Monster

Families are meant to stay together. When they don't, monsters are created.

Disclaimer: I do not profit from this piece in any way. All non-original characters belong to their original creator(s), I simply borrow them to play out my fandom fueled fantasies.

Monster is a post-Hellboy 2, mostly movie-verse based fanfiction.


This story, like all others, begins with love. Love between a woman and, because origins are not nearly as important as what you choose to become, a man. Their love was not perfect, they often squabbled and were far too capable of jealousy, but it came close because the woman was willing to risk the entire world, even her unborn children, to retrieve the other from the realm of the dead. The man, when given the chance, had done nearly the same.

On one such occasion, not too many years ago, the woman, Elizabeth Sherman, was told by Death herself that she would suffer more than anyone as a result of her actions. In time, that would prove true and Ms. Sherman, mother of the great demon Anung un Rama's spawn, would become the conduit through which the end of all we know could be achieved. By her husband's right hand the Ogdru Jahad and their 369 children would be released upon the universe. Perhaps a new world would rise from its' ashes, and perhaps not. But for now, Mrs. Elizabeth Sherman, Liz, wife of Hellboy, was nothing more than an expecting mother of twins. Albeit, where these children are concerned, little is ever that simple.


"What? Are you serious?"

For once, the quick talking bureaucrat, Tom Manning, was lost for words. Aghast, he could only accept as a black utility belt and Hellboy's revolver, the Samaritan, was shoved firmly into his sausage-fingered grasp. Liz followed suit, dumping her own equipment into his work weary arms. As she walked briskly by, she couldn't help but smirk.

"Looks that way, doesn't it?" Liz had replied, barely pausing to give him a sideways glance.

Or at least, it had looked that way.

Sure, at first things had been great. Wanna stay in tonight? Why not, it's not like the city depends on us. Want to go to the movies? No problem, who's there to tell us otherwise? Want to- Well… no, it had been a problem. Because even if word was out, and the Bureau had gone public, and Jimmy Kimmel was poking fun at Abe's 'breathing apparatus' on national television, it didn't make them okay. It didn't stop the cashier from almost choking to death on his gum, or the frightened concession stand attendant from spilling their drinks, twice, and it certainly didn't help them get jobs. Liz had applied to thirteen different places before she found an interviewer that didn't recognize her, and even then she'd been all but marketable. Minimally educated and with no employment on record, about the only thing that was certain about her — at least in any potential employer's eyes — was her impending pregnancy. A month-and-a-half of paid leave just waiting to happen. Not likely. And besides, though they may not have noticed within the plushy padded walls of the BPRD, times were tough. The economy was down and open jobs were nearly nonexistent. There just wasn't a place for people whose resumes included 'skilled at translating ancient and magical languages' and 'occult experience' in the day's job market. Eventually, for the sake of their collective sanity, the hunt became a game.

Who could fill out the most applications in one day?

Who would be the first to get all the way through an entrance interview?

Who could feed their family?

By the end, Red beat her tally by 3. He'd tried everything, no holds barred, from the very beginning. And what had it gotten him? Three half finished interviews, an unconscious — albeit elderly — interviewer, thirty-seven unreturned calls, five flat out no's, and, on their last day… one reply.

Liz remembered it like yesterday. Thinking back to that call though, to their alleyway apartment, wasn't a pleasant thing.


Their new home had been simple, light blue walls with cheap tan carpeting, even in the kitchen. Like most, it faced the street. Liz gave a dark sort of laugh as she thought up her own sales pitch:

'In addition to surplus carpeting, it comes equipped with the most picturesque view of your neighbor's apartment, an ocean of cracked asphalt, and a stop sign bent at a nearly perfect ninety degree angle. And all from your own couch!'

No.

'Brimming with character' was how the landlord had actually described it and, all things considered, it was a pretty nice place. The single bedroom was spacious (though admittedly water-stained), room enough for the odd couple and their coming newborns, and the unit had even come partially furnished. As a whole though, her favorite thing had been the large loft style window that occupied the north wall. No matter where Liz stood, whether she was cooking a dinner of rubbery macaroni or simply lounging on the couch, she could see outside. Somehow it felt like that was good for the babies, even if the view did stink.

But then, there'd been something else too… Despite all of that good, there was something off about the place. It wasn't until looking over the lease that Liz really noticed it though; she was signing for 23 Bromwick Place, apartment number 9-44. The pen had froze in her hand, halfway through a cursive a.

Bromwick… 9-44… Or had it read Bromwich, England 1944?

Before she'd a chance to consider it further, Hellboy's bright left hand had closed over hers.

