A week later over breakfast, Quinn said: "We should think about moving."

         Puck bit his lip and glanced at Blaine. Life at the stop had been comfortable, remaining static as they had left them vulnerable, no matter how long they kept the fire outside burning, the Walkers would come. They always did.

         "We could hot wire one of the cars in the parking lot," Blaine suggested. "We could drive it to the safe area."

         "What if we run out of gas?" Puck asked.

         "There has to be gas stations around," Quinn said, gently touching his arm. "You've got nothing to worry about. This is our way out, towards the end of the quarantine. The car can hold tons of supplies."

         Puck looked her dead in the eye. "I'm tired of running," he whispered. Quinn just took his hand and faced Blaine. "Do you know how to hot wire a car?"

         Blaine blushed. "I don't. I was hoping we could figure it out?"

         "I know how," Puck confessed. "I've done it once or twice."

         Quinn chuckled, and again Blaine felt as though he had invaded some private moment. "Let's pack as many supplies we can into the car, wash it out with bleach and tomorrow we'll get it going and get out of here."

         "Sounds like a plan," Blaine agreed.

         They spent the rest of the day quietly going through as many supplies as they could, sorting what to keep and what to leave. Quinn grilled McDonald's hamburgers and packed them for the journey. Sometime in the afternoon, Quinn started singing an old song from a movie Blaine remembered from his childhood. Puck joined in, singing the male parts, harmonizing with her. Blaine wished he knew the words.

         For the first time since The Change, he felt a crushing loneliness. He envied Quinn and Puck, whatever their connection was. He knew that although the three of them looked out for each other, Quinn and Puck shared a connection he could only dream of having. He wished he let himself feel more, wished it was easier for him to let others in. But he was afraid. He didn't want to lose them, he didn't want to watch their eyes change from hazel to the sickening yellow of the Walkers.

         His family had caught the virus, ironically, from the vaccination. Somewhere along the line clean needles had become scarce, families were forced to share them when they received the vaccine. Blaine had refused it; he wanted to fight the virus on his own. His family's needle was not sterile. Three days later Blaine woke up to find his family dead. It was at that moment that he shut down. He could not kill them, instead he quickly packed his bags and ran. He shook the image of the eyes of his parents, once brown and friendly, now that awful color.

         Sitting and listening to Quinn and Puck sing, he began to cry. He remembered what it was like to sing with his brother, how it felt to be onstage, how a melody felt in his throat. Once the wall had been broken down he couldn't get it back up. Quinn and Puck didn't notice, continuing to harmonize and dance with each other across the tiled floor, smiling and laughing. Blaine was so caught up in his own tears that he didn't notice Quinn's hand on his shoulder, Puck's arms around him.

         "Don't cry," they whispered.

         "I'm alone," he told them. "I'm all alone."

         They did not know what to do so they held him, and even when he stopped crying they held on tight.

***

         At dawn they moved their supplies out of the stop, and surveyed the parking lot.

         "We need to find a car manufactured before 2000," Puck told the Quinn and Blaine. "It'll be easier to get it started."

         Blaine scanned the parked cars, his eyes settling on a hideous red van. "What about that one?" he asked, pointing.

         Puck grinned. "A 1994 Ford Aerostar. Perfect."

         The van was boxy, and huge. It was a bright blood-red colour, With scratches along the doors that could only have come from Walkers. It was thankfully unlocked, and they wasted no time loading their supplies into the van. When they were sure everything was secure and that they hadn’t forgotten anything, Puck he pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and used a screwdriver they'd found in the janitor's closet to start taking apart the steering column, revealing the ignition cylinder and the wires running to it. He used the scissors to cut and strip wires and reattach them in a way that was so simple, Blaine suspected if he'd had enough time he could have figured out how to hot wire the car himself. The car started and Puck fiddled with electrical tape, covering the exposed ends of the wires.

         Smiling from ear to ear, Puck sat up in the drivers seat. Quinn announced she was going to sleep in the back, so Blaine slipped into the passenger's seat and they drove away from their sanctuary.

