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Between the Lines: Sequel to Somewhere Between	By : AceMaxwell Category: G through L > Hellboy Views: 6045 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Hellboy or the characters within, and I don't make money off Hellboy or this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
I actually thought of this sequel almost immediately after finishing the first story, but I didn't have the time to work on it. If ya'll like the beginning, let me know so I can keep working on it.
It's from first person, like Somewhere Between.
Also, I now have a beta, the lovely gbheart! My mistakes are my own as I type too fast and don't proof-read very well :P.
I saw in heaven another great and marvelous sign: seven angels with the seven last plagues—last, because with them God's wrath is completed. ~Revelation 15:1
- John
I'll be seventy-four next week. Seventy-four, it's quite a number. I thought I'd be retired and living in Florida by the time I got this old… or dead, but there are a lot of twists my life took that I wasn't expecting. Lycanthropy was definitely one of those twists. I was told from the first day the virus hit my bloodstream that things would be pretty different for the rest of my life. That could have been one of the biggest understatements of the century.
I'm almost seventy-four and I only have a dozen gray hairs, which my partner frequently points out since he doesn't have ANY. I guess it's a plus that I don't have more of those, or wrinkles. Most people that I quiz think I'm forty, tops. The average answer drops in at about thirty-five and lycanthropy should keep me this way for a while.
I'm hoping this birthday will pass without so much as a whimper, and I'm praying that our current project will keep my lover's mind off of making a fuss over it. Not that he ever makes a fuss; it's more of a mocking that's taken many different shapes over the years.
Speak of the devil, his voice chirps from my ear bud, "You see anything yet?"
"You're my eyes in the sky baby, what do you see?"
"A hell of a lot of nothing, but your ass looks good in those jeans."
I roll my eyes skyward and catch a brief glimpse of Hellboy before he moves to the other side of the roof, "You can't find the target if you're staring at me."
"I'm multi-tasking."
Another voice cuts into our discussion; it's calm, cool, and calculating, "I hate to interrupt, but I believe I've spotted the target. It's heading eastbound on 96th street, just south of your position."
"We're on it Blue," I answer and dart down the nearest side street. Above my head, I can hear Hellboy jumping from roof to roof. The street we go by next is a little wider than the others are and I catch a loud, "Oh crap!" that doesn't make it to my earpiece, followed by a thud.
I don't change my route, just click on my communicator, "You okay, big guy?"
He grunts, probably as he's getting to his feet, "Yeah, but I'll be sore in the morning."
I can't stop my smile from spreading, "Aren't you always?"
Before I get an answer from him, I slide out onto 96th and take aim at the hippocampus barreling down the road. It's a shape-changing beast that's also known as a capri or water-horse. I'm not sure what the extent of its shape-changing entails, but it's currently in the form of a massive black horse. Its hooves are sparking on the concrete as it charges towards me. I focus on its fiery blue eyes and squeeze the trigger.
The first bullet grazes its shoulder, extracting a horrid screech, and the second punches a hole through its left ear. Considering I was aiming for the heart and head, they weren't great shots. The hippocampus bolts for a nearby storm drain to get out of my line of fire, its body morphing into a smaller shape so it'll fit.
I get to it just as its tail disappears, "Shit, it's in the sewer." My radio crackles with silence, "Did anybody hear me?"
"I heard you," it comes from behind me and I turn to see HB come out from an alleyway. He's rubbing his shoulder with a wince that means he landed pretty hard. "Blue, we're headed underground," HB grunts into his microphone.
"I'll be there soon."
I snag Red's arm and slide my hand around the back of his neck, my fingers tangling in the hair at the base of his head. My lips brush against his, our tongues dueling briefly before I step away, "Love you." He hums contently as his stone hand slides down my back. I twist out of his grasp before he can grab my ass. I know him too well for that, "Oh, I don't think so. We've got a capri to take down."
When I turn to find the nearest manhole cover, his mouth descends on my neck, "You started it."
"If you have your way, we're going to lose it," I warn.
Red drops his hands with a frown, "Alright, but you owe me later."
I point at the manhole in the middle of the street, but don't need to voice what I want. HB yanks the heavy lid off, the disgusting stench of the under-city hitting me almost instantly. I'm never really ready for that smell. He drops into the opening without hesitation, like usual, but I hang back a second, "How the hell do we always end up in the sewer?"
