Winter came harsh that year, with bitter winds that found every crack in their apartment's walls. The nameless boy—no longer a child but not quite a man—had grown lean and wiry, his face sharpened by years of privation and responsibility. Eli had grown too, his school uniforms requiring constant repcement as he shot upward like a weed reaching for sun.

  Their mother had been gone for two weeks this time, a not-uncommon disappearance. The brothers had long since established routines for these absences—the older working extra hours, the younger handling more of the cooking and cleaning after school. They functioned as a well-oiled machine, each compensating for the other's limitations.

  Until the boy colpsed.

  It happened on a Tuesday evening as he returned from a double shift at the loading dock where he'd found work. One moment he was unlocking their apartment door, the next he was on his knees, the room spinning around him, sweat breaking out across his forehead despite the cold.

  "Brother?" Eli's voice seemed to come from far away. "What's wrong?"

  The boy tried to stand, to reassure his brother that everything was fine—it was just exhaustion, or perhaps a cold—but his limbs wouldn't cooperate. He felt Eli's hands on his shoulders, surprisingly strong, guiding him to their worn couch.

  "I'm okay," he managed, though the words came out slurred. "Just tired."

  Eli's face swam into focus, brows knitted with concern. "You're not okay. You're burning up."

  The older brother waved away his concern. "I'll be fine by morning."

  He wasn't. The fever that gripped him that night only worsened by dawn. Eli skipped school to tend to him, applying cold compresses and forcing water between his cracked lips. The boy drifted in and out of consciousness, vaguely aware of his brother's increasingly desperate attempts to bring down his temperature.

  On the third day, something changed. Dark bruises appeared on his skin—first at his joints, then spreading across his torso like ink spilled on paper. When he coughed, bright blood flecked his lips.

  "You need a doctor," Eli insisted, his young face set with determination.

  The boy shook his head weakly. "No money. No ID. No doctor."

  "I don't care." Eli's voice cracked with emotion. "I'm not studying anymore if you don't see a doctor. I'll quit school. I mean it."

  The threat cut through the older brother's fever haze like nothing else could have. Eli's education was non-negotiable—it was the purpose that had driven him for years, the one good thing he'd managed to provide.

  "Fine," he conceded, his voice barely a whisper. "But how?"

  Eli already had a pn. Through his school, he'd learned about a free clinic that operated on the other side of town—a pce that treated undocumented immigrants and others outside the system. They allegedly asked few questions as long as you could pay something, however nominal.

  The journey there was hellish. The boy could barely stand, leaning heavily on his brother's shoulder as they navigated crowded sidewalks and public transportation. By the time they arrived at the nondescript building with its peeling "Community Health Services" sign, the older brother was drifting in and out of consciousness, the dark bruises now visible even on his face.

  The waiting room was packed, but the sight of the boy—pale beneath his tan, blood seeping through his shirt where he'd coughed on himself—moved them to the front of the line. A harried nurse guided them to an examination room, where a middle-aged doctor with tired eyes and salt-and-pepper hair eventually came to see them.

  "How long has he been like this?" the doctor asked, shining a light into the boy's unresponsive eyes.

  "Three days with fever," Eli answered, pulling out a carefully counted stack of bills from his pocket—their emergency fund, scraped together over months. "The bruises started today. Will this be enough?"

  The doctor gnced at the money, then back at the brothers. His expression softened slightly. "Let's worry about that after I examine him."

  The examination was thorough despite the clinic's obvious limitations. Blood pressure, temperature, reflexes. The doctor drew blood samples, frowning at their appearance, and swabbed the inside of the boy's cheek. He listened to the bored breathing, palpated the swollen lymph nodes, and studied the pattern of bruising with growing concern.

  Finally, he turned to Eli, who had stood sentinel-like in the corner throughout the examination.

  "I need to run more tests," the doctor said carefully. "But I've never seen this exact presentation before. It appears to be affecting his blood—the way it clots, its cellur structure. I'd like to keep him here for observation."

  "For how long?" Eli asked, gncing worriedly at his brother. "We don't have much money."

  The doctor's gaze moved between the brothers, taking in their worn clothes, the older one's calloused hands, the younger's mixture of childish features and adult worry.

