Chapter Text
The first time his father told him to stop believing in the stars, Bill Cipher refused.
Little Bill was a stubborn baby with stubby arms that reached for the sky. He never understood why only he could see them. In the dark, flat lands, he pointed up. His parents weren't able to turn at the direction. But that didn't stop him from reaching out to surpass the fog of darkness. Two tiny hands longed to touch the shimmering lights that gave him hope.
His father chastised him for it, urged him to take medication, to free himself of such hallucinations. But his heart knew they were real, so he always closed his eyelips away from the icky medicine. Sometimes in the dark corner of his room, where Bill's mother cradled him, he heard whispers of reassurance. That he was trusted even if she could not see, as the darkness consumed him further into an unconscious state.
Years would pass by, and his vision would turn a bit blurry. That didn't dim his determination to doodle what he saw. Bill's father, whom he learned was named Euclid, would bring him milk. The creamy drink had a tinge of bitterness that him sleepy enough to pass out on the scatter of papers. His mom, Scalene, would carry him to bed and tuck him in. The stars twinkled in his dreams too, only it was much clearer as he flew by them with other Euclideans. Bill continued to pour his love of the stars into these little doodles in hopes that his parents and future friends were to understand. Euclydia was too simple, too boring. He wanted to soar to the skies and bring the rest with him.
Despite their close family ties, Bill wouldn't meet the Tad Strange until they were both in grade school.
Embers blazed as the school erupted into flames. The students rushed out to evacuate, panicked cries muffled by the blaring fire alarm.
From a safe distance, a small purple square hurled insults towards Bill while the other children gossiped about the mystery that had transpired. Bill stood frozen at the sight, feeling the phantom smoke with every inhale. His eye stung. Everyone's voices started mixing together in a swirl of negativity, and the world turned blurrier.
Why did you do it? He didn't know. If only he knew, if only he could explain what had just happened.
Dark. Fuzzy. His hands scrambled for the nearest source of comfort, someone's red hand. Bill sobbed.
Nobody believed Bill when he said he had no idea of what happened. No one can find an explanation. Not even as the eye doctor came to visit the Cipher residence the following morning. At the sound of Scalene's voice calling out to him, Bill abandoned his crayons to meet the guests. The Strange family consisted of a pink square mother and that same purple square from school. Upon seeing the familiar classmate, Bill hid behind Scalene; her big blue figure shielded him as he glared at the other boy. The purple square looked downturned, the fight in him from yesterday gone. With the oversized detective hat, the purple square looked stupid hiding behind his pink mother, Bill thought bitterly. Realizing that he too was hiding behind his mom, Bill slid forward to assert his dominance. The other kid followed in a more subtle manner.
Tad Strange. He introduced himself as he offered a bat plush as an apology for yesterday. Bill warily accepted the plush and said nothing else, the soft toy squished in his grip. Tad's mother introduced herself as Dr. May B. Strange, the eye doctor. When she brought out the orange container of his medication, Bill could already feel the bitter smack on his tongue. He grabbed Tad as the two boys ran off to his room, ignoring the frantic call from their parents.
"Your mom is evil!" Bill slammed the door shut then pointed an accusatory finger at the square.
Tad's brow furrowed in renewed anger. "No, she isn't! Don't call her that!"
"She doesn't want me to see the stars anymore. That's evil." Bill stomped around to find where he left his drawings. The papers were shoved at Tad. "See?"
"Those are just stupid yellow dots." Tad huffed, assessing the drawings with the limited vision he had. "Is that multiple yous?" He pointed at Bill. The yellow one gasped, the telltale signs of another breakdown appearing as his eyes watered again. Tad panicked. "Alright, alright! I believe your dots—"
"Stars!" Bill corrected.
Tad withheld a groan. "I believe your stars. I'll tell Mom to stop giving you medicine, okay?"
The triangle immediately beamed at the words he'd never heard before. "You believe me?"
Tad made a face, taken aback at Bill's sudden close proximity. "Y-Yeah. Of course." He carefully pushed Bill's mushy face away.