"Come on, Boyscout," HB calls.
I lean over the sewer opening, trying not to breathe, "You really wouldn't be so gung-ho if you could smell what I do."
There's a long pause and I'm starting to think he's managed to wander off without me hearing him, then he answers, "Trust me, I smell it… I can do this without you." There's a trace of sarcasm, or maybe exasperation in his voice. I'm sure he get's tired of me complaining every time we have to chase something through a sewer.
I sigh and take one last gasp of fresh air before I climb into New York's underbelly. The hot air wraps around me, creeping into my nose before I can even take a breath. I won't describe it, I'd prefer not to, but I barely manage to keep from gagging.
The slightest concern crosses Red's face, but a joke comes out of his mouth, "You know, you wouldn't have this problem if you were a stay-at-home wife."
I don't really feel like arguing with him, so I shoot him a firm 'shut up' glare. It's not very effective. He smiles, clicks on his flashlight, and I drop back a few steps to stay out of the beam.
Over the sounds of HB and me sloshing through the knee-deep mystery fluid, I can only catch the occasional squeak of rats and dripping from the various drains and pipes that empty into these tunnels. There's nothing from our target.
I wish my nose wasn't so damn useless down here. This thing has the upper hand in a situation like this. No matter what the liquid, a hippocampus can use it to hide and kill. I don't want it sneaking up on us.
We pass about the third tunnel in less than a minute and I call in backup because HB won't, "Blue, we're going to need a map of this area or we're going to get real lost real fast."
"I have it in my hand, John, and am getting close to your location. Please remind Red not to shoot me just because I am a moving object."
I glance down at HB's hand, curled so close to the handle of the Samaritan. He really is trigger-happy. "Blue's coming our way. He wanted me to remind you not to shoot at him."
"Jeez, does he have to bring that up every time we go out? He surprised me, that wasn't my fault," my demon grumbles.
"You could have killed him."
"The shot hit the wall, didn't even come close to him."
"He's just lucky you don't have better aim."
"You better watch it Boyscout, or I'll take you over my knee."
I smile, "Is that a promise?" I know he's still wound up from earlier and I'm just adding insult to injury, but it's too much fun teasing him. Of course, if I'm not careful, he won't wait until later. I've learned that from experience.
He shoots a glare over his shoulder that says tonight will be rough and wild. I'm looking forward to it. In the meantime, I try to focus on the business at hand.
"I am moving towards you from the west," Blue warns. The echoing sounds of sloshing reached me just before his transmission, so I knew he had to be getting close.
I touch Red's arm, "Blue's coming in on our left."
"Got it."
Abe's got a map open before him, his hand ghosting over it slowly while he thinks. There are two newbie agents in his wake. One is staring at the water in disgust and the other has his starched shirt pulled over his nose. I'm sure the senior agents threw their weight around and sent to new recruits on our sewer run so they wouldn't have to get their shoes dirty. I'll have to gripe at them later. We could have used some agents who knew what the hell a hippocampus looks like.
I address the newbies first, hoping to give them some kind of edge in the fight that's coming, "You see anything down here you shoot first and ask questions later. A capri can change shape, so you need to be on your toes."
They both nod stupidly like a couple of bobble-heads that've been bumped. I don't glance over when I feel HB's breath on my ear, "You always tell me to put the questions first."
"Yeah, but you have a tendency to shoot at teammates," I whisper back and continue down the tunnel.
Red doesn't move for a minute; I can imagine the look on his face, "One time!" He sloshes after me, grumbling quietly. Before he brings his light back up, he makes sure to take the lead again to keep from blinding me. HB's well aware that when it's this dark, light pretty much ruins my night vision. Plus, it gave him a chance to take a grab at my ass as he went by. Perv.
My wolf ears catch the agents whispering behind us. I try not to listen, but they may as well be shouting at me. Clearly no one warned them about my heightened senses, "I've heard the others saying that they're lovers."
"What, who? Red and Green?"
My anger peaks instantly. There's disgust in the second voice. I'm mildly tempted to let him get eaten, but I know I won't.
"I hear he used to be an agent before he got infected…"
Seriously, is this gossip hour? I'm thankful that Red can't hear them because the new agents would both end up with broken noses if he could. But I'm not going to keep listening to this crap, "Cut the chatter back there, and keep your eyes peeled. Blue, what have you got for us?"
