Co-written by FlyingFish15 and Blu Embyr.
Disclaimer: We own nothing, save what sprung from the depths of our own twisted imaginations…
Author Notes: Blu: OMG!!!!! We ACTUALLY UPDATED!!! It's the Apocalypse!!
FF15: We're soooo sorry it hasn't been updated in like…two years…
Blu: But we found our notes, and we kept getting reviews from people who wanted us to continue the fic but weren't very hopeful, so we decided to update!
FF15: Anyhoo…just so you know, we have finally hammered out a plot, and you NEED TO KNOW THIS BEFORE YOU CONTINUE OR IT WILL MAKE NO SENSE. Now that I have your attention…
Blu: No kidding.
FF15: This fic is set after the events of the movie. It is slightly alternate universe since Broom is still alive, but we figured that Kroenen would have simply booked it out of the BPRD and therefore wouldn't get around to killing our dear Professor Bruttenholm.
Blu: Yay! And, due to his immense will to survive (and make sure HB doesn't make a complete arse of himself…) Broom is alive and well and his cancer is in remission.
FF15: More 'Yay!' We will be updating!
Blu: Enjoy the chapter!
Faces swam in and out of focus above Megan, large blurs of tan, red, and blue. She just lay there, watching the faces swim and thinking of how comfy the book she was lying on was. Megan's memories suddenly returned in a rush, and it seemed to all present that she had just spazzed out or been bitten by something. Megan sat up so quickly she cracked heads with Hellboy, who didn't really feel it, and then stared around at the small gaggle of people.
"Whatever it is, I didn't do it!" she shouted, her expression slightly panicked.
"She's fine," Sara announced, grinning from ear to ear. Megan rubbed her forehead where she'd hit Hellboy's horns.
"Dude, my head hurts," she muttered, staring as if entranced at a spot just over Abe's left shoulder.
"No wonder, you just cracked head-to-horns with Red," Liz pointed out, smiling. Hellboy grinned.
"By the way, you got a guilty conscience?" he asked, in response to her declaration of innocence.
"NO!" Megan yelled, a tad too quickly. Abe turned to Sara.
"I'd advise you to carefully examine your suitcase before opening it; there might be something inside it," he recommended. Sara glared at Megan.
"What? I didn't put anything in it, when would I've gotten the chance?" Megan said defensively. But before Sara could force Megan to fess up, the door to the study opened again. Abe and Liz immediately stood up and Hellboy jumped to his feet, sending a few shockwaves through the floor.
"Evening,—"
"I was out for that long?" Megan interrupted, standing up and trying to see past Abe. An elderly man wearing a suit and a smile walked down the small set of steps and into the study, leaning on a cane.
"Professor Trevor Broom. You two must be the new cooks."
"Is everyone we meet gonna say that?" Megan whispered to Sara. Sara ignored her and shook Professor Broom's outstretched hand.
"Yes, that's us. I'm Sara Collins and this is Megan Lewis."
"Yo," Megan said, shaking his hand as well.
"I see you've been introduced to Hellboy, Abe and Liz," he commented, noting their ruffled appearance.
You can say that again. Megan thought to herself, remembering too late that Abe could read minds. But, if he had heard her comment he made no indication of it.
"I don't suppose anyone's shown you how to get around?" Broom said, taking two papers off the top of a stack on his desk.
"Nope," Sara said, looking at the map he'd handed to her. Megan turned hers over and over in her hands, turned to face the elevator cavern, and then turned the map a different direction. Liz coughed suddenly to stifle a laugh at the confused expressions on the girls' faces.
"Good luck, and we'll see you at dinner tonight. I'm quite certain it will be a meal worth remembering, considering Agent Myers's glowing report," Broom said with a smile and a twinkle in his eye. The two girls exchanged glances as they were ushered to the doors, Hellboy's shout of "steak, please!" ringing in their ears.
XXXXX
Several wrong left turns, four trips up and down the elevator system, three sets of bad directions, five shouting-matches over Megan not wanting to stop to ask for directions, and many stubbed toes later, Sara and Megan finally arrived at the kitchen, feeling and looking like they had accompanied Frodo on his journey to Mordor and back again.
