Descent Into Madness

Chapter 8: One I Can't Deny

There was one of the creatures in front of the door to the control room and, for the second time in my life, I had the urge to scream in frustration.

Instead I channeled it into something much more satisfying. Pulling out the knife, I whistled, and when the being's head turned towards me, I let it fly.

The blade nailed it in between its skin covered eyes, sinking into the moist flesh and forcing its way through bone. Watching the creature fall with a wet thud, my lips tugged up in a smirk.

That was almost too easy.

Approaching it, I leaned down and ripped the knife out. I grimaced at the gunk clinging to the blade as I stood up. Eyeing the wall, I tried to angle the blade in a way to wipe some of it off onto the wall. It didn't work very well.

Giving up, I knocked on the door. "Phineas?"

After a moment, the door opened a crack for a single blue eye to peek out at me.

Then door practicality flew open and his hands grasped my arm, yanking me inside.

He let go of me to close to door. "Ferb?" His voice was faint.

Spinning around, I half expected there to be another creature outside the doorway, but Phineas was just standing there, looking at the corpse of the one I'd killed.

He weakly gestured to it. "Did... did you...?"

I sighed and walked over to him, pushing the door closed myself, blocking his view of it.

Phineas blinked a few times before turning his head and raising his eyes to mine.

"I did what needed to be done." Not waiting for him to reply, I walked over to one of the chairs and collapsed into it, leaning my head back as I closed my eyes.

His footfalls fell loudly on the floor as he came over to me. "Are you okay?"

Am I okay? I'm hungry. I'm thirsty. I'm exhausted. My side is bruised to hell. My hands ache and itch, but if I scratch them, the cuts are just going to reopen. So no, I'm not 'okay.' But I'm still alive and you're still alive. So it's not all bad. I shot him a thumbs up.

"I was getting worried," he continued. "Did you find anything?"

Not opening my eyes, I pulled the grapple hook from my pocket and held it out.

"You made this?" The weight of it disappeared from my hand. "Is this rope made from pieces of clothes?"

"Lab coats," I muttered.

Phineas let out an impressed whistle, and I opened my eyes enough to peak at him from under my eyelashes as he played with it in his hands. "Why'd you need a grappling hook?"

I just wanted to ignore it, tell him to be quiet and let me go to sleep, but something about this scene was sending off signals in my brain that I'm overlooking something important.

"Ferb?" His brows were knitted together, and he dropped the grappling hook to the floor as he edged closer to me.

My eyes widened as I shot up straight. "Your hand!"

Flinching back, Phineas let out a breath. "Yeah," he said, raising his right hand. "I was wondering when you'd notice."

Grabbing his hand, I pulled him closer to look at his upper arm. The black lines had faded to a dull gray but also extended farther along his arm; the wounds themselves appeared weeks old already.

"I don't understand it either." The unease was clear in his tone. "But it's good that it's healing and stuff, right?"

My lips set a grim line. Why couldn't things be normal for us just once?

Of course the answer was obvious: because we aren't normal.

Forcing my features to relax, I gave him a nod.

The tension fell away from him, and I looked away.

"I took some of the chairs apart. It's not my best work but it might be more comfortable." He used the fact that I was still holding his hand to pull me from the seat and to a spot on the floor where he had used the cushioned parts of some of the chairs to make a something vaguely resembling a bed. Smiling, he left go of my hand and made a 'ta-da' motion towards it.

Giving him a tired thumbs up, I turned to head back to the chair when his hands clasped around my arm, stopping me.

"Where are you going?"

Blinking at him over my shoulder, I pointed to the chair.

Frantically shaking his head, he tried to pull me down to the makeshift bed. After a few futile attempts by him to move me, I complied and sat on the cushions.

"Lay down." He shoved at my shoulders, and I raised a brow. "The bed's for both of us."

Rolling my eyes, I laid down on my back. It was more comfortable than the floor, but it made me long for my bed at home.

Phineas plopped down next to me, throwing an arm over my chest and cuddling up against my side. I wrapped an arm around his back, and he let out a sigh.

I stared at the ceiling. When we were little, back when our parents first married, we shared a bed for the first several months. Even once Phineas got a new bed, we'd still snuggle up in the same one on occasion, normally if one of us had a nightmare. But as we got older, those occasions happened less and less often, until they stopped completely.

I smiled, tightening my grip on him. I had missed it in a way. Even if we are teenagers, and its awkward and a bit of a childish thing to do. And even if his pointy nose and elbows always stick me in the side while I'm trying to sleep.

"'Night, Ferbooch," he muttered. "We'll get out of here tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Phineas." If only.