Lamont Toucey was certainly something else.

I stared at the legal document in front of me, having to go over it several times before I understood what it meant. Basically, it was asking the question that could save Hanna depending on my answer.

Paraphrasing three pages to a sentence, it asked: "Are the contents of the trial too dangerous for the public, and if so, should the trial take place privately, judged by government officials?"

I didn't waste any time marking my answer, a simple "Yes, the information should be kept confidential at any cost." Signed, dated.

A few days after the young woman with blue-streaked hair came to visit Hanna, a teen with terrifyingly pointed teeth showed up in my office, out of breath with a small bag of five videotapes. The kid said his name was Veser. A friend of Hanna's, and if they were going to get Hanna out, I had to watch those videos, it was "really super-fucking important or something, just watch them". He had left in a hurry after that. I waited until I got home to watch them.

The first had been a recording of Lamont.

"Hey there, Hewney. I'm sure you remember me, Lamont Toucey. These are tapes that were taken during certain…well, some were supposed to be vacations, but, eheh…it's hardly ever very relaxing when Hanna's involved. Some of them are just dumb home videos he took too. I kinda mixed and matched them so they'd make better sense. They are numbered, I'm sure you've noticed, and chronological. These tapes will prove that Hanna's not crazy, but also, you know, not a murderer. We can't use them in a normal trial, however, so I'm working on getting us a special case. Don't worry about any of that. Just focus on Hanna. He needs you while we're putting all this together. A lot of strings need pulling and a lot of favors need doing, so…just make sure he's okay. He needs someone and we can't be there, so you need to. He trusts you."

Since seeing that video, I had been waiting for the letter currently in my hands. I sealed my reply, placed it in my outbox. No emails for this, just one copy, hand-delivered both ways.

The second video was of Hanna in very dilapidated places, one of which being his home. One other place was very frequent; a dingy room that looked like it was once a clinic. The remarkable and fantastic thing, though, was the particularly green company in those scenes. This was the proof we needed, the proof that was too dangerous to use.

Static. "Hanna? What-" Static. "-get that thing? It looks broken…" Static. "--camera, bro! It's uh…kinda fixed, almost. Um. Here!" Black screen explodes into Hanna's bright smile and clunky glasses. I was taken slightly aback by the shock of sudden saturation, but also by the sheer joy in his face. I'd never seen him like this before. This was the real Hanna. This was who he was always supposed to be. This was who he'd very likely never be again.

"Ha! Dude, totally awesome, it's filming! Hey, hey future me! Is there anything in my teeth? Haha!" The camera closed in on Hanna's mouth for a second before it was jostled around by his laughter. There was a small rumble of laughter from someone else, the deep voice that had spoken before. Then the camera was jostled even more, focused upside-down on something bright orange.

"Oh man, this is so cool! Wait, hang on, it's not-" And the camera flipped, zoomed out, giving me a full view of the zombie. "There's that rugged mug of yours! Haha, one smile for the camera Dionysus, come on!"

Green lips stretched to a genuine, indulgent smile. Glowing orange eyes closed and the corpse shook its head with a chuckle. I could see the tug of the stitches on his face and neck. "Hanna, really, where did you get this?"

"Found it! It was tossed into a dumpster by Worth's place. But I could tell it still worked, a few of the pieces were just messed up, so I fixed it! Now we can do home movies and shit!"

While he spoke, he panned the camera all over his tiny, cruddy apartment, zooming in on various ridiculous things; socks and a Dick Tracy poster, and then over to the kitchen, into a pan on the stove crusted with grease. He turned the camera to the corpse again, who stood and crossed over to Hanna. He didn't look to enthusiastic about 'home movies', but he did look quite affectionately at Hanna nonetheless.

"I see…and I suppose these will be staples in movie night once we have a few taken?"

"For sure, man! That's the whole point of movies, to watch them! So hey, say something to your future self!"

The zombie looked to ponder it for a second, then put his face close to the camera. "Future self, I'll bet Hanna forgot popcorn again, but really wants some. Go put a bag in the microwave for him."

Hanna dissolved into laughter again, dropping the camera. Static. Then the zombie's amused face again. He was holding the camera, but looking at Hanna off-screen. "I'll bet future Hanna will be laughing just as hard." Then he looked straight at the camera, straight at me, not the Hanna it was meant for. "Are you?"

