Archive of Our Own ^beta

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    "Oh god, it's in my mouth." It's coated in a slimy film, one that had already travled down to his stomach. He knew the fuzz in his head wasn't just because of low blood sugar. As he feels his body get possesed into something anew, he finds a missplaced will he urges himself to listen to. He obliges, falling into this dance. His friends were already.. Taken. He could hear them. Telling him how scared they were. Ruth, Richie, Rudolph,,, Max Jagerman? Did he die after Max?? He was Jagerman free for minutes before death??? Life will always right it's wrongs. In death he still hears his teasing. His body moves apart of the hive, as it uses his voice it makes him speak. His throat falling dry and rough when he tries to speak outside of it. Who's he infront of? Ted? It's hard to see. His voice is weak, his hands are shaking. He's on the phone. "My blood sugar, Ted. It's so hard to…" His voice trembles, the horror dawning. Ted speaks but it's not passed to him, it's passed to the hive. "It's so hard to think, Ted. Can you… come pick me up?" He continues speaking and his voice comes out hard. Not what the hive wants. "I had… a bad drink-GH,," He coughs, wheezing. The phone falls from his hand. Fighting this thing was worthless. His throat dries hard with the spore, only enough to let blood fall. His mouth spills an address. Staggered, his hand hits hang up and his body stops freaking out. Immediatly he can breath, he can speak. Albeit soft. He just curls up. Knees to chest, parts of the hive pass by his form, but he can't ask for help. Nobody will help him.

    He sits for a while, his body staying curled up tight until his body responds to something and he can hear. Arms hoisting him up his his eyes open he can .. partially see. It's blurry. He lets tears flow as he grabs onto Ted. His chest grows heavy as he tucks his head into his chest. Bawling on his older brother. His mouth makes the words 'It's so blurry' but he can't do much about saying it. Ted just soothes, petting his hair and hauling him out of downtown. Simple disbelief of his condition. His body eminates the sickness, He had asked to stay home and Ted denied him. How bad did he feel? His mouth voices that into his skin. "This is,,. Your fault." He coughs, trying to stagger it and hide the apotheosis. Pressing his head further into him as hes questioned. He can't hear it. "I should've stayed home… you should've let me." His voice has an eerie chill behind it, it's clearer than it should be. He feels how rigid Ted goes as it clicks. The soft mutters of disbelief. His nails sink into his flesh, eyes looking at him with a near lifeless quality. His throat aches, but he can't stop himself. The hive needs to feed and,, and Ted will just run away. His hands clutch onto him and Ted doesn't let him go. He carries him back to the trashcans. Back to Bill, and Charlotte, and Paul. His vision clears as he stares, hoarsely muttering at him. "Uncle Paul?" The sickness … he feels Ted say something to them all. Gaining a reaction from them as his body is reered back from them all.

    He feels limp, tired. The voices all tell him to sink his teeth into Ted, to add him to the hive now. His teeth press into his flesh, but he can't force his jaw to shut. Ted moves back, and the small group works to tie him. Hide him in a trashcan. He feels the spore grow nearer. The hive, it's approaching. His body reacts before he can think. The song floods his mind as it drowns his senses. Trying to escape the trashcan to join. He has to. It's his job. His role. He hears the confusion, the gun cocking, the bang of the lid as he peeks his head out, he had been humming the song in his bin. The arguing fades out as he falls semi-unresponsive in the trash. His dragged out of the can, carried over his brothers shoulder as Charlotte and the barista handle Sam. The extention of the hive, he's wounded. Greatly. No matter, he'll heal. He knows the form is mearly resting. Hes not allowed to press his face against flesh, or human matter at that. He mutters what the hive tells him would hurt Ted, it's for the better. Unison is key. It's attempts seem to fall on ignorance. Which the hive uses against him aswell. ".. did I do something? Why are you ignoring me?" He has his lip tremble, his eyes swirl with something blue as he tugs on his sleeve, eyes land perfectly on Paul. "Uncle Paul?" He whimpers as it clenches at his throat. Forcing pain from within him. He sees the hint of guilt in all their faces. The hive grins. His body stays miserable. "Uncle Bill?" His eyes water. "Ted?" Ted's breath shakes, everyone gives him a look.

