3. The Hanged Man

"The best skill at cards is knowing when to discard."

— Baltasar Gracián

Everything was too bright. Too bright and too cold.

Ryuuji forced his eyes open and found himself blinded by a thousand lances of sunlight; immediately he closed them again, observations floating through his mind in a meandering, decelerated haze. The sheer brilliance of everything made him think he'd woken up facing the sun, which didn't make sense, because the sun shouldn't be that low at this time of day. The sun shouldn't be out at all, unless they'd somehow escaped the dense fog of the Cascade Range. But then where were they? He distantly recollected his memories: they were on the run, and Tristan was dying or something—he'd needed blood. And Ryuuji had decided to go for it.

That settled it. He was definitely out of his right mind.

Still, he reflected, he was alive. Felt way too shitty to be dead, anyway.

It took him a few minutes to muster up the energy to open his eyes again and look around. The sun was still in front of him, but he found if he tilted his head just a little to the left, it was blocked by the frame of the car. Okay. So he was still in the Toyota. It must have been parked in the middle of nowhere-at first he couldn't hear anything at all, but momentarily he picked up on the faint howl of wind. His view didn't help much; without turning his head too far, Ryuuji could make out the telltale yellow lines in the road and the metal guardrails beyond that. In the other direction, the driver's seat was unoccupied, and past that was what he assumed was some kind of cliff. And trees. A lot of trees.

They were at some kind of scenic viewpoint: the kind they made for tourists and smokers and anyone else who needed an excuse to pull over. Judging by the position of the sun, it had to be late afternoon.

Ryuuji wanted to sit up, but his body wasn't cooperating. Even small movements were strenuous, and the air felt stale and thick, as if he was breathing through a blanket. In hopes of finding the lever that lifted the seat, Ryuuji thrust his right wrist between the seat and the door. Big mistake. As a searing pain shot through his arm, Ryuuji swore violently and pulled his arm back to examine it. A bandana—one of his own—was wrapped tightly around his wrist. Maybe too tight. His hand looked pale, even considering everything it had gone through, and the ends of his fingers tingled from poor circulation. He kept the arm still long enough for the pain to fade before he tried to pull the bandana loose, but the knots were impossible to undo one-handed.

Irritated and exhausted, he leaned back into the seat and waited. He had no idea where Tristan was, but even if Ryuuji had been abandoned by the roadside, he didn't see much of a point in doing anything about it. He was half-asleep when he heard the car door opening and then slamming shut again.

"Where were you?" he asked, not bothering to open his eyes.

Tristan didn't answer; instead he leaned over and brushed the hair out of Ryuuji's face. The tentative nature of the gesture, not to mention its sheer unexpectedness, was enough to jolt Ryuuji awake as he turned to stare.

Tristan's eyes weren't black anymore, but they were darker than they were this morning-more of a dark russet brown. Looking at him, Ryuuji found it easier to breathe. He wouldn't have thought twice about it until he realized that the pain in his hand was fading. That was suspicious. But hell, even if it was suspicious, he was too exhausted to do anything about it.

"You're a complete idiot," Tristan finally said, dropping his hand. He had the collar of his coat pulled up around his neck, and he rubbed his palm against his jaw as he leaned back into the driver's seat. He looked as exhausted as Ryuuji felt. "I thought you were going to die on me."

Slowly, Ryuuji mustered up the energy to grin. "Is that your way of saying thank you?"

"I'm saying sorry. You shouldn't have done that."

"I saved your life."

"Yeah." Tristan didn't sound grateful. "I shouldn't have listened to you," he said. "I knew this would happen."

"Shut it," Ryuuji said. "I didn't die. It's fine."

Tristan's voice was quiet as he stared out at the road. "No, it's not."

Ryuuji shook his head, slowly. By the end of the day they would be in Domino, and as far as he was concerned, that would be the end of this. Unless-

"Wait," he said. "Don't tell this means—I'm not going to—?" Being bitten by a vampire was one thing. Being turned into one, on the other hand, was not on the bucket list.