"So…." Megan trailed off, staring at all the larger-than-life rows of stovetops, long wooden counters, and tons of metal cooking utensils hanging off every available hook. Sara gave Megan her patented "Dear God what have you gotten us into" look. Megan scowled.
"It's not all my fault, and besides, how bad can this be?"
"Famous last words, my friend. Famous. Last. Words," Sara said, stowing her bag neatly on a clear space of counter by the huge double-doors. Megan shrugged and followed suit, haphazardly chucking her bag in the general direction of the door. It landed on a rack of oversized metal pots with a cacophonous clatter. Sara winced.
"Pull yourself together man! Er, woman…" Megan said, watching as her partner in crime pulled back her hair in a thoroughly businesslike manner. A sudden sparkle had come to Sara's eyes, and she grinned mischievously.
"Ready to go exploring in a room full of sharp stuff that can cut our fingers off?" she asked. Megan grinned.
"Who gets to play with the gas stovetops?"
Sara streaked off towards said long row of stovetops. "I call it! I call it!"
Megan huffed. "Dang, now all I've got is the butcher's knives….and a SPORK!" She pulled said SPORK out of her pocket, grinning rabidly and holding it much like an explorer holds a machete.
Sara slid to a halt in front of the first stovetop and inspected the various complicated knobs and dials. She shrugged and twisted one at random. With several clicking noises, the igniter lit up the gas flames to a brilliant steady electric blue. Mesmerized, Sara leaned closer and turned the knob back and forth, watching the flames shoot higher and then shrink until they were barely there.
"Ooooh, prettttttyyyyy bluuuuuueeeee flaaaaaaaammmeeeesssssssssssss…" she cooed, turning the flames up full blast and leaning precariously over them.
Megan glanced up from trying unsuccessfully to balance a garlic press on her nose; she giggled.
"Keep that up Sara, and POOF! No eyebrows!"
Sara leaned back slowly and turned the flames down to a more reasonable level, holding the knob between two fingers as though she expected it to bite her fingernails off at any moment.
Megan rolled her eyes, then seized her borderline pyromaniac of a friend and dragged her over to the fridge. As soon as Megan relinquished her grip, Sara threw the refrigerator door open, narrowly avoiding whacking Megan in the head with it, and scanned the contents arranged less than neatly on the shelves. Privately, Sara thought it looked as though the entire staff of the BPRD had rooted through the fridge in the course of a midnight snack.
"Ok, seriously now, what do you think we should cook?" Sara asked, sorting through the food in the refrigerator.
"Hey! Look! There's a little whiteboard on the refrigerator door that says how much of everything we have to make!" Megan shouted. Her expression turned to panic as she saw that they had to cook at least 150 pounds of meat, 52 pounds of vegetables, 40 quarts of fruit, and 18 gallons of something to drink. "Good lord! I had no idea there were this many people!" Megan stumbled away from the evil whiteboard, which seemed to be mocking her with its equally evil black writing, and looked at the refrigerator dubiously. "There's no way there are 150 pounds of meat in there!"
"150 pounds of meat?!" Sara exclaimed. She shut the refrigerator door so she, too, could stare in disbelief at the evil whiteboard. Slowly, she transferred her gaze down to her short, orange haired friend. "Besides, how bad can it be?" she said, mimicking Megan in a mocking voice. Then her voice changed to one bordering on hysteria. "Well what did I tell you? Famous last words!"
"Don't freak out! Don't freak out!" Megan said, holding up her SPORK in a rather bad attempt at defense, or perhaps an even worse attempt to hide behind it. "Maybe there's an industrial-sized freezer in here where they keep all the meat and stuff," she suggested, beating a hasty retreat from her glaring friend to open one of four large metal doors located along one wall of the kitchen. The large, pantry–like room turned out to be full of sacks of flour, dried beans, potatoes, bags of sugar, and, mystifyingly, cat food.