  "Don't concern yourself with payment right now," he said quietly. "This is... unusual enough that I'd like to consult with colleagues. With your permission, I'd like to send samples to a friend who specializes in hematology."

  Eli hesitated, years of caution warring with desperation. "Will they need his name? His information?"

  Understanding dawned in the doctor's eyes. "I can send the samples with a case number only. No identifying information required."

  Relief washed over Eli's face. "Then yes. Please."

  The next days passed in a blur for the older brother. He was dimly aware of being moved to a small room with a real bed—a luxury he hadn't experienced in years—and of various medical personnel drawing blood, checking vitals, hooking up IVs. He caught glimpses of Eli, sometimes sitting beside his bed working on homework, sometimes arguing with staff who tried to send him home, sometimes asleep in a chair with his school backpack clutched to his chest.

  Through it all, the fever raged, broken only by brief periods of lucidity that grew increasingly rare. The bruising continued to spread, and bright blood appeared with arming frequency—in his urine, in his stool, seeping from his gums when he tried to eat.

  He overheard fragments of conversation that made little sense in his delirium:

  "...never seen this specific mutation..." "...affecting the blood's capacity to..." "...sending samples to another specialist..." "...unprecedented cellur deterioration..."

  On the seventh day, he awoke to find the original doctor sitting beside his bed, studying a thick file of reports. Eli was asleep in the corner, exhaustion having finally overcome his vigince.

  "You're dying," the doctor said without preamble when he noticed the boy's open eyes. His voice was soft enough not to wake Eli but clear enough to penetrate the fog of fever. "I'm sorry to be so blunt, but you need to understand the situation."

  The boy nodded slightly. He'd suspected as much.

  "Your blood is... changing," the doctor continued. "Attacking itself in ways I've never seen. None of my colleagues have seen anything like it either." He hesitated, then added, "Except one."

  The boy's gaze flickered to Eli, still asleep in his uncomfortable chair.

  "Your brother," the doctor said, following his gaze. "You're concerned about him."

  It wasn't a question. The boy managed a small nod.

  "I need to tell you something," the doctor leaned closer. "I sent your samples to several colleagues, as I mentioned. Most were baffled. But one—a researcher named Dr. Keller—contacted me personally. He says he's seen something simir in his research on blood disorders."

  The boy waited, conserving his limited energy.

  "He wants to meet you. He believes he might be able to help." The doctor's expression was carefully neutral. "I should warn you that his methods are... experimental. His work focuses on extending human life through cellur manipution."

  The nameless boy closed his eyes briefly. He didn't care about experimental treatments or extending life. But Eli... Eli needed him. Without him, his brother would have no one—their mother had been gone for almost a month now, one of her longest disappearances yet.

  "What would it cost?" he whispered, the words painful in his raw throat.

  The doctor's ugh held no humor. "Under normal circumstances? Millions. But Dr. Keller is eager to study your particur case. He's offered to cover all expenses in exchange for your participation in his research program."

  The boy's eyes narrowed suspiciously. Nothing in life came free. "Why?"

  "Your blood carries a mutation he's never seen before—one that could be key to his research." The doctor hesitated. "He believes that understanding why your blood is self-destructing could help him develop techniques to prevent cellur degradation in others."

  "He wants to use me as a b rat," the boy summarized ftly.

  The doctor didn't deny it. "He wants to study you while attempting to treat you. Whether that treatment will be successful..." He shrugged slightly. "I can't promise that."

  The boy's gaze drifted back to Eli. "If I refuse?"

  "Then we keep you comfortable as long as we can." The doctor's clinical tone softened slightly. "Based on your progression, that would be weeks at most."

  The choice wasn't really a choice at all. The boy had spent his entire life ensuring Eli's survival, his education, his chance at a better future. He wouldn't abandon that responsibility now, even at the door of death.

  "I'll meet him," the boy whispered.

  The doctor nodded, unsurprised. "I'll make the arrangements."

  Dr. Keller arrived two days ter—a tall, distinguished man with silver-streaked hair and penetrating eyes that seemed to catalog every detail of the boy's condition in a single gnce. His manner was brisk, professional, with none of the compassion the clinic doctor had shown.

  "Fascinating," he murmured, reviewing the file of test results. "Truly fascinating."

