Why? There was no reason to trust this creature. There was no reason to have hope. There was no reason to believe life could go on. So why did Blaine feel this burning in their chest? They could not rationalize any of these questions, and it frustrated them. They let themself feel better, they let themself feel good for just a moment, and of course it was instantly ripped away. They wanted to scream, they wanted to hit, they wanted to break, but they knew better. They could not let Jesse hear that, could not let him see that, could not let him feel that. Not again. Somehow, this end of the world was supposed to be a new beginning for the two of them. Blaine was not going to ruin it.

Even so, rage burned their chest as though someone had used a branding iron directly on their heart. They took sharp, quick breaths that felt like swallowing hot steam. They felt their stomach, which was severely lacking in contents (adding to the sour mood), twisting and churning. Blaine rushed for the bathroom and knelt by the toilet. They knew they had no illness, but imagining letting one of those monsters have its way with their brother made them sick. There was very little effort involved in emptying their stomach; they pulled down their mask, opened their mouth and clear bile seemed to pour out. Blaine curled their fingers in the shag rug that sat in front of the toilet and gripped hard, pulling on the strings hard enough to rip a few out. Just when Blaine thought they were finished, memories of their past failures shot into their skull like a bullet and forced more bile through their now gritted teeth. Tears began to peek out of the corners of their eyes and even their nose began to empty.

It was stupid, it was dumb, they knew it was hopeless. They wanted so badly to start anew with their brother. They wanted so badly to make him happy in ways they never were. They had too high hopes for the apocalypse to be better than normal life. Blaine felt like a failure through and through, and this temptation of a cure was the final straw. It was a damning reminder that they were powerless to save their brother in the past and they were just as powerless now. Maybe it was never about their father. Maybe it was just Blaine that was the problem.

Willing themself onto the sink, they started rifling through the medicine cabinet until they found their solution. Their father’s razor sat in the mess of medications and other toiletries. Blaine fumbled until they were able to remove the blade from the razor’s body. They pulled up their left sleeve to reveal the many scars from their father’s frustrations, then placed the cool blade onto a particularly empty patch of skin. The blade lightly traced down their arm as Blaine imagined its path in their mind, trying to see if it would be large enough. It had to be. The edge pressed a little harder onto the skin. Blaine sucked in a deep breath.

A loud, wet cough interrupted Blaine’s train of thought. The hack turned from one to multiple quickly. Both Blaine’s mind and hand slipped, the blade barely nicking the skin no deeper than a paper cut. In a moment, they felt their anger rise again, only to remember what it was they were getting angry at. They let their anger turn towards the very person they were trying to protect. The person they were about to leave behind. Tears burned their eyes, and they threw the razor into the trash can beside the toilet. Somehow the regret stung worse than the rage, it sunk deeper into their stomach and chest (though not enough to make them sick again). They rinsed the tiny drops of blood off their arm and pulled their sleeve back up.

The walk from the bathroom to Jesse’s room was only a few feet, but felt like a long walk of shame for Blaine. Each carefully quiet step brought on a new wave of grief. They finally approached and peeked their head into the room, only to see Jesse had surprisingly not been disturbed at all by Blaine’s shouts, or their bathroom commotions. A couple of new stains on his blanket revealed it was merely a cough, not that the stains were a comforting sign. Blaine closed the door and sighed. Jesse needed help that they could not provide.

They could hardly focus on the problem with the rumbling of their now completely empty stomach. Blaine contemplated getting more food from the village when a new idea popped into their head. The village had a doctor, Ishmael. Surely, he had some kind of medicine that could help. Without much of a second thought, Blaine readjusted their mask and nearly bolted out the door.

The village was not too far from Blaine’s house, it only took about 15 minutes to walk. Someone at the entrance allowed them in after they explained who they were. Near the middle of the campus, Dante was setting up a big pile of wood, lugging a big log in his hands. Blaine waved to him, but quickly realized that he could not wave in return. Instead, Dante gave a happy smile. After placing down the log, he came up to properly greet Blaine.

“Good to see you again, Blaine! I was worried you would just grab some supplies and run.” Dante patted Blaine, a little lighter than usual, on the shoulder. “What brings you back?”

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“Admittedly, more supplies.” Blaine said with a mixture of humor and guilt.

“Of course! What did you need?” Dante did not seem upset; he was just happy to see Blaine again.

“Do you guys have any spare medicine?” Blaine’s stomach let out a mighty roar. “And food.” Dante let out a hearty laugh.

“Let’s work on the food first.” He led Blaine to the cafeteria and then went back to his work.