"I'll check the other one," Sara said, opening the next door in a blast of cold air. She peered into the arctic depths and cautiously walked in, goosebumps prickling into existence on her arms. She glanced around at the frost-covered lumps crouched randomly on the shelves, and shivered. Creepy... she thought.
"Well, this is obviously the freezer, but there's no way we're going to be able to thaw out 150 pounds of meat in time to serve dinner."
Sara walked out of the freezer and pushed the door shut, and then leaned against it with her arms crossed. Megan looked over and adopted a similar position against the counter, facing the freezer and her friend.
"Well, crap. What're we going to do now?" Megan asked.
XXXXX
After much deliberation, debating, and throwing of various kitchen utensils, the girls had a plan.
"Chicken, peas, and peaches," Sara announced, banging a can of diced peaches and a bag of dried peas on the counter to emphasize her point. Megan thought for a moment.
"What are we going to do about the chicken? I don't know how to prepare a chicken for cooking, much less cook one. And I thought you said we didn't have enough time to thaw one out anyway," Megan said, staring at the door to the giant freezer.
"Can't we just order a bunch of pre-roasted chickens, cut them up, and dump them into the pans?" Sara asked, flopping down on a stool and reaching for a phonebook.
"Yeah! I'll start the peas, you just boil them, don't you?" Megan asked, pushing her orange bangs back behind her ears and removing her duffle bag from the pot rack so she could go in search of large pots in which to boil the 52 pounds of peas.
"I'm pretty sure that's what you do," Sara agreed, flipping through the phonebook to find a grocery store that looked like a likely candidate. Megan looked around in despair, still searching for a pot big enough to hold 52 pounds of peas.
"Try the storage room in the back," Sara suggested, dialing a phone number that adorned a likely looking deli add in the phonebook. As Megan walked off to try looking in the storage room, someone picked up the phone.
"Hey,thisisFrank'sdeli,howcanIhelpyou?" an extremely perky person's voice blasted through the phone line into Sara's ear.
Sara winced. "You can talk slower, for one thing. For another, do you sell pre-roasted chicken?" she asked. On the other end of the phone there was a loud clanging sound in the background like someone dropping a pot, followed by the hiss of steam. Then the person answered, this time clearly making an effort to speak slower.
"Yes, we do."
"Great! Do you sell them in bulk, say, about 150 pounds?"
"Uhhmm…lemme ask Ted."
"'K." It was a good thing that the person had gone to ask 'Ted', because Megan came back into the room, dragging a pot the size of a household stove. Sara gawked as Megan pulled the thing over to the giant sink and used the hose nozzle to try and fill it up.
"Megan! Go back and find a smaller pot! That thing'll never fit on the stovetop!" Sara whisper-yelled, covering the phone. Megan was about to reply when a tiny voice, presumably 'Ted', shouted from the phone: "Hello? Anyone there?"
Sara turned back to the phone. "Yes. So do you sell in bulk? Say, 150 pounds?"
Meanwhile, Megan sighed in exasperation, then struggled to dump the water out of the pot. Once she had upended half the water into the sink, and the other half onto the floor, she dragged the pot back to its lair in the back room. Sara rolled her eyes at the slippery mess on the floor.
"Yeah, but not that many," 'Ted' said, amid clanging and crashes.
"Oh, ok. Thanks anyway!" Sara said, wondering where in the world 'Ted' was.
"Welcome. Bye."
"Bye." Sara put the phone down and flipped through a few more pages in the phonebook, before hearing a loud crash like many pots and pans being strewn all over the floor, followed by a mini-earthquake and profuse cursing.
Sara calmly flicked through another page as Megan stomped back into the kitchen, holding what looked like a giant, shallow, stainless-steel mixing bowl. Sara looked up at Megan, who was holding onto the handle of the "bowl" and looking expectantly at Sara.
"Um, Megan? That's a mixing bowl with a handle."
"No it's not, it's a wok. They've got giant ones back there. Do you think this will be big enough?" Megan asked, looking down at the wok, which was at least one and a half feet in diameter.