"No." Tristan's fingers flexed around the steering wheel. "That's not what I meant. I couldn't do something like that."

"Then what did you mean?"

Tristan started the engine and didn't answer him.

"Tristan."

"Go back to sleep."

Ryuuji didn't want to sleep. He'd already slept all day and had way too many questions to waste time by passing out again. But as he opened his mouth to protest, he felt his eyelids growing heavy, his thought process slowing as he realized he couldn't remember what he had wanted to ask. Despite his best effots, he closed his eyes. He was unconscious almost instantly.

When he woke up next, groggy with exhaustion, the sun really was setting. Unsteadily, he turned to glance out the window. They were in one of those impossibly tiny little towns, the kind made up of little more than a gas station and a corner store. He could see Tristan standing outside the latter in a phone booth.

Even that small movement made his head hurt. Sensing an imminent migraine, Ryuuji used his left hand to move the chair to an upright position, gasping when the sudden change made him dizzy. He closed his eyes and rode it out, noticing that once again his breathing problems had returned. He had no doubt it was connected to Tristan somehow. He also had no doubt that Tristan had somehow made him fall asleep. Bastard.

Wanting to conserve energy, he relaxed into the seat and picked at the bandana around his wrist. It wasn't too tight, at least the circulation seemed to have improved some, but it was uncomfortable enough to annoy him. He wanted to assess the damage for himself. Tristan seemed like a nice guy, but that didn't mean Ryuuji trusted him, especially after that little mind-control stunt.

When Tristan returned to the car, he had a grocery bag with him.

"What is that?"

"For you." Tristan pulled some kind of energy drink out of the bag, snapping off the lid before handing it to Ryuuji. "Drink this."

Ryuuji took it, even though he hated these kinds of drinks. He hadn't eaten all day and he'd take what he could get. "Who were you talking to?"

"Someone I—"

"Bakura?"

Tristan gave Ryuuji a warning look, but Ryuuji matched his gaze. At this point, there was no way he was going to let Tristan get away with leaving him in the dark. Finally Tristan shrugged helplessly.

"Asking questions isn't going to help you," he said. "But yeah. I was letting him know where we were."

"And where are we?" Ryuuji started to regret raising the seat. Even lifting the bottle was taxing. At least with Tristan back in the car, he was breathing easier, though it hadn't helped the headache.

"Central Valley. We should get to Domino sometime around midnight."

Slow progress. They must have pulled over multiple times while Ryuuji was asleep. "Who is he to you? Bakura, I mean."

He didn't really expect a response, but when he didn't get one, he pressed harder. "Come on. You owe me."

Tristan must have agreed, because after a long pause, he slouched down into the seat and said softly, "You know I can't tell you any of that."

"Well, you've got to be able to tell me something. Like, I don't know. How long have you known him?"

"...Eight years."

Ryuujij nodded and took another sip from the bottle. Drinking it was starting to make him realize how hungry he really was. "So you were a kid?"

"I was eighteen."

Ryuuji paused. Tristan didn't look much older than that already. "Ah," he said. "So that's when you—"

"Don't ask," Tristan interrupted. "Seriously. There's no point."

Ryuuji settled for another, simpler, question. "Can you turn the heat on?"

"Oh, sorry." Tristan reached into his pockets for his keys. A blast of warm air instantly flooded the car as he started the engine, and Ryuuji wondered if the heater had been running all day. Even if it had, it wasn't helping at all; Ryuuji was still freezing. This vampire thing wasn't half as fun as it had originally sounded. Unable to do much about it, he chose to address a different problem. He lifted his arm and examined the bandana critically.

"You made this way too tight." he said.

"It was that or bleed to death," Tristan said, putting the car in reverse and pulling them back out onto the road. They weren't on the freeway anymore, but a two-lane highway.