The Strange family compromised a lineage of ophthalmologists that primarily took care of the Cipher dynasty. Aunt May was merely following the orders of their ancestors. Bill could only hope Tad didn't follow. He wouldn't admit it aloud but he had grown fond of the square. Playdates were scheduled either at the Cipher residence or at the Strange office when Euclid picked up Bill's medication.
The two would run around, Bill masquerading as the criminal stealing all the pacmonster merchandise while Tad solved the case. True to his family name, Bill had a knack for creating codes and mysteries that challenged Tad's detective skills.
Tad wasn't the only friend he had…
Mary, the red hands that held Bill while he cried his little heart out at the fire accident. She infiltrated the duo that is Tad and Bill as they faced bullying in the following years. The three seemed inseparable, calling themselves the Bright-Eyed Trio. Mary had smart quips, Tad liked to solve cases, and Bill can see beyond the flat land. To the other kids in class they were dubbed as the weird kids. But they took pride in that as the trio bickered endlessly.
Drinks with silly straws were passed around as the three lay down. The cold beverages were fruity and sweet. Too sweet. Mary must've overdone it again but the other two didn't have the heart to berate her. Bill described to them what the stars looked like and the patterns the twinkling lights formed throughout the sky. Tad and Mary tried to comprehend the absurdity of it all. A third dimension? A direction called 'up'? How blasphemous. Illegal. Their parents warned them that such concepts would've led you to be thrown off the borders of Euclydia back in their time.
Talk of the third dimension was forbidden, until this day. Even as the shapes slid on modern planes, the only thing that changed were the punishments of these taboo thoughts. His dad had a hand to that, tempering down the severity of the consequences. Lots of bold decisions under his rule from a very shy man. Some gossiped that the previous rules were too hard for the soft Euclid, some said it had been changed due to the loss of his brother, conservatives accused him of being a 3D believer, while the kinder rumors suggested it's to protect his family.
Whatever it may be, it did little to stop the societal affects to Tad and Mary's mindsets.
The probability of maintaining childhood friendships into adulthood was generally low, according to Euclidean statistics. Bill tried but as they diverged to different courses and had different schedules, that optimism turned into desperation. Finding a crossover of free slots to schedule a hangout was harder than passing college itself. Next week turned to next months and then years. The rumbustious laughter echoing off the walls of his room turned into overwhelming silence. Red and purple faded away from Bill's side.
Through sheer irony, Bill's vision got better again as he grew into early adulthood. The stars were clearer than ever and with no one to share it with, he grasped through the seams as he took it out on the canvas. Slow brush strokes colored blueish tones on the space. Nothing but the bristling sound of a brush on sheet. Bill painted and painted every twinkle he could see. He paused. A slow realization came to him then as he grabbed his painting. This was the answer. It was standing right in front of him all along.
Bill Cipher, the infamous painter of Euclydia, inventor of gradients and stars. While said painter wanted the starry night to be the forefront of his title, the Euclideans were more interested in the concept of gradients in his paintings rather than 'those random splashes of dots.' The public preferred the smooth, gradual blend between two or more colors. The smooth transition being more popular to the shape citizens. Bill would take what he could get.
Success! His works were recognized, perhaps this would be the transition to greater discoveries, better studies on the third dimension. The stars had never been closer.
But the topic remained taboo.
Bill's efforts went in vain as he was dubbed as the weird famous painter with great fictitious imaginations. Fictitious?! Bill wanted to hurl, and not in the fun way. He ended up assisting his mother in teaching her classes and took commissions from high-end clients. Bill had a few galleries, many achievements, but his movements were dull, just trudging through the motions as he felt lonelier than ever. Bill was surrounded by flat minds in a flat world with flat dreams.
