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Somewhere Between	By : AceMaxwell Category: G through L > Hellboy Views: 13422 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Hellboy, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 8
- 9
- 10
- John

The entire plane ride, I feel sick. It started off as a headache about thirty minutes into the flight, but had become nausea and an overall achiness by the time we land. I really hope I haven't caught the flu. I try to push it into the back of my mind and just deal with it until I can get some medication.

I snag my luggage from the overhead bin when there's a break in the departing crowd and get out of the stuffy plane as quickly as possible. I'm beginning to figure out the problems I'm going to face being a wolf, and one of them is that a lot of humans in a confined space tend to smell. I mean, I assume they all bath every day, but I was grateful when it turned out to be a short flight.

Dr. Andrews is apparently based out of England. That kind of threw me for a loop considering he didn't have much of an accent. I thought he was an American, but it's possible he moved to England for work or family. Who knows?

Out in baggage claim, there's a gentleman holding a sign with my name on it. I guess they sent a car service to pick me up. When I get closer, I realize my name is just scribbled on the back of a receipt. That's a bit unprofessional, but I keep my thoughts to myself.

"I'm John Myers," I tell him.

He gives me a smile full of bad teeth and reaches out to shake my hand. "It's a pleasure, Mr. Myers. The team calls me Ralph," he says with a clipped, but warm accent.

"The team?" I echo.

He picks up my suitcase and heads for the nearest door, continuing to chat pleasantly, "You'll be meeting them soon enough. Would've brought them along, except it was lunchtime and Torque does get so grumpy when he hasn't eaten. We would've planned better for your arrival, but the news that you were coming was a bit abrupt."

I look away from the skyline and see that he's gotten ahead of me. I jog a couple steps to catch up. He may be a small man, but he's pretty quick on his feet.

The only car out in the stretch of parking lot we're headed towards is a worn-out bakery van. I'm about to ask if we're going the right way when he tosses my suitcase in the back and gets in.

I must've been staring for too long, because he pushes a window open, "I know she isn't much to look at, but she'll get us from A to B."

"Sorry," I sheepishly mutter and move to get in. I realize halfway around that I'm going to the wrong side and change directions. "We use a garbage truck," I add as I climb into the passenger seat.

Ralph nods at me, "You do what you can to blend in."

He sticks the keys in the ignition, but it takes three tries and a good deal of cursing before the engine turns over. "The old girl doesn't always have it in her," he mentions as he puts the van in gear. It hiccups before it complies.

"So, what made you decide to fly here on such short notice?" he asks conversationally.

"I'm supposed to see Dr. Andrews," I sigh. Do I owe them the whole truth? I'm sure Manning will give them the rest of the story either way. "I got in a fight with our director. I'm not surprised he wanted me shipped out so quickly."

Ralph swerves around someone making a slow turn and says a presumably foul word I don't quite catch before answering, "That's too bad. What'd you fight about?"

"The fact that I should be allowed to leave without supervision. He thinks I need to be babysat," I grump. I know he's just the driver and his opinion about my plight won't change anything, but it makes me feel a little better to complain.

"That's a load of bollocks."

I have to smile, "Agreed."

"The Doc's a good guy. We work with him all the time." Ralph leans towards me, dropping his voice like we were sharing something secret, "Have you ever met a Siberian werewolf?"

I shake my head, a bit dumbfounded by his change in attitude.

"You don't want to. The werewolves you get in America are nothing compared to Siberian wolves. All those horror films where the wolves stand on their hind legs and eat children; those are based on Siberian wolves. They're nasty bastards. Andrews is pretty invaluable against them."

I have no earthly idea what I'm supposed to say to that. The den we found in Jersey was bad enough; I don't really want to think about something worse. Those shining teeth still haunt my dreams.

Ralph doesn't ask me for a response because we pull up at a bakery. The BPRD doesn't blend very well. It's a big building, with a huge gate and doesn't look much like a waste management facility. If I had been looking for Dr. Andrews' base of operation, I never would have given this place a second thought. Not only does it look like a bakery, it also seems to be functioning as one. As we head inside, we pass people working with dough and tending ovens. It's not until we head through a door marked 'Management Only' (that takes a standard key to open) that I notice anything out of the ordinary.

The first thing that draws my eye is a portrait of Queen Elizabeth the first hung directly opposite from the door we came through.