"Yeah, but you'll have to cook several dozen woks-full," Sara said, turning back to the phonebook. "Besides, you're not supposed to cook peas in woks. They're for stir-fry."
"Yeah, well, you wouldn't let me cook them in the huge pot I found," Megan said grumpily, as she began filling the wok with water from the spigot.
"True, but it wouldn't have fit on the burner. And besides," Sara pointed out, preparing to dodge whatever Megan would choose to throw at her, "You'd of had to stand on a chair to look inside, much less stir it."
Sure enough, Megan threw a towel at Sara, which flew through the empty space where Sara's head had been a moment prior.
"I'm not that short! Besides, you would've had to stand on a chair too," Megan stated huffily, putting the wok on a burner and turning the dial on 'high heat'.
Sara picked up the phone again to dial "Deli Deliveries" and half listened as Megan crashed around the kitchen, picking up all the kitchen utensils they'd thrown back and forth during their 'discussion'.
"Hello, Deli Deliveries, may I help you?" someone on the phone asked. Gentle music was playing in the background; it reminded Sara of elevator or shopping-mall music.
"Yes, do you sell pre-roasted chicken in bulk?" Sara asked, trying to drown out the sounds of Megan running back and forth between the pantry room and the stove, dropping bags of dried peas on the counter.
"Yes we do. What kind would you like and how many pounds?" The person on the other end seemed to be oblivious of the ruckus raised as Megan freaked out about the wok boiling over.
"Um…just regular roasted chicken, no spices or anything, and…" Sara consulted the little board with the measurements on it. "150 pounds."
The person on the other end went strangely quiet. Sara thought it was because Megan was now yelping because she'd gotten boiling water on her hand and then cut herself trying to open the bag of dried peas with a knife. But instead of inquiring about the yelping in the background, the person said: "Oh my…What on earth are they for?"
Sara quickly thought of a lie; she was pretty sure telling the person that she was cooking for a top secret government agency that included a demon and a fish-guy was not the proper thing to say.
"Yeah, I know, it sounds like a lot, doesn't it?" Sara said, trying to act nonchalant. "I need food for an office party, and everyone who works here is coming for dinner and bringing their families."
"Oh! Well, glad to be of service then. We'll need the address of your office; I'm assuming you want them delivered there?"
"Yes, please." Sara thought about the Happy Birthday napkin and tried to picture the address in her head, then gave it to the person on the phone, praying that she had remembered correctly, or someone was going to get one hell of a surprise when 150 pounds of chicken was delivered to their door. Sara hung up when she was finished and sighed in relief; her sigh was echoed by Megan, who had put a band-aid on her knife-induced injury, and was currently stirring the wok of peas with a long-handled wooden spoon. Megan added another bag of peas to the boiling water, and it was only then that she read the cooking instructions.
"Uh-oh….I forgot about butter!" Megan cried, running over to the huge refrigerator and pulling out a little plastic container of butter.
"What about butter?" Sara asked, glancing at the clock on the wall. They still had about an hour left—plenty of time for the chicken to arrive—and they didn't have to put all the food out at once anyway.
"I forgot that you're supposed to put some in the peas!" Megan scooped out a chunk of butter with the Spork she had pulled from her pocket, and plopped said chunk into the peas. She capped the container and tossed it to Sara, who put it back in the fridge.
"Why's that?" Sara asked as she closed the fridge door, then walked into the vast pantry and retrieved an armload of canned peaches.
"I dunno. It says to add butter on the package, and besides, my Mum always does it," Megan said, stirring the wok full of peas.
"Oh, okay then." Sara dumped the cans of peaches onto a plot of unoccupied counter space with dull thuds and clanks, before opening some drawers in search of a can-opener. Sara found oven mitts, spoons, dulled knives, mixing bowls, countertop and hand-held electric mixers, cookbooks, and various other things all stacked neatly together, but no can-opener.
While Sara's frustration level was rising like the magma in a volcano on the verge of erupting, Megan was calmly scooping the cooked peas out of the wok with a hand-held strainer and dumping them into a clear bowl.
