Quinn was leaning against the wheel of the van, her hair pushed back off her face, staring up at the sun.

         "I wish I knew about chemistry," she mused.

         Blaine sat across from her on the asphalt, staring down at his hands. He sighed. "I wish there was more we could do, I wish there was more to understand."

         Quinn bit her lip and nodded. "I've never felt this useless in my life." She gestured to her side. "I can't really do any heavy lifting, I have no survival skills whatsoever. So much for being an artist."

         Blaine laughed. "It's noble, I think. You did what you wanted to do with your life. You followed your heart."

         "What were you like before?" Quinn asked.

         Blaine sighed. "I wanted to go into international relations."

         "Like a diplomat?"

         "Something like that," Blaine answered. "I hated feeling helpless all the time, thinking about the injustice in the world, you know?"

         Quinn nodded.

         "I wanted to do something to make a difference, I wanted to help people." Blaine looked over to the Honda where Kurt and Puck were fiddling with the gas cap and the chemical tubes to siphon gas into some empty water bottles.

         "Now I just feel helpless," he sighed.

         Quinn reached for Blaine's hands. "You saved us," she pointed out. "You're so strong - it's amazing. I would die if I didn't have anyone with me, but you lasted so long on your own."

         Blaine shrugged, stared down at their clasped hands. "I had to. I'm glad I found you guys, though. I was starting to feel inhuman."

         Quinn nodded knowingly. "I think in moments of crisis, humanity is what we cling to. That's what matters. Feeling human, being human. We need that."

         "I've been feeling a lot like that," Blaine confessed. "It's so nice to just feel. Being alone you can't let yourself feel anything."

         "You like him don't you?" Quinn asked suddenly.

         Blaine was silent.

         "I think you should go for it," Quinn said. Blaine flicked his eyes up to meet Quinn's. "If this is the end of the world, you gotta live every minute of it. I know you know that."

         Blaine smiled. "We'll see," he answered. "It's hard. There was another boy, before…It wasn't like you and Puck…"

         "I believe in fate," Quinn said. "He was just walking by the side of the road. Cute boys just don't appear like that. That was someone, somewhere, some cosmic force, pushing you two together. Real talk."

         Blaine laughed. "Maybe you're right."

         Quinn scoffed. "Of course I am!"

         They fell into a comfortable silence, and Blaine let his mind wander to the boy from before. He worked at Starbucks. Blaine used to visit him on his break from work at the music store. The boy knew Blaine's coffee order. Black iced tea with apple juice. He made Blaine laugh.

         "Do you want to catch a movie sometime?" he asked Blaine.

         He said yes.

         They shared a bucket of popcorn and laughed and laughed. He felt young and happy and when he looked at the boy he felt a whoosh in his stomach. They kissed once. His name was Taylor. He smelled like coffee and Nicorette gum. Blaine liked him.

         Once the virus hit, shops and restaurants closed down. People received strict orders to stay at home. Sometimes Blaine would send Taylor a text message. One day the messages stopped and Blaine knew Taylor was dead. It made him bitter, to have possibility ripped away from him like that. Here was something that was shiny and new and clean and his. And it wasn't any more.

         As much as he liked Kurt, as much as he made Blaine feel alive and at home and like he was real, he couldn't. He was afraid. He was afraid of liking Kurt too much and having him taken away. He was afraid of loving Kurt, he was afraid of dying.

         Blaine looked over at Kurt, hair falling  in his face as he bent to fiddle with the tube in the gas cap and Blaine felt like his heart was going to explode.

         "Did you ever see Thelma and Louise?" Quinn asked, interrupting his reverie.

         "I did."

         "You remind me of Louise."

         "You remind me of Thelma."

         "Good," Quinn smiled.

         "WE GOT GAS!" Puck cried.

         Quinn and Blaine clapped and cheered. Kurt took a bow, grinning mischievously and catching Blaine's eye. Puck plopped down next to Quinn on the pavement.

         "Now all we do is wait for that one to fill up, and keep going until the tank is empty," he said, a satisfied smile on his face.

         "I'm going to take a walk," Kurt announced. "Do you want to come?" he asked Blaine.

         "Sure," Blaine answered softly, standing to go with him.

         "Take the axe," Quinn suggested.

         Kurt grabbed it and led Blaine into the field across the highway. They walked a ways in the sunlight, drifting towards each other and drifting apart, enjoying each other's company. He didn't ask too many questions, and Blaine liked that about him.

         "Good job," Blaine commented.

         "Ah, it was all Puck. I've never done that before," he confessed.

         "I am," Blaine said.

         "Am what?"

         "Gay."

         "Oh."

         Blaine smiled.   

         Kurt smiled back, backlit from the sun, his hair catching the light.