"The Society was founded by Queen Elizabeth," Ralph explains, heading down a side hallway, "She was considered superstitious by her peers, but that fact never left her close circle of advisors. They feared that the people would lose faith in her if they knew, but she was very wise in handling the occult. She founded the Society to keep her people safe from the dark creatures of the world, but insisted it be kept a closely guarded secret. It was such a well kept secret that everyone's forgotten we exist, including the government that used to fund us."

A woman's voice with a thick Russian accent cuts through his introduction, "Get out!"

One of the doors farther down the hall flies open, and a guy tumbles through it, narrowly missing some kind of bizarre energy fluctuation in the air. I catch that he's also British when he makes a plea bargain with whoever's standing in the room, "Come on Yvette, it's nothing I haven't seen before."

A small woman comes out after him in a tee shirt and underwear. She's positively bristling. I can only assume that he walked in on her changing. She holds up one hand and ribbons of translucent… something (energy maybe?) flows out of the guy she'd been arguing with. He drops to the floor like dead weight and she disappears into her room.

What the hell did she do to him?

Ralph doesn't seem at all bothered by this display and simply steps over the still form on the floor, continuing his speech as he walks. I have to crouch to check the man's pulse. It may be a normal occurrence around here, but whatever she did to him didn't look pleasant. I can't find his heartbeat. I can't hear it either. He's dead.

Yvette comes back out, fully dressed now, and looks down at me. She's got a black cigarette hanging out of the corner of her mouth, but it's not lit yet. "You must be wolf-boy."

"You killed him," I say.

Her eyes flick to the man on the floor, then back to me. She pauses to light her cigarette before she gives his body a solid kick and steps over him, "I kill him plenty. I'll probably do it tomorrow too."

She heads down the hall in the direction Ralph vanished. I'm still trying to figure out what the hell she meant when the dead body at my feet sits up. I yelp and leap backwards. My heart is going like a rabbit's would right before the wolf catches up to him.

He was dead, I know he was! Thoughts of zombies and the undead flash through my head. They're not something I've ever had to deal with before, but I might have to learn pretty quickly. My hand goes for my gun before I remember that I had to leave it with Ellis so I could get on the plane. To quote Hellboy on this one: Crap…

I watch warily as he shakes his head and climbs to his feet. I get my needed shot of adrenaline as he turns towards me. Normally, I would run, but I'm not scared like I would have been in the past. The wolf side of me knows that I'm strong enough to fight him.

"Mr. Myers, right?" he asks cheerfully.

My anticipation melts into confusion. I can't stop the dumbfounded 'huh?' that falls out of my mouth. What a great first impression I must make…

"Sorry, I must've scared the hell out of you. I'm Lazarus," he says, offering his hand.

I take it numbly. I know the name Lazarus is from the bible, but I can't remember which… Wait, now it makes sense, "Lazarus is the man Jesus brought back from the dead, right?"

He grins, "Yeah. Most people don't get that."

"So, you have regenerative powers?"

"I can't die. I don't actually regenerate all that well, but it helps when something fatal doesn't do me in," he jokes, nudging me. Lazarus starts walking and I follow.

"So, what did she do to you? I mean, what's the power she used; I've never seen anything like it," I ask, peering into an open door as we go by. It looks like some kind of office. There's another portrait of the queen over the desk and shelves crammed to bursting along all four walls. Nobody's inside.

"Yvette's one of a kind. They found her wandering around the wreckage after Chernobyl," he glances over his shoulder at me. "You know anything about science, Mr. Myers?"

I have to correct him. Being called by my last name just makes me think of HB, even if he's forgone that for 'Boyscout', but I already miss him. "Call me John… I know enough. I did fairly well in the sciences during college, but are we talking chemistry, or physics, or what?"

"Bloody hell, I don't know, but you know how atoms are always moving, whether it's a liquid or solid, right?"

"Right."

He tries to diagram with his hands, but it's not entirely helpful, "Yvette pulls that energy from the moving particles, out and uses it how she wants. Or, in the case of something living, she can kill them. Got it?"

It makes a surprising amount of sense, considering how abstract the idea is. "Yeah, got it."

Ralph pokes his head out of the room on our right, "There you are. Thought I'd lost you there for a tick. You'll be staying with Lazarus in this room."

