The Author's Justification: This story will most likely be long and slowly build up to some amazing plot twist which I haven't thought of yet. Please be patient with me and this story. And especially the first chapter - I'm still not happy with it, but I decided to leave it alone and move on with my life.

Because Tessa Stone is a wonderful, amazing person, she updates regularly. Unfortunately, I am chomping at the bit as it is. So from here on out I will be guessing as to what Hanna would 'logically' do next, and Miss Stone will probably correct me with a superb comic. I suppose this will make this story an 'alternate universe' of sorts, where Hanna turns right instead of left, and this vastly effects the outcome of his life.

Disclaimer: Hanna is Not A Boy's Name belongs to Tessa Stone. Worship her.

Hanna Falk Cross couldn't quite believe it. The funeral had been almost unreal, even though he had sobbed until his eyes stung and his small frame shook with anguish. The adoption center was as real as it got, and his chances of being chosen were realistically slim.

The adoption center was very large, but also very crowded, and located near the heart of the city, just inside the business sector. A few blocks to the east was a wonderful library which Hanna visited as often as possible, and there was a park that they would go to on sunny weekends when it was convenient.

And life at the Haven for Orphaned Children wasn't too bad. Sure, Hanna had a few friends, but they were younger than him, and thus more likely to be chosen anyways. The younger, the cuter; Hanna, at nine years old and cursed with an unfortunate name, was quickly becoming incurably bipolar.

That fateful, fatal day when Hanna had been separated prematurely from his family was engraved in his mind forever. It was ghastly and ridiculous how normal an evening it was.

His parents had gone out for an evening by themselves, and Hanna – who was eight and a half, thank-you very much, and not a baby anymore – had been left home alone with emergency contacts and a microwavable dinner.

Dad had to convince Mom to leave – she was so worried, but then Mom had to convince Dad on the way to the restaurant that there really was nothing to worry about. It was the first time they'd ever left Hanna home alone and, although they loved him with all their hearts, they worried that his non-stop hyperactivity would get him in trouble.

The ride to the restaurant was terribly uneventful. When they arrived Dad suggested Mom call home, and was relieved to hear Hanna's indignant reply of, "I'm FINE, Mom!" Only then, with fears mildly alleviated, did the couple settle down to a relaxing dinner alone.

Later that evening at approximately 7:34 and fifteen seconds, Hanna found an urgent news report of a car crash on the television.

His longed-for cartoon show soon forgotten, he was riveted to the image of a somewhat distant, but achingly familiar blue car. Or the remains of one – it had been solidly t-boned by a large, black truck speeding through an intersection. A man and a pregnant woman were in the process of being pulled from the wreckage, but the current chances of survival were discouraging. And the driver of the black truck had been alone and already moved to the hospital.

Hanna sat back in a daze. When he did blink, it was slow and uncomprehending. Sure, that blue car that looked like it'd got in a fight with a herd of rhinos and lost looked like their car, but there was no way. They lived in a large city, and there was some new statistic about their being more cars than people, right? The chances of it being Hanna's Dad and pregnant Mom being in an accident were…astronomical! They were both safe drivers! It just wasn't possible – it was unthinkable.

But Hanna watched the news with all his attention and focus. His eyes were stuck to the screen; the flashing of red and blue sirens from the TV spilled onto his reflective glasses. When the reporter just happened to mention the name of the road – Hanna scrambled for a piece of paper and something to write with.

He shakily reprimanded himself, but shoved the note into his pocket anyway. He picked up the phone and did the sensible thing, dialed the emergency contacts that they'd left for him. His Dad's cell phone immediately reported that "The Phone was Out of Order" and his Mom's just rang for minutes with no sign of there ever being an answer. Okay. Hanna called the restaurant next. A polite man told him that "Mr. and Mrs. Cross had left the restaurant some forty minutes ago."

Hanna thanked the man dumbly and let the phone clatter back to its resting place noisily. The last contact was a friend of the family, a Mrs. Galen that Hanna had never met, but both of his parents spoke of warmly as a good, honest person.

What time was it? It was now almost seven fifty-five. His parents were supposed to be home at eight o'clock. He would wait a little longer before making one last call. He plunked down in front of the news again and watched with undivided attention – like a moth drawn to candlelight.

"The two victims of this terrible accident have been identified as a Mr. Jonas Cross and his wife, Mrs. Josephine Cross. Mrs. Cross was pregnant, and the unborn child is also unfortunately dead. Their bodies are being taken to…"

And that was that.

Hanna forced himself out of that particular memory. It had become more and more difficult of late to stay in the dreamless state of meditation that he'd mastered. To everyone else it appeared like he was asleep; even Luther and Worth were fooled.

Hanna hadn't actually slept for nearly a decade, after the nightmares had become impossible to deal with. (He also didn't relish leaving his mind that vulnerable to anyone or anything). Even sedatives and unconsciousness could not force him to sleep – his body and mind had been rigidly trained to attain the perfect state of resting without slipping that one further step into the subconscious.