         "I like you," Kurt said. His words cut through the day like the axe he clutched in his left hand. "I like you a lot." His eyes were earnest, pleading for a response from Blaine. Blaine stopped walking and turned to look at Kurt.

         "We could die," Blaine told him.

         "I stopped caring about dying a long time ago," he replied sharply. Kurt's bluntness surprised him.

         "You haven't know me that long at all," Blaine countered, his head spinning with thoughts of a shared bucket of popcorn, of black tea and apple juice and hot summer days.

         "I don't care. I want you. I want it all with you. The world has gone to shit," Kurt spat. "If I'm going down I want to go down with you. I want to feel something before all this is over."

         "I don't want to feel anything," Blaine replied, bitterly. "Feelings get you hurt." He didn't know why he was angry with Kurt, Blaine liked Kurt too. Blaine blinked and Kurt's eyes were green and haunting, blinked again and they were like galaxies and boring into him, full of everything he was afraid of. There was anger and confusion and love, Blaine felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff and going to fall off.

         He had been toying with his humanity over the last few days, regaining it bit by bit. If he walked over to Kurt, closed the gap between them and kissed his mouth like Blaine's body willed him to, it would be over. He wouldn't be a killer anymore. He would be a human. He would be Blaine, a boy who knew his way around a pair of swords, who feared for his life on a frequent basis, who missed his mother and his father and his brother and his old life.

         Kurt decided for him, tossing the axe aside and taking three steps towards Blaine, grabbing his face in his hands. Kurt moved his lips towards Blaine's, and then he hesitated for a moment. It was a request. Blaine closed his eyes.

         Yes.

         It didn't come.

         There was a popping noise, almost like a firework.

         And then screaming.

         Blaine opened his eyes, catching Kurt's for a moment and turning to look back at the van.

         "HELP!" It was Quinn.

         Blaine turned and ran back to the van, blood rushing in his ears. When he reached the van, time slowed down. Everything slowed down.

         Puck was lying on the road, blood spurting from a wound in his neck. Quinn was screaming, cradling his head in her lap, saying his name over and over again. Her shirt was off, her undershirt clinging to her skin, drenched in sweat

         She pressed it to the wound at the base of Puck's neck. Blaine slapped his hands over his mouth and stumbled backwards.

         "Someone shot him!" Quinn screeched, her voice piercing the afternoon air.

         "Who shot him?" Blaine asked, breathlessly. Kurt came up behind him and the colour drained from his face. He turned and stumbled away from the scene, vomiting as he went.

         "I don't know what to do!" Quinn said, looking at Blaine desperately. "We have to help him!"

         "Okayokayokayokay," Blaine said, turning to grab supplies from the van. "We have to take the bullet out," he announced, turning to look at Quinn.

         "No you don't take the bullet out!" Quinn cried, her face a blank canvas for the terror that was clearly consuming her. "If we take it out, it'll bleed more!" She moved her shirt from Puck's wound, it was spent, full of blood.

         Blaine approached the pair slowly with the first aid kit from the truck stop and towels. "Here's a clean towel, we need to stop the bleeding, sterilize and treat the wound."

         "Is there like an artery or something? Oh, fuck I don't know why I dropped biology," Quinn sobbed, tossing her shirt aside, revealing the wound.

         Closer, it appeared to be at the base of Puck's neck, just where his shoulder finished. It glistened with blood.

         "Nothing looks punctured to me, but I'm not a doctor," Blaine said, turning to the first aid kit.

         "We can treat him," a voice said.

         Blaine looked up from Puck and her eyes fell on a boy standing over the scene. He was about six feet tall, with broad shoulders and bleached blonde hair, wearing a baseball cap. He had a sniper rifle in his right hand. He looked proud of himself.

         "Who are you?" Quinn spat.

         "My name is Sam," the boy answered. "I can help you."

         "You obviously shot him," Quinn replied, standing to face him. He towered over her. "We don't need your help," she sneered, shoving Sam.

         Sam looked Blaine dead in the eye. "We shot him because we needed to protect our group. You guys check out OK to us. We can treat him. It's your call."

         Blaine looked back at Sam and he felt completely helpless. Quinn was putting all her effort into pushing Sam, but he was so tall and broad her attempts were futile. Blaine looked down at Puck, unconscious and still bleeding. He was overcome with the responsibility of the moment. He didn't want to decide, he didn't want to have to decide. He felt alone.

         He felt a wave of anger. "When do you get to decide who lives and who dies?" he asked Sam sharply.

         Sam looked at Blaine blankly. "We're just doing what you're doing," he told her.

         "And what's that?"

         "Surviving."