"But I don't sleep, so don't fret about needing to share a bed," Lazarus adds immediately.

I glance into the unfamiliar space, taking in my suitcase on the floor and the neatly made bed. HB never makes his bed, no matter how much I badger him.

Another swell of sickness passes over me: pounding head, nausea, the works. It's enough to make me want to curl up in the corner and whimper until I feel better. I try, unsuccessfully, to keep ignoring it. I'm really going to need medication. I probably caught something running around Venice in nothing but HB's coat. Not my brightest idea…

I vaguely realize that Lazarus is talking about the rest of the team, giving me heads up on who else I'll be meeting. Frankly, I'd rather just see Dr. Andrews now, get the evaluation over with and go home, but I want to be polite.

"Torque's a big bastard, so don't let him startle you, and Eon is our tactician. She's brilliant, to the point that she makes the rest of us look like idiots. Um… oh, and then there's Rex. He's not really part of the team, but you won't have to worry about him unless you upset Eon. He's kind of her pet."

I'm mildly grateful when Ralph interrupts the introduction, "Are you feeling a bit under the weather, John?"

It could be the migraine cropping up, but I'm not entirely sure what he just asked me. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Ill. You look like you're ill," Lazarus clarifies. "I didn't think werewolves could be ill."

How I'm wishing that was true. "I'm been feeling bad since I got on the plane. Actually, I think I'm going to step outside and get some air." Neither of them bring up that I'm not allowed or that it's against the rules.

Quite the contrary, Lazarus says, "That's a good idea. I'll ring the doctor and ask him what he recommends."

"Don't forget a coat. It's getting a bit chilly out there," Ralph adds.

I nod and duck into the room to get my suitcase. I wish I had my migraine medication, but I haven't gotten one since I was in high school so my prescription is definitely expired. My family doctor had said I'd probably grown out of them. I guess he was wrong.

I pull the zipper on my suitcase and immediately smell HB. It's a strong scent; the cigar smoke, his aftershave, and even the faintest smell of sweat and blood. It makes me miss him so much more, but it helps too. I must have picked up something of his by mistake for the smell to be that strong. As soon as I find the source, I know he must've snuck it in my bag while I was getting dressed, because I never would have mistaken it for something of mine. Tucked beneath my shirts and jeans is Hellboy's favorite jacket.

I usually complain that this jacket needs a wash, but, at this moment, I'm glad I've never managed to pry it away from him. I pull it to my nose and breath deep, nearly imagining that HB's in it.

Geez, you would think I hadn't seen him for months, let alone that we had sex this morning. Get a grip, John…

I throw his coat on. It swallows me whole, but I'm going to wear it. It'll help make my forced leave a little more bearable. It's funny… being able to smell him make me feel better. My headache's subsiding and my stomach is starting to settle. I head outside anyway. I could still use the fresh air.

No one glances twice at me as I leave through the bakery. They're probably used to seeing strange people, but you'd think somebody would have thought it was odd. Then again, I think my weird-o-meter's set a little higher than most. I tend to take notice of things that most people would just pass by; after all, I was trained to be that way.

The air outside is crisp and cold; it bites at my lungs and clears my head. The temperature has dropped a little since I landed. By the looks of the clouds, there might be a storm coming. It must be bringing a cold front with it.

A little girl with bright blue eyes peers up at me from her sidewalk chalk. I smile and give her a small wave. She smiles back. There's something strange about her, but I can't put my finger on it. I'm not sure whether it's just something in her eyes, or the way she holds herself… I look down at her drawings. Scribbled all over the sidewalk are complex math equations, things I can't even begin to discern and I'm good with math. I recognize a few of the signs and symbols.

"Did you do all this?" I ask her.

Her smile gets wider and she clicks the toes of her saddle shoes together, nodding happily.

I crouch down beside her. "What is it?"

She doesn't speak, instead, she writes her answer on the sidewalk with her oversized, blue chalk, 'I'm solving relativity.'

I raise an eyebrow, I can't help it. I do manage to keep the disbelief out of my voice, "Hasn't that already been done?"

Her smile twists up into a thoughtful expression, and then she shakes her head. 'Not correctly,' she writes.

Lazarus's words from earlier echo in my head, about how their tactician is positively brilliant. Even though she's so young, my bet is that this is her. "You must be Eon."