"We have to Liz." He'd said, speaking quietly enough that even the landlord across the table likely couldn't hear him. She knew he was right of course, they couldn't afford to walk away from this place — not now, probably not ever — but the coincidence still hurt (literally, she felt something at the surface of her stomach pinch).

We have to.

With a sideways look to Hellboy, she completed her signature from the first a. 'Beth Sherman'; it looked disjointed and wrong next to the previous script. Biting her lip, she'd slid the manila folder containing their lease across the table and stood from her seat.

"It's nothin'." HB had assured her, giving her hand a squeeze. Then they'd left.

But it didn't always feel like nothing. The thought of the address seeming to line up so perfectly, of any kind of predetermined path, made Liz sick inside (and not in a pregnant woman kind of way). Whenever she saw it, the words of Death arose in her mind.

You will suffer more than anyone. Definitely not words conducive to baby-making.

Fortunately for Red and Liz both, by their second week home — or at least, that was what they hoped it would become — the address had almost entirely slipped their minds. No hidden trap doors, no poltergeists; the house was fine. And besides, they had other things to worry about now, real things.

And that leads back to the phone call. Back to the last straw.

If she remembered correctly — and she did — they'd just come back from the grocery store, from spending their last few dollars on a half-gallon of milk and store brand cereal. Never a pleasant experience. Liz remembered her exact words even now…


"Did you hear back from that last one Red?" Her words were punctuated by two violent jerks of the doorknob. Jammed shut.

Geeze, this thing practically locks itself. We don't even need the key anymore. (Which was good, because they'd lost their copy about a week ago.)

Without answering, Hellboy came to her side and took the knob in his own hand, the left one. Giving his usual smug smile, he tugged upwards. Nada.

"Nah babe, not yet. But I've got a good feeling bout' this one." His voice broke into grunts as he continued to yank at the stubborn knob. "They're… gunna… call... soon!" There was a violent crack somewhere inside the door but, other than that, no signs of movement.

It was definitely mocking him.

"Dammit!"A flicker of frustration, at far more than just the door, pulsed through his veins and Hellboy did the only thing he could think of. He kicked the door in.

As his booted-hoof made contact with the left half of the door, the half closest to the hinges, it swung inwards and slammed into the empty wall behind it. The other half, though, wasn't so lucky. Unsupported by the rest of the building, it snapped away from him and practically flew into the darkened apartment. The now empty doorframe sagged from the wall, chipped off completely in several places.

Damn, what a punt! I should go out for football or something- His thoughts were broken by a heavy sigh behind him.

"Nice HB. Now every mugger, thief, and psycho is going to be headed this way." Rolling her eyes, Liz took the small paper bag and jug of milk from Hellboy's oversized red hand and passed through the empty frame into the kitchen. She dropped them unceremoniously onto the abused cedar table next to several unopened, but official looking envelopes. Liz tried her best, but she couldn't help skimming the face of each as she turned back to face him. The vast majority of them — something she was strangely thankful for when she stopped to consider what the minority consisted of — were white, yellow, and red bills. The others, all heavy cardboard-brown envelopes, were taped shut with wide yellow strips of packaging tape. The most modestly packed envelope had been wrapped six times with the stubborn adhesive. These, though only the first had actually been opened, contained the case files of every mission, incident, and accident that had occurred since Hellboy and Liz had left the BPRD.

Most were failures and, though they didn't know it, the third and fourth contained multiple certificates of death.

Couldn't even wait a month to start sending them either, could he. Hellboy noted, contemplating them with a darkly distasteful look. Distance, as it turns out, doesn't always make the heart grow fonder. They'd been away from Director Tom Manning for nearly half a year now, and Hellboy still couldn't stand the thought of him.

The brown-nosing bast-

By that point, Liz had turned back to face him. Hands on her hips, her left hand conspicuously bare, she was contemplating himwithher own dark look. Hellboy though, was too busy with his own thoughts — very enjoyable thoughts — to notice.

Lookin' nice Liz. Hellboy thought, unable to resist enjoying the view. Her hair was getting longer again, probably shoulder-length already, and had taken on a slight wave since the start of her pregnancy. And, of course, there was that too. The kids were definitely showing now and something about that… Well, it wasn't bad.

Only five months old and already they're ahead of the rest, he doted. His heart swelled with pride, but an expectant look from Liz brought him back to the present.

Apparently she'd been talking; now it was his turn to contribute to the conversation.

Arms half raised, he crossed the brown carpeting toward her. To be honest, he couldn't be exactly sure what she'd been talking about — after all, he'd been a little distracted —, but he could guess close enough.