Sensing that Tristan wasn't going to offer to untie the bandana for him, Ryuuji started picking at the knots again. The sunset reflected off the cliff-sides in gold and bronze tones that should have made Ryuuji feel warmer but didn't. He forced himself to swallow the rest of the energy drink before reaching for the grocery bag and pulling it into his lap. Cookies. Candy. Trail mix. The kinds of things they give you after you donate blood. While Ryuuji appreciated the irony, he doubted it would help.

"They didn't have any vegetables or anything," Tristan said, seeing his expression. "But that should tide you over until we get to Domino. There are vitamins in there, too. Make sure to take some of those."

Reassured that Tristan at least seemed to know what he was talking about, Ryuuji selected the trail mix and tore the bag open with his teeth. "What's in Domino, anyway?"

Tristan tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. He seemed to struggle with an answer. "I live there."

"With Bakura?" Ryuuji looked over at his companion. He was surprised to see that Tristan looked nervous as he nodded. Thoughtfully, Ryuuji used two fingers to dig out some of the M&Ms. Whoever Bakura was, Ryuuji was willing to bet that he was the bad guy.

"I have a question," he said. "About him."

"I told you, I can't—"

"That thing you wanted me to do," Ryuuji said. "The reason you let me come with you. It has to do with him, right?"

"I never wanted—"

"Can it," Ryuuji said tiredly. This conversation was more taxing than he'd have liked to admit. "I know this isn't just about convenience."

Tristan stilled. When he spoke again, he sounded resigned. "Don't worry about that," he said. "My reasons doesn't matter anymore."

Recognizing Tristan's tone as the same one he'd used when he'd told Ryuuji to go to sleep, he grew wary. "You were saying something like that earlier," he accused. "Something's wrong, and I want to know what it is."

"Please don't ask," Tristan said, looking pained. "I'm trying to think of a way to get around it, but—"

"Get around what?"

"It's Bakura—he'll want to use you—I have to convince him somehow that you aren't useful."

"What, being half dead doesn't count?"

"I wish. I thought about taking you to the hospital, but he'll just wait for you to be released."

Ryuuji frowned. "I'm not going to a hospital."

"It might give you enough time to—"

"I said no," Ryuuji said. "Anything that involves the law is out."

"Why?" Tristan turned to face him. "You're just a runaway, right? That can't be worse—"

"Yes it can," Ryuuji said flatly. "If you take me to a hospital, they'll arrest me on the spot."

To Ryuuji's horror, Tristan looked relieved at the news. "That's perfect," he said. "Bakura won't—"

"I said no."

Only the strength of Tristan's grip on the steering wheel indicated his frustration. "You don't understand what will happen—"

"I don't care," Ryuuji said. "No hospital. Besides," he sighed. "I don't need it. I'm already feeling better."

Wordlessly, Tristan reached across the dashboard to flip down the mirror above Ryuuji's seat, letting him see the damage for himself.

He was almost unrecognizable. Even bathed in the light of the setting sun, Ryuuji's skin was pale, the yellowed tones of the sunset casting shadows on hollows that hadn't been there before. The hair around his face was damp-he hadn't realized he'd been sweating-and even by generous standards he couldn't pass for healthy.

"Shit," he said. He raised a shaking hand to push the hair out of his eyes, but Tristan reached across the seat again and flipped the mirror back up.

"Did you think I was kidding when I said you almost died?" he said. "You still might. You don't get a say this time."

"Bakura can't be that—"

"Yes," Tristan said tersely. "He can."

Ryuuji leaned back into the seat and thought about his options. He didn't want to consider either one. He'd figure out some other way of getting out of this. He'd only planned on going as far as Domino with Tristan, and that was still his plan. There had to be another angle to this. Things were never just black and white.

"You never told me who was chasing you," he said.

Tristan grunted unintelligibly, and Ryuuji smiled.

"Come on," he said. "I saved your life. That ought to count for something."

"Not much," Tristan said bitterly, but after a long pause, he added, "They were vampire hunters."

