Work Text:
The room is cold and white and kind of gives the feel of a hospital room, which is probably what the designers had in mind. It's very hard to get something this accurate without actively looking at a reference, so Bill admires the effort. He also hates it to no end. But that's not the main focus.
"Okay, so I keep having this recurring dream. Well, I can only call it a dream, it's a hallucination I get when I close my eyes for too long, so. Similar thing, I guess. I dunno if I'd call what I do falling asleep, though. This place is weird."
"MMM. ANYWAY?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm getting there, calm yourself. So, uh, in this dream, I'm back home-"
"WHICH HOME? YOU'RE INFAMOUSLY KNOWN FOR HAVING MULTIPLE PLACES YOU CAN CALL YOUR OWN."
Bill glares at his therapist. This place only lets the best of the best get anywhere near him, which, honestly, just fueled his ego the first time he heard that was the case. The entity they've brought in to study him is infamous themselves - they're the face of the Theraprism, after all, the one with the calm voice and all the experience and the fame. Bill has come into contact with some of the other therapists before, and he's fairly sure they're the only ones of thousands of "therapists" to have the aforementioned experience.
The Axolotl taps their clipboard with their pencil and makes an expression that can only be described as a condescending smile. His eye narrows even more, but he continues.
"Euclydia," he deadpans. The therapist shows a miniature sign of surprise, having had problems getting their patient to talk about his home dimension in the past. "Look, I won't tell you about the bloody dream if you keep acting like that!"
"LIKE WHAT?" they ask innocently.
Bill makes a strangled noise in the back of his nonexistent throat. "I don't know, all... sterile and... synonyms for sterile..."
"CLEAN? HYGIENIC?"
"More like barren. Or unable to produce," he quips.
"WELL THEN, I SUPPOSE I'LL HAVE TO STOP BEING INFERTILE. GO ON, THEN?"
"Put down the clipboard first."
"AFRAID I CAN'T. IT'S SURGICALLY ATTACHED TO MY HAND," Axy jokes, though there's no change in their tone, which is hardly indicative of whimsy.
"Ohhhhh, so you do have a sense of humour! Good on ya, bud, I thought you'd never get one." Gods, what Bill would give to have a glass of wine he could sip from right now. He's sure he looks so dignified with his legs crossed on a chaise lounge; all that's missing is the one alcoholic beverage that gives you the right to gossip about your family.
He hates this place. Common knowledge by now, of course, but he'd just like to clarify.
"I'LL PUT DOWN THE CLIPBOARD, BILL," the therapist says, doing just that before putting their stubby amphibious hands up in a gesture of surrender. "NOW, GO ON."
"Go on with what?" he says.
"TELLING ME ABOUT THE DREAM."
There's a beat where the buzzing of the blue crack that runs jaggedly through the patient's body seems to grow, and the light it emits becomes harsher. Though it doesn't show in his expression, Bill's trying to remember something. The Axolotl can recognise this now; the short-term memory loss, unfortunately, is not a new symptom.
They don't exactly know whether it's caused by the events that resulted in the infamous Armageddon of Dimension 46 (unlikely, Bill seems rather remorseless about everything that transpired there), whatever happened to his home dimension for him to be the last surviving member of his kind, some other trauma, or a mix of all three. Of course, the crack which runs down his middle seems to be very responsive to these lapses, so it could be caused by the Theraprism itself. The Axolotl thinks that unlikely, however, since there has not been a case of memory loss purely stemming from being in this place recorded in... well, ever.
But Bill Cipher is an unusual case. They wouldn't put it past him to make up an entirely new mental illness directly out of his ass and blame it all on the very place trying to help him get well.
He blinks once, the buzzing dulling to a low hum.
"Ergh... right. Dream."
Axy's picked up the clipboard again and is furiously writing something down. Bill doesn't know what they could be scribbling down - nothing happened in the last ten seconds or so as he tried to remember what the hell he was talking about before - but he has to say he doesn't particularly care. He doesn't tell them to put the blasted thing down this time.
"DREAM."
"Dream.
"Right. In this dream, I'm back home with my parents. They're talking about whatever they're talking about, but I'm not bothered about it. I'm a kid, and I'm more than happy to sit and watch the stars. You know, I'm glad that if nothing else, I can see the stars just outside this place. It's easier to forget my HORRIBLE AWFUL LOUSY ROTTEN situation when I can waste away the hours counting-"
"BILL. GO ON."