I stopped the tape for a minute. Tears were stinging my eyes. There was a sick feeling churning in my stomach, pooling in my gut and leaking through my extremities. There was actual proof of the zombie on that tape, talking, moving, acting as though it were never dead at all, perfectly human. It was like a man in makeup, but I knew better. Even without expertise, there was no denying the way those stitches moved and the particular tightness and texture of skin, even visible on camera. Gaunt, too; far too unhealthy looking for a living man to move as easily as he did. The man on the screen was a zombie, was speaking and moving and making jokes with Hanna. It would take simple tests to prove the tapes were not tampered with, no CGI, no nothing. Just Hanna and his best friend, not even lover yet, by this point of the tapes.

Static again. Then the dingy could-be clinic. "Wooorth! Hey! I'm bleeding man! Oh yeah, and check it out, I fixed the camera!"

The camera whipped around the room, taking in a horribly shriveled plant and a messy, stained desk. I could hear something clang and then there were grumbles. A door in back opened, revealing a tall, lanky man in a dirty, fur-trimmed coat. His eyes were rung deep and dark, his teeth were yellow, and a cigarette dangled between them.

"The fuck, Hanna? You were jus' in here yesterday!" His voice was gravelly, thickly accented. Reminiscent of Australian, corrupted by street American. "Turn that piece o' shit off and quit bleedin' on my floor!" Black, a second, then a disturbing close-up of Hanna's thigh, resting on a beat-up medical table. His jeans were torn apart, revealing deep and heavily bleeding gashes in his flesh. The camera was too close; the heat from the wound fogged up the lens.

"Ew, it looks even worse on camera!" Hanna was saying. He turned it to film the zombie beside him, looking grim and unamused.

"Hanna, is this really the time for that? You're lucky you didn't lose your entire leg."

"That's the whole reason we gotta film it! We totally survived that thing!" Hanna turned it toward himself, smiling even though his face was spattered with blood and sweating from the obvious pain. He wiped at the lens with his sleeve before speaking. "Hey future me! Remember this? I'll bet they scar, oh man, are they still there? Anyway, yeah, this'll teach me not to underestimate scared and angry gremlins, right? Or just uh..stay away from plane propellors."

I heard the zombie sigh off-screen, and Hanna laughed a little before a door banged open.

"Awright, ye little shit, pants off. And why's 'at thing filming again? Didn' I tell ya to turn it off?"

Zoomed in, I could see the man's sallow skin and clear irritation. His dark eyes were narrowed. He still had a cigarette between his teeth. "C'mon, Worth, let Steven film us! It'll be a really cool video!"

Worth snorted and opened a drawer, pulling out an old medical kit. "F'ya wanna see yerself in pain, fine. Whatever, kid. Jes' keep that thing outta the way, got it?"

The camera was handed off to a very unenthusiastic zombie. Hanna pulled his jeans off, grimacing as he peeled the fabric out of his wounds. I flinched at the sight. It was rather gruesome. The rest of the video consisted of stitches, shouted abuse, more static, and Hanna being far too happy for someone whose leg was nearly shredded. Much of the rest of the tapes were like that as well; Hanna retaining his optimism through copious injuries, the zombie being there for him at every turn, sometimes affectionately and sometimes sternly.

Hanna was not insane. And Hanna was not a murderer. And I cried on my sofa for a very long time, for Hanna. I cried for his kindness and oddities and no, Hanna, there was nothing in your teeth that day, and should I bring you popcorn tomorrow? I didn't know. I didn't know what to do.

But I did know, didn't I? "Be there for Hanna." For the zombie who loved him but couldn't be there anymore, for Lamont who was working so hard to help him, for the friends who could only visit afternoons and rushed about to find every scrap of evidence they could. For myself, grown so attached to the man in such a short time, so deeply invested in his well-being.

For all of them, for me, for just plain rightness, be there for Hanna. I could do that.