"Hey, Megan?" Sara asked, almost ready to blow the top off of her mental Frustration Volcano.
"Hmm?" Megan asked calmly, chasing a single pea in endless circles around the wok.
"Did you see a can-opener anywhere?" Sara asked, trying desperately to siphon off her frustration by glaring daggers at a cabinet knob.
"Umm…there might be one in the cabinets over the counter, but there weren't any in the drawers," Megan said, unaware that she had just narrowly avoided a catastrophe in the form of an erupting volcano.
"Thank you!" Sara said happily, endorphins finally kicking in and making her disgustingly cheerful.
"Welcome," Megan said, dumping two more packages of dried peas into the giant wok. Sara opened three cabinets before finally locating the precious can opener.
XXXXX
The agents filing into the Mess hall were surprised to see that there were no people bustling behind the glass counter, loading up plates and handing them out. Instead, the glass viewing window over the food was gone, and a sign hastily made out of paper was propped up on top of the counter; it said:
Due to lack of staff, you will need to serve yourselves. Take your tray from the pile next to this sign; you will find ladles and forks in each pan. Utensils are at the end of the line, along with the napkins and drinks. When you're finished, scrape any lumps left into the trashcan and put your tray in the bin of water next to it. Have a nice day!
The agents who read the sign exchanged glances and lifted the lids off the pans to find that they were full of chicken, peas, and diced peaches in thick sugary syrup. Just then, Sara came bustling up to the counter with an armload of neatly stacked trays, dumped them on the counter by the sign, and hastily scrawled another note in a blank space on the sign.
Once she'd left, the sign read:
Drinks are self-serve, on a table with condiments at end of counter.
Sure enough, when the agents reached the end of the counter, there was a self-serve machine that was normally filled with coffee or soda. However, new, hastily created masking-tape labels had replaced the original signs, and the agents were surprised to see that the machine was filled with water, milk, orange juice, and "juice blend."
The agents stared in disbelief.
"What?! We have to eat HEALTHY now?" Agent Lemming (the Fourth) joked. Agent Drummand gave him a sly look.
"You'd better eat healthy, after all, none of the previous Agent Lemmings have died of heart disease. Such a pity. That increases your chances of succumbing to it by at least threefold."
Agent Lemming (the Fourth) looked rather pale and opted for extra helpings of peas and water rather than the soda he'd found moldering in the staff refrigerator.
XXXXX
"Ungh!" Sara grunted, trying to pile just one more jumbo-sized bowl of peas onto the top rack of a cart. Megan was trying unsuccessfully to lug four jugs full of "juice blend" to the bottom rack of the already crowded cart.
"Not to be rude, but can you guys hurry it up?" Myers asked, jigging nervously in place and checking his watch. He was clearly eager to be on his way to his rendezvous with his date.
"Well, we didn't know we had to fill the friggin' cart!" Megan snarled, glaring daggers at him as he continued to stand beside the cart, doing nothing.
"Language!" Sara gasped, struggling beneath the weight of yet another bowl of peaches. Just then, Myers glanced down at the platters heaped with meat and frowned in confusion.
"Chicken? Hellboy wanted steak."
It was all the pair could do to restrain themselves. Myers took one look at their faces and said, "Oh, …right then!"
That said, he quickly grabbed the handles of the cart and beat a rapid retreat, shouting a hasty "Bye!" over his shoulder.
Sara shook her head and caught sight of some agents looking over the serving counter at them.
"What!?!" she snapped, brandishing a ladle as if it were a sword. The agents quickly muttered incoherent excuses and went back to loading up their trays.
XXXXX
"Alright! Ladies, this is your room. Enjoy." The chipper voice faded away as the two teens slimed into their room, exhausted and worn-out from their first night on the job. They barely noticed their suitcases, which had been retrieved from the kitchen and brought to their rooms, presumably by a thoughtful Agent. They made their slow, laborious way to the bunk beds stashed neatly in one corner of the room, and collapsed side-by-side on the bottom bunk.
