That last chapter was such shit…I'm sorry you suffered. I'll try and do better.

Anyway I actually made a (sort-of-not-really) visual for this story, if you wanna check it out the link is on my account! Be sure to read the description! I'll add more later, but I had to be careful for spoilers.

I got a question on what Iggy's role was in Hell sooo…Iggy is the blind Prophet. If you felt like, you could go Google him up. But I'd prefer it if you didn't because I'm not entirely basing this story off of Greek Mythology and Christianity; there'd be too many contradictions. And anyway, Iggy can see the future, but it's not always definite until it's already happened, you see? Fang kept him around because he's useful, Iggy's just there for the ride, and now they're friends. Okay?

_Little Girl_

Max couldn't have guessed what had happened after she had fallen asleep last night, when the rolling in her stomach had paused long enough for her to rest. Before that, she remembered Fang telling Iggy to get a bowl, and she had laughed sloppily and told him. "That's what my mom would do when I was little."

Truthfully, she thought Fang would have left her again and run off to wherever he usually went, leaving Iggy to play nurse. She'd only see Fang a handful of times since she'd been here. Clearly a kidnapped teenage girl locked in a bedroom was not his top priority.

She sure as hell didn't expect him to be asleep with her in bed - but there he was, sound asleep and inches away.

He was flat on his stomach, the Crescendo of his breath opening up his chest slowly like the wings of a butterfly. His biceps folded neatly under a pillow, and his face was turned away from her. In her frozen panic, she could still make out some black design, sheathed partly by the sheets up his back.

When icy shock receded, she jerked away quickly. She hadn't realized how close the bed's end was until she was already falling like a clumsy star.

She landed with a loud bang, hard on her side but narrowly missing the nightstand. There was a groaning behind her, and she realized Iggy had stayed too. Now the blind man was rubbing sleep out of his sightless eyes and staring at her direction in annoyance.

"Are you okay?" Fang asked from above her, not sounding at very concerned. Max flattened her hair quickly. Bedhead, she thought, should be a universal ugliness.

Fang's bedhead was crooked. "No answer?"

Max came to, remembering to be angry. "Didn't your mommy ever tell you what personal space is?"

Fang stood, looking unfazed. "Didn't daddy ever tell you not to talk to strangers?" In her anger, a rush of heat went to Max's face. She took a breath before answering. "Iggy managed to sleep on the floor,"

"Of course," said Fang. He had turned so his back now faced her, and Max could see what she couldn't before: his tattoo. "The bed's not big enough for the three of us. Someone had to make the sacrifice."

"That's not what I meant," Max said distractedly. Of all things, it was a tree as naked as his chest. The black ink branched up his vertebrae and spread all over his shoulders, the tallest only a leaf away from the hair at the nape of his neck. She looked away fast. "It's called boundaries. Ever heard of them?"

Fang was leaning against the wall, arms folded over his massive chest and frowning at her. "And put some clothes on," Max added putting her hand to her head where it ached painfully.

"Why? Is it distracting you?"

"As if!" Max was about to snap heatedly, but not before Iggy made some obscene cutting gesture with the blade of his hand.

"What are you doing?" Fang asked.

"Cutting the sexual tension." Both of them glared at Iggy as he grinned. "Fang and me thought we should stay with you for the night. In case you were dying."

Fang objected quickly. "She's not dying."

"Well if she is she's in the right place for it." Fang smacked Iggy's arm, who howled. "What was that f – oh."

Both boys had gotten very quiet. Fang looked annoyed. "What?" Max was sitting on the bed, trying to look more suspicious than nauseous.

Iggy was looking at the wall behind Max's head. "It's nothing. Just an inside joke."

Before Max's could call him about on this obvious lie, her stomach lurched and she was lunging for the abandoned bowl besides her. Over her loud sickness, she could barely hear Fang swear but felt his fingers as he swooped her hair over her neck.

She shouldered his hands away, gasping for breath. "Don't touch me."

"I think…" said Iggy slowly, appearing besides her like a genie. "We should take her to doctor."

A doctor. A doctor who was from the outside – outside the hotel. A doctor who was surely responsible and sensible and would have a cell phone and would want to help her?

"Absolutely not." Fang was still behind her where she couldn't see, holding away her hair, but she knew his face was shrewd up in concentration.

"She's only gonna get worse," As if proving Iggy's point, Max hurled again. "C'mon, something is seriously wrong with her. And if she keeps puking blood like that she's gonna need a blood transfer – and though I am a man of many talents, I'm not a medic. Neither are you."

"Iggy." Fang hissed looking meaningful. "The only doctors around here are here for a reason– "

"I know. But I know a guy – he never finished med. school before…you know," Iggy confided. "But he knows enough and he owes me a favor. He'll keep quiet about her. There's just one teeny thing you might have a problem with…"

Fang was looking at Iggy hard. He took a breath before shutting his eyes again. "Please tell me it's not who I think it is."

"Can't do that."

_X_

"You don't have to carry me," Max grumbled, folded stiffly into Fang's arm with arms crossed. Except for one quick and expressionless glance, the passive boy didn't appear to have heard her. Max huffed. "I can walk, you know."