He often tried to review memories objectively for more answers during this meditative trance, but his focus had been slipping recently.

Oh well, he had been getting more cases too, and the stress would certainly affect him.

"If you were not a cursed rotten hollow shell of a boy I would tear right through you!" Hanna stifled the groan of frustration he wanted to loudly give in to. It was the morning after Casimiro had 'hired' Hanna to "draw her back out." 'Her' referred to Adelaide, the vampire that Hanna had freed from being permanently stuck in her bat form.

Even with the ultimatum of "do it or die!" hanging over his head, it was still an unexpectedly pleasant novelty to wake up and have someone else be there, with breakfast no less. But now he had to be even more careful with keeping up his 'sleeping' pretense.

After a brief inhale Hanna threw himself into his usual routine of 'waking up'. With a loud yawn and a mighty stretch he proclaimed that he was awake, and ready to take on another day! And he felt like it! His parent's death was something tragic, of course, but he had moved on. He'd accepted it. Hanna was moving on with life, starting over, and he was going to take the world with his overabundant enthusiasm!

Why do anything by halves? Why hesitate? Hanna couldn't afford to put off anything until tomorrow, his parent's fate had taught him to live as never before.

Brushing away his introspective thoughts, Hanna focused on something much more important anyways.

His sense of scent was overwhelmed with the wonderful smell of waffles! He grabbed his glasses quickly from the floor beside him and the image before him fell into focus.

There was Samuel, removing a second waffle from the iron and plopping it onto the first one. A syrup bottle was materialized next to the plate and a fork as well. And not just the waffles were worth focusing on entirely – Hanna wasn't sure he would ever get used to his zombie friend caring for him, or even wanting to stay with him. It was a wonderful surprise every morning to remember that he was not alone.

Hanna wore a lot of clothes, all the time. If he was careful, he could wear a short-sleeve shirt and it would still cover up the runes permanently inked into his skin. He made sure to cover every scar and the evidence of magic on his body. He'd loathed having to reveal his torso of scars to Ajax, but it had been necessary to scribble some runes next to his stapled-up-chest for the paper-crane guide spell.

And truly, seeing Hector not-possessed and still a member of the living dead was worth the interrogation that was surely to come. Telemachus was withholding the questions, and Hanna was unbelievably grateful for it. He didn't like lying to his best friend, but telling the truth was out of the question – never going to happen.

Hanna happily flew to the tiny counter that counted as a kitchen work space for preparing food, and a table for eating at.

"Good morning, Botticelli! These waffles smell awesome – thank you so much!" And a quarter of a waffle – drizzled in blueberry syrup, was already inhaled into Hanna's mouth.

While reaching for another enormous slice of waffle, Hanna chanced a peek at his friend's expression. Hanna considered himself to be extremely friendly and outgoing – possibly to the point of being a nuisance. But he was loyal to a fault, and right now he was worried about Goethe.

"How are you feeling, by the way? Any side effects from the possession? Anything changed since the last time we talked?"

"No, I feel fine." Robespierre's voice was 'neutral', but Hanna picked up on the residual concern. Caedmon was still worried about Hanna's welfare, apparently.

"We'll visit Doc Worth right after I'm done with work!" Hanna finished the first waffle and inhaled the second one in a matter of minutes. Albert watched silently, as was his usual habit.

Or he was silent, until Hanna heard a dreaded question, "What about you?" And the way it was asked, too! Eugene looked worried, and Hanna hated to stretch the truth, but – it was for William's own good anyways.

"Right as rain! Nothing to worry about! I'm one hundred percent!" and with that overjoyed exclamation Hanna was wildly leaping off his chair and to the closet where he pulled out one of his favorite long sleeve shirts, a sweater to go on top of it, and a pair of jeans, and literally spun into the bathroom, quickly closing and locking the door behind him.

Walter sighed, but washed and dried the now empty plate and silverware. He returned the kitchen to normal, and had just slipped on his black overcoat and fedora when Hanna emerged from the bathroom. His friend's burnt red hair had been 'tamed', and he slipped into his only pair of shoes with a dazzling grin on his face.

"Ready, Iago?" And with that Hanna Cross swept from the apartment, and Bernard sedately followed after.

Julius had taken to following Hanna nearly everywhere, and that included walking his friend to work at the Comics-R-Us.

Comics-R-Us was an enormous store that was combination regular book store, and combination comics, manga, anime, and all the accessories that came with it, and combination restaurant. Comics-R-Us was also famous in town for its foreign food selection; no less than seventeen different country's cuisine was represented. And with the foreign food also came a wide variety of foreign books.

Raphael had been surprised to come in one afternoon and find Hanna perusing a book written in Russian. Hanna had deftly dismissed this by saying, "Oh I was just looking at the pictures!" and flipping through the book randomly before quickly setting it down.

Hanna was a mystery, a mystery Theodore desperately wanted to solve.

But with the day open before him, he decided to puzzle over his friend while doing a little grocery shopping.