'And you must be John,' she scribbles and beams at me. Her expressions are so vibrant; it's almost like watching a cartoon character. I'm curious as to why she won't speak to me. Being mute often coexists with being deaf from birth because a child doesn't properly learn to form their vocalizations, but she doesn't seem to have any trouble hearing me. Unless she's exceptionally good at reading lips.

The first drop of rain falls and she looks up at the sky with a pout. I can see why she can't talk as the light hits her throat. There's a large scar up high on her neck, just where it would come across her voice box. It almost looks like a surgical scar though, like it was intentional. I push the thought away.

Her 'corrected' theory of relativity starts to melt away as the rain comes down harder. I hold the edge of the jacket over her head so she'll stay dry. It's too cold for her to get soaked.

"Let's go inside."

Eon hops to her feet and grabs my hand, leading the way. We pass by Queen Elizabeth, going left instead of right. She stops at a door with brightly colored flowers painted on it and makes several motions with her hands. I know she's using sign language, but it's not something I've ever learned.

"I'm sorry sweetie, I don't understand…"

It doesn't stop her. She opens the door and runs inside, leaping on her bed to bounce.

"This is your room?" I venture. I mean, the room is painted in vibrant kid colors, but I think that was what she was trying to say.

She nods happily and uses one final bounce to vault to the floor. I lean in the doorframe while Eon digs through a small toy box. She produces a dry erase board and a marker.

'I can teach you sign language,' she writes. After I've read it, she rubs it out and adds, 'I taught it to everybody else.'

I probably won't be here long enough to learn much, but her sentiment is adorable. "That would be great," I say, earning another ear-to-ear smile from Eon. I'm such a sucker for kids…

I catch the sound of someone coming down the hall, someone with a very heavy tread. As stupid as it is, my first thought is HB. It might not be that stupid; he is pretty determined. What if he snuck on my flight? He would've given the cargo crew the fright of their life.

I rush out, coming face to face with a massive creature. He's got to be at least a foot taller than Hellboy and almost twice as wide at the shoulder. He looks like a cross between a rhinoceros and a pro wrestler. Not just any pro wrestler, maybe Andre the Giant. His face is more animal, but his body seems mostly human.

His long ears flick forward as I stare at him and I finally think to say something, "I don't know why, but I thought you were someone else."

When I smell something sweet, I glance down to find a half-eaten watermelon in his hand. He seems to be munching on it like most people would an apple or peach. He takes another bite, ignoring my statement. Juice dribbles down his chin and onto the carpet.

There's a tug on my sleeve, and I look at the new message on Eon's dry erase board, 'He won't understand you. He's stupid.'

"I am not," the rhino-man says slowly. His words come out like syrup that's been in the fridge.

"Eon, that's not very nice," I scold.

She frowns and scribbles out, 'I don't have to be nice. Torque took my doll!'

"It's in your room," he defends.

Eon stops writing at me and directs her board at Torque, 'Yeah, up where I can't get it.' She gives up writing and starts signing at him with her hands, while he occasionally comes back with a molasses retort.

This has got to be the strangest sibling rivalry I have ever seen.

From what little I catch of their conversation (aka: his half), I know where to look for the doll. It's duct-taped to a blade of Eon's ceiling fan. I sigh and pull a chair over so I can reach it.

I'm getting the feeling that there's a direct connection between the size of the supernatural creature and their maturity level: the bigger, the more immature. I have two good examples thus far, maybe I should write a book about it.

As soon as I pull the doll free, Eon's at my side with hands outstretched. Torque may be a slow talker, but he's very quick when he moves. He snatches the doll in mid-handoff, holding it up high so neither of us can get to it. Eon stomps her feet in sheer frustration, signing frantically at him.

This has gone too far.

I hop off the chair, but he runs down the hall before I can say anything, Eon in hot pursuit. His thunderous footsteps make the whole bakery tremble. I dart after them, catching up to Torque as he enters what appears to be a kitchen. I plant myself in front of him with my hands on my hips and use the scowl that even Hellboy knows means business.

Torque barely manages to stop his massive momentum before he crashes into me. He regards me with wide eyes and droopy ears. Good, then he knows I'm serious. Eon comes around him and stands next to me, her arms crossed over her chest.

