Disclaimer: They are not mine, I owns them not.

Author's Notes: Written for the ds_snippets lj community, for the prompt "spare."

Story Notes: Pretty freakin' grim.

Ray doesn't know if it's a plague or a mutation or the fucking wrath of God and he doesn't much care, doesn't care about anything except Fraser getting the hell back, unbitten. The television went snowy a while ago, radio's nothing but static, he wonders how long the electricity's gonna stay on--and he's pretty sure the rest of the refugees in the consulate will lose their collective shit when that goes. But he doesn't care, he can spare Cubs games and music and lights but he can't spare Fraser, fuck splitting up, fuck "someone's got to protect these people while I make a supply run, Ray," he is never letting Fraser out of his sight again.

And he can hear Fraser coming up the steps, hallelujah, but-- Not quite Fraser. Not quite right, a little... Shuffly.

He opens the door and looks. Says, "Fraser," just that one word, worst thing he's ever had to say, and raises the shotgun.