I keep scanning the narrow tunnel, my eyes straying frequently to the water. I'm waiting to spot a flick of tail beneath the surface, or a flash of teeth.
"There seems to be a large pump room coming up approximately a hundred yards ahead of us. It would be a likely place for the hippocampus to hide, it will favor the deeper water there," Blue says easily.
I decided a long time ago that Abe might not be capable of fear. No matter the situation, he always seems to keep his head on straight.
Red checks his rounds, "Do we have to worry about his thing not going down with regular bullets?"
I don't pay attention to the answer. There was a tiny splash down a smaller feeder tunnel we just passed. I pause to listen intently while the rest of the team moves around me. Blue's got one of his books out and is searching for the capri's weakness, so he doesn't notice that I've stopped. The two agents give me strange expressions as they go by, but don't ask.
As their sloshing steps begin to fade, I catch another splash and what sounds suspiciously like a moan. I curl my fingers around the handle of my gun before I go investigate. HB will be pissed that I didn't tell him I was wandering off, but I don't want to drag the whole group down here if it's just a couple rats fighting.
"John?" Red's voice is a little faint, muffled by the growing sound of trickling water.
I make sure to yell loud enough so he can hear me, "I'm fine, Red."
When I spot a small vent dumping more unspeakable fluid into the cesspool I'm standing in, I figure that's what I was hearing. The tunnel keeps going, but I don't see anything out of the ordinary.
I turn to head back to the others and almost run into someone. My pulse leaps into a sprint, my gun coming up instantly, but the man in front of me is babbling like he's terrified (or insane), "You have to help me! It was here! It tried… it tried to…"
He's not one of our agents and his presence in the sewer is weird at best. Against my better judgment, I lower my gun, "Sir, how did you get down here?" I do a quick visual sweep for injuries, noting the blood running down his shoulder, and immediately have another question for him, "And why are you naked?"
He doesn't answer me; instead, he grabs my shoulders and shakes me, "It tried to eat me!"
I'm trying to figure out how to tactfully remove his grip on me without breaking numerous bones in his body when his expression changes. The fear melts away to reveal several rows of very sharp teeth and I realize that I should have shot him immediately. Way too late, I spot the hole I put in his ear not ten minutes earlier.
"Oh crap."
His eyes flash bright blue and I barely manage to scream half of my mate's name before the capri drags me under.
I should have listened to my own damn advice.
The hippocampus changes shape beneath me, the torso growing longer and wider, his face lengthening until his nose practically comes to rest against mine. Its claws sink deeper into my shoulders, sending streaks of fire down my body. My scream comes out as air pockets.
Since my gun is useless underwater, I drop it and try to push out of the creature's hold. As soon as my hands touch its skin, I understand what Abe meant during our brief that 'once a capri has a hold of you, you can not escape.' Its skin is like glue. The more I push against the thick flesh, the more it seems to tighten its grip on me. The hands on my shoulders are gone, having become hooves, but I still can't break away.
My lungs start to ache from the lack of oxygen. I hate dealing with water monsters! I've nearly drowned on far too many occasions for my liking. I'm sure Red's not too thrilled about it either.
The hippocampus powers its way through the sewer, me in helpless tow. We go over a waterfall and I manage to get a gasp of air before we're submerged again. I have no way of telling how far it has dragged me, but it's time to take things into my own hands.
I settle my panicked mind and call my wolf to me. Fur ripples down my body first, followed by the sensation of my muscles tightening to near breaking point. Every fiber in my being stills, ready for the wolf to take control.
A sharp and overwhelming pain shatters my change, snapping me back into human mind so quickly that it leaves me numb. I exhale the last of my air when I realize that the flesh the creature is chewing on is mine. The already foggy water is becoming thick with blood. Even with gills, I don't know how this thing can stay alive in such corrupted liquid.
My head is spinning wildly. I swim for the surface, but I'm not going anywhere. That can't be good. The world has taken on this bizarre, muffled texture, like all of my senses are stuffed with cotton. I know the feeling means I'll pass out soon, but whether from blood-loss or a lack of oxygen I can't be sure.
A hand clamps down around my arm and rips me free of the hippocampus and out of the water. I suck in lungfulls of beautiful, but still rank air, hacking and sputtering until I can get enough of it. The Samaritan goes off right next to my ear, unloading every round it's got. That ear will be ringing for the next several weeks, but I really couldn't care less right now.