Silence reigned for a good ten minutes as they inspected the springs of the bunk above them.
Megan slowly sat up, leaning back on her elbows for support.
"Well. THAT was an experience to write home about…"
Sara smacked a hand over her tired eyes. "Oh, God! That was just one night! We have to do this three times tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after…"
"Yeah, well don't remind me. Cleanup was hell."
"Well, for starters, we cooked way too many peas. A quarter pound of peas per person?! That's like a vegetarian special! And on top of that, you spilled a can of peaches on your way to the serving counter."
"Well par-DON me if I tripped over a discarded chicken container!"
"That's not my fault, it crawled out of the trashcan and deposited itself directly into your path!" Before Megan could do anything but laugh, Sara said, "Anyhoo, we should unpack. The faster that's over and done with, the faster we can get to bed."
The pair properly examined the room, but there was really nothing special about it. There was a normal-sized dresser with six drawers—three for each of them—a partially open door which led to the bathroom, another door which was a closet, a small table with two chairs, a bedside table, and an ancient TV set. The room reminded Megan of a cracker: plain, white, and oppressively dull.
"Well, there's certainly room for decoration," Sara quipped. "It's like a college dorm room; they give you all the same stuff and turn you loose." Sara approached her suitcase with the intention of unpacking. Megan's head shot up and she quickly zoomed in front of Sara, grabbing her bulging bag and heading for the bathroom.
"Dibs on bathroom!" she shouted hurriedly as she made a beeline for the tiled shelter complete with functioning toilet. Sara watched her friend slam the door shut and shrugged. Goofiness was mandatory when Megan was around.
Inside the confines of the bathroom, Megan locked the door as stealthily as she could, then sat comfortably on the counter and waited expectantly.
Sara picked up her suitcase and plopped it down on the dresser, casually unzipping it and leaning over to look inside.
Megan heard the sound of the zipper on Sara's suitcase and grinned, waiting with baited breath for what she was sure would come next.
Silence. Then…
"AAAAIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEE!!!! Ahh! Ahh! Ahhhh! Get it off me! Get it off meeeeeee!!!"
Megan stifled her laughter by shoving a large, fluffy hand-towel into her mouth. Meanwhile, Sara kept right on screaming, followed shortly by the sounds of a large, panicked body flailing wildly around and consequently stumbling and tripping all over the place. This continued for a long while, even after the cause of Sara's terror slithered under the bathroom door, up Megan's leg, and curled lovingly around her neck.
"MEGAN MARIE LEWIS!! OPEN THIS DOOR!"
Megan arranged her features to those of utmost innocence.
"There's no need to shout," she said calmly. Her statement was followed by copious knob-rattling and door-banging. "I don't know what you're all upset about…"
"Upset? UPSET!?! You want to know WHY I'm UPSET?!?"
"Well, yeah. You're practically breaking the door down for no apparent reason…"
"I'll give you a REASON!! That ABOMINATION—!"
"You mean Stuart?" Megan asked, feigning innocence.
"Yes! I know you put that thing in my bag! Or it slithered in! You're both conspiring against me, I know it!"
"Only when the mood strikes us. Isn't that right, Stuart?"
The snake around her neck nodded, doing a credible imitation of the pleased smile currently plastered across Megan's face.
"When you come out of there, I'm gonna—!"
"Well, in that case, I'll just sleep in here tonight!" Megan cheerfully interrupted. Ignoring further threats and shouts from Sara, Megan layered several of the large, plush white towels in the tub and curled up, quite content and satisfied.
"Ahh, the snake-in-the-bag never gets old, does it, Stuart?"
Stuart unwound from Megan's neck and arranged his coils in a neat spiral next to her head, sighing happily. And so, Megan drifted off to sleep, ignoring the muffled and irate mutterings from the other side of the door as Sara finished unpacking and climbed into the bottom bunk.
Authors' Notes: If you enjoyed the chapter (or not…), let us know! We really do appreciate feedback, even though it took us so long to update.