Bill visited Tad the other day, and over a glass of beers, he informed the upcoming eye doctor of the breakup between him and Mary. Bill had been putting off telling his childhood friend about the news for months. As the bitter cold booze settled in, Bill couldn't help but reminisce the past as he looked at Tad. What was once a fiery child filled with curiosity turned into a sad husk of the shape he used to be. His voice droned unlike before. In another universe he'd be studying criminology and be impressed at every new discovery Bill had about the third dimension. But life had other plans. With the sudden passing of Aunt May, Tad had to step up the position in the Strange Office.
He said it was his responsibility and that he was glad to honor his mother's footsteps. That would've been more convincing if he was more enthusiastic about cleaning out eye crusties.
"Tad, you believe me, don't you?" Bill cut through Tad's rambling, staring at the stars above. He tried to not sound as hopeless as he felt. "You could ditch studying to become the next Strange ophthalmologist to the Ciphers. Become the detective you always wanted to be!" He persuaded. Having such a cool family name suited detective work anyways. Who saw the word strange and thought of opthalmology?
"Bill... I won't lie to you." Tad started. "I still believe it's a condition that requires constant treatment—"
That's not what you said before.
"— With the proper medication, you won't be exposed to any '3Dark Magic' anymore. You won't have to be alone anymore, telling others of visions that only you can see. You'll be cured! That's what my mom said, at least…"
Bill tuned out the rest of Tad's word vomit. He gripped his cold glass to quell the urge to shake the square out of it. To find even an inkling of the friend he used to know behind that iris. Search for the connection that they've lost.
"Bill…?" Tad looked at him in anxious worry.
Bill looked back with a deadpan expresion. "Heh. Yeah, sure. Whatever…"
There was no use in trying to reach an agreement. It was a lost cause. Bill sighed and took another sip from his glass. Did beer always taste this bitter?
Perhaps Euclid was right. Maybe Bill had to apologize to his dad about hallucinations.
"Greetings, Triangle." The ominous glowing abomination said.
Bill must be dreaming. The pinch only made him wince. He should've retracted his claws but he was on high alert! It doesn't help that he couldn't touch the thing- bundle of shapes- whatever! Surely he hadn't gone mad? This must be the product of isolation. But he couldn't visit the psychiatry! It'd just further ruin his fragile reputation.
With Bill's attempt to fight the amalgamation being in vain, he turned away. Out of sight out of mind. The noncorporeal form just chuckled, promising a proper introduction after Bill's dinner. Bill turned back and opened his eye to see no more three dimensional coalescence.
What the fuck.
The third dimension was real, there were worlds beyond his flat comprehension, and food tasted better in 3D. Bill took the invitation for a proper meeting, killing the cat in the process. He went through the forest near the borders of Euclydia and croelssed the weird floating rift in between his homeland and the mystery guy's void. Bill was introduced to more than just a new person. This was a horror show, a circus of information. But he was more than satisfied with his discovery, reviving the cat back.
Bill wanted to hurl, in the fun way! The very-much-real being he verified via gunshot was a god of all things named… Fort. From the multitudes of new knowledge, you couldn't blame the triangle for mixing up the info. It was hard to believe there was a three-dimensional deity just as it was hard to find out someone out there trusted him!
The triangle came home that night with a new outlook on life and bile rising from his Euclidean guts. Before Bill could actually vomit, his mom called to bring him his nightly drink. He took out a silly straw from his beret to dip into his cold glass of milk, and gave his mom a charming smize before he drank. Bill made sure his door was properly shut before he took out the sketchpad gifted by Fort and jotted down everything he learned that day. Bill's thoughts were too occupied to notice the slight bitterness in his beverage.
The second day was a good confirmation that the events from yesterday were not a dream. Bill probably would've tried jumping off the border if that were the case. It was as eventful as the last time and the triangle was still riding the high of meeting another person who could actually see the stars. The days that followed were filled with answered inquiries and triple the new questions. New art mediums, shapes that assemble to newer shapes, body horror—he discovered it all in the void filled with the stars he could finally surround himself with. The place was called "Our Space." Bill notes to workshop a better name later.
The floating cyan and black abomination was actually Ford, Stanford Pines. Bill's new muse.