Ryuuji wanted to laugh, considering the circumstances. Of course it'd be something like that. Just one more problem on top of this whole mess.

"What did they want?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't know," Ryuuji said, letting his exasperation get the best of him. "Why don't you tell me?"

Tristan didn't rise to his bait. "You shouldn't talk so much."

"I wouldn't have to…" A particularly strong wave of dizziness kept him from finishing his sentence. It was so abrupt it made him certain that Tristan was somehow manipulating him. He quieted, waited for it to fade, and when it did, he kept talking, albeit more cautiously. "Just answer the question properly, and I won't have to say anything. Right?" He closed his eyes and slumped back into the seat in a gesture that would have been exaggerated if he wasn't so exhausted already. "Look," he said. "I'm resting. Now spill."

"…I was right, you know."

"Hm?"

"You're more trouble than you're worth."

"Ah, but I make up for it with my charm," Ryuuji cracked open an eyelid and was rewarded by to see the hint of a smile flash across Tristan's face. "And changing the subject won't work on me, by the way."

For several seconds all Ryuuji heard was the tap of fingers against the steering wheel. "Fine," Tristan said. "But I don't actually know that much about them. All I know is they're some ancient Egyptian family, and they've been trying to wipe us out for ages. They've got these, um, magical artifacts that they use. The Millennium Items. And…"

He trailed off. When he started talking again, it was quieter. "About fifteen years ago, one of their Items was stolen. By a vampire. And since then he's killed a lot of people. Almost the entire Ishtar family. Things have only gotten worse since then. A lot of— a lot of people have died."

When he lapsed into silence, Ryuuji waited a minute or two before he shifted his position a little and turned to look out the window.

"You really hate it, don't you?" he asked, watching the lines in the road flash by. "Being like this?"

Tristan didn't answer the question. Ryuuji closed his eyes again. He'd pressed too hard and now Tristan wanted him to shut up. He still had questions, but he didn't have the energy to ask them nor the mental capacity to understand the answers. His headache had come back with full force, and he didn't know what else to do beyond try to sleep it off. Even now, blackness was swimming in circles behind his eyelids. Ryuuji let the blackness swallow him. He knew something now, and it was enough for him to start forming the beginnings of a plan.

When he woke up again, the car had stopped and Tristan was talking to him. It took effort to focus on what Tristan was saying, and Ryuuji struggled for a few moments before he caught the tail end of a question. Not wanting to put forth the effort required to sit up, much less open his eyes, he mumbled "What?" and tried to listen this time.

"We're in Domino. I'm going to take you to a hospital, but you have to walk in by yourself. Do you think you can manage that?"

Hazily Ryuuji remembered their earlier conversation and forced himself to focus. "I'm not going to a hospital," he mumbled. He felt like he could use one. His heart was pounding in a way that couldn't be normal. How had he somehow gotten worse over the course of the day?

"You have to." Tristan said. He sounded irritated. Probably because it was pretty clear that Ryuuji wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. "You're going to die if you—"

"I'm not going to die," Ryuuji said, opening his eyes to glare at Tristan. "I'll be fine."

"Look, I'm trying to protect you—"

"No, you're not. I don't want you doing anything for me."

"Ryuuji, this is the only thing I can do for you—"

"You could leave me alone."

"I can't!"

With significant effort, Ryuuji sat up. "What do you mean, can't?"

Tristan's face was mostly obscured by shadows, but some illumination from a nearby gas station was enough to tell Ryuuji that he was trying hard to speak calmly. "You know what I mean."

Ryuuji had already exhausted himself, and he leaned back into the seat. It would be difficult to escape from the hospital, but it wouldn't be impossible. Maybe he should take what he could get. He sighed. "It it really that bad?"