I stick out my hand, "Give it to me."

His eyes flick over his shoulder and I'm thinking he might take off, but he takes the way out that I was not expecting. Torque stuffs the doll into his mouth. I'm sure my expression matches Eon's slack-jawed, wide-eyed stare. I can't BELIEVE he just did that!

I can't stop the impulse; I smack his nose, "Spit that out now!"

He jerks back with surprise. I highly doubt anyone has really stood up to him before. He spits it out as slowly as his words. It clings to his jaws by a thick tendril of saliva. I can nearly hear Eon's squeak of disgust as she shrinks back.

I snag the doll, the thick, hot saliva oozing between my fingers. I suppress my cringe. As disgusting as it is, I've already experienced more revolting things in my short career at the BPRD. Spit can be washed off, but some things will make a stain so foul that you'd almost rather burn the garment than try and clean it.

I reach down to Eon, who looks positively crushed, and offer my hand, "Come on, we'll clean her up."

She sniffles and raises her big, glassy eyes. It looks like the tears might start flowing any moment. I take her tiny hand and shoot Torque a glare before marching to the sink.

"She'll be fine," I say, trying to sooth Eon.

It seems to help. Her sniffling slows as she stands on tiptoe to see over the counter. She watches while I carefully remove the doll's clothes and wash the saliva out of her hair and off her face. I'm glad the doll isn't porcelain or it never would have survived all that.

I'm rinsing out the tiny dress when I hear Lazarus and Dr. Andrews coming. They're talking about me. It's nothing bad, just that I felt sick when I arrived. Lazarus's next sentence stops about halfway through and there's a pause before he asks, "Torque, what's with that expression?"

"John hit me," come the molasses words. I try not to listen too intently. After all, I don't like to eavesdrop, but their conversation is clear as day. They must be standing right outside the door.

"What'd you do to piss him off?" Lazarus asks in an amused tone.

There's a lengthier pause before Torque answers, "I took Eon's toy."

Lazarus laughs. "He was Hellboy's liaison, Torque. I doubt he'll have any trouble standing up to you. He's used to dealing with big brutes."

Torque's retort comes about the same time as the one in my head, "Hey!"

"HB's not a brute all the time," I mutter to myself. I sort of forgot that Eon was standing there. She shoves her dry-erase board in front of me.

'Who's HB?' is what's written.

It would be best not to introduce the small child (no matter how intelligent she is) to the concept of a man having a relationship with another man, let alone a demon, so I settle on, "He's someone I work with in America."

Her brow furrows and she starts a new message. I drape her doll's clothes over the side of the sink while she writes.

'Work with?' The word 'work' is underlined three times. This is the moment where I desperately hope she doesn't have the same 'unique' frontal lobe as Abe. There are thoughts and memories in my head that no kid needs to see.

"Can you read minds?" I ask warily. I barely catch her headshake before Dr. Andrews comes in.

"John, I hear you're feeling sick." The idea seems to bother him.

I lay the doll to dry and wipe my hands off on my jeans when I can't find a towel. "Yeah, but I'm doing a lot better. Maybe I was just homesick already," I joke lightly. It sails right past him.

"Well, I want to keep an eye on you for the next couple of days, in case you do have something. The lycanthrope virus is normally far too aggressive for anything else to infect a wolf's system, so you understand my concern," he explains, checking my eyes and ears while he talks. I obediently open my mouth so he can take a look down my throat.

When he's done, I ask, "This isn't going to delay the evaluation, is it? Because, no offense to anyone here, but I'd like to go home sooner rather than later."

"Evaluation?" he repeats quietly, his expression deepening farther. "What exactly did they tell you, John?"

- HB

I'm so fucking bored. We've been back at the bureau for three days and this place has been like a tomb. We haven't had a single assignment, not even a little minor demon I could punt to relieve some frustration. It wouldn't be so bad if John was home. We could find plenty of ways to pass the time and that innuendo is definitely intended. When the hell is he supposed to be back?

I sigh and flick off my TVs. I'm sick of watching everything. The cartoons are all reruns and the news is all sports and weather. Time to go see what Abe's up to. He's probably just reading, but it's better than sitting around here. Maybe I can pester him into playing cards with me. Not that I ever win, 'cause the fish cheats, but at least I'll be doing something.