Truth be told, Bill hadn't had this much fun drawing in ages. Art no longer felt like a chore and he was ready to expand his knowledge through the worlds his muse spoke of, into the multiple portals. So many choices on where to go! But Ford halted his excitement with a challenge.
Draw a decent sphere.
It was to get a good grasp on basic three-dimensional forms, he assumed. But wasn't this too harsh? This was the hardest shape, no hard edges nor sexy angles! But a challenge is a challenge and Bill was damned if he didn't take it to heart.
Bill hadn't wasted this much paper in decades, and he was only in his 30s! To draw a circle is easy; he'd been doing it flawlessly since he held and ate his first crayon! but to turn it into a three-dimensional thing that rolls off on its own is hard to capture on paper. But no challenge was too hard for the infamous painter of Euclydia.
Six stacks of paper later, he made something close to perfect!
His muse's approval made the triangle feel ecstatic. Bill passed with flying colors!
Bright.
Everything felt brighter these days. Ford was the moon that had illuminated his overcast night. The stars had never shone so bright until he arrived. His cloak of constellations waved as the two danced and chased through the multiverse. Dimension after dimension, Bill learned more of how these worlds worked. His sketchpad had new material every adventure. Aliens, landscapes, the biggest wall of corn. Forms unexplainable and heights unattainable had meaning through his muse's words. This eye was truly meant to see these. This one eye that was misplaced in a world with simple flat conception. Not anymore. He can see everything now.
It was a good distraction from the stale life back at home. Bill's birthday was near, a day he couldn't exactly celebrate well without it being overshadowed by his uncle's passing day. How cruel it was for the days to align like this. Euclid couldn't bare to show his face when the date arrived, resorted to slipping a birthday card under Bill's door before his son could wake up. Bill had to escape the bleak place Euclydia had become. He informed his mom that he'd celebrate the occasion with 'Tad.' Truly, it was just a habitual excuse. He really needed Ford today.
Bill didn't know whether to laugh or cry. A folded origami of a paper pterodactyl subtly fluttered on Ford's hand. It looked like his family and friends stitched together into a mutation. Ford laughed at Bill's colorful explanation and declared a celebration was in order to make up for his mistake.
The karaoke, stolen from somewhere called the Philippines dimension, was booted up, and the pair was ready to sing their hearts out. Dice, booze, shots, chromatically aberrated rocks, and the quiet after-party. Their melodies turned out of tune, and Bill's voice felt like giving out. Drinks spilled onto their clothes at some point. The night was a blur, Bill and Ford were thoroughly plastered.
"Sometimes I still wonder if I'm hallucinating all this. that this is my sad drunken fantasy I've conjured up in a fit of longing for acceptance." Bill's voice was hoarse. It's odd how he always managed to sound more eloquent when he was one bottle away from alcohol poisoning. Bill's tongue was loose, and he didn't know if he'd remember any of this by tomorrow, but that wasn't his concern. His hands cradled Ford's face. He wanted the reassurance of now. "Are you real, Muse?"
Bill hovered over Ford's face, a triangle shadow casting over his red face. It was almost the shade of his stupid nose. "I'm real, Bill."
"You make me wish jealousy was a positive experience." Bill could smell the alcohol as Ford chuckled in that gravelly tone that made Bill want to keel over.
"Tonight, Your muse shall will that to existence."
Every time Bill tried to recall that night, his eyelips tingled.
Despite having a sense of belonging, Bill still felt out of place. Everyone was so… shaped, in a three-dimensional way while he was still flat. Expressing his concerns to his Muse led to a new invention proposed. A Billbot! A marvelous robot designed to be an impenetrable machine! It had everything Bill wanted in a body and then some. He was gonna name each finger and everything—oh, he couldn't wait!
But he had to?
Apparently, Ford liked to tinker and build despite the abundance of power he held to just snap something into existence. He didn't get it even as the god compared it to creating art. Bill was rather perplexed by the idea of a higher being preferring such humane labor. Having everything at your disposal surely didn't make it that boring, could it? Perhaps he just didn't have the perspective of the god. No, he decided that his muse was rather ungrateful for the power he held.
