. The room was still bright with morning sunlight.

The creature - because it most certainly was not human - said, "I need to hold your hand. Otherwise you won't be able to see."

Dread pooled in her stomach, but she didn't argue. She reached out. Only now did she start to think of the patients who really did need her, who she'd be leaving behind. Mrs. Kramer, who would be on hospice care soon, and who had worked with Outis exclusively for a decade now; the Cipher loyalists who didn't have anyone else; little Jonathan, a seven year old with severe anxiety who would only see her.

Too late now. Far too late.

The creature said something unparsable. Then the whole world went dark, and somehow she could still see.

The first thing she noticed was that the creature's eyes had gone pitch black. The second thing she noticed was that - well. So had all of the other eyes.

There was a pain chart on the wall. The cartoon faces had blacked out eyes. There was a photo of herself with her mother from three years ago; those eyes were blacked out. There was a spot on the wood grain of her desk that was vaguely eye shaped, and that was a big inky black spot. There was no sunlight; the windows were dark.

There was a mirror on the wall, a little decorative thing. She could see herself in it. Her own eyes glowed.

"Please retrieve all paper records for Doctor Stanford Filbrick Pines," the creature said quietly.

At that, Doctor Outis felt lightheaded with terror.

She gently pulled her hand away; the creature let go of it.

If they had Doctor Pines, then he was in danger. He was always in danger. Doctor Pines wasn't safe with anyone, not after what he'd had a hand in bringing about.

If they had Doctor Pines, than she was in even more danger. Bill would punish Pines for leaving, whether it was of his own volition or not; but as for her, he would tear her organs out and hang them on trees all across the Western Seaboard.

Her decision had already been made before she ever took this creature's hand, though. Only the stakes had changed.

Chapter Text

It was very, very obvious that Doctor Outis was being lead to a prison.

"If you're hoping I can keep your prisoner alive while you torture him, you'll find I'm quite willing to make myself a problem," she said. The calm, half-insane professionalism that usually dictated her actions had been replaced with a rising fury. She didn't care about threats to her person, but she was damn tired of people abusing her patients.

"Please don't lecture me on the ethical implications of this situation, I assure you we're not blind to how fucked it all is," the creature said. Its face was visibly pained.

"So you care about ethics," Outis said, not quite keeping the sarcasm out of her voice. (She'd been dealing with Bill for a long time, but she couldn't exactly take her bitterness out on him. Part of her was glad for a scapegoat.)

"Sometimes you just have to pretend ethics doesn't apply to you for the sake of keeping people alive," it said.

Outis opened her mouth to say something sharp.

She couldn't. Those words could have come out of her own mouth.

The hallway was long. The cells were mostly empty. Outis had no clue what planet they were on, if any.

For the first time, Outis said: "Do you have a name or a gender?"

The creature considered this. "Vee," it said. "You may refer to me as female."

Most aliens who didn't have a gender would use male clothes, names, and pronouns so as to take advantage of the greater social privileges these attributes provided. Based on appearance alone, Vee didn't look like an exception. It wasn't kind of her, but Outis speculated that Vee was just using Outis's gender as a way of making a connection.

It didn't matter either way. If Vee wanted to be a 'she,' it didn't make any difference to Outis.

Vee finally stopped at a locked door and punched in a complicated code. As soon as she opened the door, there was shouting.

"My Muse will tear you limb from limb for this, good god you had better beg him to hand you over to me because if you beg for mercy I might at least consider granting it, you worthless wastes of carbon!!"

Vee sighed.

The room had two or three other human-like figures in it, and in the back, there was a cell locked behind steel laticework.

Doctor Pines was covered in blood. He was usually covered in blood. This time it looked self-inflicted. His face was twisted in pure rage, teeth barred, hands clawed like he could tear out of the cage with just his fingernails - which were noticeably torn to shreds from trying to do just that. His shirt was torn to pieces too, leaving him with just his pants. Outis had never seen him without his All-Seeing Eye jewelry.

When Outis walked in, his eyes went wide. His jaw fell slack. "Oh no," he said. "Not you too."