"Aw come on Liz! You and I both know I can stop anything that comes through that door."

Liz raised her left eyebrow doubtfully — evidently that wasn't exactly what she'd been talking about — but, rather than argue, she simply shook her head and looked at him with dryly playful eyes.

"Anything?"

"Anything." Having made his approach, Hellboy wrapped his arms slowly around her and pulled her close. Or as close as was possible nowadays. With Liz's forehead resting softly on his chest, her hands tenderly cupping her swelling abdomen, everything seemed quiet. Manageable. The light that filtered down through gray clouds seemed almost otherworldly and the harsh sounds of city life fell on deaf ears. As the muted songs of urban birds amplified in their minds, they seemed to be transported somewhere else. Somewhere they truly wanted to be. The peaceful cottage Hellboy had promised so many months ago. Crisp green grass sprouted up around them and they could tell that there were hundreds and hundreds of miles between them and anyone who would dare disturb their family. As warm stone walls began to stack up around them and smooth floorboards appeared beneath their feet, Liz's voice pierced their shared illusion. It shattered into dust.

"Look, Red? It's not really that big a deal… If they don't call. I mean the janitor we saw back there, the one with the curly mullet, he didn't exactly seem like he was having the time of his life." Still leaning against him, Liz hadn't met his eyes. "There's gotta be something better out-"

"I'm not gunna be a 'janitor' Liz, I applied to be a Custodial Assistant." Removing his more agile hand from her side, Hellboy gently lifted her chin until their eyes finally met. His — though yellow, a calling card of his demonic heritage — twinkled with light humor. "There's gotta be a difference."

At that, Liz couldn't help but smile a little in return. "All I'm saying is, it's not the end of the world," poor word choice, she noted, "if they don't c-" Three mechanical rings punched through the air. As one, the pair jarred to a halt. About four feet away, their grungy corded phone rang a fourth time.

Could it be?

In an instant, Hellboy's cocky, self assured smile returned full force. A triumphant fire came alight in his eyes and his teeth seemed to shine. For the second time, his hand came away from her; it rose up into a playfully accusing finger.

"You doubted me."

Liz's mouth opened wordlessly and her eyes were wide. "I did, I did not!" HB just smirked, his long red tail waving proudly behind him. Smirking, she crossed her arms above her imposing tummy and pulled away from his single handed grip. "Just answer the phone before they hang up dummy."

"Right. On it." With all the energy and momentum that would've normally been directed towards a deservingly intense mission, perhaps a Kraken or particularly enraged pack of ghouls, he rounded Liz and all but dove for the phone. His thoughts abuzz with possibilities, Hellboy snatched up the receiver between the seventh and eight ring. Suddenly, as his apprehension peaked, his mind went blank.

"Uhhh…" He groaned, lamely attempting to stall the caller.

Dammit, dammit, dammit! What'm I suppose to say again? What're you suppose ta say when-

An arms-length away, Liz filled in the blanks.

"Hello." She mouthed slowly, her hands prompting him to go on.

"Ah, right." Hellboy blustered. "Hello?"

On the other end of line, if their voice was any indication, was either a junkie or someone who was even more out of it than he was. Regardless, the voice brought to mind scraggly blonde locks, adult acne, and four days worth of unshaved facial hair.

"Hey man, uh, I gotta application here with your, uh, name on it. You did, erm-ah, apply at Argo's Auto Repair, right?"

`"Yeah." acknowledged Hellboy, his smile stretching to include all but the back- most of his great white teeth. Something about this guy was giving him 60's flashbacks, but that hardly mattered now.

This is the job! He thought. Thank you God! Thank you- Oblivious to Hellboy's inner monologue, the hippie began to speak again.

"Well then, ah…" a slight shuffling of papers and a quiet cough could be head in the background. Then, suddenly, his voice took on a strangely deliberate tone, "Welcome sir to the AAR family. Here are Argo's Auto-" Too excited to wait for the man's obviously prewritten speech to finish, Hellboy cradled the phone in the crook of his shoulder and ran, as fast as the cord would allow, to Liz. Without a hint of effort, he lifted her- pregnant tummy and all- into a massive but supporting bear hug. Face alight with surprise, her toes hung an inch above the ground.

"I did it Liz, I did it! The job's mine, ah God!" He rejoiced. Still in his arms, Liz began to push back on his shoulders.

"Geeze, put me down Red! You're gunna hurt the kids!" She exclaimed, bending back to look him in the eyes. Despite her fear, she couldn't help but smile and her joy only grew as, shocked by his disregard for their safety, he gently placed Liz and the kids back on solid ground. He'd done it! He'd really done it!

