I watched as Conrad explained, and my brow furrowed in doubt. How could Hanna have gotten very much worse without myself or Worth noticing before Conrad did? I shifted my weight to get a better look at Hanna, who seemed too weak to will himself to look up at me for several minutes. A ghostly flicker of a smile danced on the border of his mouth, but quickly disappeared when his honey-colored eyes trailed over to Claus. Hanna's brother rolled up his sleeves and approached Conrad, who raised a brow at the specter.

"Put him down, moron. I know what I'm doing."

Conrad craned his head back to the redhead wordlessly, and Hanna nodded tiredly. Conrad glared at Claus as he let Hanna slide down from his back, careful to stay close in case the infirm man couldn't hold himself up. Claus seemed to be biting back a smile as he looked Hanna up and down. The redhead was shaking as though the winter breeze could knock him down, his eyes were the color of the sun, and for some reason, Claus seemed to find all this amusing. I had half a mind to get out the hammer. But before I could even so much as say anything, Claus shot his arm out and grabbed Hanna's wrist and examined his left palm. Claus looked up at Hanna after a long moment, which had clearly been spent in deep thought.

"I know you showed the Zombie - that's this rune," Claus muttered, pointing at the very middle of Hanna's palm, "But what is this one...? I haven't seen it before..."

Hanna coughed, as if to make his presence known, "I - uh, didn't think I'd get this bad. I didn't want Dante to see you..."

"Too bad, then. You wasted a rune - and an existence, apparently."

"Wh-what are you saying...?"

"Those runes? They're killing you faster. I mean, aside from the disease, of course. That's my fault."

Hanna stumbled backward, but Conrad saved me the trouble of catching him, leaving me open to jerk Claus by the collar of his shirt. Stillness enveloped the park, the only other sound being the wind as it whistled blankly through the branches.

"You - it's your fault?" I mumbled, barely able to speak through the rage that was boiling a hole through my stomach.

"What the hell is your problem!" I heard Conrad hiss, but Hanna seemed to be thinking fast, as if the situation we were in was a sort of puzzle. It was a sight to behold, when Hanna lifted his head in hurt fear.

"For how long?"

"Since the Deal. I'm tired of wavering between human and ghost whenever you decide to use your runes. So I pulled a few strings..."

"You talked to my dad?"

"I didn't really say anything. I just asked him if he wanted to be the one to kill his son, or if I should be the one to do it."

"He - he didn't care?"

"Of course he cared. Just - not as much as he used to. I mean - you did sort of ruin his life. The whole, 'being born' thing was a bad idea."

At first, I had wanted to avoid a conflict for Hanna's sake, but beating his brother senseless seemed to be the only reasonable option at that point. Tightening my grip on his collar and throwing his body head-first as hard as I possibly could against the nearby tree, I listened as Claus fell to the hardened dirt with a soft thud, which satisfied my anger slightly, having put a nice dent in the side of his face. I put my boot down on his chest, but Hanna waved his arms, motioning for me to stop, and so I complied, not wanting to further upset my friend.

"Yeah - not a smart move..."

Claus muttered as he got to his feet and brushed the grass off his black and gray argyle sweater. I expected him to retaliate, but he didn't. He just wrapped his arms over his chest and looked Hanna over again before picking up and icicle.

"So, Hanna...Give me one good reason not to just-" Claus waved his arms, "-end it all now."

"You...Don't know the whole truth. You'd be killing me for no reason."

"So I'm stupid as well as helpless? Think of a better reason."

"Not - not what I meant - what I mean is...I made a deal with him too, when you were born."

Deafening silence ran rampant through the park as Claus looked from each of us, until finally his gaze came to a halt and stayed rested on Hanna. He seemed to be concentrating on his every word, as though there would be a test later.

"Show me."

I was taken aback, to say the least. Claus had said it himself; the runes would kill Hanna if he continued to use them, why would he risk his brother's life for a simple confirmation? Couldn't he just once believe Hanna?

"Only if I can bring Achilles and Conrad along."

"...Fine."

It wasn't a matter of choices - not that I was bothered. I just found a certain disdain for being spoken of as if I wasn't there. Nevertheless, while Hanna shakily carved a rune into the tree with an icicle from Claus, the three of us circled round the base of the old tree. The rune was a large circle with a triangular shape in the middle in which Hanna had his hand pressed to. He instructed each of us to place our right hands on one of three lines that would protrude out of the circle. Hanna muttered an incomprehensible phrase, and I felt the familiar sensation one might feel if they were being drowned.

When finally the world around me became composed once again of understandable shapes and colors, I took a look around me. I had the odd sensation of knowing where I was, but being unfamiliar with my surroundings at the same time. A sort of nostalgia washed over me when I realized I was in a parking lot, and I thought back to our first meeting with Ples Tibenoch. I let memories take over my mind as time began to slow down once more into a normal rhythm. Until it was safe to move, when I realized a redhead with horrible posture was walking past me.

I wish it had been as simple as blindly trusting Hanna. I was insanely worried, and curious, but I found myself content with allowing Hanna and Claus to sort out their own issues. I knew that while Hanna would have told me if he wanted, I wished I could have been more informed. But as I followed a sixteen year old Hanna, I began to wonder if anyone knew his story. Did anyone know what went through his mind on a normal day? How well could someone really hide themselves? How well could Hanna Cross lie?

When at last Hanna came to a stop at the end of the parking lot, in some dark corner no one would ever want to leave their car in, I couldn't help but wonder what he could possibly be doing in such a place. All thought left my mind when a voice snaked its way through the air -

"Was wonderin' when you might show up, Hanna. Now c'mere...Tell me what ails ya."