When my sight finally begins to clear up from all the ammonia it endured, I take in the capri's floating corpse and Hellboy examining my wounds with a bit of concern, "You alive?"
"Yeah, I'm good. Nothing that won't heal," I croak between coughing spells.
Coming down the tunnel behind Red are Abe and the other agents. One of them decides to be a smart ass. Not his best decision.
"What happened to shoot first, old-timer? You never got a shot off."
Old-timer?
HB opens his mouth, but I can defend myself from this twat. I get disentangled from my mate, cross the now hip-deep water, and grab the new agent by his nicely pressed suit, "It's three days to the full moon, I lost my gun, I'm covered in god-knows-what, and am bleeding from a number of bite marks. If you really want to push me, now is NOT THE TIME!"
The agent cowers in my grip, barely able to squeak a response of 'yes sir'. I shouldn't get so pissed off, since the kid was just trying to joke around, but my mood's pretty foul. I even growl slightly when HB moves in to break things up.
"Hey, let him go, Boyscout," Red gives me a look and I release the agent's collar. He immediately scampers out of my reach.
HB pulls me to him, but I growl again. I really just don't want to be touched, or cuddled, or coddled. I just want to go home. It only takes a few soft words and caresses before I melt into a more pliant state, drooping against Red's side. I guess I can't help it. Doesn't matter how ticked I am, he always knows how to bring my temper under control. It's funny what brings his gentle side out.
"Well, now that it's dead, I suppose I should bring up a concern."
Every eye turns to Blue.
"Don't tell me that thing looks like it laid eggs recently," HB grumps, rather sarcastically.
Blue waves his hands dismissively, "No, nothing like that. There are eight known breeds of hippocampus but all of them derive from Europe."
"So," Red prods.
"So, someone would have had to transport one of these creatures here."
It's hard enough to transport the BPRD somewhere without looking suspicious; the idea that someone could have brought this thing overseas is a little hard to stomach. "Couldn't it have swum here?" I ask, glancing down at the floating corpse. It's already starting to smell, but my nose is pretty dead at this point.
"No. A hippocampus will avoid salt-water at all costs. I would like to take him back to base to study. I might be able to find out who brought him."
Red's tail curls and wriggles in the water, it means he's agitated. If I didn't know better, I would've thought it was a snake.
"I am NOT carrying that thing all the way to the surface." He tosses his thumb towards the agents, "Make dumb and dee here handle it."
Even with how ticked I am at the newbies, I know they can't carry that thing, "Red, it probably weighs half a ton. I doubt they can handle it." As the words leave my mouth, I realize that I'll end up carrying the other half.
And I do, and it's just as freaking heavy as I thought it would be. We ride home with the hippocampus lying belly up on the floor. I was certain it had already bled out, but it manages to leak even more acrid-smelling blood all over the garbage truck before we get back to base. All I can do is pull my feet up into my chair so it doesn't get all over my shoes. They may be covered in sewer fluid, but at least that's washable.
I'm thankful to leave the capri with Blue, not in the least bit curious about what he might find out about it.
By the time I drag myself into the room HB and I share, I'm ready to just fall into bed and be done with it, except I'm still rancid. I stand in the doorway, staring at the bed with longing until Red gently nudges me, "Come on Boyscout, let's grab a shower."
I sort of grunt in response, not tearing my eyes off the bed. I guess that wasn't the answer he was looking for, because his hands slide beneath my shirt and peel it off. A shudder passes through me. It doesn't really matter how long or how many times we've been together, I still get, for lack of a better word, giddy.
We'll be celebrating the golden anniversary in a few years, but things really haven't slowed down any. We haven't exactly slowed down either. It helps that we're aging like molasses that's been frozen. Well, he ages like frozen molasses, I age more like cold molasses.
Baking materials and age vanish from my mind when his flesh hand goes down the front of my pants.
"Stop thinking so damn hard," HB teases me, grabbing my dick and squeezing. "You don't need to be thinking to do this."
But, as great as that feels, I'm still gross and he doesn't tend to stop once he gets too far down the 'let's screw' path. "Shower first," I say as I pull his hand out of my pants, heading into the bathroom.
"Why do you always have to be clean before we do it?"