When I come in, Abe's floating in his tank, listening to music. I tap on the glass. He hates it when I do that, but how the hell else am I supposed to get his attention? Abe pulls off his waterproof headphones and blinks at me, waiting for me to say something.

"Come on. Get out of that thing and let's play cards," I tell him, jerking my thumb in the direction of the table.

"You'll only get angry with me when I win," he replies smugly.

I scowl. Smart ass is feeding off my thoughts. "If you wouldn't cheat, I wouldn't get mad. Now get your ass out here. And make sure you dry off so you don't get the deck soggy."

It takes him a few minutes to show up. While I wait, I dig out of deck of cards from the box we keep them in. I wonder if we have any beer in the kitchen… I could use one, or twelve.

"I was meaning to ask you, did you leave something with John with your smell on it, like I recommended?" Abe asks as he comes in the library. To this day, I still don't know where the door to his tank opens to.

"Yeah, I gave him my coat."

"That will have a plethora of smells, but I was thinking more of something that smelled like you," he says smoothly.

"Shut up, Blue." He's only teasing me to distract me from missing John. Sometimes, he just lets me brood on things, but I can always tell when he's trying (in his weird way) to cheer me up.

"Well, it is meant to comfort him, not drown him in the smells of all the monsters you've encountered. That jacket probably reeks heavily of death, especially to John's sensitive nose," he continues, completely ignoring my glare.

I deal out a game of poker because Blue prefers rummy. If he's going to taunt me, we're playing my game.

"Stay outta' my head," I warn as he sits down.

Abe sort of chuckles and picks up his hand, "I don't need to read your mind-"

"Yeah, I know I'm easy."

"Actually, I was going to say that you have a bad poker face, but that too."

I grumble under my breath. Maybe my head's somewhere else, or maybe Blue is cheating, but I lose six hands in a row. It should piss me off more than it does.

"You're bad normally, but today you're just not trying very hard," Blue states casually.

I groan and throw down my crap hand. Two threes and an Ace, not much to work with… "I miss him," I admit softly. I hate saying mushy shit like that, but better to Blue than someone else.

"I know," is all he says before he drops a perfect straight run from seven to Jack and adds, "We all do, but it's only been a few days."

He starts picking up the cards and arranging them meticulously. He doesn't look up when I stand.

"I'm going to get a beer, you want one?"

Abe dismisses me with a hand flick, "I think you know the answer to that."

Yeah, I know the answer. Abe doesn't drink much of anything besides water. "What if I can round up a rotten egg?"

"That would be delightful."

I head for the door, before I leave, he says something else, "We may have to recommend that John go out of town more often. You're extremely polite in his absence."

"Get your own damn eggs," I grump.

"That's more like it."

I take a small detour on the way to the kitchen so I can walk past 'Scout's room. When he gets back, I should talk to him about moving in to my room. Though, I might have to nix putting up the superhero posters. The only ripped muscles I want him staring at are mine.

Wait, 'Scout's door is open. What a little rat, he didn't tell me he was home. Would he rather put away his clothes than have a 'welcome home' romp in the hay? Doesn't matter, I'm just glad he's back. The whole 'sending John off for evaluation' thing just didn't sit right with me.

As I get within earshot of the room, I start railing him, "What, you were just going to do a load of laundry before you came to…" the words die in my mouth. There are three agents in Boyscout's room, packing his shit into boxes. For a minute, all I can do is stare at them, before my brain kick-starts, "What the FUCK is going on?"

They trade glances and Agent Polamero steps forward, "Why don't you head back to your room, Red?"

He must be fucking nuts if he thinks I'm going to walk away from this without asking questions. Actually, he's fucking insane if he thinks I'm going anywhere without knowing EXACTLY what they're doing.

The guy emptying out John's dresser (I think he's from PR, but I've only met him a few times) stops long enough to make the worst mistake of his life, he lets him mouth run where it should never have gone. Either this guy has the biggest fucking cohunes of any agent in the bureau, or he's just plain idiotic, because he says, "Your little fuck toy has been transferred to another bureau."

I should control myself, but it's not happening today. I punch him hard enough to send him flying over the bed, probably hard enough to kill him, but he's just lucky that I did it with my left hand. We'll see if he has the guts to run his mouth around me again.