         Blaine scoffed. What did Sam know? The last two weeks had been so intense. He'd met Quinn and Puck, found Kurt, slain countless Walkers. He did it to survive, to make it. This senseless act of violence that had placed a dying boy in his arms was not for survival, it was a power trip.

         "You don't get to play God," he told Sam. "This wasn't your call."

         Sam laughed at him coldly. Quinn stopped trying to shove him over and walked past Blaine to Kurt. The sounds of his retching had stopped, and Blaine hoped Quinn could pull him together.

         "There is no God," Sam said. "The Walker in the trunk of that car is a testament to it. Do you want our help or not? He's running out of time."

         Blaine sighed and surveyed Puck again. His blood had pooled on the pavement, staining the asphalt and Blaine's clothes. Blaine knew that Puck was more important than his pride. Blaine was terrified of Sam, his mysterious "group," the way they had painted him into a corner. Their control was obvious and intimidating. Blaine had no choice, and Sam knew that. He hated feeling helpless and desperate and scared and alone.

         "Fine, you can treat him. But we're all coming with you," Blaine said, gesturing to Quinn and Kurt, who were standing behind him. Kurt looked a little green, but otherwise alright.

         "Suit yourself," Sam replied. He bent over and scooped Puck up, slinging him over his shoulders.

         "CAREFUL!" Quinn screeched.

         Blaine stood and quietly grabbed Quinn's hand.

         "You're OK," Blaine murmured. Quinn turned to look at him, eyes full of tears.

         "This is the worst day of my life," Quinn confessed. Blaine just squeezed her hand harder.

         They started walking behind Sam, abandoning the cars on the highway and the smoldering pile of Walkers. Kurt slipped his hand into Blaine's and they held tight.

         It felt strange seeing Puck broken, walking without him along the highway and through some trees just off the road. Kurt's hand was warm and soft. Blaine felt unbalanced, one hand being squeezed into oblivion and the other gently cradled. They followed Sam for about fifteen minutes through the trees beyond the highway. They stepped into a clearing and Quinn gasped, squeezed Blaine's hand harder than she thought it was possible.

         In the clearing, were about half a dozen cars, arranged in a circle. A couple had the seats ripped out of them, and were bare frames. Others had had the roofs torn off and were being used for storage. They were standing in a village. There were three people standing in the clearing besides Blaine, Quinn, Kurt and Sam. There was a short brunette girl, a tall Latina and a clueless looking blonde standing near the cars. "I shot him," Sam announced.

         "Why would you do that?" the Latina quipped. "We don't have nearly enough supplies."

         "They looked suspicious," Sam said, laying Puck down in a car frame.

         The short brunette was digging in the trunk of one of the cars for supplies. She walked over to Puck and looked him over.

         "Shit," she said.

         "Is he dead?" Quinn's voice was desperate.

         "Who's this?" the Latina asked, looking Quinn up and down.

         "I don't know," Sam said, waving his hand. "His girlfriend or something."

         "I still don't get why you shot him," the brunette's voice came from the car where she was treating Puck's wound.

         "They had two vehicles," Sam answered. "And they had a Walker in the trunk of one of them."

         The three girls froze.

         "A dead Walker?" the Latina asked carefully.

         "That wasn't our car," Blaine answered. They were standing awkwardly on the edge of the clearing and he didn't like it. They weren't travelling circus freaks who needed to be brought in for examination. They were survivors, just like this group. "It was driving down the road. The driver was dead."

         "He was infected," Kurt continued. Blaine noticed that Kurt hadn't let go of his hand. "We killed him, and we opened the trunk of his car to see if he had any supplies. He had the Walker all rigged up and he was draining its blood."

         "We're not sure what it was for," Blaine finished.

         "Sounds like an antidote to me," the Latina replied, looking at Sam.

         Sam shrugged. "I don't want to risk anyone getting infected, especially with open wounds left and right."

         The Latina turned to the blonde, who had been silent for the duration of the conversation, staring blankly into space.

         "Brittany, if we brought you a Walker, would that help with your experiments?"

         The blonde stared for a moment and then answered, "The blood might help."

         "Wait until I patch this one up!" the brunette called from the van. "He's lost so much blood, I'm not sure he'll make it."

         Blaine glanced over at Quinn, but her face was as blank as Brittany's.

         "I'm done I guess," the brunette said, stepping out of the van. "He's still breathing, we just have to wait for him to regain consciousness. Which could be hours, or days."

         Quinn was silent.

         Kurt held Blaine's hand.

         The brunette stepped forward, she was surprisingly short. "I'm Rachel."

         Blaine shook her hand. "I'm Blaine, that's Kurt, and that's Quinn."

         Rachel smiled. "Nice to meet you."

         Blaine raised an eyebrow. "That's not exactly what I was thinking."

         "What do you mean?" Rachel asked.