I watched the tapes all night. Watched Hanna nearly drown at the beach while the zombie mothered over him and Worth screamed at him. Watched Hanna get more stitches at Worth's not-clinic and Lamont playing cards with a floating pair of glasses and a sweater vest called Conrad. A vampire, apparently. I watched Toni turn down leers from Veser and the invisible Conrad being badgered by Worth. I saw Toni's pretty face explode into blue fur and snarls. Hanna rescuing pixies from cats. Toni and Hanna having coffee, Toni singing on stage, a flustered pair of glasses when Toni talked to Conrad. Bizarre explosions, magic, angry animals, a frustrated ghost, some kind of demon, screams and laughter and lots of yelling. The zombie carrying Hanna, cooking for Hanna, wiping Hanna's tears away, playfully teasing Hanna. I saw the zombie sweep Hanna off his feet into an earth shatteringly beautiful kiss while Toni giggled from behind the camera.

It was hard to believe half of what I saw, and the other half was nearly heartbreaking. Hanna had such a good life, despite his knack for getting hurt and the strangeness f it all. Now, glancing at the form in my outbox, I felt the same swelling of emotions I had that night I powered through those videos. I put my head in my hands and sighed. To think I knew so little about the world I lived in. To think it took one skinny redhead to flip that world upside down. To think all those wonderful moments and frightening images were real…and who'd have thought there was enough room in me for all this new fear on top of my worry for the situation at hand?

It was easy to forget Hanna was a man, not a boy, sometimes. He he had that preference for saturated colors, patterns, cartoons, comics; was so curious, so intensely energetic and young. But today, he was different. He was quiet and calm. He was using the blue crayon that he'd been neglecting since I'd given it to him.

I bent over him at his rubber desk, watching him draw. It looked like waves, crashing against a red stone. Nearly the entire paper was blue now, different shades of it, with just that red stone in the middle. Made me think of passion being drowned. Emptiness…banked fire.

"You know, Connor," he said. He'd taken to using my first name. "I think my friends might just be able to get me out of here."

"I think so too, Hanna. They're working really hard for you…you're lucky to have people who love you so much."

"Yeah…yeah, I really am. I just don't really deserve it."

"I think you do." I sat on the edge of the bed and watched him continue to fill the page with color. "And pardon me saying so, but in this case, it doesn't matter what you think."

He smirked at me sidelong, a grateful twinkle in his eyes. He pushed his glasses up his nose as he turned his chair to face me.

"So. Whaddya say we hit up the cafeteria now? I'm in the mood for some damn jello."

I raised a brow at him. "Jello? You're making some serious progress here. I can see there's some hope left in you. Is jello all you can think about?"

"Well duh," he replied, standing and stretching. "What better way to celebrate at a hospital than jello?"

He nudged me with a wink and headed out the door. I followed, smiling. We entered the cafeteria, heading straight for the salad bar. Hanna piled as much red jello as he could into a bowl, ignoring the green and orange. I had a feeling it was very much on purpose, and nothing to do with flavors. He topped it with whipped cream. I did the same, but with significantly less dessert. We sat and ate, in a strange but comfortable silence. He was gazing wistfully out the window.

"I want to be outside."

"You just have a little while to wait, Hanna. You'll get there."

"I never realized how beautiful it was out there, Connor. I mean, I always loved being outside, but…I never noticed it, you know? Took it for granted, like everyone. Never thought about how awesome it was to be able to climb a tree or pick out shapes in clouds. And I'll bet this jello would taste better out there, under the sun."

His eyes were cloudy, but there weren't tears this time. I could see something swelling behind them, something like confidence. Then he smiled at me, a real, genuine smile. There was still sadness filtering through, but it was the closest to those videotapes I'd ever seen. It made my heart lurch. I returned it as best I could.

"I'd be locked in a little room with a straightjacket, hand-fed pills everyday if it wasn't for you believing me. You're fucking awesome, man."

Hanna didn't cry that night. He had his first long, healthy sleep since coming here. And interestingly enough, so did I.

I'm so sorry for the long wait. And I'm sorry this isn't even worth the wait. I've had the worst writeblock ever on this thing! And no time to write it, UUUUGH. But hey, I figured I may as well get it rolling, even if I'm not happy with it, because if I don't it will never get done. And thats uncool. Haha. So um...here's the blathering fill I came up with to ease into my pseudo-court case coming up. And yaaaaay, there's gonna be Conrad next chapter!