The third agent takes off, but I grab Polamero before he can do the same. "Where's John?" I snarl in his face.

"We don't know, Red! Manning just told us to pack his stuff. He said he'd been transferred, but that's it!" he stammers.

John's words enter my head as I'm considering beating Polamero into a bloody pulp, 'Don't shoot the messenger.' I've got to take this to the real problem: Manning. He's been pushing me too far and this is way beyond the last straw. If I don't kill him, he'll wish I had.

I drop Polamero and storm out. What's the likelihood that Manning's even at the bureau? He's probably safe in his offices in Washington, feeling pretty fucking pleased with himself. I bet he thinks he's safe out there. After I tear him limb from limb, he'll know he's not safe anywhere.

I don't stop at the door to the garage. I shove the guard's head against the wall and tear the security door off its hinges, going straight for the garbage truck. It isn't until I'm behind the steering wheel that I consider one fatal flaw in my plan: I don't how to get to Washington. And I have no idea how to drive, so make that two fatal flaws, but it can't be that hard, can it?

It's not going to be long before half the bureau is out here, so that doesn't give me much time to figure it out. They've definitely already seen me leaving on their surveillance equipment. I pull down the visor and catch the keys. I've seen our driver put them up there a dozen times. It's just like on TV; stick the key in the ignition and turn. The truck roars to life. Now, how the fuck do I put it in drive? I fiddle with different knobs and levers. Something I pull makes the truck grind, but it doesn't move when I step on the gas.

Oh hell, I'm wasting time. I'll never get out of here if I keep screwing around. I leave the truck running when I jump out. Somebody will shut it down later. I shove my stone hand between the metal slats in the garage door and peel it open. It's my last obstacle.

Once I'm outside, my rage starts to pass a little. Don't get me wrong, I'm still pissed. It's not like I'm going to change my mind and go back inside, but I do start thinking about my plan. If I want to beat the hell out of Manning, I'd be better off waiting around the bureau until he shows up. He's there more frequently than he's in Washington. But if I go back now, they'll put me under strict surveillance and lock me in (not that I couldn't get out anyway.)

Since I'm out, maybe the better idea would be to look for John. I can beat up Manning later. I would really rather have John home than make Manning black and blue. There aren't many other bureaus he could be at, unless Manning removed him from the branch of the FBI that deals in the supernatural, but I doubt it. With 'Scout being a wolf, he can't really be sent anywhere else.

There's an agency out west. I'm not sure where it is, but I'll find out. They're a pretty small organization and they don't have any freaks to give them a hand, so maybe Manning decided to change that.

I pick a road and head west, not giving a shit who sees me. If I ruin Manning's reputation while I'm loose, then all the better. Only problem is that nobody wants to pick up a demon hitchhiker. I'm big enough to be intimidating to most people, but wandering around in the gear I normally wear at home does leave my demon features out where everyone can see them.

Most of the cars that go by me speed up once I'm within view of their headlights. After a while, I stop putting out my thumb. I would blame all those stupid horror movies for ruining the idea of hitchhiking, but I doubt I would've been picked up in the seventies either. Though, I wasn't as big then.

Rather than asking for a ride, I grab the back of a slow eighteen-wheeler and stowaway. The back's locked up tight, so the best I can do is just hang on, but it does get me out of town. I ride for an hour or so before he gets off the highway for gas. As nice as it would be to get some food, I don't think I'd be very welcome at the gas station. I jump off, rolling a little before I get to my feet.

My stomach growls.

"You would have to remind me," I mutter at it. I was doing okay ignoring it, but I'm going to need something to eat in the next couple of hours. It's not like a have a wallet though… Well, even with a wallet, who the fuck would serve me? It'll have to wait.

I look over my shoulder to see if there are any cars headed my direction. If I can grab another eighteen-wheeler, I could just leapfrog my way across the US. Eventually, I am going to have to figure out where I'm headed, but I'm happy to just be moving right now.

The next set of headlights I see are tall enough to be a truck, so I get ready to run. As long as it's not going too fast, I shouldn't have any trouble snagging it. It's taking a lot longer to get to me than I was anticipating. Actually, it kinda' seems to be slowing down.

Crap.

It's the BPRD truck. If they found me way the fuck out here, then Abe's helping them, because I left my tracker back at base. I keep walking. I'm not going back without a fight.