         Three hours later, Quinn was still passed out and Puck was driving two hundred miles per hour along the abandoned highway. The silence between Puck and Blaine was comfortable, but he had so many questions for him. He didn't know Puck, not really. Blaine turned his head and studied Puck for a moment.

         "What?" Puck asked, aware of Blaine gaze.

         "Trying to figure you out, I guess," he answered.

         Puck laughed. "What do you want to know?"

         "Do you love her?"

         He sighed, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. "That's a complicated question."

         "What's so complicated about it?"

         "It's beyond love I think," he explained. "I can't live without her, I need her. We need each other to survive."

         "Oh," Blaine said softly.

         "I don't know what it is, to be completely honest," Puck told her. "I've never kissed her in my life but I know that if anything happened to her I couldn't go on. We're completely dependent on each other. Where I go, she goes."

         "Is that a burden?" Blaine wondered out loud.

         "Kind of," Puck confessed. "We talked about it a lot when it was just the two of us. A romantic relationship is too complicated at the moment, but we're partners for life."

         Blaine was silent. "It's strange," he continued. "I didn't think I would ever find someone like her, but I have. I live one day at a time, but I know that she'll be with me tomorrow. It makes it easier to breathe."

         "I've only heard of stuff like that in books," Blaine confessed, turning to look at Puck.

         "I don't know what to think anymore. We belong to each other. It's that simple."

         "You're lucky to have each other," Blaine murmured, and turned away from him.

         Blaine felt his hand on his own. "Hey," Puck said softly. "We're lucky to have you, too. You're amazing. All three of us belong to each other."

         Blaine had to bite back tears. "Thank you," he said.

         They were silent until Quinn woke up about an hour later.

         "I have to pee," she announced, sitting up groggily. "Can we even stop the car?"

         "Yes we can," Puck answered, pulling over to the highway shoulder. "We just can't turn it off."

         "Ok perfect," Quinn purred, opening the door of the van to slip out. She grabbed the lead pipe from the back of the van, and headed towards a group of trees a few yards from the van.

         Four minutes later, Puck glanced over at Blaine. "I'm nervous," he confessed. "She should be back by now."

         And then they heard the scream. Puck cut the power on the van, threw himself out the driver's side and bolted to the group of trees. Blaine had never seen anyone run so fast in his life, and he quickly followed, van be damned. He drew his knives as he ran, adrenaline fuelling his feet.

         When he reached the patch of trees, it was the worst thing he could have imagined. Quinn was leaning against a tree, her breathing shallow. She was soaked in blood, her eyes rolling back in her lead as she put all her weight on the birch behind her. Puck stood over a Walker, beating it with the lead pipe. As the blood that had been rushing passed Blaine's ears cleared, he heard the sounds of Puck beating the Walker's head again and again. It was clearly dead, and had been for a while, but he didn't stop. Blaine registered the sounds of a strangled cry, and he realized it was coming from Puck. He stepped towards his friend and placed a hand on his shoulder. He didn't stop, he was like a machine hitting the creature harder each time, splattering its blood all over himself.

         "Puck…" Blaine said softly, trying to reach him. He wasn't listening, he was like an animal. "Puck," he tried again, raising his voice. Nothing.

         "Puck!" Blaine screamed, yanking him back from the creature. As Blaine pulled him he released a strangled cry, his voice thick with tears.

         "Puck," a voice behind Blaine said. They turned to see Quinn clutching her side and stumbling forward to touch Puck.

         "Don't touch me!" he sobbed. "I'm covered in its blood don't touch me!"

         Blaine glanced at Quinn, and their eyes met for a moment. Quinn's hazel eyes, normally vibrant and alive were dull and tired. She winced as she took in a deep breath.

         "We need to go back to the van, we need to rinse Puck in bleach and someone has to do first aid on me because it has ripped open my side and I am literally holding what I believe is my ascending colon right now in my hands," Quinn instructed.