"Doctor Pines?" she said. She was already scanning his body for the usual injuries. She didn't see much that wasn't best explained by Cipher himself.

"Let her GO," he screamed. The creatures didn't flinch, except for Vee. Outis suspected the others were acclimated to the volume.

"We brought Doctor Outis here to take care of you," Vee said calmly. "We thought you would be more comfortable with a doctor who you already trust."

"How dare you drag her into this," Doctor Pines snarled. "She's innocent! She has done nothing but care for people who need her help! How- how dare you!"

Outis chose not to correct him, to say that she was here of her own volition.

"Will you allow her to examine you?" Vee asked.

Doctor Pines was shaking. His face was ashen. His eyes were pained.

He swallowed. Then, he fell to his knees, trembling like a frightened dog.

"Please get me some supplies and a blanket," Outis said, medical instincts kicking in. "I think he's going into shock."

"We are going to let her into your cell," one of the other creatures said. "Please do not attempt to break out."

Pines sobbed into his hand. Tears were already running down his cheeks. Outis's skin was tingling. She was already exhausted from the emotional roller coaster of today, but it was definitely nothing compared to what Doctor Pines was going through. She didn't say a word as she was let in. He didn't rush the door.

She knelt beside him and put a hand on his shoulder.

That's when she noticed his back. His tattoo had been modified. The whole thing was now a big, inky black splotch.

She glanced at his wrists - raw from handcuffs. She hadn't spared it a second glance before; by the time he ended up in her office, he usually had bloody wrists, but she realized now that these were thinner and sharper than the marks Bill usually left.

Vee's people had almost certainly had to restrain him.

'Please don't lecture me on the ethical implications of this situation,' Vee had said.

Yes. Yes, this was fucked.

It took Doctor Outis over an hour to do a basic physical, because half of that time was spent doing psychiatric first aid and most of the rest was damage control. Her last appointment with Doctor Pines hadn't been very long ago, and he had been grievously injured. The creatures who caught him had forcibly covered the All-Seeing Eye tattoo on his back. Outis didn't blame them, but it made her job harder. Doctor Pines had made things worse in his struggles.

One of Vee's peers received a basic report with grim regret. Outis found she didn't have the time or energy for doctor-patient confidentiality.

"We had no idea he was that bad off," he said. (He went by Em; Outis was already bracing herself for some an annoying naming convention in her new workplace.) "We didn't want to drug him, but... maybe that would have been better."

"Why did you kidnap him at all?" Outis asked.

Em made a face. "Bill Cipher isn't only a threat to humans," he said. "We need to keep him from popping that bubble. Doctor Stanford Pines is his best chance of succeeding."

"Besides," Vee said, "some of our number thought it was the kindest thing we could do for him."

Outis found she couldn't argue with that logic.

"He hasn't eaten a normal human diet in many years," Outis said. "That's our first order of business."

"He's refusing food," Vee said. "He doesn't trust us. He's convinced we'll poison him."

"As if we couldn't do that anyway," Em grumbled.

"I might be able to talk some sense into him," Outis said quietly, "but don't blame me if it doesn't work."

Chapter Text

Irene stirred from sleep, then buried her face in the pillow and gave it another go.

She woke up again what was most likely only a few minutes later. She opened her eyes and growled in frustration at the emptiness of the room.

Sleep was not easy in this place. It was the silence: this place, whatever it was, had far too much empty space. Irene had experienced a silence like this exactly once: in undergrad, as the only one staying in the dorm over a break, in the middle of a snowstorm that locked her in, during a forty-minute interval when the power went out. It reminded her of The Shining. Places this big were not meant to be this empty.

For a third time, someone knocked politely at the door. Only then did Irene realize she had woken up for a reason.

There was a button on the wall, an intercom. She flailed blindly until she found it. She hit the button.

"Yes?" she croaked. Then she reached out her other arm to find the water she kept by her bedside.

"He's behaving erratically." It was Kay. They-them. Guard duty. "We believe he's at serious risk of injuring himself."

Irene took a deep breath, then let it out. She wasn't going to have a guaranteed full night's sleep for a very long time, was she?

"Let me get dressed."

