Chapter Text
The collar is a bit much, Bill thought wryly.
This whole stunt was a bit much, in his grandiose opinion! Sure, he'd cracked after the Theraprism staff took away his scrapbook! Sure, he had a breakdown and actually said he was feeling ‘not great’ about Euc—
About some things.
Which was apparently ‘very mature’ of him.
Bill had promptly tried to strangle the genderless Theraprism employee who said that, but he couldn't morph his hands! So he just kind of clung to their scales. He resolved to gouge out one of their eyes! But then he realized that they didn't have eyes. And that he wasn't strangling anybody, that he was alone in a padded room.
Now had to write a small summary of his time in the Theraprism for Sixer because ‘he needs confirmation’. About the legitimacy of this stunt? About Bill's ‘regret’? About the secrets of the universe he never bothered to tell? Bill would have twisted the meaning and just told Sixer some dumb fact about roaches, but the Axolotl was being strict with Bill's powers and words.
Bill would have cursed Stanford out, but the Axolotl was standing right behind him and Bill wasn't about to screw up his chance to escape. To run. To regain his empire and be free.
Plus, Bill couldn't talk.
He leaned forward on the chair, fiddling with his human fingers. He could shapeshift again, but he could only be some kind of human or a triangle. No millions of eyes and teeth. No scales. No pyramid! Irritating.
Writing was even worse! Every finger had to be placed at an exact place, with the right amount of pressure so the pencil didn't snap. He felt so tired, but Sixer was watching him and Bill didn't want to be intimidated. Weakness was for dumb people, and Bill was a genius!
He flashed a cocky and triumphant grin. Ford's brother readied his brass knuckles from across the room, but Bill kept smiling. He couldn't talk or move out of the chair right now, as the Axolotl wanted him to finish the report first.
Everything felt slow. Boring. Fuzzy. Depressing. Where had his bravado disappeared to? Ugh, he hated these fits. He'd be happy and manic one second, and blank the next. Some sort of diagnosis was given, but Bill stopped keeping track of his mental illnesses.
Bill's smile became a bit strained as he turned his head back to the blank piece of paper. His face muscles ached from smiling- which was a design flaw! When he possessed Pine Tree’s body? Pain felt like a tingle. A prod. Pleasurable, even.
He lowered his pencil, beginning to scribble. Shapes, lines, even a squiggle. Perfectly understandable!
“In English, Bill,” a small voice squeaked. The Axolotl could barely fit in the room, looming and intimidating. Its skin was inky, black like the void. Its eyes were white as stars and had no pupils, similar to its mouth which was just a split in its head. It could tear this reality to pieces. Bill to pieces.
Bill missed that power – but if he toughed it out? He'd be home free!
“Mhm,” he grunted. Would have cursed, yelled, said a flippant remark! But the elder Pines Twins looked close to grabbing their brass knuckles— and gun —respectively. They couldn't talk or move closer, just like Bill.
Glares and facial expressions were allowed, but Bill couldn't move his head towards them. The Axolotl must be getting fed up with his stubbornness. If it ever had children Bill would roast them on a skillet.
With butter and garlic. Maybe some herbs? He experienced hunger now, and it was horrendous.
Bill flipped the page over – better to start fresh and clean than bother erasing his mess on the other side. It was, in his opinion, the best way to go about life.
The story he had to write was a first person account, apparently. This reminded him of his schoolwork as a child, his peers all whispering about how ‘Little Billy sees things that aren't there!
He also had to be very specific, which was great! Bill loved creating stories and legends about himself to make others worship him! Plop his image into an ancient stone before any civilization had evolved yet? Boom, the next sentient thing that came around worshipped his eternal image.
I loved The Theraprism! Just ask every single person I ever interacted with there! They'd all agree, laugh, and recount fond memories of their time together! I’d swear by my mothe— that they would!
The Axolotl changed how Bill's hand moved, and his smile dropped completely. He could force the truth on paper?
I don't actually remember who I swore on. Or what I said? It was probably some random Theraprism employee I pretended to like. Anyways! The Axolotl, anal retentive guppy that he is, actually checked what the other patients would say!
At least the Axolotl let Bill insult him. A point in his favor.
I was sent to Isolation immediately. A big, brightly lit room with various puzzles and activities. Every wall was padded, every crayon too soft to stab someone with. It was worse than hell!
Bill snorted, and the Axolotl growled. Somewhere between water bubbling, an earthquake, and a mouse being forced to drink acid.
Anyways, back to the ‘PR stunt’ as I like to call it. After a few years in Isolation, with absolutely no socialization with any living thing, the Axolotl had visited me. I like to think of myself as refined, elegant, and just a bit unhinged! Apparently, when the Axolotl came in I was much more than a bit unhinged. The walls and floor were covered in blue and red triangles, overlapping so much that the original white colour of the cushioning was gone.
Bill didn't remember that? He shot a confused look at the Axolotl, although it came off more as smug. His smile has returned. (Smile, Billy!)
I had torn every piece of paper into little increments, sorting them and ‘allegedly’ scribbling names onto them like ‘Pyronica’ or ‘Shooting Star' and bossing them around. That was just a trick to make the Axolotl give me more benefits, though! I wasn't actually insane from loneliness.
Bill nodded to himself; of course it was just a ruse! He was a master of theatre and acting!
I don't need anyone, after all! I’m amazing! Sexy! Magnificent! Generous and forgiving!
Bill nodded appreciatively, ego swelling.
All of this I had preached at the top of my lungs as several nurses tried to restrain me. Apparently, after seeing that whole fiasco, the Axolotl had decided on a new punishment! Well, ‘treatment’. Now I have a tracking chip embedded into this collar, which is embedded into my spine. I was even offered a new body! But I wasn't interested.