Everything, she realized, is going to be okay. No more blackouts, no more rent-past-due notes; no more sleepless nights.

No more cheap-ass Cheerio knockoffs! She cheered. God, she'd been craving the real things for weeks now.

Emboldened by the thought, she stood up on tippy-toes and kissed HB full on. The half-demon, pleasantly surprised and happy for it, returned her advance in kind. Fortunately though, the lump of baby between them, which kept the lovers at what most middle school teachers would consider a 'respectable distance', and the feeling of the receivers cool plastic mouth on their cheeks kept them at bay. Their kiss lasted only a moment and Hellboy, though his gaze never broke from Liz's own, quickly returned to his call. On the other end, the hippie was silent. Nerves prickled down his neck, but Hellboy was determined to stay positive. This feeling, it was too good to lose. Too damn good.

"Still there?" he asked, his free hand flexing slightly. For a beat, the man remained silent. Maybe he'd-

"Dude…" he responded, his voice a blend of incredulity and - it wasn't, it couldn't be- fear. His well of 'uhs' run dry, he opted instead for a stutter. "Dude, you're not the… the, the red guy, are you?" The smile fell from Hellboy's face. Now a foot away and able to hear only half the conversation, Liz's faultered.

"So what if I am?" HB's voice was little more than a whisper, but threatening none the less. On the other end, the hippie was getting louder with every word. He was frantic.

"Dude, dude I'm sorry!" He blustered. "I can't give, no way man, just no." He paused for a breath, seemingly to engage in a wordless grunt-and-point match with one of the men around him. It ended quickly when the phone was handed off to the companion. In the background, Hellboy could just pick up a muttered 'Friggin' monster man!' from the hippie. For a moment, HB's tongue seemed to stick to the roof of his mouth. Then the second man spoke, barely giving himself the time to finish before hanging up the phone.

"Look, good luck with your girlfriend. We. Can't. Help. You."

"Hey!" Hellboy cried, his voice very clearly found. "You can't just, HEY!" All that answered was the dial tone. The last straw.

These people, these… He couldn't even come up with a word apt to describe them. They're scum, they're bigots, they're sons of-

"BASTARDS!" He bellowed, his voice wild, guttural, ashis blood boiled over. He could feel it. His pulse was in his ears, in his hands, in his- Oh he was gunna find that guy and tear him a new one. And that's if he was lucky, the things he was gunna- Blinded with rage, he hurled the phone with all his strength at the nearest wall. It, like their dream world, shattered into a thousand tiny pieces.

Bits of plastic, metal, and wiring rained down on the counter, into the scummy sink, and onto the carefully swept floor. Breathing heavily, mismatched fists clenched tightly enough to turn the left too into stone, he stumbled about in a circle- a stranger in his own home- searching for something to destroy. Something to tear, rip, break, annihilate. Anything! Instead, his stare — fit to match the mug of any gargoyle —fell on Liz. Elizabeth Sherman and his unborn children. The fight was ripped out of him. HB's arm's fell to his sides, stationary and limp.

What have I done? Hellboy asked himself, remaining unresponsive even as Liz approached, an ever too familiar frown marking her perfect face. What have I done to you babe? Trapped somewhere within himself, he was completely oblivious to what should've been, perhaps, the most comforting and all accepting hug he would ever receive. Instead, as he looked down onto Liz's rounded stomach, he saw in himself his children's future. What have I done to you both?

It was clear now, indisputable, a fact. And with no one here but the woman who so blindly loved him — and blindly was by far the most accurate term — he knew he would never hear the truth. He was a freak, an outcast, and he was dragging Liz, his kids, and everyone down with him.

Still folded around him, such ideas came nowhere close to permeating Liz's thoughts. People were all the same to her. She just didn't get why that seemed to be so difficult for everyone else to understand.

Without loosening her hold, she looked back on the scarred and abused cedar table. The rainbow of unpaid bills were first to meet her gaze, but she focused mainly on the bloated brown envelopes, the yellow tape. Though there was no written note within them, nothing but case files and official documentation, she knew what their message was. Without words, Manning — and all of the Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defense — was saying this:

Come back. We need you. We're screwed.

She hated to say it, to even think it, but the words came out regardless. Not moving to meet his eyes — she couldn't stand to see defeat where there had just been so much pride and triumph — she spoke instead into his chest.

"Red," her words were quiet, strained "I think we need to go back."

TO BE CONTINUED…


Thank you so much for reading, reviews and (more than anything) constructive criticism would be very much appreciated. Simply knowing that someone's read this and might consider reading future chapters would extremely encouraging!

~LittleSun1