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Moments In Time: Rats	By : Ghost-of-a-Chance Category: G through L > Hellboy Views: 1014 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Hellboy, TMNT, their characters, or any songs/movies/etc referenced; I make no money from this story. I DO own my OCs and the Willow Clan concept...& a lemon.

Chapter List
- 1-Moments In Time: Rats
- 1
A/N: WOOHOO! 106 views on this post--Y'all are totally awesome, folks! Not gonna beg for reviews, or whatever, but I'd be quite appreciative if readers could 'rate' this when they're done. I BELIEVE you don't have to be signed in, and I'm pretty sure it's anonymous--don't quote me though--and that one little click can help improve a writer's work. Thanks for over a hundred views, and hope everyone's staying warm in this winter weather!
This shot may be triggering if you have endured abuse, neglect, or other such traumatic events. Portions are very dark, pretty graphic, and not at all pleasant. This story contains a flashback--specifically, several brief scenes over the course of a several week nightmare. This section's beginning and end are marked by "♦♦♦♦♦" and each included paragraph marks a new memory fragment.
Sometimes the strongest fears have the darkest roots, sometimes you are given no choice other than kill or be killed, and sometimes such instances scar a person for life. This one-shot contains awkward family interactions, recollections of abuse and a traumatizing experience, and romance. Technically still a Hellboy/TMNT crossover, but really only includes mentions of the TMNT portion of the series. Abe is based on a combination of the animated movies and live-action, with some bits from the comics.
Nightmares can be absolutely terrifying while you're experiencing them. Then you wake up, get your heart-rate back to normal, and think it over in the daylight. More often than not, I end up laughing my ass off because it was totally ridiculous. IE, being chased around a skating rink by a demonic Zamboni driven by a road-killed possum in motorcycle leathers. (Bad milk...?) I blame Amber's dream on the multitude of absurd nightmares that become comedies upon waking.

Suggested Listening:

[Frank Sinatra- "It Worries Me," "The Moon Got In My Eyes," and "Oh! Look At Me Now!"]

Moments In Time: Rats
[BPRD, South Wing: 12:30 pm]
It had been another long day at the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense. Since Jasmine Willow's appointment as the new BPRD-Willow Liaison, she and Hellboy hadn't had as much time together, and he, for one, had become antsy. After all, time and time again, when he and Jazz were kept apart too long, she had a tendency to lose control of her element…and no one enjoyed waking up with their sheets on fire. Her prolonged absence from the Bureau was worrisome at best, especially since this latest trip had been much longer than usual. Her plane had been grounded indefinitely due to a long ice storm that had taken down power lines, phone lines, and practically shut down the county. A week after the day she was supposed to be home, there was still no word.
Monday afternoon found him plodding toward the cafeteria, distracted by worrying about her. Surprisingly, Amber's office door was closed when he passed it, and the office silent; aside from meetings, that door hadn't been kept shut since she first took on Manning's position. As distracted as he was by the closed door, he never saw the attack coming.
Someone tackled him—actually tackled him, and bowled him over completely. He found himself collapsed in a heap on the burgundy carpet, a mop of short, windblown almost-black hair smothering him. A familiar voice was laughing into his collarbone, even more familiar shoulders shaking with the effort. Stealing a long-overdue kiss, she shifted backward, straddling his mid-section. Golden eyes softened; he brushed her messy bangs out of her eyes, the world melting away around them. Every time she traveled, she left her painting supplies behind; he needed to talk her out of that. She just didn't look right without the colorful smears of paint that always streaked her face and arms.
"Welcome home," he said softly, his voice a low rumble in her ears. He brushed his thumb along her cheekbone, imagining a smudged stripe of crimson accenting the rosy blush. "Took ya long enough."
"If it weren't for that dang storm," she retorted with a grin, poking the end of his nose. "I'd'a been back on time."
"You do realize you're in a public hallway," someone cringed at his left; a quick glance revealed Amber, her hand clasped over her eyes in an expression that screamed "EW!"
"Really?" Jazz replied, turning to him dubiously. "I thought this was the gym. Are we in a hallway, Red?"
"Dunno. I thought it was the library. You sure, Sis?" Predictably, Amber cringed.
"Up," she ground out. "Before I ground you both." Despite their inclination to mess with her some more, they complied. "My office…now." Hellboy shot a stunned glance her way. Sure enough, her amber eyes were narrowed in a glare sharp enough to cut glass. It never ceased to unsettle him how something the smooth, warm hue of Maker's Mark whisky could become razor sharp on a dime. Confused, they followed her inside, jumping when a barely-controlled gust of wind slammed the door. "Sorry," she mumbled. "I'm kinda high strung right now."
"Windy," Jasmine smirked. "You're always high strung, even when you're asleep!" The redhead flinched. Concerned, Jasmine took a seat before the desk. "What happened?" Her sister took a moment to collect her scattered thoughts, then turned to Hellboy.
"First off, Lunkhead," she scolded. "No making out in public."
"You're lecturing me? She tackled me!"
"I never said it was your fault—I simply warned you not to let it happen." She sighed in frustration, combing her fingers through her light auburn hair and tugging; the nervous tic told them she was more stressed out than they'd expected. "We may not be related by blood, but it's still awkward. We're still siblings…even if he's adopted."
"I told you you're adopted," Jasmine teased, poking his shoulder.
"You're kidding, right?" he added on. "We're totally related—I got Mom's eyes, and Dad's nose!" His lover's crestfallen expression was proof he'd gone too far. 'That's right…their mother's gone. Jazz never met her.' Concerned and abashed, he squeezed her nearer knee, conveying his apology; she replied with a somewhat watery smile, and patted his knuckles.
"Jazz? Red?" Amber murmured. "Seriously…It's…okay…for you two to…be together. I'm not a monster—if you love each other, I'm not gonna get in the way. You're both consenting adults, and no matter how…awkward this is, I have no business pushing you around over it. If I hear anymore word about you two being overly amorous in public, though, I'm puttin' my foot down. No more necking in the library. Got me?" The odd pair groaned.
"Abe squealed," Jazz grumbled.
"Crap."
"Are we clear?" Reluctantly, they nodded. "Alright then…Red, I'll see you 'round. Jazz, I need another moment of your time, if you will."
"Save me some wings, Hon?"
"Will do. Later, Blowhard," Hellboy grinned, mock-saluting Amber.
"Silence, Varlet," she fired back, grinning. As soon as the door closed, her shoulders dropped and her eyes lost their sharp edge. She came around the desk, taking the oversized chair he'd just vacated. Jasmine wasn't sure what had happened, but her sister's behavior worried her. Amber tugged at her roots again, unsure where to begin.
"What happened, Sis?" Jasmine asked quietly. "Did Manning write again? Or d'ya find another of his fuck-ups?"
"Neither, thankfully," Amber sighed, slumping somewhat. "Honestly, I'm sure it's nothing…But…." She faltered, nervously meeting her sister's eyes. "Ya know that new group of MTH agents we just hired on? The four humanoid turtles?"
"Yeah, what about—Oh," she smiled wryly, recognizing the problem. "Their Dad's a rat." Sure enough, Amber flinched violently. "Yer having those nightmares again, aren't'cha." Amber nodded, embarrassed.
"It was decades ago!" she grumbled. "Ya'd think I'd have gotten o'er that fear by—"
"Amber Wynden Willow-Sapien," Jasmine interrupted, arms crossed, eyes narrowed into her best 'Amber' glare. "Aunt A nearly killed ya! Ya were starvin', d'hydrated, hypa-thermic, covered 'n bites, almos' lost yer leg from one, an' if Seb an' Daisy hadn't foun' ya when they did, you'd'a died!" Hating the fear in her older sister's amber eyes, she squeezed her shoulder supportively. "It was traumatizin'—it's no wonder yer scared of rats! Ya got nothin' to be 'shamed of." Amber sat silently a moment, considering Jasmine's words; she avoided her bright hazel eyes.
"Then why'd Abe laugh?" she finally asked in a small, hurt voice.
"He what?!" Jasmine squawked. "Oh, Hell naw! He—He wouldn't!"
"He did."
"I'm'a kill 'im," Jazz growled, glaring viciously at one of the photo frames on Amber's cluttered desk. "Ya like yer fish baked or fried?"

[Amber and Abe's suite, earlier that morning, 6:30 am]
Abraham Sapien jolted awake, panting for breath, his heart hammering against his ribs. What had woken him? As every night before, the humidifier on his breathing machine was running double time, ensuring that he could breathe the dry winter air without difficulty. His gills weren't dry, he hadn't yanked the mask off in his sleep, the blankets hadn't mysteriously migrated onto Amber's side of the bed, and no knocks sounded at the door. With a sweep of his open palm, he scanned the bedroom, but found no threats—no eminent danger—what did he fear? Carefully tugging loose the gill mask that helped him sleep outside his tank, he listened for anything out of the ordinary—a distant alarm, unexpected silence from his still sleeping wife, an unwelcome guest, anything that would explain his reaction. As he reached over to turn on the bedside lamp, Amber shifted beside him, whimpering in her sleep.
The lamp's dim glow gleamed on his wife's sleep-tousled, loosely braided hair. The hem of her modest, dark blue night gown had tangled in her bare legs, revealing a familiar dark, twisted scar on her left thigh. Shudders wracked her body, every fine hair on her freckled skin quivering in alarm. Warm amber eyes were shuttered tightly in fear, flitting rapidly behind closed eyelids; she was dreaming, and from the looks of it, a nightmare. Intent on calming her, pulling her from the terror that gripped her, he gently jostled her shoulder; through the skin-to-skin connection of his hand and her arm, images flowed into his mind, catapulting him out of his body and into her nightmare.

A young girl with two long, light auburn braids slumped back against the heavy barn door, her lungs burning for air. Wide, whiskey amber eyes darted back and forth, searching for a light source. Her plain green calico dress was stained with dirt, grass, and rusty trails of dried blood. Her legs and feet were bare, riddled with scratches, bruises, and small, still bleeding wounds. Amber, Abe realized with a start. It was his wife, Amber—or, at least, she'd be his wife many decades later. In this dream, though, she looked no older than twelve! Curiously, he watched from his position in the dusty loft, his eyes surprisingly unaffected by the lack of light.
Amber felt along the walls, stubbing her toes and scratching her hands all the way. "No…Please…" she whimpered fearfully, her voice dry and scratchy. The charming, refined twang coloring his wife's speech was nothing compared to the thick, tangy drawl her younger self spoke with.
"I got out'a here...I know I did! Why'm I back ag'in?" Even as she searched, though, she knew she'd never find a light switch; that barn had been abandoned long before her time, and had never been wired for electricity. Aunt Amber hadn't given her a lamp, spitefully claiming that she was hopeless--a weakling--a pathetic excuse for a Willow--she was bound to fail, and neither light nor lack of it would make any difference. Then, she'd slammed the heavy doors shut and padlocked them from the outside, ignoring her young namesake's pleas and sobs.
Resigned to her fate, too tired to question her sudden return to the pit she'd escaped, Amber collapsed in a pile of musty, cruddy hay, once more a scared, lonely child. "'m so thirsty…" she whispered, curling up in a ball. "Why's Aunt A hate me so much? Wha'd I do wrong? I try…I really do!" She buried her face in her drawn up knees, sobbing softly. "Mama…why'd ya leave us here—Why'd ya hav' ta leave?" Her soft sniffles tied his stomach in knots. What could he do? He had to help her—somehow!
"Miss Amber?" he called out softly. She startled, scrambling away from the loft's support beams.
"Who are ya?!" she squeaked. "Whaddaya want wi'me?!"
"You needn't be afraid, Dearheart," he reassured. "My name's Abraham…I mean you no harm." She sniffled again, watching the loft warily, scanning the dark eves for any sign of him. "Why are you here? Why are you frightened?" She flinched.
"I'm not s'posed ta talk ta strangers," she frowned. "How'd ya know my name?" He searched frantically for an answer that wouldn't frighten her too much—the dream felt so real, almost like a memory!
"I'm a friend of your father—Professor Broom. I work with him." A watery, hopeful smile spread, dimpling cheeks spattered with freckled and dirt.
"You know my daddy?" she grinned. "Is he okay? Is he safe?" Of course, he realized belatedly; the Professor might still be at war, fighting to take down Hitler. He'd left his family behind the year after Jasmine's birth and his wife's death.
"He's safe, Dearest, and he misses you greatly. He wishes he could be here with you both, and sends his love." A high pitched squeak from behind her sent her darting over to the loft access, searching the darkness.
"Rats," she whimpered. "'at's why I'm here…Aunt A tol' me ta kill all the rats, or she won' let me out…She said to…to take their breath…an' kill'em…." He stiffened at the meaning behind her frightened rambles. Amber Sr had sent her to suffocate an infestation of rodents…just like she suffocated her young charge to keep her afraid, weak, and helpless. The woman was a monster….
"There are no rats up here," he offered after scanning the loft with his open palm. He leaned over to judge the steadiness of the ladder, knocking his hand against something sticking out of one of the low rafters. "Oh! There might be a door to the roof. If you want to come up here, I can protect you from the rats until you wake up, and I may be able to get us some light."
"Wake up?" she echoed, confused. "But…but I am awake! I haven't slept since she locked me 'n here—I' been too skeered!" Despite her confusion, she started up the rickety wooden ladder. "'m so thirsty…an' hongry!"
He offered her his hands as she heaved herself up onto the platform. No sooner was she off the ladder, she clambered into his lap, shivering with cold. The way she curled up in his arms warmed his heart, until he realized he could feel her ribs through her sides. The child was malnourished—had the region still not recovered from the Dust Bowl drought, even after over a decade? Was food truly so scarce that the children were going underfed?
Of course, he realized grimly, the elder Amber had locked her in here without light or even shoes; she wouldn't have left food and water if her goal was her namesake's death. As horrid as the idea was, he had no doubt it had been the woman's intention all along. Clover and Trevor had been able to keep their daughter safe during her infancy—had kept her alive despite Amber Sr's yet unknown habit of smothering air type infants in their cradles—and he was sure she'd never stopped trying to end the girl's life.
Determined to get her out of there, he reached up to the roof just overhead. Sure enough, the metal bar he'd bumped earlier was a door handle, the door itself likely opening out onto the roof for maintenance purposes. Careful not to frighten her with sudden movements, he worked the rusted handle loose, easing the trap door open. With a controlled heave, he flung the door outward, leaving it to fall back against the roof tiles with an echoing bang.
Amber flinched at the bright winter sun streaming in, burying her face in his shoulder. As her eyes adjusted, she drew back, looking over the curious appearance of her savior. To his surprise, all fear had left her eyes—the eyes of a woman much older than the child before him. Had she always had such eyes, even as a child? The idea saddened him.
"Aber'hem?" she questioned, studying his deep blue eyes.
"Yes, Miss Amber," he answered hesitantly, amused at the familiar way she Midwestern-ized his name. "You're safe now." She beamed, throwing herself into his arms for a hug.
"Thank ya, Mister Aber'hem! Thank ya so much!"
"Tis nothing, Dear," he soothed, marveling at the differences between his wife and her childhood self. "You'll get through this—you won't always live in fear of that woman." She glanced dubiously at him; he smiled reassuringly. "I promise…someday, you will become an even more powerful Elemental than she is—a kind, beautiful woman with a warm heart, capable of repairing the damage she has done to your clan. When we meet again, the world will be a better place."
Content with the promise, she nestled into his shoulder. He smoothed her frizzy braids, filtering through the information it revealed. She wasn't nearly as young as she appeared…the so-called "Extended life and extended youth" of the Elementals was due to ridiculously slow cell growth, and thus, resulted in slow maturation as well as extended life and youth.
'Good God!' he realized, flinching somewhat. The Amber before him had just hit puberty, and she was nearly twenty! The phrase 'jailbait' rang through his mind, probably a result of being around Jasmine too often. As he searched for a way to get her out of the barn, an indignant squeak sounded behind her. She stiffened, glancing fearfully over her shoulder; shrieking in his ear, she scrambled behind him.
It was a mouse.
She was running from a tiny, fluffy mouse…a mouse that had fur the same shade as her hair, and just so happened to be scowling at her with furious bright amber eyes and Amber Sr's tiny spectacles.

Amber awoke with a strangled scream, yanking Abe from the dream with her and clinging to him for dear life.
"No…" she whimpered, fighting tears. "Not rats—not again!" Her terrified rambling was silenced at the realization that Abe was shaking. "Aber'hem?" she asked timidly, her eyes hesitantly meeting his.
Unable to control himself, or get the image of Amber Sr. as a rodent out of his mind, he found himself laughing convulsively. Shocked and dismayed, Amber slumped against the headboard, trying to wrap her head around the fact that her husband—who tended to be slightly impaired at finding things amusing—was laughing like a loon for no obvious reason. "The heck's yer damage?" she muttered, retreating to the shower. As the door swung closed, she figured it out.
She'd never seen Abe in that nightmare before, and he certainly hadn't been there when Aunt A had locked her in that abandoned barn. The dream had played out VERY differently, too; normally, she relived the day with frighteningly accurate detail. This time, there was only one tiny annoyed mouse, as opposed to the hordes of mangy, hungry rats that she'd faced. This time, Abe had beckoned her to safety, had held her and chased away her fears. He'd opened a trapdoor that had never been there, lit the pitch black barn, calmed her fears, and reassured her of her safety, promising that things wouldn't always be so bleak as they seemed.
He'd been in her dream, she realized, halfway between embarrassed and annoyed. He'd somehow managed to find himself inside the nightmare, had seen the fear she'd struggled under since the day she was shoved in that barn…and he thought it was hilarious.
Fighting the boulder in her throat, she slipped out of her nightgown and drew open the fogging glass door. One foot inside the shower, one on the mat, she hesitated. He was sure to know she was hurt, and knowing him, he'd most certainly follow her, intent on apology and reassurance; she knew she was being silly, but she just wasn't ready for it. Struggling to stifle the hurt and anger that was surely projecting to him as loudly as all her thoughts did, she padded back to the bathroom door and locked it, intent on a long, hot shower to calm her nerves from the surprisingly tame nightmare. Even as upset as she was by Abe's untimely laughing fit, she was grateful that he'd been there to prevent the nightmare's usual progress.
Outside the bathroom door, Abe stood silently, his right hand pressed flush against the bathroom door. He'd messed up—that much was obvious from the embarrassment and annoyance he detected behind the door. Deciding to postpone his morning shower, he readied for the day and left for the Professor's office. Despite the years they'd spent apart, despite their drastically different personalities, Trevor Broom was her father—the closest living family she had, other than her younger sister, Jasmine. He was sure to know what could be done.

[Amber's Office: 2:00 pm]
Amber sat behind the over-sized desk, slumped in the ridiculously ornate desk chair that might have cost as much as her first semester of college. Frank Sinatra crooned "It Worries Me" from the speakers plugged into her laptop; quickly tiring of the song's reminder of her quarrel with Abe, she smacked the 'skip' button crossly, hoping for something less meaningful. To her disappointment, Spotify responded with several more tracks that were even more gut-wrenchingly meaningful at the moment, only to 'skip freeze' on "The Moon Got in My Eyes."
Though the song had once brought to mind moonlit walks, fine red wine, and long, relaxing bubble baths, it now rang with memories of settling into her new quarters, haunted by cold, disappointed eyes, and even colder words. Hopefully you've more skill than restraint. Abe had been so certain that her outburst had been about working with others like him. He couldn't have known that she was afraid of being discovered by the family she'd left behind. Her eyes stung as she recalled the day she arrived at the Bureau. Rummaging for her glasses had led Hellboy to believe she intended mischief, and he'd nearly knocked the wind out of her over a 'bomb' that didn't even exist. Abe, ever the gentleman, had helped her to her feet, and though she didn't notice, followed her to Broom's office.
She lost her temper at her father for not warning her that she'd accepted a position that would occasionally require her to appear on public media—appearances that would directly link her to the government, something that could put her whole family at risk. Then Abe overheard her words, misunderstood every one, and it all went to Heck in handbasket. Resigning herself to a sour mood, she turned down the volume and scanned her desk in frustration—frustration at her own immature sulking, her over-sensitivity, and the stubborn part of her that was still illogically hurt and angry nonetheless.
Piles and mounds of paperwork menaced from the glossy wooden surface before her, nearly blocking a pair of inexpensive photo frames perched behind them. The eyes of Jasmine, their cousin Alesha, their adoptive mother Daisy, Hellboy, and the professor grinned at her over a teetering tower of manila folders, as though the state of the desk were a joke. In the wedding photo next door, Abe's face and the top of her head were barely visible behind the inbox stacked even higher than usual. Whiskey amber eyes scanned a complaint form half-heartedly. The eldest of the four new agents they'd hired—Leonard? Theo? Whatever his name was—had once again found his assigned mentor impossible to work with, and had filed for a replacement. AGAIN.
"Take the job, B said," Amber grumbled sarcastically as she searched the roster for someone—anyone—who might be able to work with the stubborn terrapin rookie without losing their minds. "Yah'll do great, he said. Cleanin' up after that traitor Manning won't be hard at all!" She yanked her brown tortoise shell glasses off, pinching her nose with a forceful sigh. "Tom's nine-by-nine cell in Guantanamo's lookin' mighty cozy, right now. Bet the scumbag even gets conjugal visits on weekends."
A slightly timid knock sounded at the door; the sound triggered a plethora of thoughts, and just as Alice had, she followed the white rabbit and got completely lost.

Who could be knocking? Maggie? Nah, too calm. Unless Vega was nearby, she knocked like a woodpecker on meth. Myers was pretty shy, and his knock even shyer. It'd better not be him; every time she heard from him, she ended up buried in files and red tape. Margaret's knock was quiet, but she was with that team in Cali, checking out a haunted mine. She needed to call that team later for an update. Wait, Amita was supposed to be dropping by with news about them—it couldn't be Amita at the door, though. Her knock was unmistakably distinct—the volume and rhythm evoked the first powerful notes of Beethoven's fifth. The thought gave her a hankering to listen to the song; where'd she put that CD again? She'd loaned it to Uncle Seb last year, but had he returned it? Or had she loaned it to Abe? Abe…The name triggered a scowl. 'What was his damage this morning?' she thought, the hurt rekindling.
