Work Text:
Scott sat still, trying to keep his mind blank. He knew that the Border feasted on his thoughts; he would have to stay quiet.
But how hard it was to keep his brain quiet—he had so much to say all the time, which meant he had so much to think.
It was hard to stop thinking. To stop speaking.
He was so eager to share; to spread his passion for his hobbies.
On his own, on the floor, back pressed against the wall in an attempt to ground himself, it was silent.
All alone.
Well, not all alone. If he was truly alone, he wouldn't be going through so much mental turmoil right now.
The unwanted intruder sifted through his thoughts like an assistant picking through manila folders in a filing cabinet.
Wait. What word had he used?
Alone.
Oh no.
The single droplet of negative thought spread like a wildfire, scorching his brain.
Alone. Lonely. No friends. Friends are gone. They hate you. They hate you.
He clapped his hands to his ears but it didn't stop. The sound was coming from within.
His thoughts pounded like a drumbeat in his skull—no, the Border's thoughts.
Or... were they his thoughts?
It was becoming harder to tell.
Yes, Scott. It's so hard. You should give up. Give in.
He gasped, feeling icy blue tendrils tearing into his heart.
The poison snaking under his skin burned and burned.
Shapes invading his eyes obscured his vision alongside the prickling tears that blurred the world.
Scott could feel the border-blue disease choking him as it crawled up his throat and into his vocal chords.
"Weak," the Border scoffed, fully assuming control of its host, not for the first time and not for the last. "Weakling Wozniak."