A/N: Contains spoilers up to The Wild Hunt #4. Originally posted under a different account and written in May 2009.
Breakdown
Somehow or other, he always ended up with a drink in his hands.
He was sitting at a corner table, half-shrouded in darkness, hiding away from prying eyes that lingered momentarily upon him before looking away with a shudder. Maybe it was his face—the face of a broken gargoyle, as he had once been called—or maybe it was just the look on his face—dark, foreboding, almost sinister even—the look of a man intent on doing something wrong...
"...it's already begun, hasn't it...?"
Taking another long drink, he refilled his glass and retreated further into the shadows, easing his back against the cool glass window. His listless gaze took in the passers-by who were trying to find refuge from the rain without really looking at them, trying not to think about what he should be thinking of...
"...you were sent to destroy the world..."
He snorted dismissively. "Destiny's overrated," he muttered to himself, before taking another swallow from his glass. He wouldn't let anyone control his life or tell him what to do. No one had the right, no one—
"I'm still your master, boy!"
His flesh-and-bone hand twitched at the recollection. It had been the first time he had been confronted about the matter—the beginning of everything that had followed soon afterwards—like a time bomb that just kept ticking and ticking, a little voice inside of him telling him that time was running out...
"Think, creature, think! If you kill me you will never know who you are! You will never understand the power inside you!"
Back then, he hadn't even wanted to know what that guy had been talking about. He had pushed the matter into the back of his mind, dismissing it as the ravings of a crazy madman, and had almost forgotten about it, perfectly content to keep living his life normally... almost...
"Accept the truth of your existence or be destroyed! You cannot escape your destiny!"
But he had still chosen to ignore their words, even when he had been teetering upon the edge of the precipice. He hadn't wanted to accept it, hadn't wanted to give in to their whims. No matter what they said, it was still his life, and no one had the right to tell him how to live it.
Again and again and again, until...
"I quit."
No matter what he did, his past never failed to follow him wherever he went, and though he had tried to play the fool and squirm out of his responsibilities, he had reached the turning point in his life where he could take no more. He would get down to the bottom of it, even if it cost him his life...
"I think that must be the curse of your life—that the ruin of things will come from your good works."
But he didn't do it to find the answers he claimed he wanted to. No, the real reason had been a cowardly reason—he had wanted to run away from all his problems in hopes that they would stop following him—but he hadn't known his true intention when he had initially made the decision... he had only realized it along the way... when he had not only learned the truth, but saw it with his own eyes...
"I know you destroyed that creature. But all those months in that little boat—wasn't he with you there, every day?"
His stone hand clenched around his drink, causing the fragile crystalline glass to break, and the red liquid curled down his fingers like blood.
"Just as he has been with you everyday since."
"No, no, no, no, no..." he whispered breathlessly, clenching his trembling hands into fists. The broken glass ground into dust in his right hand's grip.
"Drink, hide with ghosts in their houses, but you cannot escape him—anymore than you can escape your own shadow."
He could escape it, he knew he could—he had to, he just had to! He wasn't that thing—he would not become what he was destined to be—he would never become that thing! He was his own man, himself, only him, no one else, no one—
"This thing is part of you, maybe the biggest part, and continue as you have been, and it will consume you."
"It won't!"
He flung the bottle against the wall and it shattered noisily, pooling its blood-red contents all over the floor like a miasma. He covered his face with his hands, drawing a ragged breath.
"It won't..."
Even though he knew it had already begun.
Fin
A/N: This isn't like my usual style. I don't normally use so many dashes, but I felt that it would convey Hellboy's confusion better. Perhaps it's in character, perhaps it isn't. Hellboy's the type of guy who doesn't really show that he cares when he really does. But just like the next guy, he's bound to have his weak moments. When the mask breaks and crumbles and the truly frightened child is all that's left. The breakdown.
Constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated!