"Both." Ford replies flatly, before glancing away briefly to look down at his hands. God, but he really needs to stop biting his nails. Out of all his stress-induced bad habits, he dislikes that one the most, if only because it makes his hands even more unsightly than they already are.

He looks back to Stan after a moment, his fingers curling as he hides his nails against his palms. "Bill - he's not from this plane of existence. He has no dominion in our world, which is why he needs pawns, people he can manipulate or outright possess in order to accomplish anything on our side."

A sigh works its way up from his lungs, and his shoulders deflate a bit. Somehow, he manages to resist the urge to feel the metal plate in his head just to make sure it's still there.

"You already know he made one of me, but what you don't know is how close I came to giving him exactly what he wanted."

He swallows, his eyes falling back to his hands. He's not sure when he uncurled his fingers and started picking at the lint on his sleeve, but boy howdy that sure is what he's doing.

"...I made a portal, Stan. I broke every known lawn of physics and tore a hole in the very fabric of reality so that monster could crawl through it. And he nearly did. If I didn't-- if we hadn't found out where that portal really lead, if I didn't listen to Fiddleford and shut the damn thing down, we'd all be--"

He trails off, his throat suddenly tight. He swallows a few times, blinks his eyes until they feel a little less wet, then clears his throat and tries again.

"...Who'd have thought just one mistake could end the entire world, huh?"