When the Billbot was finished, Bill hopped in from the latch behind the head. The inside was cold and the interface was simple enough for Bill to navigate with. Pulling on the levers, the machine turned on.
Bill stumbled not even a second later. A mere mistake on his end! Ford contained a snicker and raised a hand to offer a dance, just like how Bill jokingly requested all those nights ago.
It was a learning curve; he never had limbs longer than his whole body. All these extra joints felt unnecessary yet good. Clang! A robot boot stepped on Ford's foot for the fourth time. The god's lips tightened but refused to show any falter. Bill blinked in faux innocence. Comparing to the dances he'd seen the humans do, Ford danced well. Very well. This elegance was irritating. One misstep was on purpose, but the god didn't have to know.
Bill had become accustomed to the robotic body rather quickly. If he didn't take those dancing lessons, Bill would've eaten dust by now as the two ran from 'god hunters.'
They tore through the air.
"In the name of the Time Baby, pull over!" A voice echoed through blaring sirens. Bill didn't understand the alien language.
A sharp turn to slow them. Ford grabbed Bill's hand as he charged.
The rockets beneath Billbot's soles boosted them further as green clouds fogged their visions.
A single light of another portal in the haze! That was their ticket.
The pair entered through another dimension as they skidded to a stop. Ford's hair was ruffled but they were in one piece.
Whilst Bill shook off the adrenaline, he couldn't forget the sight of human blood.
Before the chase, the pair was just strolling through the sci-fi scenery until an armed figure charged at Ford. The god had dodged swiftly, his cloak fluttering as he pulled out his weapon. He didn't give the attacker any time to recover. Grabbing the handle, Ford's staff split through the hunter and red splattered onto the ground.
Humans bled red. Such an interesting mono color. Bill wondered if Ford bled the same color.
The answer was no, apparently.
The tiles echoed their footsteps as the two walked through the quiet museum. They were early, the two arriving at the gallery just as it had opened. Statues and paintings littered the hall dedicated to all sorts of deities the humans worshipped. They posed dramatically, conveying a story with each striking presence. A giant dinosaur-like creature loomed over the rest of the deities in the end of the room with six frills around its face. The hulking frame of the statue stared at Bill, making him shiver. The figure felt… familiar. But his sights were taken off as he noticed a statue of his muse.
So that's why Ford had a disguise. He would've been recognized and captured for sure if he were to stand in a place where he was worshipped. The statue was rather tacky, though. They missed key features that truly capture Ford's likeness. Bill was sure to one day outdo such poor quality. With nothing to gawk at, Bill walked away from the statue.
A few paintings down the hall, Bill spotted an interesting one. "Huh. Do all deities bleed gold and get viciously attacked by big birds?"
"Ichor. They bleed ichor." Ford corrected.
"Which is gold." Bill stated the obvious as he referred to the painting. "And the giant birds? When did you get gutted by one?"
Ford chuckled at Bill's antics as he walked closer to the triangle. "Never. Do you think that lowly of me, painter?"
"Jusstt checking!"
One thing that Bill didn't want to admit was that he was rather squeamish to the sight of his species' static blood. So to see that other beings didn't bleed the same brought some relief to the Euclidean.
Bill had a problem, and the answer was the devil in front of him. Euclydia felt suffocating as the days went on, and he wanted to share these exhilarating experiences with the rest of his people, finally prove to them that he had been right all along. And Eureka! Ford was the solution.
The determined triangle stared at the god who was busy rearranging his rock collection; he mentioned something about a new way to catalogue them.
They were having a little break from the adventures, the last few being hectic chases from those pesky god hunters. So their tooshies were rested in the Metaspace, formerly known as Our Space, trademarked by Bill Cipher himself.
Ford held up a smooth crystal-like stone that glowed green and asked for Bill's approval of it. Bill nodded absentmindedly, too occupied in his head to focus on his rambling. It was rather endearing, though, to see his muse get engrossed in detailing every minute detail in each rock—but Bill had to focus!