I sigh and shove my sticky jeans down my legs, "I don't, except when I'm covered in all manner of unspeakable nastiness. How can you think about sex when you and I both smell like a sewer?"
HB pauses to throw his jacket, shirt, and belt on the floor before he answers with a shrug, "I think about it all the time, so why not?"
Even in the midst of our mini-argument, I can't help but stop and stare at his upper body. My eyes roam over the ripples of muscle, drinking them in. I love watching those muscles dance while we're having sex, watching them tense and release while HB pounds into me.
I'm almost tempted to just do it now. Almost.
"Shower…" I mumble stupidly, tripping out of the leg-holes of my pants and nearly colliding with the edge of the counter.
HB grabs me before I can crack my skull against anything, "You drunk?"
"I've never been drunk a day in my life and you know it," I grump, turning the shower on.
A smile breaks out on his face, "Yeah, I know. Then that's just the effect I have on you, eh Boyscout?"
Smart ass, even if what he says is true.
"Maybe I'm just tired," I quip back, sloughing off my underwear and stepping into the water. The warmth smoothes out my agitation easily. I hear the shower door close behind me and the rough stone of Red's right hand curls around my hip; the other hand goes to work with a soap bar on my back. "You don't have to wash me."
Once a section of my skin is clean, he presses his lips to it, "Nope, but I want to."
It doesn't take long for his hands to stray from cleaning to something a little more provocative. Fingers graze down my spine and into my cleft. I shudder, despite my overwhelming desire to be rid of the sewer fluid. Although, I guess I'm clean enough.
"Now?" the question ghosts across my ear as one of his fingers slips inside me.
There's not much arguing with him. I drop back against HB, my head falling on his shoulder, "Yeah, now." I feel his smile against my skin.
Red grabs the bottle of lube we keep in the shower (yes, we keep lube in the shower… it's hidden in almost every room of the Bureau) and squeezes some out on his flesh hand. He cusses softly, I can only assume it's because he got too much. No matter how careful he tries to be with his stone hand, he can't always control his strength, especially not when he's worked up.
"Too much?" I tease him, leaning forward onto the cool tile when he goes back to preparing me.
"Half the damn tube came out," he grumbles and drops what's left of the tube on the shower floor.
Red's thick fingers work inside me, brushing and teasing all the spots he knows drive me insane. I press my forehead against the wall, a whimper rolling past my clenched teeth. His mouth brushes down my spine, his tongue and lips wandering into position to replace his fingers. A shudder wracks my body as his tongue pushes through my entrance.
"Y-you know," I start, but my mind sinks into the thick fog of pleasure. It takes a few moments before I can finish the thought. "I didn't figure out – oh Red, again – figure out why anyone would need flavored lube until you – uh – started doing that."
HB chuckles and I can feel him smirk as he withdraws his tongue. "Mmm, strawberries and John's ass," he says, with a mix of amusement and mild jesting, and climbs back to his feet.
I ignore the comment. Actually, I really don't have anything to say in response, because HB pushes his thick, perfect cock into me in one quick move. I howl as sensations rip up my spine.
The wolf strains in the back of my mind, responding to HB, responding to our connection. I hold it back, like always. Little things leak through though, no matter how hard I push against the raging animal.
As HB assumes his usual pace, my fingernails lengthen and thicken against the tile, the sharp edges gouging the glaze off the bright red surface. There are hundreds of similar marks all across the wall and, when I'm not adding to them, my claws find their way into Red's back. I always feel bad about it, but he never complains.
Far from it, in fact.
Sometimes, I think he intentionally strives to wake up the wolf, to stir it into a frenzy, for whatever reason. It's always harder for me to control when the full moon is close.
While I don't follow the cycle of the moon, like werewolves in movies and books are prone to do, it does affect my behavior. During the handful of days leading up to the full moon, I get more aggressive, more confrontational, and have the insane urge to hunt everything that moves. The day itself… well, let's just say that it's best if we have an assignment to keep me busy.
Red once linked it to PMS and promptly got smacked for it.
Heat begins to pool deep in my guts while my lower extremities ache with need. The want for release crawls down my spine and grips my muscles until they're taught and trembling. I focus on the water streaming down my back in warm rivulets, to keep the wolf at bay, to keep my orgasm at bay. It's still too early in the night for either.
The water is starting to get cold.
