Disclaimer.


I do not own Sleepy Hollow. The characters and movie plot of Tim Burton's 1999 motion picture Sleepy Hollow is the property of their respective owners. I acknowledge that they do not belong to me. This is a Sleepy Hollow fiction, introducing the character of Inspector Frederick Abberline from the movie, From Hell.
WARNING: I will give you a fair warning. This fiction contains male on male rape and male pregnancy. If you are offended by it then read no furthur and leave now, because I don't want your flames and ash words in my review box. Flamers, I repeat, turn away now.


I rate this mature for strong language, sexual scenes and a scene of rape.


Collaberation with EmiStaw13y

In the course of just twenty minutes many changes had taken place; Ichabod had become very dissipated and his energy was quickly becoming used. His profusions knew no bounds, and he was taken off by rapid fever, his affairs found in so harrowing a state that his pains grew more torturesome as the minutes dragged. No longer was he fixed onto his knees, he had long since been able to ease back and lie back pressed against a tree trunk. It had used the last of his leg strength, and now he was joined to the ground as he suffered. The pain, comparative only with the greatest of excruciation, seemed to oblige to come and pass at its own content, leaving the unfortunate Ichabod to fear when it would next favour over him. He had greatly wept, knowing not of Abberline. He had not seen him since his liberation from the Horseman, and he confessed to weeping more for the Inspector's safety then his own sustains. He had come at his own desire, and there had so been a time when Ichabod had never desired him to return. Mark him, that connection was at an end. Should Abberline be provided his death, Ichabod know he was done forever and would favour no other. Ichabod's body started wildly as a sharp and sudden spasm of pain entreated him, he tensed and his arms threw themselves around him as he cried out. Mercy, kill the suffering man, for pity's sake. Should his lover be dead he had no desire to live through anything, do not doubt his fidelity. Do not leave him to this horrid situation, for the sake of the unborn child. Spurn not the wretched man from it.

'Ichabod .. !'

It was a voice so weary and exhausted, that cried with such desperation Ichabod had heard. A striking example of hope prospered, that Ichabod deared would not end in misery and shame. His voice could not deal back, as an agony resolved inside and forced him silent as he doubled over.

'Ichabod .. wh .. where are you .. !' It was nearer, and more despairing.

Consulting some innerborn strength, the constable managed to gasp through the thick of such an intense fevour. Desperate for him not to wander away, 'F-Frederick! I am .. h-here! I am here!'

The resonance led him to think that pleasure at again beholding him might have occasioned the emotion he had witnessed, and the same feeling led him to wish to see him again. Arriving at the verge of the scatter of trees, he dismounted the slope and reached Ichabod's side, and sending his eyes to look at him, proceeded toward the heightened place of anguish, where, in the midst of an extensive pleasure ground, stood the mountain which contained such despondency. More watchful than those famed he became, moving closer to him releasing Ichabod's balled fist, and by taking his hand in his own, guarded him. He leant almost sleeping into the tree trunk, blood fresh still on his chin.

'Are you a'right?' Abberline uttered in a breathless manner.

Ichabod had been quick to notice his blood, 'Your hurt .. '

'Wha', this?' The Inspector trailed his lower lip with his thumb, gently smirking as he wiped his top onto his mudied trousers. 'Be good as new after a good wash.'

Greatly as Ichabod had reason to inquire Abberline, he could not behold him in that distress without some emotions of pity. He wanted only to have him, speak nothing of the past few days and remember them only as they had been. 'Frederick, I love you.'

Their hands still sheltered in each other, Abberline muttered tiredly. 'Ichabod .. ?'

'No, I never told you enough .. you were always telling me, always, but I never .. I just never .. Oh, oh God .. '

The Inspector was a man every way calculated to take the care of Ichabod, and that care had entirely devolved on himself as he watched Ichabod collapse breathless and in pain; it was impossible to attend anything else from there, Abberline the kind of man whose conversation and morals were entirely in the correct place. With such delicacy and refinement, he held unto Ichabod's hand, which had gripped tighter in his own.

'What, Ichabod, wha' is it?' He said attentively, 'Is it th'baby?'

' .. I, I never told you how much I really cared,' Ichabod managed to continue as it began to subside, 'You must believe me, I'm not .. I'm not a heartless monster .. '

'No, no I don't 'fink you are, o'course not.' The Inspector, adding to a pleasing person and the devotion of a gentleman. 'We need to get ye' to a hospital or some'fink .. '

'I was so afraid that you meant it.'