The patient sighs, clearly hesitating. The Axolotl is confident that he was going to say something important. Bill likes to deflect whenever they're close to figuring something out about him. It's one of his most infuriating traits.
"Okay. Well, I look up at all the constellations and I give them names for the shapes I can see in them. I do that for a while before my dad addresses me. He doesn't sound like he normally does, kind of awestruck instead, and keeps telling me that he can see the stars. And we just... talk about them."
Something about the way he says it sets the Axolotl's alarms off. It sounds like this surprised their patient when he experienced it, even with the uncertainty which unconsciousness brings.
"HAS NOBODY TALKED TO YOU ABOUT THAT BEFORE? WELL, HAD NOBODY TALKED TO YOU ABOUT THAT AT THE TIME THIS DREAM TAKES PLACE?"
Drat and blast sentence structure. The therapist still believes the question is phrased wrongly, but they aren't bothered enough to rectify it further.
"Oh, at that point, I'm about 30 billion years old - very young," Bill clarifies. "And no, nobody talked to me about the stars coz nobody but me could see 'em."
The therapist looks up at Bill with mild surprise on their face. Considering they generally like to keep their neutral expression, this is about the equivalent of a theatrically shocked gasp for them. The patient lets out another strangled groan like before.
"Oh, don't go making a massive deal out of this! Dreams are nothing; the only point in time when they meant anything was when I had control over them, and that was a little blip in time! A speck! I only learnt how to get into people's heads in the literal sense, what, five billion years ago!"
"WELL, EVEN BEFORE THEN, DREAMS WERE USED IN PSYCHOANALYSIS TO DETERMINE SOMEONE'S MENTAL STATE. OFTENTIMES, THEY CAN BRING PREVIOUSLY REPRESSED TRAUMATIC MEMORIES TO THE SUR-"
"Oh, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, BLAH, I don't CARE. Look, Frills, no matter how hard you try to get in my head, and I can see you trying SO [ERROR]ING HARD-"
Bill paused for a moment. His eye was still narrowed and glaring for a few moments, stuck like a freeze-frame, before his expression morphed into one of complete and utter befuddlement.
"[ERROR]ing..."
"AHA. RIGHT. OUR BOARD OF HIGHER-UPS HAVE MADE THE DECISION TO REMOVE YOUR SWEARING PRIVILEGES, AS WE FEEL THEY WERE BEING ABUSED. I WAS MEANT TO TELL YOU THAT A LITTLE EARLIER ON IN THE SESSION, BUT NO MATTER. WE'RE ONLY LIVING, AFTER ALL."
Bill drops the confused look and goes back to being angry.
"Why the [ERROR] would you DO THAT?! Is free speech not a bloody concept here? I like to think I can say whatever I [ERROR]ing like, THANKS. This is- SURELY this is against some kind of law here, you people always go on about "lAwS" and "kEePiNg ThE pEaCe", but don't lie to me, YOU NEVER STICK TO 'EM. THE LAWS I MEAN."
"BILL, CALM DOWN," the Axolotl tries. If you've ever been in a similar situation and were told this, you'll know that it doesn't work in the slightest. Frankly, Frills should've known not to do that.
"You 'CALM DOWN,' you [ERROR]er. I don't have to adhere to your STUPID AND ARBITRARY RULES. This entire PLACE is a [ERROR]SHOW, you [EEEEERRRRRRRRRROOOOORRRRR]-"
Solitary confinement is not a nice place. This is common knowledge. You're in a dank, empty cell with nobody around to hear your screams, all the walls are padded white, occasionally you're in a straitjacket or a crib (those devices are torturous), and you are a slave to your thoughts. And as you'll see, especially in prisoners, those thoughts are not always what one would call healthy.
Bill has not been sent to solitary confinement. He's been sent somewhere far worse.
These horrible places are known as Echo Chambers. You might've heard of the term before - it's often used in Dimension 46 to describe how social media traps you in a seemingly endless cycle of having all the bad things in the world thrown straight in your face. And it's usually your own goddamn fault. This was clearly based on the Echo Chambers present in the Theraprism; their general premises were eerily similar.