In one smooth motion, Red pulls out of me, cranks off the water, turns me around, picks me up, and continues. I can't help but laugh at how well practiced he is. The hot water never lasts through one of our sessions, and yet the shower is one of our most frequented spots (next to the big, overstuffed chair Red ordered after we broke the couch).
His lips fall on my neck and shoulder while he shifts my hips to find the right position. It only takes a stroke or two before I growl at the ceiling, white-hot pleasure wiping my mind of everything.
"There it is," Hellboy breathes against my throat and picks up his pace.
I squeeze his waist with my legs, feeling the ridges of his ribs inside my thighs. It's about the only warning I can give him in my current state. Though my whimpering should be a dead giveaway.
Stone caresses my back while flesh moves down to handle my throbbing erection. It doesn't take much coaxing for me to fall over the edge, shooting on HB's hand, his stomach, his chest. Before the white fades from my vision, Red's roaring his first release too and I feel the hot cum coat my insides.
My mate's head drops onto my shoulder for a moment while we catch our breath. He places an open-mouthed kiss just below my ear, murmuring, "Hell yeah."
All I can do is pant back, "Agreed."
We repeat the session on the bathroom counter, the wall of our bedroom, and finally in the bed itself before I succumb to exhaustion.
- HB
Can't sleep, never can after 'Scout has a close call. I watch him for a couple hours, all the usual uncertainties flying around my head like a swarm of demon birds: what if I hadn't made it in time, what if I can't save him next time, what if… Fuckin' what ifs drive me up the wall.
Most assignments, 'Scout handles himself fine, but its days like this that make me want to lock him in our room before I leave. Don't get me wrong, he's a great help on missions, what with his awesome sense of smell and his ability to get four-legged and chase things down at ridiculous speeds, but I'm getting damn tired of losing people I care about.
When Liz went, it broke my hea… I'm not that mushy, but it did hurt like hell and I'm not ready to repeat that… especially not with 'Scout.
I gotta' stop thinkin'.
TV sounds good, but it'll wake John up, even if it's muted. Wish we could go back to a time when he slept like a rock, but those days are long gone. I'm going to blame his wolf ears for that one.
About the only thing I can think of to do that's not going to bother 'Scout is to go for a walk, so I slide out of bed. 'Scout stirs a little and searches the sheets with his hands, his brow scrunching up. Even asleep, he notices when I'm gone.
I push my pillow at him to give him something to cuddle and hike some pants on. The pillow probably only works 'cause it smells like me. I used a clean one once and he woke up the instant he curled up with it.
The concerned slope to John's brow smoothes as he gets settled with my replacement. I stand for a minute and just look at him. Slowly, I run my fingers through his speckled hair, lingering on the grey pieces. I don't like the grey… grey means he's getting old and I still haven't shown any signs of heading over that mortal age crest that separates prime from downhill.
It's just the grey though. The squirt still has that boyish face that get's him out of a lot of trouble. Not a wrinkle in sight, except when he smiles. He get's teeny-tiny crow's feet at the corners of his eyes when he smiles.
A cat leaps down onto my shoulder, breaking the moment pretty effectively. I give the tabby a quick scratch and set him down on the bed. He curls up near 'Scout's back. It took about three generations of cats living in the same room with him before they got used to him smelling like a big-ass, canine predator. Now, I don't think they can tell the difference.
I slip out into the bureau, shooing a few cats back with my foot before I can close the door. This late, the halls are dead, nobody awake but the skeleton crew of guards that are in charge of the nightshift.
I pass by one of them and we exchange nods. It's one of the guards I see pretty frequently; I think his name is Jones. Nice guy, got three kids and a bombshell wife, from what he's told me. Good at cards too. I would sit and play some Texas Hold 'Em with him, but I have a different destination in mind.
Abe should still be working on the capri and probably will be until tomorrow afternoon. Once you set the fish man on something, he won't quit. Just as I expected, the lights are still on in the lab. I come around the corner to find Abe bent over an ancient bestiary.
There are a handful of other books open around him. His fingers are darting from one book to another, making connections at a rapid rate. You would think that he was so absorbed that he wouldn't notice me come in, but I know better. It only takes a second before he addresses me.
"You know, John has been working for the bureau forty-eight years without any permanent harm. I don't see why you're still losing sleep when he scrapes through a situation."
"Yeah well, he's not your mate."
"True, but he is a werewolf and you don't give him enough credit," Abe scolds and waggles a finger at me.