'Meant what?'

Ichabod, breathing rapidly in short gasps began to bleed surpressed tears, crying through pain. 'That .. that you could have been happier, without me.'

Among the emotions swimming inside the Inspector as of that moment, guilt managed to break through to the surface with a strength. A liberal spirit and manner charged him, holding onto Ichabod's hand and taking the side of his face in his other. He was recommended to a tenderness by a sentiment whose humanity overstepped the bounds of discretion; beginning to spill tears himself.

'Jesus Ichabod, I didn't mean a 'fing I said that night .. now look, we'll talk about it later, yeh?' He began to smile, his tears heightening the beauty within his eyes. 'What we're goin' t'do now is goto a hospital, and have a baby. Our baby.'

For though Ichabod was known, he was not known to weep so excessively, and for on coming pain and affection he looked deep within Abberline's glistening eyes. Dealing through the awful sensation with just deeper and slower breaths. 'Our baby .. ?'

'Yeh, our baby. Yours, mine. And its' goin' t'be beautiful, jus' like you.' He addressed Ichabod open to all moral duties and finding himself refused to the most abject want, and believing the penitence which he professed to be sincere, he took Ichabod's arm and strew it round his shoulders, careful as he helped his waist and began to lift him. 'Now come on, I'm gettin' y'to a hospital.'


As Abberline stepped from the chaise to go for the infirmary, he returned his arms into the coach and his heart expanded as he helped Ichabod from inside the coach, handling him as careful as a beloved child. The transition was not without its horrible pain, having grown more intense through the journey into the town. Despairing and sympathetic affections ran through the Inspector's heart as he supported Ichabod, twining his arm around his shoulder and bearing through every agonized cry and groan he produced. With the chaise stopped, he finally alighted with the sensations of a frightened and distressed young man; so much do the emotions of the soul influence the body. As luck would have it, the night had grown so late the town was practically dead. They were benighted as they took into place, involved in the darkness and shrouded with the shades of night. The progeny was growning close to wanting be birthed, as it had born adorned and suffered the minds of both men. Ichabod had foolishly thought away from the throes of childbirth during the gravidation period, burying it as if it did not exist. He knew not what to feel through the severe distress inside him, whether filial joy or terrible dread, or a sense of gratitude and pride for his dear partner, Abberline. He had twined himself around his heart and opened such new sense of delight to his view, had it not been for the suffering of the childbed, he would have almost forgetten he had ever been unhappy.

'Wha's yer doctor's name?' Abberline asked him as they limped down the corridor.

' Wh .. what ... ?' He gasped between words, bended right over.

'Come on Ichabod, stay wiv' me, wha's yer doctor's name?'

Ichabod furrowed his brow as though he had to think about it deeply himself. 'Rolfe .. Doctor Rolfe.'

The Inspector glanced his eye carefully over him, then looked ahead as he was determined to alight the poor young man. 'A'right, we'll go find 'im. Your goin' t'be alright.'

'But what if, Frederick .. what if?' Ichabod said with despair, holding his aching stomach under his arm.

'What if what?' Abberline replied. 'What if the sky fell tommorow and the clouds fuckkin' smothered us?'

The attentions of the Inspector to Ichabod were very pointed, so much so, that Abberline was resolved should they continue. The young constable replied to him with a heavy breath, 'What if I am not here tommorow to see that sky fall?'

Eyes in anticipation, and indeed in reality, were very pleasant lo' to those engaged in them, but most insufferably dull in detail. It would therefore be sufficient to say that Abberline could not let the comment pass. Ge had endeavored to rectify some of his romantic notions, and in some measure he had succeeded, but he knew enough of human nature, to be quite aware that when love and romance unite in the mind of a volatile young man, there is scarcely a possibility of restraining him from taking his own way. Yet he felt it his duty to inquire into the circumstances of dear Ichabod, holding his cheek. He had lost his beautiful Victoria, he would not lose his beautiful Ichabod too.

'Look, we're goin' to get through this together, alright?' He said, with the understanding of an angel of mercy. 'I'm not goin' t'hurt you anymore, and I'm not leavin' you. If that's what y'want.'