It's a darkened room. Pretty much everything is black, but the entity inside it. The lights are dim but not off. It works similarly to a room designed to create a highly diffused sound field, where sound reflects off all surfaces, also known as a reverberation room. The only difference is that this room doesn't recognise the spoken word. It reads your mind.
ihatethisplace ihatethisplace ihatethisplace ihatethisplace ihatethisplace ihatethisplace ihatethisplace ihatethisplace ihatethisplace ihatethisplace ihatethisplace ihatethisplace ihatethisplace-
Bill wished he could tell the entire place to shut its fucking mouth, but he doubted he could even actually say the words.
shutyour[ERROR]ingmouth shutyour[ERROR]ingmouth shutyour[ERROR]ingmouth shutyour[ERROR]ingmouth shutyour[ERROR]ingmouth shutyour[ERROR]ingmouthshutyour[ERROR]ingmouth-
"YOU'RE ONLY PROVING MY [ERROR]ING POINT, YOU-you PLACE!!!"
This was not repeated. Completely unfair, it was such a good insult.
iTwAsSuChAgOoDiNsUlT iTwAsSuChAgOoDiNsUlT iTwAsSuChAgOoDiNsUlT iTwAsSuChAgOoDiNsUlT iTwAsSuChAgOoDiNsUlT iTwAsSuChAgOoDiNsUlT iTwAsSuChAgOoDiNsUlT-
"Oh, don't make it sound sar-sarcastic..."
I'msobadatmakingjokesandinteractingwithpeople I'msobadatmakingjokesandinteractingwithpeople I'msobadatmakingjokesandinteractingwithpeople-
I'mworthlessI'mworthlessI'mworthlessI'mworthlessI'mworthlessI'mworthlessI'mworthlessI'mworthlessI'mworthlessI'mworthlessI'mworthlessI'mworthlessI'mworthlessI'mworthlessI'MWORTHLESS-
As you can probably tell, Echo Chambers are often used as a form of light torture in other dimensions and/or cultures.
"I AM IN CONTROL HERE!"
iAMincontroliamincontroli'mincontroli'mnotincontroli'mnotnotnotnotnotnotnotnotnottheonlytimei'veeverbeenwaswhenikilledthemikilledthemikilledthemallofthemilosteverythingandiDESERVEDIT-
nonononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononono-
whywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhy-
[ERROR]ingtherapyisbetterthanthis [ERROR]ingtherapyisbetterthanthis [ERROR]ingtherapyisbetterthanthis [ERROR]ingtherapyisbetterthanthis [ERROR]ingtherapyisbetterthanthis-
I want to go home.
FUCKFUCKFUCK DON'T THINK THAT
iwanttogohome iwanttogohome iwanttogohome iwanttogohome iwanttogohome iwanttogohome iwanttogohome iwanttogohome iwanttogohome iwanttogohome iwanttogohome iwanttogohome iwanttogohome iwanttogohome iwanttogohome iwanttogohome iwanttogohome iwanttogohome iwanttogohome iwanttogohome iwanttogohome iwanttogohome iwanttogohome iwanttogohome iwanttogohome iwanttogohome iwanttogohome iwanttogohome iwanttogohome iwanttogohome iwanttogohome iwanttogohome iwanttogohome-
nononoidontit'sdeadhomeisdeaddeaddead
PLEASE
When Bill is brought back into the room, his eyes are a little more bloodshot than usual. The crack running down him is potentially a little more prominent, pulsating slightly more frequently than it has been. There are no other discernible physical changes, which the Axolotl thinks is a good sign. At least he's not hurting himself. Or at least not deep enough to leave any visible marks. Or at least not enough to be discernible unless one is up close.
Frills crosses out what they just wrote down fairly quickly. Bill hasn't said a thing since his entry. He hasn't even thought a thing.
Don't think anything because it'll just be thrown back in your face, and you don't want that, and you DON'T want to go home. You don't have one of those anymore.
And no, that was not a thought. That was a mindset.
"BILL..?"
His eye snaps to the therapist's. For a moment - hardly a moment actually, more a beat - there is silence and there is something there. Neither entity can place it, but for a second it is there, and it is palpable, and you can taste it, which is probably why it's gone so soon.
The Axolotl isn't a descriptive person, and they don't have a word for this. They write a nonsense word on the clipboard and deem it to be that feeling. If anyone were to look over their shoulder as their patient so desperately wants to right now, they'd see a bunch of vague, detached sentences, the word 'migraine' and the string of letters reading as 'abilrose', and probably assume the good therapist was also a mental patient.
"What. WHAT. WHAT. DO. YOU. WANT FROM ME?" he screeches, shattering the charged silence the Axolotl was sure he had been uncomfortable with. They didn't react, not even to the water or whatever fluid Euclydians cry leaking from his eye involuntarily.
