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Living Stone
By : AceMaxwell
Category: G through L > Hellboy
Views: 4868 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Hellboy and I make no money off this fiction.
Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
I got this one pretty effectively edited through the first few pages, but beyond that I was typing out of a journal and trying to move quickly. I'll make changes as I find problems.
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Hellboy stood in the bed of the truck, holding his satellite phone skyward in the hopes that a signal would magic into existence the same way Fay wards did. John was tucked away in the cab with the heater going full blast. The kid still hadn't stopped shaking, but between the events of the last hour and the fact that he got soaked when it was freezing outside, Hellboy didn't expect him to stop anytime soon. He'd taken to dealing with supernatural creatures with a surprising grace. Or he just internalized everything. If that was the case, it wouldn't be long before it came back to the surface.
In the corner of the cracked screen (Hellboy couldn't remember how he'd broken it, but it was the third one he'd had in a year and Manning had cut him off) the signal bar flickered indecisively. Hellboy smacked the side of the phone with the palm of his human hand, cussing at technology in general. He hated technology. Anything more complex than a few gears and some grease just shut down when he got it in his hands. It could have been a demonic-energy-thing, but Hellboy doubted it. It was more likely to be a user-error-thing.
The passenger side door opened, sending a gust of hot air in Hellboy's direction, and John stuck his head out, "Are you sure it's calibrated correctly? I could adjust the settings."
"I got this."
"If I just-"
"You're letting all the hot air out of the cab. Shut the damn door," Hellboy griped, his tail curling in annoyance.
It wasn't the kid so much as the fact that the kid could probably make it work in a few seconds and it was Hellboy's phone. Kate had offered on numerous occasions to take him down to tech support so they could teach him how to use everything properly, but Hellboy adamantly refused. It wasn't a matter of pride, or at least it wasn't just his pride, it was that Hellboy didn't carry all the fancy crap that everyone else did. He scoffed at the idea of the GPS, rolled his eyes at the EMF detectors, and outright laughed at the suggestion that he should carry a laptop everywhere he went. It just seemed like a bit much. True paranormal investigation required a deep gut sense and a wide knowledge base. Kate was lucky that she could get him to carry the phone.
Hellboy heard the door shut, but instead of thrum of crickets, his ears focused on footsteps coming around the truck. With his arms crossed over his chest, John stopped at the tailgate and raised an eyebrow at him. The kid didn't follow instructions well and Hellboy had a decent suspicion that he never would.
Hellboy's hooves clicked on the metal bed as he walked to the end and jumped off. His glare was less than lethal, but only by a hair. "You're going to freeze to death. Get back in the truck."
John simply held out his hand, "The sooner you let me fix it, the sooner I get in the truck."
The kid's hair was still wet and the trembling that had started to fade was coming back quickly. He was making a decent effort to hide it, but Hellboy could see the involuntary twitches in the muscles of his neck and chest. It would be very easy to pick the kid up and force him back into the cab, though the idea was overly dramatic. After battling with himself for a few moments, Hellboy slapped the ugly, gray tough-phone into the kid's palm.
"There's no signal out here," Hellboy grumbled as he searched his pockets for a cigar or a cigarette. After a moment or two of groping uselessly in the pockets of his utility belt, he remembered that his cigars were in his jacket.
With his brow furrowed in concentration, John didn't look up from the phone when he said, "The idea of a satellite phone is that there's always a signal."
"Yeah? Tell that to the-"
John held the phone out with a slightly smug grin that made Hellboy's insides shift around, "You weren't aimed at the right satellite. I set it to auto-search for you."
Hellboy had to shove through the urge to pin the kid against the truck and devour that smirk before he could respond. Not entirely sure what John had said, he took the phone mutely. Four signal bars mocked him from the glowing, green screen, bringing his irritation back.
He glanced up from the phone, his mouth open to say something snarky, but John's expression killed his words. The kid's lips still had that amused curl to them, but there was something very intense in the depths of his eyes. Hellboy thought maybe the kid was leaning closer and realized that he was echoing the movement. Frantically, he wondered if he'd let something slip, if he'd broadcast his desires to the psychic.
John took a step towards him, his burning gaze locked on Hellboy's, making Hellboy's stomach tighten in a way that wasn't comfortable. He could lose himself so easily in that angelic face. But he didn't want to get lost, not when there was so much to do, not when the kid probably thought this whole situation was really fucking funny…
"I've got to call Kate," Hellboy growled, ignoring John's confusion.
He stepped back from the kid and turned away, punching the bureau's main number with his pinky because his other fingers were too big. The automated system clicked on and asked if he knew his party's extension. He wasn't paying much attention to it. Behind him, John was rooted in place. Hellboy could feel the kid's stare burrowing into the side of his head. He wasn't digging into Hellboy's thoughts, but he kept careful guard over them anyway.
By the time John went back to the truck, the automated phone system had circled through all of its options and asked, "Would you like me to repeat that?"
Hellboy winced as John slammed the cab door. Finally, he dialed Kate's extension. It rang four or five times and Hellboy started doing calculations on what time it would be in Connecticut. He didn't figure it out before Kate answered.
"Dr. Corrigan."
Hellboy took a breath to speak and noticed the lack of static on Kate's end. Overseas calls always had static. Brushing it off for the time being, Hellboy said, "I think we've got an ace in the hole. What do you know about the requirements for the Shade King resurrection? Does he need every piece of bone to come back?"
There was a lengthy pause and Hellboy could almost see Kate chewing on her lower lip while she thought, "There's not much I know about his resurrection, but I wouldn't be surprised if that was the case. Why?"
"Cause I just got attacked by a kelpie that really wanted his toe bone."
"It was a kelpie, they'll attack anything. How do you know he was after the bone?"
Glancing at John through the truck's back window, Hellboy was tempted to eat his own foot. He'd just shot it, so why not eat it too? "Well…" he stumbled without any real excuse prepared.
Kate caught on instantly, as she always did, "He's still with you, isn't he?" It wasn't much of a question, more of a condemnation.
Hellboy didn't know what to say, so he stayed quiet. He though it was best not to dig himself into a deeper hole. It was already looking like a grave as is.
"You said he wasn't ready."
"I jumped to conclusions. He's got a shot with us. Besides, that transgression should've been in his file, so surely Manning knows about it. And don't you dare try to feed me the bullshit that he can't access medical files."
"Either way, he's not ready for something like this," Kate sighed. It was a tired sound. "I landed in Wells about an hour ago. I think what's best here is that you bring the bone and Mr. Myers back and we'll send them to the bureau for safe-keeping."
Hellboy wanted to say that she had to be the one to tell the kid he was going home, because Hellboy had already tried twice without any success. What he ended up saying was, "Alright. We'll probably stop at a hotel between here and there. I haven't slept."
"Can I expect you by lunch?"
"Yeah."
They exchanged a few parting words and Hellboy got in the truck. John didn't speak to him while he drove, but Hellboy wasn't in the mood to talk anyway. Even keeping to the main road, it took them almost an hour to find a bed and breakfast that wasn't shut down for the night.
The woman running the counter gave Hellboy an odd look, but didn't ask any questions. He paid in cash up front and she gave them two room keys. As they got upstairs, Hellboy made an attempt to reconcile with John, but the kid didn't respond with so much as a 'good night' before he slammed the door to his room.
Feeling drained, Hellboy slumped down to the other room, dumped his belt of equipment on the floor, and fell into bed. Sleep came instantly, but his dreams were less than pleasant.
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Hellboy woke to screaming. Adrenaline hit his bloodstream and he was completely alert by the time his feet touched the ground. His first through was John. Hellboy darted to the hall, scooping his gun up from the pile of equipment by the bed as he passed. The lock to John's room gave way after giving resistance that Hellboy barely noticed. His gaze whipped around the room, searching for the threat. Nothing moved in the darkness, just the kid's thrashing shape beneath the comforter.
Feeling like an idiot, Hellboy lowered his gun and said, "Hey, kid." When he didn't stir, Hellboy raised his voice, "John."
The kid bolted upright in bed, his breath coming rapidly. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead and his hands gripped the sheets compulsively. John's eyes were glazed over with fear, his gaze distant but confused as though he didn't know where he was. As he calmed, John pressed his hands against his face.
Hellboy started to leave, but hesitated. The kid's nightmare had really shaken him. He was muttering something that was obscured by his hands, his narrow frame rocking back and forth slightly as he tried to get his wits together. Hellboy had the sensitivity of a rock, but he felt bad walking away.
Undecided on whether he should go comfort the boy or leave him be, Hellboy stood in the doorway and fiddled with the broken lock. The wood around the jam had splintered and the metal catch was hanging on by one loose screw. It squeaked as he pushed it back and forth.
"Hey, sorry about the door. It'll still latch, I think," Hellboy mumbled and scratched the back of his head. "You going to be alright?"
The kid didn't seem to hear him. When he slid his hands up over his forehead and into his hair, Hellboy could finally understand him, "She didn't stand a chance, not even with the priest, or the chains, or the… anything… he put her on the hooks, and… oh god, his eyes."
There was something painfully familiar about John's mumblings. It sounded a lot like the dream Hellboy was having before John's screams woke him up. Hellboy crossed the room, the click of his hooves muffled by an ugly, flower embroidered rug that was tucked beneath one of the bedposts. Making sure he gave the kid enough space, Hellboy sat near the foot of the bed with one leg tucked underneath him. His tail curled and twisted on the faded comforter.
"Her coffin was chained?" Hellboy pressed.
When John looked at him, he was still too bewildered to recognize Hellboy. The kid stared at him blankly for a moment before he dropped his hands in his lap. "What," he asked in a voice that wavered.
"You said that chains couldn't stop him. You're talking about the chains on the nun's coffin, right?"
"Yeah," John breathed.
"You're psychic even when you sleep?"
John looked away and muttered, "Trust me, I wish I wasn't."
It wasn't a dream. Hellboy experienced the horrible memory in his dreams regularly, but it was so much more than that. Every moment was burned into him like a brand. Hellboy still didn't understand why he'd been shown that bit of history, or who had enough power to bring him through to experience it. He'd gone to the ruins of a church because a psychic told him there were ghosts trapped there, but he'd also gone because it was the church where he had flashed into being out of living fire.
Maybe it was just an ugly memory that hung over that ancient church in New Bromwich, but Hellboy doubted it. Someone had wanted him to see. The only guess he had unsettled him because the answer was his father, his biological father. Not the man who raised and cared for him, it was the demon who came to claim his human mother after her death, to drag her into hell to birth his child… to have Hellboy.
She'd done everything she could to shake off her past as a witch and escape her promises to be the bride of the devil. She'd become a nun to hide from him. She'd chained her coffin closed. She had a priest and another nun standing watch over her coffin all night. Nothing stopped him. He came for her anyway. He rode into the church on a horse that breathed fire and had a mane of meat hooks. He sat tall in the saddle, his spiraling horns arcing nearly to the ceiling, his eyes burning, and his voice like rending metal.
He killed the priest and nun in a flash of fire. Their screams barely left them before they were dust. Chains crumbled and fell away. His father's burning gaze had fixed on Hellboy, though he'd seemed to be an omnipresent observer until that moment. His favorite son, he'd called him. Then Hellboy had to watch as the demon speared his mother on the horse's hooks.
Many years had passed since that evening in the church, but the memory still chilled Hellboy to the bone. The only other soul who knew was Abraham, and only because Hellboy needed to speak to someone about it. He hadn't wanted John to know, but it was proving to be impossible to keep anything from the kid.
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John rubbed at his wrist, studying the peeling paint on the windowsill. Exhaustion pawed at his mind like a hungry animal that wanted in. Sharing other people's dreams generally resulted in John being awake at odd hours. Normal dreams weren't broadcast the same way that nightmares were. When anyone within a mile of John had one, John did too.
He understood that Hellboy's wasn't a normal nightmare; it was something he'd experienced. Judging from the defenseless turmoil the demon's mind was in, he hadn't wanted John anywhere near that memory. Now that he'd seen it, Hellboy didn't know what to say or do.
The anger John had crawled into bed with was gone. Though Hellboy had rejected him, John didn't want to send him away. He didn't want to be alone with the lingering terror of the dream. John turned his arms over so the light spilling in from the hall caught on the ridges of scar tissue. The orange glow made them look like lines of magma. Hellboy's attention went to them instantly.
"Do you know what happens in a tiny town in Arkansas when a child says he can hear people's thoughts?"
Hellboy's brow dipped, casting a shadow across his eyes. He was quiet for a long time, long enough that John wrapped his arms around his chest to hide the marks. As he withdrew from Hellboy, the demon finally spoke, "I doubt they reacted well."
John shook his head, "My mother…" his voice cracked and he swiped a hand roughly across his nose. "My mother took me to see three different preachers and, when I started revealing things about her and them that nobody should know, she told the cops that I'd become wildly violent… she had me committed."
On the street below the window, a dog got into a fight with something. The growling and sharp, whimpering cries drew their attention away from the conversation. Hellboy got up and went to the window, peering out.
"He's got a possum, or something," the demon told him.
John looked to the door several seconds before the desk clerk poked her head around the corner. Her narrow face was pinched with concern as she studied the broken door, and then the two of them.
"Is everything alright, love? Heard some terrible screaming," her tone was thin and nasally, but genuinely worried. "Did the dogs wake you?"
John flashed her a weak smile that didn't reach the rest of his expression, "I'm fine, just a nightmare."
Her eyes flicked from the broken lock, to Hellboy, then back again. The demon stayed where he was, only his legs and part of his stone hand illuminated by the light from the hall. John didn't have to shuffle through her thoughts to know that Hellboy made her nervous. His reputation was apparently better received in America than it was in England.
John addressed her simplest worry, "We're sorry about the door. My friend thought I was in trouble. We'll be happy to pay you for the repairs."
She pulled her dusty pink cardigan tighter around her nightgown, still scrutinizing them as she said, "Let me know if you need anything."
Once her footsteps had faded, Hellboy went to shut the door. It scraped and groaned as he maneuvered it into the right position. Without the hall light, John was blind. If he waited long enough, his eyes would adjust to the moonlight coming in through the window, but he reached over to the end table and groped for the lamp. He nearly knocked it over in his attempts to turn it on. After some cussing, John's fingertips found the switch and yellow light flooded the room. Hellboy narrowed his eyes against the glare, his tail curling slightly.
The demon came back to the bed and John crossed his legs to give him more room to sit down. Hellboy looked at John and said, "You don't have to tell me this."
John's smile was so thin it broke before it could finish forming, "I… I want to."
"Because you feel bad that you found out some dark secret that I didn't want you to know?"
"No, because I want you to understand, so you know I'm not at risk to… to try it again."
Hellboy didn't ask what 'it' was, so John figured that he got the meaning.
John pulled a pillow into his lap and played with a loose thread near the opening of the case. He talked quickly, afraid he wouldn't finish if he didn't get it all out as soon as possible, "I probably don't have to explain why being a psychic in a mental hospital is a bad thing. The patients' thoughts were scattered, out of control. Some weren't so bad, but others made me feel like I shared their insanity." John paused to swallow down his rising panic. "If it was just one or two of them, I'd have been okay, but the ward I was in had thirty-nine patients… the nights were the worst."
John got a little lost in the memory. Color drained from his face as flashes of sporadic, warped thoughts from dozens of demented minds returned to him. A touch on his arm made him jump slightly. He blinked to find Hellboy brushing his arm with the back of his knuckles. The demon's concern existed almost entirely in his expression. He didn't voice it.
Determined to finish, John continued, "And because I couldn't acknowledge that I'd become violent, they wouldn't move my therapy forward. I got worse every day I was there until… until…" His resolve finally snapped and he tailed off.
"Until death was the only way out," Hellboy supplied.
John's haunted gaze raised to meet the demon's yellow eyes. The concern had been overshadowed by understanding. It gave John a little strength, "The moment I'd recovered enough, I broke out of the hospital they'd transferred me to, and I vanished."
"Why wasn't any of this in your file? It seems like Manning would have a problem with some of it."
"Do you have any idea how many John Myers there are in America, Hellboy?"
The demon arched one brow at him and sat back a little.
"I do," John said. "Close to four million. It wasn't nearly as obvious as calling myself John Smith."
"You changed your name."
"And thumbed my way to Vegas."
"Which is where Manning's boys found you."
John shrugged, "It was probably time for me to move on. I was starting to get the attention of security because I'm WAY too good at poker." His grin was still forced, but it was getting better.
Hellboy echoed it, exclaiming, "Unbelievable. How'd you get around Vegas without an ID?"
"You're kidding, right?"
"You need one to cash ou-"
John waved his hand dismissively and chuckled, "After all that and all you want to know is how I got around Vegas without an ID?"
"The rest of it is pretty self-explanatory. Your parents are backwater idiots, a nuthouse is a horrible place for a psychic, and you didn't want to go back after you'd finally found some peace and quiet. Am I missing anything?" Hellboy rumbled.
Blinking quickly, John finally shook his head, "I guess that pretty much covers it."
"Good," Hellboy slapped his shoulder lightly and got up. "I don't think either of us are going back to sleep, so why don't we get a move on?"
John leaned over to glance at the elaborate analog clock on the nightstand. He'd knocked it over in his blind search for the lamp, so he had to pick it up to read it. "It's four AM; do you really want to drive now?" By the time he rolled over to look back at the door, Hellboy was already gone. "Guess so," John muttered at the empty room.
He'd only just got out of bed when the demon came back and asked, "Hey kid, what's your real name?"
John paused with one hand outstretched to pick up his shirt. His first instinct was to lie. It had been at least a year since he'd said his own name out loud. He decided that Hellboy could be trusted with it, "Thaddeus. My family always called me Thad."
Hellboy nodded, looking very thoughtful, and then said, "I like John better."
For the first time in a long time, John's grin reached his eyes, "Me too."
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Chloe's battered kelpie cringed in human form at her feet. Wrath seethed from her pores, the kelpie could almost taste it when he kissed her calves and thighs. His hands shook as he timidly caressed the skin of her legs. His pleas for forgiveness would not be heard, Chloe only responded to groveling.
"Do you at least know where they took it?" she hissed, her flame-colored hair rising and dancing with her anger. Her black gown stirred, though there was no wind.
The kelpie shuddered, his entire body trembling with horror, "No, milady. I didn't see them leave."
Her foot connected with his jaw and he was grateful that she wasn't wearing shoes. The blow knocked him back, but didn't fracture anything new. Cackles and jeering filtered from the crowd at the edge of the standing stones. Dozens of Unseelie had clocked to the ancient circle of stones, with more arriving every day. No matter how numerous they got, they stayed out of the interior of the powerful circle as though held back by an invisible wall. They chanted and shouted from beyond the stones, always getting louder when Chloe did something violent.
At the center of the circle was a low, flat rock approximately the size and shape of a coroners' steel table. Hundreds of bones were carefully arranged on the surface, spread as they would've been if the owner was still alive. There was a beautifully elaborate crown perched on the skull's brow. Chloe adjusted the crown and leaned down to kiss the purple gemstone at the front.