Fang's response was jostling her up in his arms, adjusting his hold on her so it was firmer and closer despite her squirming. She looked at Iggy helplessly. "Can't you do something?"

"You look awfully cozy to me," Iggy said innocently, scurrying ahead just out of reach.

They were currently on the way to the doctor, just several ugly cream hallways and one floor down. Dark wood crawled hallway up the cream walls and every now and then there were paintings that matched the brown and tan floral carpeting.

Max sighed loudly, kicking one leg that hung over Fang's forearms. "I have to throw up," she told him, searching for a reaction. He stared on ahead stonily and she tried again. "I have to go the bathroom. Lady troubles. I ate a live dog once. Oh, and did I mention I'm really a man? I died in a horrible car accident. That's right, I'm speaking to you from beyond the grave - "

Fang blinked. "What?"

Max smirked as they followed Iggy into what was a makeshift hospital room. Painted like any other, this one was empty save for a twin bed and a table with supplies spread. A man in a white coat stood by the window, and just now turned to greet them.

Fang bent his head towards Max, startlingly close. "Don't talk." He ordered in her ear.

Because he thinks she'll say something about Fang kidnapping her and will try to escape, Max presumed. "Duly noted," she drew out.

The doctor in front of them was blond with animated blue eyes. And he was young, older than her clearly, but almost too young to be a doctor.

"Hello, my name is Dr. Gunther-Haggen. You can call me Dylan, if you like" He said to her, and then he looked at Fang. "You can set her on the bed."

Fang stood still pointedly, before finally doing so standing but stayed close.

"Thanks for doing this," Iggy said to Gunther-Haggen, and he nodded.

"So? What's the problem?" He asked, arms folded.

Iggy was the one that answered. "She's been throwing up blood. Last night and again today."

"Any headaches?"

"Yes." Fang said, just how he could know that Max didn't know.

"Are you in any pain?" Dylan stared at her curiously.

"Yes," Max answered immediately, suddenly acutely aware of how much pain she was in. Like her bones were shrinking and her ribcage were closing around her heart like a stubborn fist.

"Hmm," Dylan hummed, his fingers at his lips almost posing to look thoughtful. "Well, we'll draw some blood and run some tests, then give you some medication for the pain that should put you to sleep."

"Shouldn't the solution be giving her blood, not taking more?" Fang demanded looking very annoyed. Dylan stared back at him with a remark just on his lips.

"Ah-ha," Dylan chuckled finally and without humor. "I am the doctor here, Fang. Iggy, hand me those needles."

"Show me a PhD," Fang muttered heatedly, but with Iggy and Dylan having already forgotten Fang's temperament Max was the only one who heard.

"Hey," She said to him. "I get that you're the one in charge here, but if a girl's dying I think the best move would be to take her to a real doctor – not a college drop out."

"You're not dying." Fang blew hair out of his eyes. "And believe me, I don't like going to him anymore than you do,"

Max had to refrain from grinning – the last thing she needed was to make friends with this creep, but she couldn't help but ask. "What, did he sleep your girlfriend once or something?"

"I don't have a girlfriend,"

"Wonder why," Max said dryly, trying not to be heard over Dylan and Iggy gathering the clinking thin bottles that would hold her blood soon. "Maybe it's because you kidnap people."

A muscle in his jaw was twitching. "You think?" Fang asked.

"Oh yeah. It'd definitely be a deal breaker for me."

"Guess I'm out of luck then," Fang said back, and Max wanted to ask what me meant. Instead she remembered he hadn't answered her question and told him so. To which he replied, "You never asked a question in the first place."

Swallowing her impatience Max asked, "Why do you hate him?"

"Why don't you hate me?" He looked at her, suddenly serious and curious and worried, almost as if he wondered he'd said too much.

Max had gotten still like new corpse in an open casket, but then she blinked and a startled shock splashed over Fang like he had seen a statue come to life and he knew she was angry.

"Who says I don't hate you?" She demanded. "I never said I didn't hate you. I could hate you. And you'd deserve it."

"A lot of people hate me," Fang was impersonal all at once. "Thousands of people hate me and they've hated me for years and they will for years to come. Even the dead hate me – that doesn't help them, it's pointless, in fact. It's pointless of me to care. So why should I care start to care if one little girl hates me?"

"Alright, Max," Dylan jumped in holding needles in hand. "Are you ready?"

Max steadily ignored him, raising her chin as she glared at Fang. "I guess you don't." she said, and then bore her arm to Dylan who was tearing open an alcohol wipe.

_X_

So…guess it's been a while since I updated. Are ya mad at me? Because lemme say, in my defense, I was always writing it was just like one paragraph at a time and it took like…a month or two.

And in this chapter we have a new character, some invasions of personal space, some slight Max and Fang flirting and then it ends with them being mad at each other. More faxness to come.

Tune in next update for another entry in the FftD saga – full of angst, romance, FAXNESS, and those crazy teenage hormones! Until next time!