Kay didn't speak as the two of them walked down the hall.

"Any broken skin?" Irene asked.

"Yes," Kay replied. "We... We had to restrain him."

Irene took a deep breath to hold back a swear. Poor Kay didn't like this any more than she did.

Irene braced herself, but even so, the noise hit her like a shovel of dirt to the face as soon as the door opened.

"-I will tear your lungs from your bodies, you think you won't regret this? I will make you resent the day you were born before I'm done with you -"

Despite the insults, his voice was high. Stringy. He wasn't angry, he was panicking.

Irene couldn't possibly blame him. They had put him in a straight jacket.

As soon as she walked in his eyes locked on her with a wild, desperate expression.

"Doctor! Doctor, please help me, please-- I- I'm lost, I need him, please."

Irene felt sick. There was a spot of blood on his chest, fingerprints on his face. She didn't fail to notice the blood marks on the wall: a shaky, smeared pair of lines forming an acute angle. She had her theories about why they had resorted to restraints.

Ford was whispering now: 'please, Doctor, please, please,' over and over and over again, a mantra, a prayer.

The past two times they had done this, he had repeated nothing but 'I love you, my muse.'

The implications made her more nauseous.

Kay's partner, whose name Irene did not know, opened up the cell door. Irene stepped inside. Ford shuffled closer on his knees, meeting her, pressing his forehead against her shin. He was like a huge dog, desperate for affection, big thick skull the only way he had to seek it.

Irene had to take a deep breath and let it out.

She would not throw up.

Irene remembered the start of the apocalypse.

She had been in undergrad. None of them knew if they'd survive to graduation.

Classes had continued, as had residencies, internships, and job fairs. It's amazing how the balance of life during the end of the world is simply boring. Irene's career had grown with the Bubble, an unnatural force perpetually on the horizon as she gained confidence and experience.

Everyone lost friends to it. Everyone had suffered. It stood there, a weather phenomenon that hated humans on a personal level.

When Irene had moved as close to the Pacific Northwest as stable geography allowed, it was an act of rebellion against the universe itself - and maybe just a little bit of a suicide attempt. Irene didn't want to survive with that bone-deep fear inside of her. She would either be killed by Bill Cipher's war machine, or not. Fear was useless. She had expected the-universe-itself to respond to her rebellion in a more poetically appropriate way. It was an act of hubris, wasn't it? Wasn't the appropriate punishment to hubris supposed to be death? There were a lot of epics about that.

But, no. Her fate was worse by the standards of an idealistic young doctor still convinced that she would profit from doing the right thing. Doctor Irene Outis Oleander had become pragmatic.

"What is the best treatment plan?" Kay had the gall to ask when Doctor Pines's chest was disinfected and all of the biohazard cleaned away.

"Do you want my real answer, Mx. Kay," said Irene, "or a realistic one?"

Kay pursed their lips and said nothing.

Irene was frustrated and angry. Despite popular belief, medicine wasn't actually a career that ran on passion and good will. You had to take the day-to-day routine in stride. That included more haggling with insurance and cursing the latest opioid laws than saving lives and healing people. She was used to at least having the satisfaction of a job well done, though - since she was good at her job.

"Well, first of all," Irene snapped, "restraining a patient like that is a human rights violation under any circumstances, and the trauma is most likely exacerbating his symptoms. Self-harm is a serious mental health symptom and he needs a psychiatrist and support from his loved ones, not isolation in a cell. You've left him completely without mental stimulation or enrichment, you've violated his bodily autonomy six ways to Sunday, you've removed all of his personal possessions and comfort objects, you've locked him in a prison cell manifestly not designed for humans, and- Oh! Right! You've kidnapped him."

Kay stared somewhere past Irene with a stony expression. Irene remembered her thought on the way over - they don't like this any more than I do - and realized that these aliens were the ones being awfully patient with her.

Irene took a shaky breath. She needed a spa day. Or to take up some sort of inadvisable substance problem.

"And the only thing we could possibly do to make things worse," Irene conceded softly, "is stop."

"I'm sorry, Doctor Oleander," Kay whispered. If Irene didn't know better, she'd think she had really hurt their feelings.

