Disclaimer and Preface - Denver and all of the people in her world are my creation. I have always wanted to write a character who could move between fandoms in a logical and purposeful way. I believe Denver is my girl. In her first story, she will be visiting the Hellboy animated universe with shades of the comicverse and movieverse mixed in. I do not own any of the Hellboy creations. Mike Mignola created them, I am only borrowing them for my story. I hope you enjoy Denver's adventures.

Chapter 1

The Dream

It was 4:32 a.m. when Denver shot up in bed with a gasp. Her heart was pounding, she was drenched in sweat, and her ears were ringing with the fading echo of dream voices screaming in her ear. As she caught her breath and tried to slow her heart, the familiar headache that always followed the dream started. It was centered right between her eyebrows, sharp, tightening with every breath she took…

"…and getting really old," Denver thought.

Reaching blindly out for the bedside table to grab her cell phone and her glasses, she swallowed a groan and rolled out of her sweat soaked bed. Tiptoeing past her brother sleeping soundly in the bed next to hers, she quietly snuck out the small office turned makeshift bedroom, past her grandmother's room and into the bathroom, closing the door silently behind her. Once safely inside, she flipped on the lights and took a good look at herself in the mirror.

Her wavy sandy blond hair might have been black it was so soaked with sweat. Her face looked wan despite her tan and freckles, and her eyes were wide with panic, bloodshot and still wet with tears she shed during her dream.

"But why…?" she whispered to her reflection.

As she splashed cold water on her face and tried to slow her erratic breathing, Denver thought back to the first time she had the dream. It was over two months ago now and, as time had progressed, the intensity and frequency of her mystery dream increased as well. Thinking back over the last few days, Denver realized the dream had visited her every night without fail for the last three nights. No matter how often she had the dream, however, she could remember nothing about it upon awaking.

The longer Denver stood and concentrated on her breathing, the more her pounding headache and the voices in her ear subsided. Denver sighed with relief… this time the symptoms left quickly. At their worst, the unbearable pain of her headache had made her vision go grey, and it had taken all her effort to remain on her feet. Those times, the voices seemed so loud to her that she felt like her ears might burst from the noise. No matter how bad the symptoms got or how long they lasted, Denver knew the pain would eventually pass and her hearing would return to normal, leaving her exhausted and achy all over.

When Denver told her mother about what was happening to her at night, her mother very calmly put it all down to stress. For lack of a better explanation, Denver had to agree.

Denver put on her glasses and flipped open her cell phone, glancing at the clock. 5:05 a.m.

"Damn."

Even if she took the time to strip her bed and lay back down, she would never get any sleep in before her alarm went off. Flipping off the bathroom light, she quietly opened the door and softly walked through the kitchen and out the back door.

The wet heat of an early Florida morning felt wonderful on her face and hands which were still chilly from her early morning face wash and the lingering tendrils of fear that always held on after the dream ended. Looking up at the sky as she settled into a lawn chair in the center of her back patio, she scanned the few lingering early morning stars, her gaze eventually coming to settle on the moon.

Denver knew that the moon was due to be full tomorrow, and a strong sun moon at that, but this morning it looked small and cold, and very, very far away. Denver had been raised by her father, having almost no contact with her mother until after his death when she was sixteen. He had been pagan, and when Denver was old enough, she had chosen to follow the path of the Goddess as well. When she was very young, Denver's father told her that even though her own mother was not with her, if she ever needed a woman's guidance, she could always see and talk to the Goddess. He told her the Goddess would always listen. Denver's father taught her that the Goddess had many different faces, and that the moon was one of them. From that time on, Denver had started looking to the moon for comfort when her father was unable to provide it. The goddess Denver knew would always more of a mother in her eyes than the voice she heard on the phone once a month as a child, "Call me Gypsy… not Mom."

Sighing, Denver searched the face of the moon for the maternal comfort she usually found there. This morning, even her heavenly mother seemed distant.

Denver's phone started beeping and vibrating from it's place in her lap. 6:00 a.m.

Denver took one last look at the moon, then slowly got up and headed back into the house. Barely thinking as she went through her familiar morning routine, she opened her grandmother's medicine drawer in the kitchen and started taking our her morning doses, placing them on a small saucer and sitting them next to her grandmother's chair along with a glass of water. That done, Denver started a pot of coffee for her family, crept back into the office and around her brother to get her work clothes, and headed back to the bathroom to take a quick shower before the rest of the family started rolling out of bed.

Fifteen minutes later, she emerged from the bathroom dressed and ready for her day job. Her mother was just coming out of her bedroom to get her morning coffee as Denver wandered back to the kitchen to pack a quick lunch and fill up her water bottle.

"Did you remember to get Gran's pills out for her this morning?"

"Yes, Gypsy. It's next to her chair with her water," Denver answered as she washed off an apple and put it in a sandwich bag.

"Because you know she can't do it for herself anymore, and I just don't know what's what in that drawer," her mother continued on, oblivious to the fact that Denver had already answered her.

Denver cut a small piece of bread off a loaf on the counter, placing it in the bag with the apple and a couple of cheese cubes. Her mother's standoffish mood this morning was no surprise to Denver. She had heard Gypsy and her husband fighting the night before after they returned from work. No doubt Denver was at the center of that argument… she almost always was. Her mother's husband, Steve, hated having Denver in the house. Gypsy and Steve had seven other children together and had been completely devoted to each other for over thirty years… with one notable exception.

Denver was that exception.