  He conducted his own examination, drawing more blood samples and dictating observations into a small recorder. Throughout, he spoke about the boy rather than to him, as if he were already a specimen rather than a person.

  Only when Eli entered the room did Dr. Keller's demeanor change. He straightened, adopting a more conventional bedside manner.

  "You must be the brother," he said, offering a practiced smile. "I understand you've been taking excellent care of your sibling."

  Eli, wary beyond his years, simply nodded.

  "I believe I can help him," Dr. Keller continued smoothly. "But it would require him to participate in a research program at my specialized facility."

  "For how long?" Eli asked, the same question he'd posed to the clinic doctor days earlier.

  Dr. Keller's smile didn't waver. "That depends on his response to treatment. Potentially months."

  Eli's gaze hardened. "And what happens to me while he's gone?"

  The question caught Dr. Keller off guard. He gnced between the brothers, clearly reassessing the dynamics at py. "I... hadn't considered. Do you have other family?"

  "No," Eli said ftly.

  The nameless boy, weak as he was, managed to reach for his brother's hand. "College," he whispered.

  Eli's brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"

  "He needs to go to college," the boy crified, each word an effort. "If I do this... will you pay for his education? All of it?"

  Dr. Keller's eyebrows rose slightly. He studied the determined face of the dying young man, then the defiant stance of his brother. Something calcuting entered his expression.

  "A full schorship," he said after a moment. "Through doctoral level if he qualifies academically. Plus a stipend for living expenses."

  The boy's eyes narrowed. "In writing. Legally binding."

  A smile touched Dr. Keller's lips—not the practiced one he'd offered earlier, but something genuine and far more unsettling. "You drive a hard bargain for someone in your position." He inclined his head slightly. "But yes, I can arrange that."

  Later, when Dr. Keller had departed to make arrangements for the boy's transfer, Eli sat beside the hospital bed, his young face grave with understanding beyond his years.

  "You're not coming back, are you?" he asked quietly.

  The nameless boy wanted to offer reassurances, to promise that everything would be fine, that they'd be together again soon. But he'd never lied to Eli, and he wouldn't start now.

  "I don't know," he admitted. "But this way, you'll be taken care of no matter what happens."

  Tears welled in Eli's eyes. "I don't want to be taken care of. I want my brother."

  The older brother squeezed Eli's hand with what little strength he had left. "Study hard. Make it count."

  "I'll come find you," Eli promised fiercely. "Wherever they take you. When I'm older, I'll find you."

  The nameless boy didn't respond. They both knew the odds of Dr. Keller's experimental treatments succeeding were slim at best. But something had passed between the researcher and himself—a recognition, perhaps, of shared ruthlessness. Dr. Keller would use him to further his research; he would use Dr. Keller to secure Eli's future.

  It was, he thought as darkness crept back into the edges of his vision, a fair exchange.

  Two days ter, a sleek bck car with tinted windows arrived at the clinic's side entrance. White-coated attendants transferred the boy to a stretcher, then into the vehicle's modified interior. Eli stood watching, silent tears tracking down his face as the st of his family was taken away.

  The boy managed to raise one hand in farewell as the door closed between them. It was, he thought distantly, a more dignified goodbye than their mother had ever bothered with.

  As the car pulled away, he surrendered to the darkness that had been beckoning for days, comforted by the knowledge that his brother would have opportunities he'd never dreamed of for himself.

  In a boratory forty miles away, Dr. Keller prepared for his newest test subject with methodical excitement. The blood samples had confirmed his initial suspicions—this was indeed the perfect candidate for the serum he'd been developing. The fatal blood disorder was actually ideal, creating cellur conditions that might allow the experimental compound to fully integrate.

  "Prepare the primary containment b," he instructed his team. "Our subject will arrive within the hour. And draw up the schorship paperwork for the brother—make it ironcd."

  One of his assistants raised an eyebrow. "That's an unusual expense for a test subject."

  Dr. Keller's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Consider it an investment in subject compliance." He gnced at the file on his desk, where the test blood analysis showed promising compatibility markers. "Besides, it's a small price to pay for what we might achieve."

  As his team scrambled to follow his instructions, Dr. Keller allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. After years of searching, the perfect test subject was finally on his way.