Back to the problem at hand, Bill had been given the gift of knowledge time and time again. Ford had even offered him countless items for his accessibility. A gun, a robot body, a lifetime supply of cheese and art materials… The list goes on but Bill had little to return! Euclid and Scalene had teased Bill for being demanding but he wasn't that difficult. Though he can tell when he was at a disadvantage. To ask for such a big bargain would be greedy! He couldn't just go "Hey Fordsy, could you use all of your power to make everyone in Euclydia see the Z axis?" He needed to do something that would warrant such a request.
Bill leaned back on his chair, tapping his foot. What do you give to a being that had it all?
Bill had practiced, just a little bit, on sketching his muse's figure and face. He'd been working— just a few canvases of paintings! The human body is such an interesting horror in itself. The anatomy of these walking flesh and holes was intriguing, as it is complicated. It was why he had developed a cartoonish art style to bounce back to when he needed a break from learning the fundamentals. But once he got the human body down to the nail, Bill would undoubtedly make a work of art worthy of its own museum!
As he honed his skills, he also made sure to butter Ford up. Massage his overinflated ego enough and he'd be spilling the secrets on how to fix Euclydia in a jiffy! Bill had also been learning his other language, the symbols on his cyan infodumper. He'd be able to impress his muse once he can show that he understood him just as much as he understood Bill.
"Listen, Tad. I know ya couldn't live up to your dreams of becoming a detective, but I'd prefer you not take your chances by investigating my life!" Bill spat.
"Bill you know I'm just here to understand you. You're not running off fiddling with actual 3Dark magic, are you?" Tad accused in a harsh tone, almost like the fire from his childhood was finally back. Not in the way Bill asked for.
How did they get here? Bill was just on his way home from a day with Ford. An argument had evolved from the moment Tad suddenly grabbed his arm, demanding an explanation in the middle of the pine tree forest. Tad couldn't see it but the rift was just by Bill's peripheral. How long had he been waiting out here?
"You can't just go using my name like that. I'm worried on where you've actually been! You just disappear a few days and—"
Bill had tuned him out of the buzzing noise in his mind. Tad had somehow caught wind of Bill using him as an excuse for his absence. His parents didn't call his bluff, did they? Tad was still talking, but he couldn't make out his words. He had to salvage this unexplainable absence—but he wasn't ready yet. Tad would think he's crazy. The only shape left from his childhood that bothered to stick by may have changed his beliefs but there was an inkling of hope that Bill could convince him again that the stars were real. He was so close to it. So close to having his friend believe in him again. But the skepticism in Tad's eye seemed to show otherwise. He couldn't afford to lose what's left of their friendship. "You don't even believe me!" Bill fired back, not sure what point he's trying to make.
"This condition is dangerous, Bill." Tad made a move to come closer, his brow furrowed and his pupil thins. His voice turned increasingly agitated by the second. "You will bring about the end of your life with this."
Bill stepped back. What? Did Tad thought he was loitering around the edges of the border? "Listen, you're probably just seeing things…" Purple hands grabbed his sides.
"You're the one with the hallucinations!" Tad's words pierced through the fog in Bill's head.
An uncomfortable silence settled between them.
Tad's harsh grip faltered. Bill made use of the sudden clarity to run for it.
Bill blocked the details out of his mind as he tried to sketch something new. This was the fourth circle he scribbled out in frustration. It wasn't that there was no material to work with. Heck, they were sitting on a mountain made of cheese! His favorite subject next to his muse. But the page he was meant to fill with doodles remained blank. He hadn't made anything new in a while.
This behavior didn't go unnoticed by Ford. As yellow as Bill may be, a shade that blended well with the scenery, he can still single out his painter. Bill's lack of enthusiasm was evident.
Perhaps it was time for Ford's proposal. After all, he had gained enough trust, hadn't he?
"Your mutation is a gift, Bill Cipher. I'm truly sorry you had to find out this way. But it is never too late to take your destiny back." Ford offered a star to Bill. His muse's voice was filled with unwavering conviction. "You looked up to the stars. Are you ready to be one?"
