Tilting his head back, Casey let the warm water wash over his face.
It felt good, and he felt the tightness that meant dry blood loosen
and vanish.

Once the blood was gone, the cuts began to sting, hit by needles of
hot water. Casey let them, taking a bitter pleasure at the small
pains. He wasn't someone who got off on pain, but it felt like a
small remembrance, some payment to those he had killed.

He knew that it had been the aliens who had killed his mother, the
man who he called father, his neighbors. The people at school, jocks
and outcasts alike, had also fallen to the deadly creatures in their
bodies.

But he had struck the fatal blow, filling the queen with the scat
that was so deadly to her.

But he had been wrong. They weren't ground zero.

He had been watching the TV after he had dragged Zeke into the house,
and tended to the cuts on the older man's head. The news stations
were all about the same thing.

Hundreds of people, maybe thousands, had dropped dead. Small, unknown
creatures had been found by each person, and all had sustained some
type of brain injury. Nobody knew what the cause of death was, and
autopsies were being performed even as the newscasters spoke.

Shaking himself out of his depressing thoughts, Casey reached for the
soap. He paused, eyes focused on his trembling fingers. Frowning,
Casey pulled them back, bringing them up to eye level to study them.

They shook, he could see that, but he wasn't afraid, or high on scat.
He wasn't in shock; at least, he didn't think so. They just
trembled, something that was barely noticeable. Quickly, Casey moved
each of his fingers. The pinkies barely twitched, and there was an
eerie numbness that ran along the outside edges of his hands.

Once, during his freshman year, Casey had been knocked out during one
of the 'beat the geek' games. He had woke up two days later, barely
remembering what had happened. Since he didn't know, for certain, who
had done it to him, nobody had been punished.

What he did remember was the doctor telling him he was lucky not to
have brain damage. Casey had sat awake, all night, mind going over
what might have beens. As soon as he had been let out of the
hospital, Casey had looked up all the information he could on the
subject.

Trembling hands, numbness, and an inability to move fingers.

Fuck.

Staring at his hands, Casey realized he had nerve damage. It wasn't
bad, just his hands. It could have been much worse. It could have
been his sight, his ability to walk. His ability to breath. Maybe
that was what had killed everyone. Maybe the parasites severed nerves
when they died. That would explain everything.

Suddenly, Casey realized his was crying. Tears mixed with the water
that streamed down his face.

Sobbing quietly, Casey sank down, kneeling on hard tile. Everything
seemed to hit him at once, and Casey cried for all the lost hopes,
dreams, and desires that had been destroyed. He wept for all those
who would never be able to again.

Nobody deserved to die like that. Unable to do what they wanted,
trapped in their own bodies. Nobody, not ever Gabe and his friends.

The crying steak lasted long enough for the water to turn cold. It
wrung out all the tears Casey had left, leaving only the water to
coat his face as he gasped for air. His chest hurt. Too many years of
suppressing his hurt for anything to come easily anymore.

Grabbing the soap with his shaking hands, Casey quickly set about
washing himself, wiping away sweat and blood. As he did, a thought
occurred to him.

What about his father's gift?

Still unsure about what was involved with the ability his father's
blood gave him; Casey shut off the water, and stepped out of the
shower. Pausing for a moment, letting the water run off of him, onto
the floor, Casey took a few deep breaths. He would need room for this.

Closing his eyes, Casey gave up a silent plea, and concentrated.

***

His head hurt.

The throbbing ache reminded him slightly of the one and only time he
had had a hangover.

With a moan, Zeke burrowed closer to the warm body next to him.

Wait a minute. Warm body?

Brown eyes shot open, then closed just as quickly. Pale morning light
was streaming in his windows, trying to claw his eyes out.

Trying again, much more carefully this time, Zeke opened his eyes.

Blinking, he saw that he was wrapped around Casey. The smaller boy
was sleeping quietly, dark circles under his eyes, his cheeks bruised
around the red cuts. Vaguely, Zeke wondered if they were infected.

Zeke tried to untangle himself, not wanting to wake Casey up. His
head was hurting worse and worse. Why did he not want to wake Casey
up, again?

At the first sign of movement, Casey sighed, and woke up. Zeke froze,
caught in the largest, bluest eyes he had ever seen.

Drawn by the sleepy acceptance of their position, Zeke tilted his
head, and his lips brushed Casey's. For a moment, nothing happened,
then Casey returned the soft kiss.

With a sigh, Zeke relaxed again. Darkness was creeping over him, once
more.

Something soft brushed his lips, and Zeke saw it was a white feather,
which seemed to glow in his darkening vision. Casey held it, brushing
if softly across Zeke's face.

"Sleep, Zeke. We have plenty of time today."

Zeke slept.