After a hearty meal, Blaine looked around for some medications only to realize there was none to be found. They asked the person running the cafeteria who let them know that all medications were given by Ishmael, which made sense to Blaine. They quickly made their way to the health center which, surprisingly, had no line. Blaine gave the door a slight knock.

“Who is it?” The familiar voice asked, to Blaine’s surprise. They expected Ishmael to simply let them in.

“It’s Blaine, I was hoping to get some medicine.” Blaine figured he must be with another patient.

“Oh! Hi, Blaine! You can come inside.” Ishmael’s voice seemed surprised and relieved. Now Blaine was waiting for the disappointment. When Blaine pushed open the door, they were immediately blasted with a wave of cold air. They saw Ishmael writing something on a clipboard absentmindedly, but it was what was sitting in the chair next to him that shook Blaine to their core. A dark shadow sat in the chair, its eyes a light grey rather than the usual piercing white. Blaine made a quick grab for their flashlight when Ishmael interrupted. “Oh, please no, I would never get the stains off the wall.” He reacted with a surprisingly casual tone.

“Ishmael, what is this? You’re harboring a shadow?” Blaine stammered in confusion.

“What?” Ishmael turned towards the creature and then back at Blaine. “You mean Peter?”

“Peter?!” Blaine could hardly find any words. “As in the Peter I saved from those shadows?”

“Yes, that Peter.” Ishmael seemed to finally sense Blaine’s confusion. “Wait, do you not know all the effects of Shadow Syndrome?”

“Apparently not.” Blaine said with an exasperated sigh. Ishmael sat them down on the examination table as he began to explain.

“So, when a shadow’s DNA makes its way into a human, it has one main goal: reproduction.” Ishmael pulled down a chart of a male and a female body. “In females, or anyone with a female reproductive system, that is an egg. The shadow’s DNA is able to attach itself to an egg and rewrite it, making an exact copy rather than keeping half of the female’s DNA.”

“Yeah, I knew that. I saw those women in line the other day.” Blaine said, trying to show they were not completely clueless. “And then men get Shadow Syndrome instead.”

“Precisely. When a shadow’s DNA finds itself in a biological male, or a biological female who is unable to get pregnant, it begins to rewrite cells other than the reproductive cells. It begins to rewrite every cell inside the human body slowly, causing the effects of Shadow Syndrome you have likely seen: chills, shadowy discharge, oily hair, et cetera.” Ishmael walked closer to the shadow he referred to as Peter, a frown spreading across his face. “But eventually, the human has no more human cells left, but whatever drives the shadows you and I see outside is not present in these infected humans. They are shadows, but they seem to almost lack life. If you think shadows are alive in the first place.” He waved a hand in front of Peter’s face to show he had no reaction. Just a vacant stare in no general direction.

“Is Peter still in there somewhere? Can we still cure him somehow?” Blaine’s voice was strained, they were starting to realize how grave the situation was truly.

“Well, unfortunately not really. We have yet to find a cure, but there are no human cells left in his body. He is no more alive than the puddles of shadow goo that lay on the ground after you kill a shadow. Not only that, but his DNA is now shadow DNA, so he could accidentally infect someone if we are not careful.” Blaine noticed the gloves adorning Ishmael’s hands and the white and blue face mask over his mouth and nose and realized that he was being extra cautious.

“So then, what do we do?” Blaine begged for an answer when there was a knock on the door followed by a familiar voice.

“Hey! It’s Dante!” The voice explained.

“Come in!” Ishmael invited. Dante walked in and Blaine was hit with a strong smell of smoke. His hands were darkened with ash and soot.

“The bonfire is up, are you ready?” Dante looked over at Peter and then at Blaine, the color completely drained from their face.

“You’re going to…” Blaine could not even say it.

“We are going to put him out of his misery and keep the village safe. Unfortunately, there is no alternative.” Ishmael once again had the strong air of authority that came with his title of mayor.

“Hey, it’s okay, Blaine.” Dante attempted to provide some comfort. “He’s already gone, we are just making sure he can’t hurt anyone else.”

“But what if we can cure him?” Blaine choked out, thinking in the back of their mind about Tim’s idea. Dante and Ishmael looked at each other with sorrow in their eyes.

“Even if we could, there is nothing left to cure.” Ishmael said with certainty. Dante placed a hand behind Blaine’s back and began to steer them out of the room.

“I’m sorry, Blaine. Maybe you should go home. You might not want to see this.” Dante said softly, Blaine following his lead. As Blaine walked slowly back home, a few images flashed in their mind. They remembered how Peter had looked when they had found him with those shadows. Then they remembered what Jesse looked like now. They were frighteningly similar.