I roll my eyes and lean over to see what he's working on, muttering under my breath, "How do you always end up sounding like my mom?"
It only takes me a second to make the connection between the books; the same symbol is on all of the pages in front of him. It consists of several archaic letters inscribed in a circle. I've seen it before, but I can't place where just yet.
Let's face it, I've seen way to many signs and symbols over the years to remember all of them.
"So what's all this got to do with stinky over there?" I motion at the capri, flayed open on the metal table. 'Scout's right, that thing does reek. I can smell the damn thing from here.
Abe picks up the covers of one of his books, sliding a Petri dish out from under it. There's a piece of skin in the dish; I can only assume that it's from the shape shifter. The emblem Abe's researching is burned into the skin.
"This was on the capri's neck, just behind its ear."
"It's a brand. So who does this ugly bastard belong to?" I ask, picking up the hunk of flesh. It's starting to dry out and it actually cracks a little between my fingers. I drop it back in the glass.
"The symbol is associated with an ancient being known as Demegov. There is not much about him in any of these books, just references to events that are less than pleasant. If he was involved with any of them, we could be looking at a very major problem."
That doesn't sound good. "How major?"
Abe hums slightly, waving his hands slowly over the various books while he thinks. If he has to think that hard, I probably don't want to hear the answer. "As bad as that ether demon that took over the west coast."
Fuck.
"Well, maybe worse."
Can't think of a worse word than fuck, but I could use one about now. "What kind of events are we talking about here, Blue?" I ask as I try to quell some of the uneasiness that's rising.
Abe grabs one book in particular that I know is more of a history book with all the supernatural bits that got left out of historian's modern day view of the past. "Well," he pauses, flipping through the pages delicately, "This is the mark that appeared on the door of the head church in Rome seven days before bubonic plaque hit Europe."
A light goes on in my head. I can remember exactly where I've seen the symbol before, "Demegov, sometimes considered to be Pestilence himself. Father told me about this guy a long time ago."
"That's him. His emblem has been seen before hundreds of major outbreaks, sometimes by psychics, other times it's burned onto objects in the affected area," Abe confirms, showing me a photograph of a wall in an African hospital taken days before the first case of AIDS was diagnosed.
I look back over at the capri, asking again, "So how does stinky fit into all of this? Demegov doesn't use these things to infect people, does he?"
"It is a possibility, but most anything it was carrying would require direct contact or a bite for transfer."
My stomach drops somewhere into my lower intestines. I spent most of the ride back from our mission watching a large bite wound on 'Scout's shoulder heal over. If that thing has something, it's a sure bet that he gave it to John.
Abe speaks up, reading my thoughts, "Lycanthropy won't allow another disease to live within John, you know that by now."
"Yeah, but this ain't exactly the common cold. I want you to test stinky, find out what he's got. And-"
"I've already had a biohazard team scrub out the garbage truck and sanitize the hallway we brought the capri down. That should minimize any spread of the contagion."
I don't say anything about him reading my thoughts. It's almost welcome in a crisis, since it saves time. Instead, I head for the door, "I want to know as soon as you know. Got it, Blue?"
"I got it, Red."
I practically run back to my room, even though John was fine when I left him. I shouldn't panic. Abe's right, Lycanthropy is an extremely aggressive virus that kills anything else that enters its host. John hasn't gotten sick once since he was infected (with the exception of when he was separated from me at the very beginning, but that wasn't a virus). But what if this is different?
It's a little funny. I can be in a fight with a God of Chaos and Destruction and not be slightly worried, even if I'm losing, but John get's a damn paper cut and I get all worked up. Abe says its love. I say that's freakin' cheesy… but I'm inclined to agree. At this point, Boyscout is so firmly rooted in my life that he'd leave a huge hole if something happened.
'Scout squirms a little as I come busting into our room, but it takes him a second to really wake up. "What's going on," he mutters groggily while I feel his forehead. He doesn't seem to have a fever, so I check his eyes. Fuck if I know what I'm looking for, but I figure I'd probably notice something weird.
John finally sits up and snags my flesh hand, asking more firmly, "What's going on?"
I'm about to answer when I see it forming in the pink scar tissue on John's shoulder, Demegov's emblem.
"Oh crap," is all I can think to say.
TBC...
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Between the Lines: Sequel to Somewhere Between