         "Are you infect-"

         "I don't know if I'm  infected," Quinn said, cutting off Blaine. "I don't know. The virus is transmitted via bodily fluids, and none of its blood got in me or on me. Please get Puck back to the van and get him to rinse off I need to throw up."

         Blaine turned and steered Puck away from Quinn as she retched among the trees. "You have to stop crying," Blaine murmured to him. "She needs you. I need you."

         Puck tried to slow his sobbing, to keep from hyperventilating. By the time they had made the short walk to the van, his breathing had slowed considerably. "There," Blaine said softly, rubbing his back. "You're OK."

         "Quinn - " he choked out.

         Blaine fished around in the back of the van for the bleach and a clean pair of pants and a tourist sweatshirt for Puck.

         "Strip down," he instructed. "We're burning all your clothes."

         Puck did as he was told and Blaine wet a sponge with the bleach and rubbed him down. He felt Puck's body relax under his touch, and he felt good for a moment.

         Of course Blaine was gay, he had known that all his life. Puck was good looking, but he wasn't Blaine's type. Their will to survive had made their sexuality irrelevant. Puck trusted Blaine to take care of him, just as Blaine trusted Quinn and Puck to do the same for him. He hadn't come out to them yet, he didn't know how to divulge something so personal about himself without thinking of his past.

         It was nice to be taking care of someone else, it felt natural to Blaine, and as he worked the sponge along Puck's body he realized how much he had missed caring for other people. He had spent so long travelling alone, that he had forgotten the feeling of family he'd had in his old life. He felt it now, caring for Puck and calming him down. Quinn was right, they were a family.

         Finishing rubbing down his calves, Blaine stood up and handed Puck the clean clothes. "Get dressed," Blaine instructed him. "I'm going to get Quinn. By the time we get back, you need to have the first aid kit out and ready to go."

         Puck nodded, and Blaine jogged back to the trees, where Quinn had managed to remain standing. The clearing smelled disgusting, and Blaine had to keep from gagging as he reached his hand out to Quinn. Quinn took Blaine's hand, her knuckles white, and they stumbled back to the van.

         Puck was ready, he had donned a facemask and a pair of latex gloves. Blaine stepped away, stripped down and treated himself in bleach as Puck tended to Quinn's wound.

         For a moment, Blaine turned to see what kind of progress Puck was making and he nearly threw up. Quinn hadn't been joking when she said she was holding her intestines. Quinn's intestines spilled out her sides, slimy and slick with blood. Blaine had never seen anything like it in his life before. Quinn's insides looked nothing like the fetal pig he had dissected in school - it was like a grisly horror movie he couldn't look away from.

         "She needs stitches," Puck announced.

         "We don't have a needle and thread," Blaine replied, not turning to look.

         "Dental floss," Quinn said.

         "What about a needle?" Blaine asked.

         "Are there any cactuses around?" Quinn asked.

         Puck barked out a strange laugh.

         "You don't need to laugh at me," Quinn said tensely. "We need some kind of curved needle, do we not have a fishing hook? I thought we took fishing hooks from the truck stop."

         Blaine walked and looked through the boxes in the back of the van. "You're right," he said. "And there's fishing line too, even better than dental floss."

         "OK," Quinn said, taking a deep breath. "You have to sterilize the hook and the line. Boil them or something, I think there's iodine in this first aid kit. And then someone has to stitch me up."

         "Did you clean around her cut?" Blaine asked Puck.

         "Working on it now, can you handle the line and the hook?" Puck asked.

         "Yes," Blaine answered, taking a plastic cup from the back of the van and pouring iodine in it. She soaked the line and a hook, watching Puck gingerly clean Quinn's wound.

         Tears were pouring down her face, Blaine noticed.  "You have to file the barb off the hook," Quinn said as Puck continued to dab at her wound. Blaine got to work on filing down the barb when something dawned on him. "Quinn if we use this to stitch you up it's going to make holes in your sides. The eye is huge."