Irene straightened out her cuffs and collar. She had spent most of the past forty minutes awkwardly cuddling a grown man in the midst of a mental breakdown.

"I'm sorry for losing my temper," she said. "None of this is your fault. Or mine."

"If he continues to be an ally to Cipher, then do we just have to give up on treating him kindly?" Kay asked.

That was a very cruel question. Cutting, in fact; piercing. It was the exact question that Irene had been desperately trying not to think about since she'd arrived at this hellhole.

"I took an oath against medical nihilism," she responded simply. She had also taken an oath to prevent disease, maintain patient confidentiality, and above all do no harm, but sometimes you have to put ethics aside for a few minutes in the name of keeping people alive.

Chapter Text

When Irene first met Stanford Pines, he was feverish and unlucid. He had been experiencing internal hemorrhaging so severe that it was quite literally a miracle that he was alive. His god had divinely intervened to keep him from bleeding out, to the point where Irene had to lance his abdomen and drain excess blood to relieve pressure.

It had been horrific, but it had also been a medical marvel. Irene had felt grudging admiration for the divine being that so protected its chosen ones from the jaws of death.

When Irene next met Stanford Pines, he had filled any space allotted to small talk gushing about Bill Cipher with the breathless enthusiasm of a fanatic. That made sense, of course, like it made sense that the Pope was a fan of Jesus Christ. That appointment had been a simple in and out affair: he'd eaten something he really shouldn't have, and needed a simple praziquantel regime. He had been very polite and friendly as he left.

"It's good to see you again," he had said.

Irene had laughed. "Don't come back too soon," she replied, a common enough joke from doctors. It had made him upset, though, and she'd had to backtrack and assure him that she only meant for him to take care of himself.

The third time he came in, he had a bone marrow infection because a fractured ulna had gone untreated for weeks and that was when Doctor Irene Oleander began to realize that something was very very very wrong.

"How did this happen?"
"My muse broke it."
"Why wasn't it set?"
"Oh, he was annoyed at me and told me not to. I think after that he forgot."

Bill forgot. He forgot.

Irene kept asking probing questions, as many as she could stomach, and Ford's placid smile never dropped from his face.

There was quite a lot of work to be done on this injury, so she had offered him tea or coffee, and the rapturous look on his face when he accepted plagued her dreams. She tried to tell herself that it was just because trade across the Weirdness Barrier was difficult, and coffee was a luxury item inside.

The conference room where Vee and Irene were working felt, like all the rest of this place, too big for comfort. It was designed with a sort of practical luxury in mind, the ceiling high and the walls set with gentle geometric relief. It had probably been designed for something, but now it just felt like a hotel in the off-season.

Their anxiety seemed to echo off the walls. The shuffle of paper and pen, the knock of coffee mugs on the table, and Irene's foot-tapping carried it, small sounds in a big empty room which was clearly designed to hold hundreds.

"The presence of ink products won't be a problem if we can get the barrier in place," Vee said with a frown. "But this is just pulling us back to the original problem."

"Preventing a man who was once one of the brightest minds on the planet from drawing a triangle," Irene agreed. Vee had volunteered to be Irene's point of contact for patient well-being. Irene called it that because it made it feel like she was at work. She missed work desperately.

"Honestly, the supervision problem is giving us the most trouble," Vee said. "You've talked about the human right to privacy and bodily autonomy, but... literally every other concession we make comes with the caveat that we have to supervise him."

Irene drew little circles over and over again on her notebook paper. She was supposed to be taking notes but they had run out of ideas a while ago. "Do you know what's most upsetting about this to me, as... as someone who he more or less considers a friend?"

"What is that?"

"We've talked about human rights, but he doesn't want those. The instant we give him anything, he is going to use it to return as much power over himself as he can to Bill." Irene dropped her pencil. She took off her glasses and rubbed the sore spot on her nose. "I fully respect that your people wanted a human consultant in for harm reduction, but this isn't even in the same ballpark as a normal human healthcare situation."

She stared down at her little latice of circles and her scratchy notes. She sighed.