Okay - I was expecting some sleazy Lamont-like guy, too. But the man that emerged from the shadows was definitely not who I expected Hanna's biological father to be. For one thing, he had an Irish accent. Another; Hanna was his spitting image, although this man was definitely taller, though just as ridiculously thin. His hair was probably a shade lighter than Hanna's and just as much a hopeless mess, although instead of baby blue eyes, he had warm dark hazel ones in their stead. He seemed to radiate light, so to speak, even in the darkness of the parking lot. Hanna looked to be just fine with sitting on the dirty ground next to him and calmly talking.

"Hi, dad. I just wanted to talk to you about Mr. and Mrs. Cross..."

"What's wrong with 'em? Are they mean to ya?"

"No! They - well, they had a son..."

"Mazel tov." He muttered as he reached beside him for a bottle of what appeared to be some sort of alcohol.

"Yeah - that's what I told em. But - "

"You are wonderin' if they'll keep ya."

"No. I'm scared for their son - Claus - their last two kids died while they were babies and -"

Hanna's father ran a bony hand through his son's mangy hair. He heaved a reluctant sigh as he looked over his son with a sort of weighted sadness. I could only feel fear for the conversation after this point.

"Look - Hanna, ya can't protect everyone. If I have to take Claus - then I'll have to."

"Not if I give someone else up for him."

"Don't you say that, Hanna. Yer mother wanted you to have a normal life - givin' that up would...It would kill ye slowly -"

"But he's just a baby! What am I supposed to do?"

Hanna seemed determined, as though he'd inherited the stubbornness of the Irish. So that's where it all came from. I found myself unable to stand; suddenly overwhelmed with the connections that were being made mentally. Hanna's father spoke as though he would have to take Claus - what was he, some messenger of death? As if obsessed, I probed the Irishman's face for some sort of will to refuse, but he gave in as quickly as I would have.

"Hanna - if I do this, you have to promise me somethin' -"

"What is it?"

"Jus' listen. When you start...Hurtin'...Talk to this man...He's a good friend o' mine, knew yer mother."

Hanna listened, heavily concentrating on his father's words. The older man pulled out a piece of paper, wrote down a few things, and handed it to his son, an obviously apologetic look in his eyes.

"Yer mother would hated me fer this - she never wanted you ta meet Worth..."

"Just tell me what I need to do."

"...You'll need blood. As much blood as you can get yer hands on..."

I couldn't listen anymore. Thankfully, I didn't have to. I watched as Hanna's memory became less and less visible, as though it became fog the more I looked at it. It quickly became replaced with a new memory, one different than the one I had come to think was real. Hanna walked into his baby brother's room with a gun in his hand, ready to make a sacrifice. But this time, I walked inside the room. I heard the thud from outside, as though the memory was slightly faster this time. But there was one critical difference; Hanna's father stood inside Claus's room. But when the thieves invaded the hallways, he ducked into a nearby closet. I watched, slack-jawed, wondering inwardly how bad a parent he was, reminding myself that his supposed friendship with Worth was enough proof to convince anyone how ill-suited this man was to father a child.

After all was said and done, the Irishman stumbled out of the closet, either having been very drunk or having had a difficult time with turning the knob. He hovered over the body of his dying son and crouched down. Hanna was obviously wavering in and out of consciousness when all this was going on.

"Fate's a bitch, ain't she...Don't worry, little one, Ruairi's here ta save the day..."

I watched as the man that called himself Ruairi quickly slipped a pair of gloves over his hands as though he'd done it a thousand times before and proceeded to hold up his dying son to the baby in the crib. Ruairi quickly whipped out a marker and wrote out a few symbols on Hanna's wrist, a few more on the baby Claus's unmoving chest, and took out a knife. I couldn't bear to watch as he sliced a thin, clean cut on Hanna's wrist. To this day, I do not know what he did with that blood, though I'm sure it was grotesque and horrible.

When all was done, Ruairi was careful to lay Hanna back in the position he'd found him in, and exited the house. How his being there went undiscovered by investigators, I didn't know, but I did know that I was going to start locking the apartment door. I watched, for the thousandth time that day, as Hanna's memories began to flicker before my eyes, as we were fast-forwarded back into present day, only fragments of his history clear to the eyes, but inaudible to the ears.

Although I didn't know at the time exactly what significance this memory would be to Claus, I did find it, if anything, heartbreaking. To think that Hanna's own father hated him enough to carry out the deed, but loved him enough to let him live...Was - well, unbelievable, in serveral ways. I had no idea what Hanna could have possibly done to make his father loathe him so, but I decided that would be left to another day as I slowly regained my senses on the cold earth of the frozen park.

The first thing I heard made me come crashing down to earth; Hanna's releasing a deafening and agonized scream.

Soo tempted to just end the story in this one chapter- but that wouldn't be fair. I decided to write one more chapter - and an epilogue.
A Thanksgiving/Christmas present from me to you!
I hope you can enjoy the rest! Click that review button!
Thank you, by the way, for all the reviews so far! They've kept me and this story breathing!

And don't worry about the loose ends - I've got em all tied. Except maybe one or two - just to mess with you guys.
And about Ruairi - I know Cross isn't an Irish name, but that's not his last name. Also; I felt the story could use an Irish guy. Maybe if he's well-liked, he'll appear in another story. Maybe.

Happy Stuff-Yer-Face-Day!

And to all a good coma!