The knocking sounded again, slightly louder than before, startling her from the distracting thoughts. 'Squirrel,' she thought sourly, cursing her microscopic attention span anew. "C'mon in," she hollered. To her surprise, Abe hovered in the open doorway. 'That boor went and changed his knock,' she realized in annoyance. 'He thought I wouldn't answer if I knew it was him. The nerve.' "I wasn't ignoring you," she mumbled, feigning interest in Leo's request form. "I was distracted, and didn't realize it was you. Whaddaya need?" 'Please, please, please make it quick,' she thought, too distracted to realize he'd likely pick up on her thoughts. 'I'm in no mood t' shoot the bull wit' ya, not after th's mornin'.'
As intent as she was on avoiding his eyes, she didn't notice him wince. Yes, she was angry alright…he could have sensed the tension in the air even without his psychic abilities. Mentally going over his plan of action, he shut the door behind him, seating himself in one of the chairs before her desk. He sat silently a moment, wondering if she intended to acknowledge his presence, or meant to stare a hole through the paperwork the entire time. "Abe…." she huffed, pinning him in place with a glare.
"Rats," he blurted out; he cringed. So much for resolving their argument quickly, efficiently, and without hurt feelings.
"What about'em?" she responded dryly, sitting back in the chair, arms crossed defensively.
"That dream." He hesitated, unsure of how to put his thoughts without angering her further. "It was a memory, wasn't it…or based on a memory."
"Yeah." Her hackles lowered, avoiding his eyes. "Turned out differently this time. The real thing—what really happened—it was…" She faltered; she subconsciously rubbed the knotted scar on her thigh, wincing when her nylons caught on it. "…it was worse'n any nightmare."
"I'm sorry, Amber. It had to be frightening for you, and my laughing hurt you. I just…your Aunt Amber, turned into a rat?" He smiled weakly. "It struck me as amusing—quite ironic, really, considering her temperament." Bittersweet relief washed over him when he sensed unease and anxiety rather than hurt and anger.
"Yeah, it was rather appropriate, wasn't it?" she answered with a somewhat forced smile. "If only that had truly happened—it wouldn't have been quite so traumatic." She winced, turning to focus on the pair of framed photos on her desk. His conversation with the professor came back to him; he clenched and unclenched his fists nervously.
"Show me?"
She stared blankly at him a moment, but quickly realized his meaning. Show him? Actually put him through what had nearly killed her, had haunted her ever since? She hated the idea—no one should have to see that! No one should have to experience it, much less the man she loved! Still....
You lied by omission! You let us all believe you were another Manning, another human who knew nothing of the paranormal, wanted nothing to do with it! And all the while, you've been aerokinetic—an Elemental—someone even more classified than Hellboy! I...I thought that you hated us...that you…hated me….
She shook herself from the memory—a fight that could have been avoided if she'd just come clean, had pursued Abe and told him the truth about the argument he'd stumbled in on. If she'd just trusted him, let him in, and told him the truth, the months they'd spent feuding would never have happened. She'd seen what could happen when she spared others from the truth...and she'd vowed to never make that mistake again. He deserved to know the truth, horrifying as it was.
Heart in her throat, she nodded, leaving the desk to come sit at his side. Side by side, they linked hands; their eyes closed, allowing the fractured memories to sweep them under.
♦♦♦♦♦
'You shan't come out—Not 'nless every las' one's dead—suffocated. Ye'll fail, of course.' The click of a padlock echoed like a gunshot. Heavy boots thundered away, defying her pleas for help and mercy.
Her shoulders hurt from trying to force the door. How many days had she been in here? How many freezing nights had she spent there, trembling in the rotted straw, too frightened to sleep? She was weak, hungry, and thirsty.
It rained. The day was cold, and the rainwater dripping down from a leak in the roof was even colder. It tasted of mold and tar, but it would soothe her cracked lips and throat until her body rejected it.
The silence in the gloom was oppressive. Scratching noises and the sounds of tiny scrabbling feet kept her awake. She knew not whether it was day or night anymore—everything was dark, even in the cracks and crevices where she'd once seen tiny pinpoints of light.
She slept. Pain woke her, the cold slither of something wet dripping down her arms and legs. She thrashed, fighting off the hungry rodents that had become too bold. They fled, leaving behind a few comrades who had died fighting for breath. Blood wept from the aching bites in her extremities, the smell of copper potent in the still, stale air. She wept, her tears bitter apologies to the small dead things surrounding her. Bloated, mangy bodies reeked in the blackness, reminding her of what she'd done. The red-haired aunt who stole her breath had ordered her to steal theirs, and she'd done it. She was becoming a monster.