         Quinn laughed darkly. "It's better than nothing," she said. "I'm probably already infected."

         Puck looked up at her and Blaine could see the hurt in his eyes. "Stop talking like that."

         "What if it's only a matter of time?" Quinn asked, her voice rising. "I could make you both sick. This can't be the end for you, not because of me. It's better if you kill me."

         Puck gripped tight on Quinn's waist as he continued to treat her cut. "Not. Today." he said firmly, and Blaine felt like crying. "I'm serious," Quinn said, her voice thick with tears. "Please just kill me it hurts too much."

         Blaine glanced at Puck to see if he agreed with Quinn and Puck's eyes caught Blaine off guard. They weren't full of tears as Blaine's were, but they were brimming with emotion. It was as if he had found a way to contain all his feelings in that one spot. Blaine stepped forward with the sterilized hook and fishing line.

         "Let's get you stitched up," he said.

***

         When he looked back on it later, Blaine didn't understand how he hadn't managed to puke. He had never seen so much blood in his life. He had never heard someone scream themselves hoarse, he had never seen the inside of someone's body cavity before. Driving the van down the highway his head was still spinning. He had thought killing Walkers made him strong, he thought that he was a hunter, that he could handle blood and gore, but after reality had caught up with him he wasn't sure if he wanted to watch another Walker's head tumble to the ground again.

         Quinn was spread out in the back seat, her head in Puck's lap. He had been silent since the three of them had piled back in the van. Blaine had slipped into the driver's seat and started the car, Puck hadn't protested.

         They had been driving for about three hours when Blaine saw the boy hiking down the road. Blaine slowed down to get a good look, wondering if he was a Walker.

         "What is that?" Puck asked.

         "I don't know, I think it's a person…a boy," Blaine answered. "Does he look like a Walker to you?"

         Puck rolled down his window to get a clearer view. "No, he doesn't look like a Walker."

         "Should we stop?" Blaine glanced into the rearview mirror to meet his gaze. He just shrugged.

         Blaine pulled over the van as best he could ahead of the boy. He cut the power and got out of the car. He turned to look at the boy and his breath caught in his throat. He was beautiful. His hair was a chocolate brown, swept up off his forehead. He was wearing a white Henley and black jeans that were tight on his skin, a satchel slung over his broad shoulders. His combat boots were practical but effortlessly stylish. The boy looked like he had stepped out of the Italian Vogue Apocalypse Now Issue. An issue that Blaine remembered pouring over countless times as he watched the world end. It was the boy's eyes that made Blaine's heart rate accelerate. They were impossibly blue, with flecks of green and gold. They looked like exploding supernovas. After months of staring and death, Blaine found life in the boy's eyes. The boy leaned against the side of the van, smiling at Blaine.

         "Hi," he said. The boy's voice was soft and feather light.

         Blaine was silent. He only stared.

         "Excuse me?"

         "Oh, sorry, um…hi," he replied, snapping out of her reverie.

         "Thanks for stopping," the boy smiled. "I've been walking for hours."

         "What happened to you?" Blaine asked.

         He sighed. "I went to get water and my group was attacked by Walkers. I just ran away, and I kept to the highway in case anyone came along."

         "You mean there's a pack of Walkers in the area?" Blaine asked sharply.

         "They're far behind," he told Blaine. "But I wouldn't stay here for too long."

         "Have you touched them?"

         "No. I saw them attacking my friends from a distance."

         "I'm serious," Blaine told him. He looked the boy dead in the eye, trying not to get caught up in the warmth of his gaze. "My friend was attacked, we're not sure if she's been exposed but she's in real trouble so we don't want you infecting her with anything."

         "I swear, I'm clean," he told Blaine, returning the intense stare.

         "I'm Blaine," he said finally, extending his hand.

         The boy grinned. "Kurt." Their hands touched, and Blaine felt comfortable touching someone else. He missed touching.

         "You can hop in the passenger's side," he told Kurt. "Quinn and Puck are in the back."