Was his sexy angular self so bad? Bill didn't think so!
The nurse, after my refusal, promptly quoted one of my so-called ‘breakdowns’ where I said that being unable to shapeshift felt so horrible that my soul wanted to tear out of my triangular ribcage.
But Bill didn't remember ever saying that, feeling that way, or acknowledging what that genderless blob said anyways! If he didn't remember it, it didn't happen.
AnywAYS, ALL OF THIS IS A LIE TOLD BY THE GOVERNMENT TO PUT ANTS INTO POWER! YOU WILL ALL BE SUBJUGATED AND ENCASED IN COCOONS LIKE BULL ANT BROOD AND EMERGE CHANGED WARRIORS OF DESECRATION—
A shock of electricity wracked Bill's frame, his tied vocal chords tearing open as he screamed in unprecedented pain and agony. His body violently twisted and jerked, eyes bulging from their sockets as his ears began to bleed.
Every muscle rapidly shrunk, pulling at his flesh and bone, making Bill contract into a demented fetal position. Then, he felt everything. Every hair moving, every brush of air on his face, the fibers on his clothes that felt like hooks in his skin.
Lights flickered. Wood creaked.
Complete pain and sensory overload? That was his idea!
“Stop fighting the essay, Bill,” the Axolotl scolded gently. Too gently for the pain She just inflicted.
Sixer had a barrage of conflicting emotions on his face, and the other one was grinning like this was the best television he'd seen in years.
Bill wasn't breathing, because he didn't have the energy to pretend he had lungs. His vision was swimming, mind foggy and sluggish. His hand was still moving, but he was just limp in his chair, staring at the ceiling.
He should smile. Chuckle. Bill managed a meager grin, but his empty eyes were a dead give away. He wanted to sleep. Bill had never really needed sleep, not even in—
A glass shattered in a separate room, untouched. Stanley jumped, head snapping around as he cursed about gnomes breaking in again. Wasn't he supposed to be unable to talk?
The Axolotl tutted. “Euclydia, Bill,” it corrected. What were its pronouns? Bill would call Them literally every other pronoun aside from its preferred ones if he knew.
“Any pronouns.”
Fuck, there went that plan. He always forgot that the Axolotl could read his mind.
Ford looked like he was about to explode with questions, eyes shining with curiosity and wonder as he stared at the Axolotl’s inky black and strange form. How He was hurting Bill? How She worked?
Bill remembered when Stanford looked at him like that, and felt a slither of jealousy curl around his fake internals.
Anger, vitriol – he felt the sluggishness fade away as he glared daggers at Stanford. As if that traitorous piece of flesh was so perfect? So what if Bill has tried to kill his entire family and dimension?!
Stanford had killed hundreds of ant nests with poison, melted aluminum, hundreds of ant-eaters shrunken down and released – was what Bill did so wrong? Killing a large amount of living beings was the same everywhere!
“Bill, if you break the pencil I'll have to sedate you,” the Axolotl rumbled. Would it just shut up?! He wanted to punch the Axolotl, but that wouldn't end well. Plus, he wouldn't get an inch out of his seat before vaporization.
Bill wanted to call it so many slurs, but he didn't know if any applied to it. Goddamnit! He could call it human slurs- but those were so unimaginative!
“No slurs.” That infuriating voice chided again. Bill let out an irritated hiss. The fat twin was back, saying something. He couldn't actually hear the humans- whether that was a defect, mental defect, or an Axolotl thing? Unclear.
The pencil creaked in his tightening fingers as words kept being written. Oh, right. He looked back down at the page, but it seemed several more had been materialized and promptly filled in. Welp, he was lost.
-and when questioned further, I called my cellmate a ‘flimsy excuse for a geometric being’! Then I ate one of her arms, an eye, two feelers, and a spleen.
Well, that could be a number of incidents! Not a singular memory came to mind. He tore tons of limbs off of other patients! It was the only fun he could have when they took away his scrapbook privileges.
The writing continued, and Bill stopped paying attention. The world around him gradually went out of focus as he began to breathe deeper. He wasn't asleep, and that wasn't his intention. It was something even better!
Bill had discovered that if he zoned out even more than he thought possible, he could disappear into a void of calm! Mentally, anyway. He wouldn't feel pain, anger, sadness, grief…
It was a wonderful ability! One he didn't even know he had. Sure, he could turn off all emotion when something went wrong- but this was completely different! And more useful.
Time went at the same pace, probably. He never bothered to count the minutes, because he couldn't count in this place of fogginess. His mind was filled with cotton, eyes unfocused and glossy as he floated aimlessly through his own neurons as a spectator to all that was happening.
A delightful activity, in his opinion.
If he were at his full power, the way he once was, the way he definitely will be again… he'd probably disregard this ability. What was a blurry and unburdened ‘mindpocket’ to lighting, living skin furniture, or entire universes at his whim?
Nothing.
But it was all he had now. The henchmaniacs escaped to some distant dimensions, and Bill may never see them again. His favourite servants! His best friends? He'd never had better companions, certainly. Could you call gunpoint praise friendship?
That thought pierced through the buzz of cotton and water, making Bill focus on what was in front of him. He wasn't writing anymore, and something was prodding his cheek.
Flesh. He hated being coated in flesh. Skin. Oils and strands of keratin. He wanted to move, to strain against this horrible body! But he was stuck.
It didn't usually take this long to snap out of his drifting. A few moments. A minute, maybe. But it was nighttime, and the Axolotl was staring at him with bright white eyes that had no pupils. “You can't just disappear, Bill. It's been nine hours, and we haven't even gotten to the question segment of this potential treatment plan.”
Still, much to Bill's dismay, no applicable slurs came to mind.