Slowly, Tristan nodded, the shadows flickering across his face like the lens of a projector. After what he'd seen earlier, Ryuuji wasn't sure if it was natural or intended. At any rate, Tristan didn't seem aware of the changing light as he leaned toward Ryuuji. He raised a hand and then seemed to think better of it, dropping it back into his lap. He turned back to the wheel and started to open door. "Well, look, I'm going to go and, um, ask for directions. Try to stay awake for a few minutes." He didn't wait for Ryuuji's affirmation before slipping out of the car.

Staying awake was easier said than done. Ryuuji didn't know that much about medical science, but according to Tristan, the danger of Ryuuji dying was still a very real one. Ryuuji certainly didn't doubt that he needed a blood transfusion. Judging by his pulse, which pounded against his chest in a rhythm too erratic to ignore, he could even have a heart attack, but if he hadn't had one so far, he should be fine. He didn't understand why he had only gotten worse as the day progressed—

Ah. Of course. Vampires were traditionally stronger at night. Whatever effect Tristan was having on him, it was only intensifying.

Annoyed, Ryuuji pushed himself up a little bit to look around. Except for the streetlights and light from the store, it was completely dark, but what made Ryuuji more uneasy was the complete lack of people. Even in the middle of the night, there were usually kids hanging around in places like this, the ones were too cool for curfews but too young for bars.

The effort of even sitting up enough was becoming unbearable, and he slid back down against his seat and closed his eyes. To stay awake, he counted out long, deep breaths and tried to see if he could even out his pulse.

He was at 78 when there was a movement of light across his eyelids, and he looked up to see headlights in the rearview mirror. He was about to go back to counting when the vehicle turned and he saw the car behind the headlights. It was an big van, a black one, and even though Ryuuji's couldn't be sure, it was too much of a coincidence for it to be anyone but the so-called vampire hunters.

While the car was still parking, the passenger side door opened and a man jumped out. There was enough light from the store and the street lamps for Ryuuji to see him: dark skinned, dressed in black, bleach-blond hair. He was holding a gun.

"Shit." This was impossible. How had they caught up so fast? For that matter, how had they even trailed them to Domino? Ryuuji twisted in his seat to look towards the store. He couldn't see Tristan inside at all—how long did it take to ask for directions?

Of course, if Tristan lived in Domino, he didn't need directions.

Ryuuji swore again, the pit in his stomach only growing deeper as he realized that no matter what he did, people were going to die. The shade of Tristan's eyes had only gotten darker as the day progressed, but Ryuuji had been too preoccupied with his own condition to think anything of it. At any rate, whoever had had the bad luck to work tonight was probably done for. Ryuuji was on his own.

With his left hand, he carefully took the gun out of his jacket. He'd only had to fire it once in the past—usually just waving it around was enough to get him what he wanted—but Ryuuji doubted that that would work with these people.

And he'd thought that this would be easy.

Through the side mirror he could see the blond walking toward the Toyota. Hoping that the man hadn't seen him yet, Ryuuji leaned back into his seat. He didn't know if he could handle a shoot-out, much less stay conscious long enough to live through one. Panting, he pressed his free hand—the injured hand—to his chest, willing his heart to slow down. His body might be having some kind of physical reaction to whatever Tristan was doing, but he'd be damned if that's what got him killed.

The man was close enough to touch the trunk, and Ryuuji could see him in the rearview mirror. He was looking toward the store. Unwilling to lose the initiative, Ryuuji put his hand on the door. He was ready to swing it open when a wave of doubt and dizziness overcame him. He didn't know if he could stand up, much less aim accurately—what if he dropped the damned gun?

Frustrated with his own helplessness, he decided to go for it anyway when something caught his eye. Suspicious of the cause, he glanced toward the store. He only barely caught a quick sliver of movement before he swung around to see the man and someone else—must have been the driver—run towards the entrance to the store. They exchanged a few words, and the man's companion—Ryuuji could see now that she was a woman—turned and jogged around to the back.

So they were going to try some kind of pincer movement. He couldn't see Tristan, but Ryuuji knew he was still in the store. If these people were as powerful as Tristan seemed to think, Ryuuji doubted that Tristan would be able to get out.