No one had come to free her. No one knew she was there. She'd die in the barn, with only the hungry, crawling things in the dark to remember her. She wasn't afraid anymore; it seemed just as well, really. Survival meant killing—abusing the elemental abilities she'd been born with, sullying the wind in her soul with blood. If survival meant the death of others, then she'd rather die.
Greasy, coarse fur tickled her bare feet. The silence was unbroken now. The straw in the loft no longer pricked her raw skin. A carpet of tiny corpses littered the creaking platform. She no longer noticed the smell of ripe death. No longer noticed the hunger or thirst, or the cold and pain. She'd accomplished her orders. They were dead, but she still lived. The scratching of dull talons echoed on the corrugated roof. Doubtless her handiwork had drawn feathered admirers wishing to share her kill. If only she could do so.
She never felt the bite. It was likely a spider, though she couldn’t be certain. The silent barn pained her ears, and the darkness pained her eyes. She lay back on her rank fur bed, wondering what had become of her family. Jasmine…was she happy? Had she been searching for her? Father…was he safe? Did he remember them, or had the war stolen his heart and mind? The wet, dripping ulcer on her right thigh should hurt. Nothing hurt anymore. The memory of sunlight taunted her in the depths of the blackness. Though she couldn't have seen it if she tried, shadows swam before her eyes.
Oblivion.
♦♦♦♦♦
Abe's head reeled as Amber's office became clear once more. She sat beside him, squeezing him as tightly as she could. Cold tears trailed down her cheeks. The memory of her childhood self, fading right before his eyes, haunted him. He tugged her from her chair, pulling her to sit across his lap and folding her in shaky arms as though they could protect her from what had happened. Neither spoke; neither needed to. From the skin-to-skin contact, the blanks were being filled in.
Amber Sr had supposedly taken her young niece to stay with a family they knew well, but the girl's prolonged absence had worried Daisy. Sure enough, the family hadn't seen hide nor hair of her adopted daughter, and Amber Sr refused to speak of the matter. When Daisy realized that a flock of vultures had been circling a remote, uninhabited tree stand for almost as long as the girl had been missing, she'd feared the worst. She and Sebastian had combed the area for whatever was drawing them, and discovered Amber in a halfway collapsed barn, comatose, with what had to have been a several day old brown recluse bite. She'd been starved, was nearly dead from dehydration, and borderline hypothermic. The necrotic wound had taken far too long to heal, even with treatment; much longer, and she could have lost the entire leg.
Amber had never admitted aloud that the air type Elder had been responsible for her situation; even so, Sebastian and Daisy knew their sister was the perpetrator of the crime. Amber's near death had been a turning point for the growing number who believed Amber Sr should be stopped. That she needed to be held accountable for her crimes and blocked from participating in the Willow Clan's governing was undisputed. How to stop someone that could—and regularly did—suffocate any who got in her way...that was the problem. Regardless, the incident had sparked an underground movement aimed at finding an answer, and Daisy, Sebastian, and Raina met with others weekly in the Tipsy Willow Tavern to plan her downfall.
Amber had lived in fear of the woman, and the fear had grown to paranoia. Decades after leaving the compound, she still refused to speak of the incident to any who hadn't already known of it. Her own father had never been told; Jasmine and Alesha—her sister by blood, and her sister by choice—knew only half the story. Even now, with Amber Sr stripped of her aerokinetic abilities, heavily guarded, and isolated from the general populace, she feared the woman with all her heart.
She sought out his hand, eyes haunted; as his fingers linked with her own, scattered, fragmented thoughts flowed between them.
I'm sorry. I overreacted. I should have been more supportive. I shouldn't have pushed you away. Please forgive me. You couldn't have known. Though her cheeks and lips tasted of salt, and her shoulders trembled with vulnerability, no anger, no hurt, no condemnation remained. Her heart was in her brimming eyes, and his in his throat as he finally spoke aloud. "Amber…Dearest Amber, how I do love you." His voice was husky from emotion, and his eyes burned. Amber shuddered, relaxing into his embrace and letting go of her fear.
"I love you, Darlin'," she murmured softly. She felt safe with him; after living her entire life in fear, she felt safe in his arms, and she made sure he knew it. As their lips met his in a tender kiss, he thanked the very heavens that she lived and was there with him, and prayed for the strength to keep her there.

When five o'clock rolled around, a smooth, easy swing beat filtered through the library doors. Jasmine reached up to knock, but deciding against it, entered unannounced. The faint aqua glow of the empty tank tinted the skin of the couple dancing to Sinatra. Amber's demure coffee brown skirt swished in time, nylons zipping with every step. Holding her close, Abe dipped her, spinning her away as he righted her. The pair only had eyes for one another. The scene was so beautiful…so right….