The truck slows down to pace me and Liz rolls down the passenger window. "HB, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

She sighs and disappears into the cab. The truck pulls ahead so they can park in front of me. While Liz and whoever else is with her are piling out, I move around the truck and keep going. Sparky runs after me. "HB, wait," she says pleadingly.

"I'm not going back, Liz."

She's almost jogging beside me, trying to keep my pace, "You don't even know where he is." They must have figured out what happened before they came after me. At least I don't have to fill her in.

"I know that he's not home!" I snap, turning to her. "And I'm not going back there until he is."

Liz moves around in front of me so I'll stop. I do, but I glare at her. It's not her fault, but why the hell is she here playing Nanny Squad when she knows damn well what's going on?

"You can't find him this way," Liz says calmly, rationally.

It's enough to make me want to scream at her. I may not be able to find him wandering around, but at least I'm not locked up, waiting for Manning to make the next decision for me. He runs our fucking lives! I decide not to say anything back. Instead, I move around her.

Liz talks at someone, probably Abe, in the direction of the truck, "He's not listening."

"We don't have long before the rest of them catch up," is the answer. It sounds like Ellis. He must be the one driving. "Oh shit, that might be them."

I look back and spot a line of cars moving towards us. As they get closer, I realize that two of them are Lincolns and the last one looks like a SWAT van. Manning probably thinks he brought more than enough crew to drag me back. He'll be in for a surprise.

Dad used to be the one to bring me back when I ran off, because I would listen to him. After that, it was Clay, and then John. Manning's never had to come get me himself. I hope he came in person instead of just sending his squad, because I'm really looking forward to beating him senseless.

Liz makes one last-ditch effort to get me in the truck, "HB, please! We can find out where Manning sent him and bring him back, but let's go now before this gets any worse."

"Come on Liz, you know I like trouble."

"Be reasonable!"

One of the Lincolns whips around to block my path, while the other parks in the middle of the road. The unmarked SWAT van takes up the rear to nearly block me in. Funny that they think this'll keep me put. A team of agents piles out of the van. They're armed to the teeth and are all aiming at me. So, I'm a threat now. Liz tries to put herself between me and them, but it wouldn't really stop them if they thought I needed to be taken care of.

"Get out of the way, Sparky," I tell her. I don't want her to get mowed down when I do something stupid.

"No way, Red."

I think her stubborn streak was part of why I loved her, but it was also part of why we never got along. I'm not going to argue with her. Liz screams her objections when I pick her up and toss her over the line of well-armed agents. There's been thick leaf-litter along the road for miles; it should break her fall just fine.

I turn my head as the door to the first Lincoln opens and Manning climbs out. Good, he did come in person. That'll save me the trouble of hunting him down later.

"The man of the hour," I crow mockingly. "Nice of you to join us."

"Time and again, you prove to be more trouble than you're worth," he states around a Cuban cigar.

"Except when I'm saving your sorry ass from undead Nazis."

He snorts at that. "You have your limited uses. Thing is, I'm in charge and you don't seem to understand that. Professor Bruttenholm isn't here to protect you anymore, so you're going to start playing by my rules."

I move towards him and hear all of the guns behind me rise. "You bring John back and I'll consider it."

Manning chuckles and I want to smash his face in.

"That's not the way it works. You start behaving and then I might arrange visits, as disgusting as it is to think that you two are sleeping together, but I'm not going to have two uncontrollable monsters in my bureau. You're enough to deal with," he says with a smirk, taking his cigar out of his mouth to tap some ash off the end.

I don't think so. I will not just have 'visits' from John, I will have him back for good or Manning's going to find out exactly what hell is like. "Wrong answer," I snap and pull back my fist.

I feel the sharp sting in my back about the same time my head starts spinning. My punch swings way wide. Liz screams something to the effect of, "You can't just treat him like an animal," before I hit the ground. Everything swims around me and their words stop making sense.

Son of a bitch tranquiliz..e…d…

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

TBC...

I know there are a lot of new characters in this chapter, but I hope ya'll like them. I didn't exactly want to send John into some kind of werewolf deathcamp and I figured Manning wouldn't be that cruel.

On a side note, all of the characters of the Society (those in England) are strictly copyrighted. They have their own story and it is mine, so don't steal them. I will come after you.
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