Her gleaming eyes fixed on the kelpie like honed daggers, "I want the knight's heart."
Already on his knees, the kelpie bowed so deeply that his nose touched the grasses. He stayed that way as he backed out of the circle of stones. The seas of Unseelie parted to let him through. He disappeared quickly into the writhing mass of green, and black, and grey flesh. Some tried to lap at the dried blood, their razor teeth scraping on his back. He flared into his true form, rearing out of the mass with a warning scream. Dozens of Fay took flight to escape being pounded by his flailing hooves. The thrum of beating wings filled the night.
Chloe lifted her voice over the din of the creatures gathered in the vast field, "Bring me the knight!"
Three figures broke out of the crowd. They were stooped and hooded. Hands like tree branches peeked out of the folds of fabric that hid every other aspect of the creatures. They were scarcely taller than children, coming only to Chloe's waist. The red-headed princess knelt before them and gave a respectful nod before extending both hands to the head figure. Within the darkness of the cowl, a horned and creased face contorted into something like a grin. It more closely resembled a wolf baring its teeth in a snarl.
"He who served your father," came from the center being in a hiss.
The one to the right added, "Shall now serve you."
"In honor of the Court of Shade," the left figure finished.
The first brandished an elaborate black metal helmet with a large plume of inky hair. The second revealed a short sword. The third pulled out a small, three-pound stone in a flourish, placing it in Chloe's outstretched palm.
Chloe took the stone to the center of the circle. Setting it at the foot of her father's pedestal, she traced white fire on the earth with her fingertips. The symbols multiplied around the stone. Chloe worked at a feverish pace, sweeping her arms to create interconnecting lines that curled and spiraled in an intricate pattern.
As she stood, the stone began pulsing. Moving like living tissue, the two sides of the rock took turns contracting. Tendrils of grass snaked up the sides, encasing the beating stone in a fragile shell. Roots spread out from it in every direction. They doubled up on themselves until they were as thick and dense as corded muscle. The formed a torso, then spread out to become legs and arms. Crawling pieces of plant life became fingers and toes, the long strands of grass weaving and melding into a membrane of flawless, green skin.
When the form began to resemble a humanoid shape, the white fire raced from the confines of the symbols to grab onto the body. It burned without burning, the earthy shape swallowing the fire through its skin. A thin gash of mouth broke open and a small burst of flame licked the sky before the knight took his first breath.
Fluidly, the knight rose to his feet and faced Chloe. He tucked his arm across his chest and bowed, saying, "I'm here to serve."
Chloe held out her hand to allow him to brush his lips across her fingers, "And I am certain you will serve me as well as you did my father."
When he straightened up, he towered over the princess. His limbs seemed abnormally long in proportion to the rest of him. Each finger had an extra digit and his ears curved into a series of points that rose above the crest of his skull. In the center of his broad chest was the symbol of the Shade Court, burned there centuries earlier when he was made a knight of the king.
Chloe lifted the helm from the leader of the haggard trio. Delicately brushing the hair so it would sweep over the back of the helm, she offered it to the knight, "Go in my name and bring back my father's bone. You will find it with the demon of England or one of his companions."
He took the helmet, sliding it into place. The plating covered his narrow nose and high cheekbones, but left his dead, white eyes exposed. Thick vines erupted from his skin. They wove together and spread across his shoulders and chest, becoming as hard and solid as plate metal. Thorns as big around as Chloe's wrist sprouted on his shoulders and the line of his spine. They formed on the gauntlets and greaves too, hardening into the same metal-like state as the rest of the vines.
When the process was complete, Chloe gave him the short sword, "Kill all those who stand against us."
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TBC…
- 3
- 4
- 5
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Living Stone	By : AceMaxwell Category: G through L > Hellboy Views: 4868 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Hellboy and I make no money off this fiction.

Living Stone