"I WANT TO CONTINUE TALKING WITH YOU, BILL," they say calmly. "I THINK THERE IS A LOT OF THINGS TO LEARN FROM YOU, AND A LOT FOR YOU TO LEARN FROM ME. I BELIEVE YOU CAN CHANGE."
"Bull[ERROR]."
"WHAT'S THAT?"
"BULL. [ERROR]. IT MEANS THAT YOU ARE LYING TO ME. You don't want what's best for me, you want what you can make ALL ABOUT YOU AND YOUR EXPERIENCES. You're a [ERROR]ing NARCISSIST to a FAR GREATER EXTEN than myself."
"BILL, YOU'RE BEING IRRATIONAL." And the therapist is trying their best to reason with him, tell him the truth, he's going crazy-
"Is there no hope for me anymore, doc?"
"I BELIEVE THERE IS."
"Do you?"
"YES."
Right. Uh-huh. Sure.
And Bill has to believe that's the way they feel, because that's what they tell him, and that's the way it goes.
The way it will be for the next who-knows-how-long while he's stuck here.
Without anyone else who's trying.
Alone.
Forever alone.
"BILL."
He hasn't replied to the Axolotl in this little period of self-reflection.
Who has ever really been looking out for him? Can he name one person in all the dimensions who has CARED about him, has LOVED him
completely?
And he's bombarded.
His mother smiles at him in the way that she does, leading him to what she surely knows is his doom
His father looks at him with something bordering on disgust as the doctor pokes and prods at his eye with an
"OW OW IT HURTS IT HURTS HELPMEHELP OW PLEASE PLEASE NONONO NO no"
His gang of 'friends' waits for him to do something to entertain them, to guide them, to tell them what to do
His aesthete, his admirer, his Fordsy
Was the victim.
But still looked at his muse with fear in his eyes and betrayal in his heart as he realised they were different
and that they couldn't be in love
because that would be stupid
and because Bill refused to tell him the truth, still
after everything he felt
"BILL."
"I don't want to talk to you because I don't think you believe I can change," he says. "And I kind of don't want to change anyway. 'Cause I can sit here thinking about all the things that have happened to me, and I can feel remorse for it. But you can't fathom that you're doing the wrong thing, or ever have done the wrong thing, cause you're you and you're perfect."
"BILL. BE REASONABLE."
"No, I am being reasonable. If what I was doing was loud or-or had no basis to it, then I'd let you reason with me. What you are doing is acting oblivious to the fact that I AM TRYING."
"I'M NOT OBLIVIOUS TO THIS, BILL, I CAN SEE IT NOW IN FRONT OF ME - YOU ARE DOING WELL, YOU'RE-"
"You. Don't. Care. And that is fine. Just stop pretending to, go talk to other patients who are far more famous than me, they'll be better picks for putting in your memoirs. What I can do is be a better person without your influence."
A beat of silence, and the demon goes back to his old ways, if only for a second.
"Or, I don't know, get another therapist for me. Even without all that dog[ERROR] experience you have, they'll be way better than you ever were," he spits.
His therapist's gaze has always been steely in these sessions, but he doesn't believe it's ever looked quite as cold as it does right now. Less detached and unfeeling, more palpable anger, like he's done something to offend them.
Probably not using a capital letter for their pronouns, because they're an entitled little shit and 'that's just what They deserve'. Dickhead. Oh, look, the swears are back - if only in his mind.
They huff and snap their fingers because, however much Bill hates to admit it, they do hold the power here.
And suddenly
As expected
his surroundings darken
And all he can hear bouncing off the walls is
i just want to try
letmetryletmetry letmetryletmetry letmetryletmetry letmetryletmetry letmetryletmetry letmetryletmetry letmetryletmetry letmetryletmetry letmetryletmetry letmetryletmetry letmetryletmetry letmetryletmetry
i know i can do it i know
i can try my damndest my very damndest
to make
amends
because i'm so, so sorry
for making you go through this
because it was never even your fault
to begin with.
because mother stared me in the face as did father
as i was stabbed with a needle in the worst part of me
and didn't try to understand the beauty I saw in their absence
only knew i was different and bad
and that if anything is what caused their downfall
but yours was undeserved
i'm sorry
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for hurting you
i'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorry
for all i've done
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for all i'll do
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you were my sun
so i'll
try
to make amends