Something flashed, blindingly bright, and Ryuuji blinked frantically to clear his vision. As the glow dimmed, he saw that the light was emanating from some sort of golden pole that the blond man was holding. Magical artifacts. Of course.

Then he saw the shadows.

He wasn't entirely sure where Tristan was; the mass of shadows inside the store was vaguely man-shaped, but it didn't maintain a solid appearance; it flickered under the lights of the store like a faulty bulb. The entire lot seemed to dim, and when Ryuuji looked down he saw that the shadows were all stretching, flooding toward the store, recoiling when they reached the barrier formed by the rod's light.

Ryuuji stared. After this morning, he had guessed that Tristan had more powers than he'd let on, but this was just weird.

And then a howl that was definitely non-human rang through the air and Ryuuji knew he had to do something. This hadn't been the plan, not by a long shot, but he had no idea what would happen to him if Tristan died. He didn't want to find out.

The Toyota was an older one, with a manual window roller, and Ryuuji reached down to crank the lever. Opening the door would be quicker, but it was louder, and anyway he didn't know if he could aim accurately with his left hand without something to rest his arms on. He was only going to get one chance to get this right.

The arm closest to the window was his injured one, and he had to drop the gun in his lap and twist around to use his left arm. As soon as he finished, he snatched the gun back up, his forearms on the edge of the door as he aimed, very carefully, at the blond. He was standing in the doorway to the store now, and at any second he'd step inside, making him a nearly impossible target.

And then, somewhere in the back of his mind, Ryuuji had an idea. Tristan could leave him alone if he was a liability. Ryuuji could probably handle himself, and he didn't owe Tristan anything—he'd already saved his life once today—but if these people thought they were the good guys, well, maybe they were a better alternative than the police.

It was worth a shot.

The kickback was stronger than he'd remembered and it forced him back against the seat, where he lost his view of the store. Outside, he heard a startled shout and a scream that sounded like a woman's, and Ryuuji forced himself to ignore his aching chest and sit back up.

The man was on the ground. Ryuuji couldn't see what kind of shape he was in-just that he was still moving. He could see the woman, too. She'd emerged from around the corner and was running toward her companion, but she'd gathered herself enough to activate her artifact—it looked like a necklace—but for the moment all of her attention was diverted.

Ryuuji spent only a split second wondering where Tristan was when he appeared in front of Ryuuji's window.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Tristan's fists clenched on the frame of the car, the metal giving way under his fingers. There was a spatter of blood on the cuff of his shirt. Despite whatever had happened inside the store, he looked more alive than Ryuuji had ever seen him, and Ryuuji knew that the cashier was dead.

"Saving your ass." Ryuuji said, then gasped involuntarily as a tremor of pain shot through his chest. Automatically Tristan reached toward him, and then, with visible effort, withdrew his hand.

"Dammit, man—are you insane?"

Ryuuji growled under his breath. He had no idea what Tristan was doing, but it hurt. "Get out of here," he said. "I just bought you some time."

"You don't know what you're saying—" Tristan said, but Ryuuji was already shaking his head.

"You wanted an excuse, right?" he asked. "I'll be fine. Tell Bakura you had to leave me behind."

"But you'll-"

Ryuuji waved a hand weakly. "I'll be fine," he said. "You can't do anything to stop me." He met Tristan's eyes and forced himself to stare the vampire down. They both knew that the likelihood of Ryuuji getting anywhere by himself was slim, but even more slim was the likelihood of Tristan getting away if he had to drag Ryuuji along. "It's in your best interest, right?" Ryuuji said. "Can't do anything about that."

Dimly Ryuuji heard a woman's voice, raised, and Tristan flinched.

"I think you're right," Tristan said quietly. Then he gathered himself and straightened. "If you live, don't look for me. No matter what anyone tells you."