         "You shot my friend, and now we're basically stuck waiting with your group until he's better. You've got complete control over us. Don't think I didn't notice," Blaine spat.

         Rachel shrugged. "Survival of the fittest," she answered. "You can check him out now." She walked away.

         A guttural scream came from Blaine's left.

         Quinn.

         She had launched herself at Rachel, she was screaming louder and more shrill than Blaine had ever heard in her life. They had tumbled to the ground, and Quinn had a fistful of Rachel's hair, both girls were screaming expletives at each other.

         "FUCK YOU FUCK DARWIN YOU SHOT HIM"

                   Blaine ran towards Quinn, dropping Kurt's hand. He yanked Quinn off of Rachel, pulling her back by her shoulders, her blonde hair flying.

         "YOU'RE DISGUSTING! LET GO OF ME!" Quinn screamed, pushing Blaine away from her arms. Blaine gripped her tightly, feeling terrified. Quinn struggled, kicking and scratching Blaine with all the force she could. Kurt walked around to Quinn and put his hands on either side of her face. Quinn stopped, slowed, panting. Kurt kissed her forehead softly.

         "Stop," he told her.

         She collapsed in Blaine's arms, falling towards Kurt. He caught her and hugged her tightly. Blaine fell into the hug, enveloping Quinn the way that she and Puck had cared for Blaine at the truck stop. Quinn wasn't crying, but Blaine could feel her energy, how desperate and alone she was.

         Blaine felt a tap on his shoulder and broke the embrace to turn and look at Sam. "You can sleep in that van," he gestured to a gutted car, filled with blankets and pillows.

         "Thanks," Blaine said icily.

         Blaine turned and grabbed Quinn's hand. They walked to the van, Kurt close behind. The three of them clambered in, claiming blankets and pillows for the night.

         Blaine hadn't even noticed the time, the darkness settling in around them.

         "We should keep watch," Kurt said. "I don't trust them."

         "We can take shifts," Blaine offered. "I'll go first."

         "I'm going to sleep," Quinn announced, burying herself in blankets and curling up in a corner of the van.

         "You should sleep too," Kurt said, reaching to tuck a lock of Blaine's curly dark hair behind his ear.

         He blushed.

         "We could do it together," Blaine said softly, looking up at Kurt through hos lashes.

         Kurt smiled. "We could." He reached for Blaine's hand, lacing their fingers together.

         "The moon looks beautiful," Blaine murmured. His heart was pounding, still pumping with the day's adrenaline.

         "It does," Kurt agreed, but he wasn't looking at the moon.

         Blaine inhaled sharply. He hadn't been this nervous around a guy in a long time, he hadn't even felt this way around Taylor. He felt stupid falling so quickly for a complete stranger, but Kurt understood him in a way that others didn't. Kurt felt his need to protect, comfort, shield. Kurt knew when Blaine couldn't fight alone, knew when he needed to be alone. He hadn't been this attuned to someone since before the Change, and it was exhilarating.

         "What were you like in high school?" Kurt asked him.

         "I was alright," she answered. "Kept to myself I guess. There were problems with bullies. What about you?"

         Kurt smiled and bit his lip. "You're so mysterious."

         "I don't like talking about before," Blaine confessed.

         "Why not?"

         "It feels better to imagine that it wasn't real. It hurts less."

         "I think that remembering the past is going to get us ready for the future, whatever it is," Kurt told him. "We can't be this shortsighted anymore. I remember when they found the first one in China, the didn't think it could cross the ocean."

         "They were wrong," Blaine murmured. Kurt squeezed his hand.

         "The past gives us something to fight for," he continued. "We'll find a way for your brother and my dad. We can honour them by surviving."

         Blaine looked over at Kurt, his eyes shining with tears. "When I was on my own, before I met Quinn and Puck, I just ran and slaughtered Walkers. It was exhausting. When I found Quinn and Puck, I couldn't believe there were real, living people like me. It was like a miracle. Since I've been with them all there's been is trouble, and hurt and…" he took a moment to breathe. "If any of you guys turned, I think I would just infect myself. I think I would just die. I can't lose my family again. I can't be alone -"

         Kurt cut him off with a kiss. It was soft, not invasive. His lips were warm and tender. Blaine kissed him back, gently. His heart felt like it was going to burst. Blaine wanted him, wanted everything, under the full moon. Kurt moved his hand to cup Blaine's face, bringing them closer. Blaine squeezed their entwined fingers.

         Kurt broke the kiss and looked at Blaine in the moonlight. "I've never met a boy like you," he said. "You won't be alone again."

         Blaine laughed. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing, that you've never met a boy like me?"

         Kurt grinned. "A good thing."

         They kissed until the moon faded from the sky and the sun replaced it.