    He argues as they arrive. Getting inside with two ill in tow, the man inside freaks out. Tying them both to a chair - much to Ted's dismay. They pull out Sam's brainmatter, Pete opens his mouth for them to stare. Paul grimaces, so he assumes everyone has some reaction. It's hard to see. It's a mix of black spots and blurry vision. He can hardly see without his glasses,, his contacts were at home. His mouth is blue. Dripping with the virus, the hives spore. It's singularity. Ted sits next to him. Holding his face as he examines him, carefully peering at the blue inside. He releases him as he storms off with Paul, who had asked about a drink. Charlotte had stayed to stare at Sam. Eugh. He'd rather not be present for whatevers to come. He puts his head down, fluttering his eyes shut. He can't forget what the hive does. It won't allow him. He knows how the scene plays out, and it spares him the details as he arises. Still tied up. Glasses on his face, certainly not his prescription. His eyes adjust, thank the hive. He stares at Ted, whos watching him solemly. His hands shift in the cuffs, his eyes wet and nervous. "Ted, I can't think. My blood sugar is low. I need to.." The hive needs to feed. Ted furrows his brows but grabs him a cup of orange juice, helping him sip on it. It's stained blue, and the cup has to be discarded. Ted soothes him, as the hive tries to lure him into mania. Making subtle comments about the situation he had seen. Sam and Charlotte. Saying he saw Sam leave with Charlotte. His chair had been moved away from them before the incident, dragged with Ted to drink so he could be away from them. His mentions of the scene throw him off, he sees the doubt and guilt in his eyes. Telling him not to say things like that. Saying he'll find a cure for his sickness. 

    The scenes continue to play as known, He hums to Charlotte and Sam's rock ballad, his eyes glazing over as he listens. Sam and Charlotte are shot and Ted guards him before the professor can waste another bullet. He feels the hive discard their corpses as useless. He's the only one who can sing Moana on key. Which, gets something shoved in his mouth by the professor. Bill gets a call from his daughter, he and Paul leave to save her. The barista and Ted stay. He learns Bill's daughter's name. Alice Woodward. He listens to Hidgens infect himself. When Ted is released by Paul, the hive unbinds him. Tugging his wrists out of the cuffs, the pain doesnt sting like it should. His chest doesn't hurt when his teeth sink into Ted. His eyes don't water as he issues apology after apology to his corpse. It rips up his own throat until it bleeds. Coughing up the blood mixed with spore onto Ted. Holding him dead. Close, but dead. Feeling as his body rejuvinates with spore.

    They find Paul and the barista shortly after. Nearly inside the helicopter. Ted calls out as the hive ignores him. As the driver and the two fail to notice the bite on his neck now stained blue. They walk. Paul, always too observant for his own good. Tells the driver to leave.

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     Paul had never been more greatful to be out of Hatchetfield, the hive observes. He's happy with,, her. The hive notes his behavior. Watching and listening. The spores eminating from the pilot go unnoticed until she sings, the hive taunts Emma. Her name slots well into everyones mouth. The crash is loud, the body the hive had goes limp and useless. Crushed under rubble. But the hive doesn't flee. It stays in it's form, listening. "It's like your friend said-" "Which one? Charlotte, Bill, Ted?" "I don't know your friends fuckin' names! The- You take out the head and the whole thing goes down." "The meteor.." The meteor. Of course they were worthless enough to consider the pinnacle of the Apotheosis, the brain of the hive. In other universes, where it rests is no where close. Pokotho had grown bored and tired of Apotheosizing a universe over and over, giving his star a chance to break the cycle. It's interesting to see his own disesase falter, cower in on itself while the lord finds it nothing besides enthrawling. It partly encapsulated him as a person - The Apotheosis, that is. But Pokotho is not a person. He is dangerous and agressive, mean and manipulative. A snarling beast with the entirety of the world in his maw.

     The hive prepares, hiding in the starlight theater, crawling all around like zombies. Not dopplegangers. They aren't doubles, just a better - more unified version of the people they once knew. Just accended to something greater. Paul stumbles in, holding a grenade. If he were a better throw, he could hit the meteor from the front of the mezzanine. He barely holds the confidence to throw it from the middle of the orchestra. So the hive watches as he clambers on stage. Watching his form move in this awful, ridged, half determined way that looked no way for a leading man. His friends come from the surroundings, Nora replaced by Pete. Paul is surrounded by faces he's come to know, or have already known. Davidson, Hidgens, Pete, Ted, Bill, Harmony. The hive finds it fitting. Paul is urged to let it out, as the spore fills his lungs.