He was gone before Ryuuji could ask what that meant. Lacking the energy to do much else, he let himself sink into the seat and focused on breathing. He was still getting periodic pains in his chest, and they were only getting stronger and more frequent. He had no doubt that the vampire hunters would try to interrogate him next. Fair enough; he fully intended on letting them capture him. Someone crazy enough to spend their life hunting vampires was bound to believe whatever Ryuuji told them.

It took a few minutes for them to get to him. He heard some shouting and running, but Tristan was long gone and eventually they turned their attention to what he'd had left behind.

Ryuuji opened his eyes when he heard footsteps approaching the car. The woman standing outside was fairly short, now that he was getting a good look at her, but she gave off the illusion of height through a combination of good posture and intimidation. Like her companion, she had a thick military-issue coat and dark skin, but unlike the blonde, her hair was the deep black he normally associated with the Middle East. What really caught Ryuuji's attention, however, was the gaudy gold necklace hanging around her neck. Just looking at that thing made him uneasy.

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice clipped with a thick accent.

Despite his aching lungs, Ryuuji struggled with the urge to roll his eyes. Not the most helpful question for either of them. Acting scared, exhausted, and helpless? Far easier. "Please help me," he said. "Is he gone?"

The woman hesitated-she clearly expected a different answer. But after looking at Ryuuji more closely and glancing back towards the storefront, she nodded. When she proceeded to say nothing else, Ryuuji sighed and tried again.

"Please! I…he bit me!" Ugh, this act was getting painfully ridiculous.

Her attention returned to him, her eyebrows angled down in an expression of irritation. "You shot my brother."

Ryuuji had his answer already prepared. "I couldn't help it—something was controlling me—" The pain was getting easier and easier to fake—though he was barely faking—and Ryuuji needed her to hurry up and offer him help before he ran out of time and got it himself.

Fortunately, the woman seemed to accept this explanation. Clearly this encounter was a common one. She turned slightly away from Ryuuji and raised her voice. "What do you think, Marik? We can take him to the hospital with us."

Shit. Ryuuji bit off his curse before he said it aloud. He hadn't taken this part of the plan into account. Before he could say anything, the man did, in a voice deeper and less accented than the woman's. "I don't need a hospital," he said. "Let him die."

"This one says he's innocent." The woman looked down at Ryuuji, who did his best to glare back while ignoring the involuntary constrictions in his chest.

"Oh?" A few footsteps, and the blond—Marik—appeared next to his sister. He was bleeding, but it was from the shoulder and he certainly didn't seem like he was in pain. He leaned forward with an expression that was far too condescending for Ryuuji's taste. They were supposed to be taking pity on him, dammit. "You're a real piece of work, aren't you?" he said. "But that act isn't fooling anyone."

Immediately, Ryuuji clenched his fingers around the gun, though he knew he probably couldn't lift, much less aim, the thing. He was starting to see spots.

Marik smiled. "Are you going to shoot me again?"

"Go to hell—" Ryuuji couldn't stop himself from gasping at this point. "—I don't…" He couldn't even finish his sentence, not that he knew what he was trying to say anyway, and he slumped back into the seat. Above him, he could still hear the foreign siblings converse, but he was mostly focused on cursing his pathetically weak human body and the stupid stupid brain that decided taking a road trip with a vampire would be a good idea.

Through the fog, he could still catch snatches of their conversation, but it was mostly meaningless to him.

"You think he's one of theirs?"

"I thought so at first, but they've never tried this."

"So then the vampire—"

"It may have just been incidental. At any rate, this one might be..."

They hushed their voices, their conversation switching to some language Ryuuji didn't recognize. Or maybe he was just hallucinating.

He tried to stay conscious-he really did. There was no way he wanted to leave his fate in the hands of these bastards. And unconscious? It just wasn't his style. But his body gave him no choice on the matter, and the siblings were still murmuring above him when he inevitably slipped into the arms of darkness.

XII. The Hanged Man: The Hanged Man symbolizes one who has given up, or who has chosen to sacrifice himself. It tends to indicate restriction or a need to meditate on your decisions so far.