Jasmine felt an unmistakable urge to vomit.
Knowing she would never be noticed, she crept toward the desk in the corner. Once she'd set down what had brought her to the room, she left for Hellboy's suite, her sister and brother-in-law none the wiser. Later on, having moved from Sinatra to Michael Nyman, they turned the music down to discuss what could be done about Leonardo's mentoring issue. They approached the desk, intent on resting their sore feet, and a small yellow object by the lamp caught their attention.
Abe studied the citrus curiously. When the black markings on the rind became clear though, he startled violently; he dropped the fruit as though it were a burning coal, and it hit the carpet rolling. Jasmine had left him a warning: If he hurt her sister again, she had a lemon with his name on it…and she wouldn't hesitate to fry him up like a fish.

Some optional notes that may fill in blanks:
Elder Amber Sr./"Aunt A": the eldest of the Willow Elementals, a sociopathic air type who, for centuries, secretly smothered every air type infant born into the clan in a misguided vendetta. She is the twin sister of the Spirit Elder—Sebastian, or "Uncle Seb." Both were born to Gran'ma Lila Willow, fathered by an Aughisky named Cormag. Amber Sr. has since been stripped of her aerokinetic abilities, and now lives in isolation near the compound.
Amber Jr/"Windy": Commonly known as just "Amber." Elder daughter of Trevor Bruttenholm and the late Clover Willow, she was the first air type child to somehow survive her namesake's vendetta—despite countless attempts on her life from infancy into adulthood. Amber is now married to Abraham Sapien, and holds the job Tom Manning held before being tried for treason and sabotage. She's the sister of Jasmine Willow, and adoptive sister of Hellboy; after Clover died and Trevor left to assist Roosevelt in the Occult Wars, she and Jasmine were adopted and raised by Elder Daisy alongside Sebastian's orphaned granddaughter, Alesha. Hellboy often calls her "Blowhard" and "Airhead," and enjoys exchanging half-baked insults with her.
Jasmine/"Jazz": Younger sister of Amber Jr, adoptive sister of Hellboy, and awkwardly enough, his girlfriend as well. She is a very playful, mischievous Fire type Elemental who tends to lose control of her abilities when her…um…'urges' are neglected. She has retired from her position as a field agent due to her fear of fire—a direct result of her mother's death after bringing her into the world—and her dubious control over her element. She now works as the official liaison between the BPRD and the Willow Clan, and assists in PR as needed. She loves painting with oils and acrylics, and is almost never without evidence of this hobby smeared on her clothes or body.
Professor Trevor Broom/"B": Adoptive father of Hellboy, father of Amber Jr and Jasmine Willow, and widower of Clover Willow, who died of complications from Jasmine's birth. Though he was born and married with the last name "Bruttenholm," when he went off to war, anti-German hostility among the troops and painful memories of the wife he'd lost led him to "Americanize" his last name. (Honestly, it's easier to type without misspelling.) He works for the BPRD as a consultant, assists with research and management, and works with new recruits on occasion.
Elemental/Willow Elemental: A member of the clan formed by Lila Willow and her children: Amber Sr, Sebastian, Daisy, Raina, and Ashlyn. Like these 'Elders,' most of the clan have been 'gifted' with some unique traits: Slow cell growth and regeneration, extended lifespans, the ability to control one of the five elements, and in many cases, a tendency toward partial or complete insanity, to name a few. These 'gifts' were bestowed by a mischievous guardian spirit in response to the pleas of Cormag, who was too distraught by losing Lila to consider the repercussions. The term "type" refers to either the element they can control, or in the case of Earth and Spirit, the aspect of the element they have the most skills with, such as Spirit's Control type, Sensory type, and Hybrid type.
The Willow Compound: A large, secluded settlement in the Missouri Ozarks, near Branson, Missouri. The Compound is home to at least half of the Willow clan, a haven where they can live their unusual lives without fear of the general populace discovering their elemental abilities. The compound is located in a vast forest, consists of several large creeks and tributaries, hundreds of acres of pasture, fields, and woodland, dozens of farms, several inter-connected neighborhoods, a small private k-12 school, training facilities for emerging Elementals, and Daisy's infamous 'Tipsy Willow Tavern.'
More Than Human/"MTH": A catchall term used for any sentient inhuman/not entirely human entity, and talented humans. (Elementals, psychics, etc.) Before this story, a landmark law was passed rendering ALL legal occupants of the US—regardless of humanity or lack of it--legally eligible for US citizenship, through the newly formed 'Citizenship Support Division,' or "CSD."
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