Work Text:
Paul laid sideways in the Shepherd-Hawke’s guest bed. He was tight and tense, to the point he was shaking hard. His knees were tucked up to him as one of his hands wrapped around his stomach and the other gripped his mouth. Quiet. He had to stay quiet. Oliver and Lori were sleeping a few rooms over and they had one hell of a day from the looks of them, he couldn’t wake them… but the music in his head was enchanting. The music was loud and beautiful and it just begged for Paul to sing along. He had to actively fight not to sing along. Not to give in to the music. If he gave in, his friends would get hurt. Oliver would get hurt. Emma would get hurt… again. There is no way he can let that happen. The music begs and pleads, it makes the silence nearly unbearable and sometimes painful. He can satiate it by humming. Scratch the itch that will return when he stops. He can hum along to the song while still remaining himself. Remaining Paul.
How much of himself was still Paul Matthews?
He’s not human anymore, no possible way. He hasn’t tested it yet but he can feel it. His heartbeat was way too slow. He had only picked at his food during dinner. He never touched his glass of water. He didn't need them. He probably didn’t even need to sleep, but he just wanted silence. He wanted rest.
What do you want, Paul?
A quick inhale as the song shifted, the melody one he’s heard before. Shit, he was drawn back to the music. Anything else. Anything else.
He hadn't changed into night clothes. None were provided and he didn't have shit on him anyway. He had just laid his suit jacket on one side of the bed and laid himself on the other. He still had on his collared shirt, his tie, and his work pants.
Work . He sure as hell wasn't going in tomorrow. He’d have to text Bill or something to tell Mr. Davidson. Have Bill or Charlotte shoo Ted away if he tried to mess with the stuff on Paul’s desk. Had Oliver had the chance to clean out his desk? How long had it belonged to Fake Oliver? Fuck, was there even going to be work tomorrow? From the sounds of it, shit went down in the technical department while Paul was relearning how to fight the infection. The song. It was so beautiful.
Shit. No thinking about the song. The beautiful… beautiful…
Emma.
Emma had relived the Apotheosis before he did, she remembered it all and was cautious of Paul while he was still normal. Still human. Still didn’t like musicals. She saw what he would become before he did, and neither of them could avoid it happening anyway. What will she say now? He can’t run from her forever, that will hurt her. He doesn't want to just rip off the bandage, that’ll hurt her too. He wished there was a way to not hurt her at all… but as of right now, there was no way to do so. She’ll run. She’ll scream. She’ll fight him. Maybe she’ll hurt him before he can hurt her first.
Hurt him… can he be hurt? Paul unraveled the arm around his stomach and reached up, pinching his other arm hard. Dull. Not completely numb, just dull. There was something, but it wasn't what it’s supposed to be. Not human. He’ll survive what’s thrown at him, he’s seen… whatever kind of thing he is now come back from worse. Sam’s head, Charlotte and Hidgen’s guts, Bill and Ted’s gunshots. It’ll sting, but he’ll come back.
He can’t be killed now.
What if that’s the one thing Emma will want when she sees what he's become? Him dead so she doesn't have to fear him anymore. He couldn't help her fulfill that. Any other time, he would gladly stand in front of a loaded gun if it was Emma pulling the trigger. If Paul was going down by Emma’s hand, he trusted her that it was for a good cause… but will he stay down if she did it now? Could this thing in him let Emma have the relief and security she craved?
Emma being horrified of Paul for the rest of time scared him, but what scared him more was the possibility that she wanted to join. To become what he is, hear the music he hears, fight the battle he is now always fighting. She wouldn't. Paul knows she wouldn’t… but there's always the slight chance. He couldn't live with himself if she was infected. He couldn't live with himself even more if she was infected and gave into the music. Went under and let her body not be her own anymore.
The thought made Paul choke out a sob, tears falling down to the pillowcase he rested on. Other bodily fluids weren't infectious, were they? He would wash the pillow case in the morning just in case. Fuck, maybe the whole bedspread. He didn't know what he could do now that would accidentally spread this thing. Touching blue shit was fine, Emma and plenty others did it and they didn't get infected. It’s ingestion. Ingestion of the blue shit and the spores. Just keep those to himself, Paul thought, and maybe he’d be at least somewhat safe around people.
Should he even be around people anymore?
For all Paul knew, he was a ticking time bomb. One slip-up and he would go full zombie. Battle for the reins of his own mind and body. If that slip-up happened in public? In a crowded area? Humanity was doomed. The Apotheosis would start up again. So long as he fought, so long as he gripped onto whatever was left of his humanity, maybe things would be okay. He would have control.
Control… As far as he knows, no one had enough control over themself to fight back. This got worse when he was closer to other people it influenced or closer to the meteor. The infected always traveled in groups the first time, barely ever alone. That was Paul’s trump card. If he was alone in the infection, if he stayed the only one, his fight wouldn't become impossible. But… as no one else has been in the position he’s in now, what more could he control of this?
Paul moved his free hand up to the pillow to look at it, his hand being bathed in blue light as it entered his vision. Right, his eyes. His eyes glowed a soft blue. No doubt their color was the same sapphire his blood had become. Paul looked his hand over before bringing it to his face, touching the crack that webbed over his nose and across his cheeks. That was new. He hadn't seen that on any infected before. Did it have a purpose? He traced the crack with his finger a bit before pulling it back. The crack was dry, it was bleeding but he had cleaned it in the shower he got before bed. Hopefully it wouldn’t bleed again… maybe it would heal.
Paul’s own humming filled his ears as he focused back forward, rhythmically tapping his fingers on the pillow to the tune of the music. Music, Infection, Blue Shit, Spores… Spores. He’d only really seen spores made by the meteor. Could infected make spores? Paul held his hand palm-up and tried to will one out. Spore. Spore. Just a single spore, big enough that he could feel it. Yeah, nothing… oh god, there was something in his mouth.
Paul very carefully split the fingers he held over his mouth just enough for his other hand to reach in, opening his mouth long enough to grab whatever was in there and pull it out to cover up before a lyric came out. In his hand… was a lightly glowing speck. A… spore?
Oh god, if this was a spore, he'd have to dispose of it before anyone accidentally breathed it in. Get it out get it out get it out. The light glow extinguished and the spore was gone. Oh shit, what?
Okay okay, experimenting. Experimenting is how to learn. Thinking again, Paul felt another spore in his mouth and pulled it out. So far so good, he willed it to be gone and it extinguished again. Yes yes yes! Again. Making another spore, Paul held it in his hand and just looked at it. He didn't dismiss it, so it remained. Cool, he could spawn these things and dismiss them… anything else? Paul glanced around the room, landing on the lamp on the nightstand. Could he… move the spore? Willing the spore to float over to the lamp, Paul still startled slightly when the spore obeyed. After it landed on the lampshade, Paul quickly dismissed it and closed his eyes tight.
Nope. No. No more weird shit for tonight. Paul rolled over and took a shaky breath, exhaling through his nose as his hand clutched his mouth closed once again. Sleep. Quiet. Sleep. Sleep. Please.
Paul laid still for the rest of the night, eyes screwed shut and hand gripped firm over his mouth. Light humming continued from him, however whether he was consciously doing it or just humming in his sleep is still unknown.