Work Text:
As the corpses of her acquaintances closed in and the music swelled, Emma screamed into her knees, eyes closed tight, crushing her head between her hands. It wasn't fair. She'd gotten away, she hadn't died in Hatchetfield. Dying in Clivesdale wasn't exactly a huge improvement. But after a moment Emma realized she was... fine. Her flesh wasn't being ripped from her bones, in fact, the infected weren't snarling at her anymore. She slowly looked up, teary eyed, and found only Paul- no, not Paul. Just some thing- looking back at her with an uncanny smile. It held out a hand, as if to help her up. She looked at the mockery of her friend with malice and crawled backwards, keeping her hands to herself.
"Emma."
It reached down and took her arm. She shouted and struggled, but it's grip was strong, much stronger than Paul's had been. The thing pulled her up and held her in place. Paul's face softened slightly, but behind his eyes there was no trace of kindness, no humanity. Emma slowly realized there was still a song in the air, faint piano chords that she might have called romantic two weeks ago, but now the sound filled her with dread.
"Let go of me!"
She pulled back and the creature obeyed. She stumbled, but made it halfway to the door before she realized how trapped she truly was. Through the small window on the door she could see two figures, two shoulders really, standing by. The hospital had to be crawling with those things. She whipped around again, maintaining an equal distance between the door and Paul's offensive doppelgänger. It stared back with the same uncanny sympathy as before.
"What the hell do you want from me? Why are you doing this?"
The thing took a step forward and the music rose just a touch in volume.
"I already told you, Emma. I want~"
"NO! Not another reprise! Fine. You want to kill me, replace me like you replaced Paul, and the Professor, and Charlotte and-" Emma's throat tightened suddenly and she had to recollect herself. In her pause, the thing continued, but not in song.
"Is that what you think this is?" It sounded almost hurt, almost genuine this time. "That we replaced everyone? Oh, Emma. No. Like I sang before, I'm still Paul. The man you knew before. I'm just... different. I'm better, now. Better than I ever was."
"You're an insult!" Emma snapped, "Paul, the real Paul, he hated musicals. He would have killed himself before he started dancing down the street like some fucking showman! You're not Paul, you're his worst nightmare!"
"I tried. You're right, I gave it my best shot. Hating musicals was my most defining character trait. But I see now that it doesn't have to be. I'm more than just the guy who didn't like musicals."
"Yeah, now you're part of an alien hivemind, seems awfully fucking freeing to me."
"Just because we share a collective brain doesn't mean we're all perpetually connected. The conductor only makes us share valuable information- only controls us or sends us orders when it needs us to do something important. I'm still me when the music stops."
Emma looked on tensely. It took every ounce of restraint she had not to burst into tears. And it took more than that not to throw up. Paul, so it claimed to still be, took another step forward, his face had slowly softened as he spoke, his smile had faltered and weakened, his eyes had become less manic. The longer he looked at her, it seemed, the more human he began to look.
"And I still have things I want, and things I don't, separate from the conductor and separate from everyone else."
Emma let him approach, cross the distance between them. When he was within a foot, she leaned away uncomfortably and he took a small step back. Her arms were folded and her eyes still held daggers, but along with them fresh tears.
"I don't want to hurt you, Emma."
She laughed scornfully, "oh, now I remember. No, you just want to, what? Puke in my mouth? Plant your seed? No fucking thanks! I would really rather die than that!"
"Don't say that, please. It was hard enough to get you this far, everyone else wants to rip you to pieces. I've been pleading with them, Em. They're giving me this one shot. If I let you leave, right now, I could probably hold them off for a few hours but,"
He reached for her and she slapped his hand away. Regardless he took her hand in his and wouldn't let go. His eyes were pleading.
"But Emma, they will get you. The entire population of Hatchetfeild, plus this entire hospital, by the end of the day. You can run as long and as far as you want, I know you'd get far too, but eventually, even if you're the last human left, they will find you. And the longer you hold them off, the angrier they'll get. I won't be able to protect you for very long."
"So what, exactly, is your alternative?"
Paul smiled at her, his grip on her hand softening.
"Kiss me, Em."
She took a large step back, pulling away again. His smile faltered, and he looked almost sad. Almost. The blankness behind his eyes was still barely noticable and highly unnerving.
"What!"
He stepped forward again to meet her, and she backed away, slowly, until her back was against the wall. She looked anxiously around the room for some way out, some other option, but she couldn't find one. Maybe she wasn't looking hard enough.
"Kiss me? We never did, before. I let the blood get to me and I shouldn't have left you like that."
As he said that, blue shit oozed from between is teeth.
"No, no! That's fucking gross! You're not spitting anything in my mouth!"
"It's not that bad. You'll barely even notice, and the change will hardly hurt. Not like being eaten alive, or shot, or blown to pieces will."
"Oh, but it's still going to hurt? Fuck that!"
"Only a little, when all your cells reconstruct. It's more unpleasant than painful. And it'll only last a few seconds. And that'll be it. You'll be safe, with me. No more running, no more hiding. You'll barely notice the difference when it's all done. I promise."
"And I'll just... be part of the brood, huh? I'll sing and dance while I tear people limb from limb? I'll be myself during intermissions? Huh!"
"You don't have to kill anyone, Emma. Not if you fight. It's really not that bad."
"You-"
"Emma, please. Please don't make this harder than it has to be. Come with us by choice, before someone else forces you to."
A few fresh tears tumbled down her face as she thought hard about what to do. Before she could come to a decision, she felt Paul's hand on her chin. He leaned down to meet her as the music swelled and pressed his slimy lips to hers. She struggled for a moment, halfheartedly, before relaxing into him. It was too late anyway. He was right, about the unpleasantness of the change, but they held reassuringly onto each other until they both felt a duet bubbling in their throats.