Hatchetfield.

Alternative Ending No One Asked For

It had been a year.
      A year since Paul had taken out the hive. A year since they'd gotten out of Hatchetfeild, and Emma started her pot farm. Things had been going well- a tad bit of legal trouble with the farm, but it worked itself out. Paul and Emma got a townhouse together, gotten a cat (named Charlotte in her honor), and even had plans to help Paul get a job once his chest was fully healed. He couldn't just take a grenade to his chest and just walk away form it. Extensive physical therapy for Paul and therapists for the both of them had taken up most of their time- but through witness protection program and a bit of PEEP settlements, Ben Stephans and Kelly O'Donnell were living a happy life (or, as happy as their life could be with their traumas).  Nightmares were common, but they knew how to help each other, and by extent themselves.
Paul, still being half infected, was prone to humming, singing, and (rarely) fully choreographed numbers on the spot. Of course, this scared both Emma and himself. They had a spare bedroom in case Paul or Emma felt it necessary to lock him in. Both of them hated the experience- Paul singing for Emma to join the hive while the normal half of himself screamed out for help, and Emma crying softly in the other room, because her Paul wasn't right. At the end of the ordeals, though, the hugged each other tightly. Paul promised it would never happen again, but both of them knew the promise was void. Still, it helped.

_____

Paul sat on the couch, sipping a glass of water and petting Charlotte. He'd been cleared to start looking for jobs. This, of course, had put him in amazing mood- he couldn't wait to tell Emma. She'd be so happy! Maybe they'd even celebrate a bit more later on.
Ah, yes, you'd like that, wouldn't you?
      "Shut up," Paul muttered. His infected parts sometimes invaded his mind- they couldn't do anything when he was in control, but that didn't mean it wasn't annoying as hell.
That's rude, Paul. Or, should I say Ben?
      "Call me whatever, we're the same person,"
Same person, huh? Doesn't that-
Ring. Paul's cell rings. Thank god. He looks at the screen, and Lord behold, it's Emma Kelly. Picking it up, he takes a deep breath. No need to loose control now. "Hey, love, what's up?"
      "Hey, I'm running late from work- this guy ordered so much of the plant, I think i'm going to get high,"
      "Really? That never happens anymore," He gives a small chuckle, which is returned.
      "Yeah, I guess. I called 'cause I need you to prep dinner. The lettuce is in the fridge, and you can thaw out the meat okay?"
      "Okay, sounds great," 
      "Pau-Ben, it won't be to hard on your right hand? The physical therapist said-"
      "I know what he said, but it'll be fine, okay?"
      A sigh. "Alright, just be careful. See you at home. I love you,"
      "I love you too."
The call ended, and Paul scooted Charlotte off his lap, who gave a small meow before racing to the bedroom. He made his way to the fridge, and got the meat and lettuce out. Placing the meat on the counter, he took out the cutting board and knife, setting it on the counter. He chopped the head off, threw it in the trash, and winced. Okay, so maybe he'd been neglecting his hand workouts. He's start them up again tomorrow. Can't have Doc be mad, right there Paul?
      "Fuck. Off," Paul continued to cut, until he felt a sharp pain in his left ring finger. He stopped cutting and looked at it. Bleeding. Nice. He didn't think anything of it until he saw the blood itself- well, really saw it.
His blood wasn't red. This isn't what scared him, though. Ever since the hive, his blood had been a shade of purple. Yeah, that was hard to explain to doctors. But if his blood was purple, everything was fine. He was okay. But it wasn't purple- it was fully, bright as day, blue. He stopped in his tracks, and stumbled backwards. Holding his hand, he started to panic. No, no, he couldn't go through his again. Emma couldn't go through this again. No, no, no, no!
      See that, Paul? We're coming back. We've got control now. I've got control now.
      "SHUT UP!" Paul screamed, sinking to the floor. There was nothing he could do. He let the tears flow, starting slow but turned into a river on his face. Shaking all over, the most he could do was fold into himself and try and control his breathing.
      "P-Ben, I'm home," Emma pipped, unlocking the front door. "There's a small chance I'm high, so- Jesus, Paul?" She jumped into action mode, racing over to the corner where Paul was cowering. "Hey, hey, what's wrong?" Paul whimpered in reply. Get away, I can hurt you! "Okay, okay, so panic attack, okay. Paul, Paul, can you hear me? I need you to try and breathe, okay?" Paul tried to push Emma away, trying to get his lips to work, saying he needed to be alone, he was loosing control, but he just..couldn't. He could feel his body calming down, but all he wanted to do was scream. He knew the hive-mind was taking back control, and there was nothing he could do. Emma, Emma, please, no. He could feel himself dying. Emma..
      "There you go, there you go. It's okay," Emma soothed. She pulled Paul into a hug, and she felt him smile against her chest. "See? There's a smile!" She heard a laugh, and then her whole world collapsed.

      "Emma, I'm sorry, you lost..."