"There's a thing humans like to joke about. We sometimes talk about extreme situations that put strain on your morality: as a doctor, would you kill one healthy person to save ten lives with their organs? If you saw a trolley on a track headed to kill three people, but by pulling a lever to switch its tracks you would guarantee the death of a different person, would you do it? We make fun of those problems a lot. After all, nobody is ever actually in these situations. They're only supposed to exist in ethics classes."

Vee was quiet for a moment, presumably digesting what Irene had said. Then she asked: "Is this putting undue psychological strain on you, Doctor Oleander?"

Irene huffed a laugh. "Yes. But so did the day a chaos god started to destroy my planet.

The huge room felt so quiet when all the chatter and shuffling stopped. Irene was so tired. She had requested a sunlamp be installed in the lounge where she did recreation, but she missed the constant half-twilight of her home by the Weirdness Bubble. At least there was wind there.

"Your species has my deepest sympathy for what you've endured," Vee said quietly.

Vee's people were not very affective, but even so, the depth of emotion in that sentence made Irene look up. She hadn't had cause to think about Earth from the perspective of aliens before. She knew she got funny looks in international pet fairs and markets, but she had never thought about what it might look like to others - an interdimensional tornado had touched down right in her cosmic neighborhood, and here she was doing her best to live a normal life.

"Oh - speaking of," Vee said, "do you mind a brief change in topic?"

"I'd welcome it."

"I hope this doesn't cause you more stress." Vee frowned; she hated imposing on Irene, which Irene tried to appreciate. "But - well. Word is getting out that we have a human doctor in the facility, and... we've gotten some calls. Mostly crews from various planets who have one or two token human engineers or refugees. Would you-"

Irene literally jumped out of her chair. "Please let me treat them," Irene said before Vee had even finished her sentence.

Vee went still with shock.

"I'm going stir crazy. I need a medical practice. Please, tell me what space you can allocate for me to set up an office-"

"We have no shortage of space, surely you've realized that," Vee said. "I'll talk to the others."

Ford would only take meals if Irene made them for him.

(Well. Technically, she just had to make a convincing show. On her first night here, though, lying in bed and staring at nothing, she had sworn to herself to never ever lie to Doctor Pines again.)

If Irene truly had her way, she would give him access to a kitchen facility and teach him to prepare his own meals. But that... wasn't an option. Even if their hosts allowed it, it would only make things worse.

Irene wasn't a fan of the way Ford was looking at her these days.

Hanging on her every word.

Desperate for even the tiniest attention.

She also hated herself for the way she was about to take advantage of it. But, well. He didn't want his autonomy anyway.

"Doctor Pines?" she said. She placed one hand against the bars.

He wasted no time pressing his own hands - both of them - so that his fingertips could feel her skin. He stayed on his knees and stared up at her like a saint gazing upon the face of the Virgin Mary.

"Yes, Doctor?" he said.

The relationship was creepy, but the actual things she had to say were reasonable enough. "I'd like to take you out of your cell for a while," she said. "I thought it would be nice to have a real dinner together in the lounge."

His eyes went wide. He wanted it. But his lips pursed as his instinces kicked in, and before he even said it she was repeating it in her head:

"I don't want to displease my Muse."

"Nothing will be different about the food itself," Irene said. "You said it was fine as long as I made it, yes?" Ford was absolutely terrified that they would give him... well. Antipsychotics, or something. Something that might snap him out of it.

His eyes darted around a bit. He wasn't looking at anything. He wasn't thinking. He was just dissociating again, which happened about every five minutes when he wasn't actively having a panic attack.

"It'll be a nice treat, I think," Irene offered, feeling absolutely disgusted with herself while she said it.

Cautiously, he began to look hopeful. He couldn't do altruism. He couldn't accept altruism. But he could accept conditions:

"I just need you to promise that you'll be good for me."

His breath quickened. Irene was ninety percent certain he was absolutely terrified when she said things like that.

But terrified was the closest thing Ford got to relaxed. He smiled placidly up at her. His eyes watered with tears of gratitude.

"Of course, Doctor," he whispered. "Thank you, Doctor."