    The noise is alot. He hates musicals, or that's what he tells himself as the grenade tightens in his grip. The music fades in and every movement he tries to make against the hive strains at his muscles. He feels himself give in, his brain tugging him away. He backs away from it all before throwing the grenade, making reasonable distance in a few seconds. Survival instincts. The blast is enough for him to hit his head on the armrests of the seats. The spore and rubble is enough for him to pass out. He breathes deep, waking up in a hospital bed. 

    The hive fails it's mission to Clivesdale. The meteor explodes and while it infects Paul, The Apotheosis doesn't have it's hold over every body in Hatchetfield. Leaving everyone to purge the initial Apotheosis from their mouthes and stomaches. Their injuries are tended to only after it's purged. And those with intense spore are left to suffer through a grueling quarantine process. Not everyone is saved, Some wounds are too fatal. Sam and Charlotte are still dead, Bill is nearly there and Alice is in recovery. Pete is in his small apartment with Ted, hunched over purging it from his stomach. Consumption was nasty. The lingering taste and feel of slime leaving his mouth instead of bile is horrible. School isn't continued for a while. Everything is flushed out to sewers and caskets. Ted is hospitalized, most of everyone is. His brother and his coworkers got it rough. Pete pays visit to them. Curling into Teds hospital bed, muttering apology after apology. He's forgiven every time. Surgery rooms are packed and healthcare starts covering less. Hatchetfield is unforgiving in it's costs, but kind nurses help pay. A nurse, normally in the childcare unit, checks up on him and Ted. A strange social worker aswell. He knows them both, but Pete fails to draw a name. 

    Pete feels how his brain had been proded and poked at by the hive, it needing to know his wants and hopes. His dreams and nightmares all stolen from him. The entire event is hazy and he can't see the town returning to anything besides normal. Ted is hauled off to a surgery room and hes forced to spend time with anyone else. Sitting in an uncomfortable hospital chair with Paul, he's got his contacts in and he can stare at his injuries in quiet. Paul is well aware of Pete's gaze. He knows it's because Ted isn't around. He doesn't try to strike up conversation, neither of them point out any faults or injuries. They weren't the ones that died in Hatchetfield. The cold and quiet of the hospital is jarring to Pete. It reminds him of the stillnesss forced upon him by the hive, the control over his voice and movements. What he thought had even become limited. Forced to focus on feeding the hive. He hasn't forced a word out of himself since the Apotheosis had stopped spreading. When the nurse had visited him, he was silent but polite. Nodding and shaking his head at questions. His hands shook when he tried to speak. His stomach turned with the spore still resting inside, refusing to remove itself. It slides up his throat, coating his tongue and trying to infect him. His mouth moves in words but he can't hear himself, watching Paul sit up. He just stares. A horror mixed with sluggish sleep deprevity. Pete comes to his feet and forces himself back into a bathroom, turning the fan on and locking the door before he throws up whats on his tongue. Rinsing his mouth with tap water as tears run down his cheeks. He doesnt let out anything audible, hearing the handle rattle slightly. He knows it's not Ted. He needs Ted. He cracks the door open and stares out at him. Big wet eyes.

    They meet Pauls. The door is pushed open, and while Paul is never a fan of physical touch. Neither is Pete. He's pulled into a hug. Not tight or restrictive. Enough room to let him push away or something else. Pete does something else, wrapping his arms tight around Paul. Pressing his head into Pauls chest as he sobs. He doesn't know what he says but he feels horrible for saying anything. He stares at Paul. Realizing he's standing and releasing him to shove him back to bed. He sits on the edge and stares. Watching his mouth move and not picking up any of it. Rubbing his eyes. He feels comfort settle over him but, it's not there. His voice is shaky and it's the same rough feeling in his throat. He tries to bite his tongue but his jaw just twitches as he speaks. He doesn't seem to say anything wrong. It's all so quiet, so he couldn't be sick still. His stomach had produced bile and blood, not the film that coats his mouth. It must be the tap water. The sickness wouldn't allow him quiet. He knows that for certain. He coughs, covering his mouth and reeling back to stare at his spit. He doesn't believe the color. But he takes off the sweater to only wear the button up underneath. His hand twitches, his body demands to act to someone elses will, but he forces himself in control. Leaning on the edge of the bed. Slowly making his way to the door. Then out in the hall.

    He paces, avoiding nurses and doctors as they run through the halls. Patient to Patient, Pete just paces. He's so nervous. The song in his head circles louder than it should, like it's coming out of speakers that he can't find. He sits against the wall, head in his hands.

     He spends hours waiting for Ted to come out of surgery and be healthy enough to speak. He doesn't get close, spending his time scraping his tongue raw, trying to get his speech back. His stomach turns as he gags and vomits over and over until hes pale and weak. Staring down at the toilet. A mix of digusting liquids, stained blue. He spits and it comes out clear. He's able to hear the hum of the florencents above. The slow sounds of human speech fade into his ears. Paul. Ted. Both speaking with a third voice - that.. The man. The worker. His name evades him still, as he opens to door to listen in. "He's been in there for some time now, did he.." "He said he had a bad drink." Ted's voice is rough, presumambly because they've numbed the hell out of the area to put skin back. "-He sounds the same as when he called me yesterday." "..The purging shouldn't have…" A womans voice. Not the nurse. He squints, ginger.. Retro lady. "...It's concerning, you said there was the- the slime on his sleeve when he coughed?" Paul nods, holding it out to her. "He took it off pretty quick. He had said things I'm not sure he was aware he was saying. He was sad, but it was all so… disengenuous." They fall silent. Ted catches Pete's eye through the door. Much clearer than it was. His eyes a warm brown. He freezes and slowly inches the door shut, Ted mouths something at him. He hopes thats all that happens. He can't read lips, shutting the door to listen to the hum of the lights. That's all that he needs. No songs, no silence, just the hum of lights and faint conversations.

    He leaves at a more appropriate time, sitting in a chair farther from them curling up. "..Since you're all so interested… I left my.." The sickness. "..it's in the bathroom. If you.. Think that's worth a diagnosis." He puts his head on his knees. Silence, then the slow rise of Ted, over to ruffle his hair. "You think you've learnt not to drink other peoples shit?" Pete looks up with watery eyes. "--I didn't know!" He was just pissed that the barista had forgotten his drink again. It's brotherly teasing. "Uh-huh… stealing your friends drink, how could you.." He cackles, which draws a laugh from Pete. It's soft and quiet but he's laughing and his speech sounds like himself and not a sickness. The room falls quiet. Ted and Pete creating something comfortable, he sees the skin graph over his neck and notes how.. small his bite was. As sickening as the mark was, Ted wasn't too upset. Paul comes over and guides Ted back to his bed, muttering about how he shouldn't be standing. The social worker comes over. Sitting next to Pete. He just stares at Ted. Who speaks for him. "Duke Keane, he's friendly Pete. Stayed with Miss Retro over there during the whole.,,  ttthing." Pete flicks his gaze over to her. "It was a.. A failed hivemind." She adds. He goes to looking at Duke. He remembers a times when he was younger, speaking with him. Hardly, but. He does. "... Hello." Duke is comfortable where he sits, Pete just sort of staring.

     They hold light conversation, Pete feeling watched the entire time. Gazes all trained on him rather than anything else. He goes quieter as it processes. He's surrounded by adults who all think his time spent in the bathroom was concerning because it should've worked the first time. That the sickness should've expelled itself by now. Every sympathetic stare just feels like unwanted pity. He listens to Dukes questions and starts refusing to answer. Not just because they're related to the sickness, but because that's all they're about. How he felt while under the hives effects, what got him, why it's taking so long to expell it all. Obviously it's been sugar coated, every question asked in a way where it's not direct about too much. This bubbling hate forms. Why are they only asking about the sickness. Why can't they ask about him. How he feels, how he's doing. Not what the sickness did. He gets this distant look in his eyes. Saying something he can't hear as he leaves the room. That silence fading in. No hum, no chatter, no footsteps on linoleum floors. No doctors asking if hes okay. No teasing brothers or eyes. Just. Silence. He soaks into the silence. No questions.

    His stomach hurts.