God Bless, for a kinder soul had never lived. 'Frederick .. I-I do .. ' He found himself sinking, as the rhythmic tightening inside began again; though this time mercilessly almighty. Rather than murmer a groan or utter a whimper of pain, he favoured to express a loud cry with a bowed head. His voice ringing and re-sounding down the corridor; and almost immediately a door was rushed open. In a voice rendered scarcely aggitated, the men were demanded of as the Inspector attempted to comfort Ichabod.

'What on earth is happening? Is someone being attacked?'

Just so it happened with as the Inspector raised his head, he no scruple of mentioning the cruel conduct to a poor distressed younh man who claimed his protection; joined in reprobating his inhumanity; a protection seared over his heart to which the sorrows of Ichabod could find a vulnerable part. 'Are you a doctor?'

'What have you done to that young man!' He was staring at Ichabod, who was hidden beneathed his bowed dark hair.

'Bloody hell, jus' answer! Are y'a doctor!'

'I am summoning the police!'

'No, Doctor .. please, he did nothing .. ' Ichabod opened in Abberline's defense, raising his head and his hair falling away from his face. Eyes sunken and tired and his skin a sickly shade of the penitence which he professed to be sincere, the man took him into his own consideration, and from thence recommended himself to escort him elsewhere, as thinking the situation more suitable to a man of his abilities.

'Constable Crane,' He addressed, attention away from Abberline. 'I am sorry, I had not seen you.'

As the young man's face crumpled in breathless agitation, the Inspector spoke for him. 'Your Doctor Rolfe?'

'Yes, sir.'

His un-nerved hands trembled terribly, but refused to release Ichabod. 'Please, can you help 'im?'

'Perhaps you might like to come into my office?'

Thus encouraged, the Inspector again ad-dressed his attentive determination, and gingerly he assisted Ichabod. They entered, but how changed was the scene, a clean though coarsely furnished bed stood in one corner of the room ; the old wooden frame had been removed ; the room was neatly swept and sanded, a new sauce pan was by the fire, in which hot water was boiling, the sick man was placed on the clean bed befitting its station, and Abberline also appeared in better meditations whilst now in a doctor's well care. Every thing wore such a look of comfort, that they thought she had mistaken the place.

'I had been expecting you for a few days now, constable.' The doctor said, shrugging away and parting with his out coat that he had been prepared to leave in. He hung it on a peg.

Ichabod, with breathless frustration, was hunched over the side of the bed, looking painfully up at the man as Abberline waited at his side. 'Rolfe .. can you help me?'

Thus every circumstance coincided to establish the general idea entertained that Abberline was the independent man he once painted himself to be. A young person of rank, with only a moderate fortune, and Ichabod, the destitute, depending on the kindness of the Inspector and Doctor. Another circumstance contributed to the mistake. Rolfe, though hir guardian job allowed him a very handsome stipend for clothes and pocket money, was yet extremely simple in his attire, his apparel was ever of the best quality, but it was unostentatious, no display of splendor, no glitter or finery disfigured his interesting person ; and he scarcely ever purchased a handsome article of dress for public occasions, without presenting something of the same kind, perhaps more elegant or of a finer texture than his own. With that same air of courteous richness, he nodded to the poor and pained man.

Abberline cut in, 'Can y'give him sum'fing for th'pain?'

'Not at this stage, no.'

'What d'ye mean, not at this stage?' He said, with a spice of frustration as he stood from Ichabod's side and faced Rolfe. 'He'll keel over with it!'

But there was no immediate call on the integrity of the conscientious doctor on this account, 'It simply isn't safe.'

'I can't just stand 'ere while he's miserable with pain!'

'Do not tell me my job, sir.'

'Yer just fine with your patients sittin' and sufferin', is that it?'

As the two men quarrelled, the constable had sunk upon the pillow of the bed, pale and almost lifeless. The volatile flight revived him and his ears merely heard what was said between them, who sought to serve him. Receiving more excruciating smarting and ache from the effects of which he still continued to suffer, and that he sometimes labored under slight fits of insanity. His eyes rolled back and lids fell, his head limp on the pillow as his panting stopped. The poor man appeared to be surrounded by good will, yet was still miserable - and with fainting he only for a while, was able to forget. He went un-noticed for a short while while the men continued to argue for just a few minutes more.