Bill thought about it for a moment before accepting on a whim. No other option.
He had a destined path to ascend to the stars and spread his knowledge, to free the Euclideans of their limited perspective. He was supposed to be a god amongst his people. Some anonymous monster took away his glory. If it had not, he would be standing beside Ford with equal footing rather than below him. But that'll all end soon. For it is Ford's duty to guide him back from his diverged path. Maybe after that, they'd hunt down the monster that destroyed his destiny.
Everything was clear now. He was never meant to feel out of place. Action was on the script since the start but it was intervened by another higher being. Despicable. But he tempered his anger and redirected it into planning.
The triangle exited the Metaspace and hopped off the portal. Bill's head felt like a beehive with how much it was buzzing at the moment. The anger may have fizzled out but there was so much to plan out now. He was lacking the details but building such a complicated contraption would surely take more time than usual. His parents were gonna get more suspicious than they already were if this kept going on and without a strong alibi, he was doomed. Just a tad.
…
Tad… A wave of apprehension filled his being. He was his only hope for a solid excuse. Bill hated confrontation. Hell, he was waiting for Tad to apologize first, but alas, he had no choice but to make the first move. Bill navigated through the pine trees but hesitated at the clearing sight of Tad's house. Did he really need him? He couldn't risk him telling his parents the truth but… Tad wouldn't do that, would he?
An image of his mother's death glare made him continue forward to Tad's home. He'd rather not face the wrath that is Scalene Cipher if she were to find out he'd been bluffing his whereabouts this whole time. He may not have been at the receiving end of that anger in the past but Bill would be damned if he were to fuck around and find out what it's like.
"Tad! Taadd!" Bill trudged inside like he owned the place, calling for his friend.
The door echoed shut, followed by silence. Was nobody home?
The triangle continued to search every room for any sign of purple, his target locked in as he echoed Tad's name. Nada. Was he passed out in his office? Out on the park eating some sour cream chips in the dead of the night? It didn't feel like Tad to be out and about at the dead of the night. Bill slowed to a stop at the sight of the familiar urn reading 'May B. Strange.'
Bill sighed dramatically, the only way he preferred to sigh. "Oh Aunt May, where has your son run off to this time?.. Can't even clean your urn, tsk tsk." He tutted as he dusted it off with his gloved hand. Letting the specks wore off, he stepped back to smize at the cleaner urn. "… Maybe he's at his office. I'll try again some other time. Night, Aunt!" He bowed.
Bill left the Strange residence, passing by everything without a second thought.
The missing posters left unnoticed.
Bill made an extra effort to not slam the door shut, unlike usual, but it seemed futile anyway as he heard sniffling and muffled sobs in the living room. Bill paused in mild concern and peeked from the corner. On the sofa, clutching something in one hand while the other rubbed his eyes, was Euclid.
Well, no way to get into his room without getting spotted from this angle.
"Hey pops…" Bill said, making Euclid startle and hastily put away the photo he was clutching. Bill could make out the colors red and green. Ah, it must've been about Uncle Teral again.
"Billy! Oh son, you're finally home. You got me spooked there for a second." Euclid tried to hold himself from rubbing his cyan rimmed eyes.
"What's wrong? Did Mom accidentally paint your vases black again?" Bill tried to joke as he recalled the memory of Scalene trying to rebrand the home's color scheme, much to his father's dismay.
Euclid chuckled. Bill couldn't tell if it was forced or not. "Nothing of the sort, dearest. The vases are still in their pastels."
"That's great to hear…" Bill replied. The air tense and awkward.
"Why don't you, uhm.." Euclid trailed off for a moment. Bill noted that his father had been doing that a lot lately. "Why don't you go take your meds and get some shut-eye?"
Bill's eyelip squints in a fake smize. "Of course, pops. Good night. Let the bed bugs bite!"
This time when his father told him to stop believing in the stars, Bill Cipher pretended to comply.