OK, so this is third chapter of my Hellboy fanfic. I hope whoever reads it will like it and review.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of them and I don't labor under the belief that I do.

The first thing she was aware of was the tangy, sterile smell of a hospital. She struggled to open her eyes, but they felt leaden. In fact, her whole body seemed heavy and lethargic. When she successfully opened her eyes, she found herself laying in a small bed, covered from chin to toe in a cheap green blanket. She wiggled her body from the sudden fear that perhaps it was no longer there. She began with her toes and ankles, then flexing her calves and thighs. Her waist and upper chest seemed to be bound in tight bandages, and gave her some slight pain when she breathed. All her fingers seemed to be in place as well, although obstructed by IVs.

What had happened?

Her ears picked up the faint whirring of machinery to her left. She turned her head and saw, laying in a hospital bed next to her, an unconscious man. He was surrounded by machines, all of them ticking and beeping and graphing every aspect of the his health. Tubes and wires flowed out of the appliances and under the man's bandages and covers. The longer she stared through half lidded eyes, the harder it was to discern the man from the machines. A prim nurse noticed her conscious state and walked over the side of the his bed. She smiled gently at her and closed the bedridden man's privacy curtain.

A few moments later, disembodied voices from the other side of the room caught her attention. They were muffled, barely audible, like she was hearing them through a wall. They were locked in heated discussion. One voice, rustic and deep, muttered something, sending a second voice into a tirade.

"It ripped two Agents to shreds, and Agent Bayler probably won't last the night. It should be disposed of!"

The first voice, "She...not it."

"I don't care! She should at least be locked up in a cell, not being catered to in the infirmary."

"We have nothing to fear from her. Abe's already told us she isn't evil or demonic. Plus, I smacked her around too much for you to worry about her running off maiming people."

The second voice said something more, but her awareness was slipping. The last thing she heard before her eyes drooped shut was the soft whirring of machinery.

The echoing sound of footsteps on the ward's tile floor woke her. She turned her head, feeling more alert than before, to see a smartly dressed old man with wild white hair, walking towards her at a slow gate. He walked with a slight limp and was aided by a glossy black cane. He was accompanied by a doctor with a surgical mask covering his lower face.

She watched the two walk up to her bedside. The old man smiled and shifted a bit closer to her.

"Good evening, My name is Professor Trevor Bruttenholm. I see Ms. Barson," the old man nodded toward a nurse in the corner that she recognized from earlier, "was correct in telling me you were conscious earlier today. This is quite a surprise. You shouldn't be awake yet due to the severity of your injuries." The doctor next to him grunted in confirmation.

Her brow furrowed in confusion, her muddled mind tried to wrap around his words. She had already guessed she had been in some sort of accident, but a severe accident? The thought had never crossed her mind. The Professor noticed the young girl's confusion and fixed her with a stern stare.

"You were hurt badly in Boston. Do you not remember?"

She tried to recall, but she couldn't remember anything past arriving in Boston today, or was it yesterday?

"Well, were lucky we looked you up then aren't we?" Bruttenholm opened a manila folder he'd been carrying under his arm. "Sparrow Wilson," he read aloud, "Born in 1987, orphaned at birth. You arrived in the city of Boston September the thirtieth. That was yesterday."

"Where am I?" Sparrow croaked, her mouth felt like sandpaper.

"You are currently being held in the hospital ward of a military base, Miss Wilson."

Military base? Why was she in a military base. If she was as hurt as the Professor had said she was, why wasn't she in the emergency room of Boston Medical or another local hospital?

"What happened to me?" She implored. "Why am I at a military base?"

Bruttenholm raised a gnarled hand, "We shall discuss your queries shortly. But first, allow Dr. Morton a quick examination of your condition."

Sparrow had an uncanny ability to detect lies, and she saw this one from a mile away. Perhaps it was his shifting eyes, or his harsh grip on his cane, that alerted her. So she wasn't too surprised when Professor Bruttenholm managed to slip out of the hospital ward undetected, while the silent Dr. Morton poked and prodded her abdomen. She didn't see Bruttenholm for the rest of the day.

The day after meeting the strange professor, Sparrow's doctor checked her wounds again. He lifted the bandages around her torso to reveal dark purple and black bruises across her abdomen. Dr. Morton seemed more than a little dumbfounded as he prodded the line of stitches that made their way across her belly. After giving her numerous tests and scans, the doctor, bewildered at what he called very rapid recovery, told her that she was free to leave the ward.

Sparrow Wilson was a restless person by nature. Ever since she had been old enough to walk, she had ceaselessly wandered anywhere her legs would take her. The orphanages that had housed her ( and there had been many) had dubbed her a born runaway. She'd escaped from her first orphanage at nine. By the time she'd turned thirteen, she had run away from more foster homes and orphanages than she could count, merely because the shelters weren't roomy enough for proper pacing.

It was this restlessness that spurred her into action the day after being released from the infirmary. The doctor had bandaged up her belly, given her a pair of crutches and some heavy-duty pain medication. He told her to put as little weight as possible on her pelvis. Something about it 'not being strong enough to support her,' and, 'extreme pain,' and 'bruised organs.' Sparrow didn't pay that much attention. She was too psyched about leaving the boring ward to listened to medical terms she couldn't pronounce, let alone understand.

So, accompanied by an armed guard, she had hobbled away on her crutches to her assigned room, which, once there, looked more like a cell. The door leading to it was made of solid steel, and even her muscular escort had to struggle to open it. There were no windows in her room and it was furnished with only the bare necessities: a bed, TV, ventilation, bathroom, and a closet with various garments. Not one to complain, and having had worse, she accepted it graciously and limped to the twin bed situated on the far wall of the room.

Her escort, finding everything suitable, left the room and closed the door behind him. Sparrow registered the faint click of a lock, and squirmed a bit at the thought of being caged. Tiredness saved her from stewing on it too long. She dropped her crutches on the floor and plopped down on the bed. She was asleep before she could draw the covers around her frame.

The next day, Sparrow discovered the door unlocked and decided, crutches or no, she was going outside. After finding some clean clothes, she pushed the heavy door open and slipped out. She was, at first, interested with her new surroundings. Though after a few minutes of wandering, the bland concrete walls of the base grew monotonous. She was spared total boredom by various items and artifacts displayed along the corridors. Each artifact had a short explanation attached to it. Most, Sparrow found, were of a biblical nature, but some were steeped in ancient folklore, holding gory, mysterious pasts; these interested her the most.

While traversing a corridor devoid of any relics, Sparrow's nose caught the scent of aromatic food, coming from just around the corner. Her stomach grumbled, demanding she investigate the smell further. Her rumbling tummy brought her to the entrance of a small food court filled with base personnel on their lunch break.

Sparrow hobbled through the entrance, but felt immediately uncomfortable. Some men and women in the mess hall had stopped their chatter and were staring at her distrustfully. Some had turned to their peers and whispered indiscreetly. Finding her appetite had suddenly vanished, she turned around to leave but stopped when she heard a voice call out behind her.

"There you are! I was wandering when they'd let you out of the infirmary." A fit, young man walked over to her, "Come on, lets sit down."

The young man led her to a small table in the corner of the food court. He courteously helped her into her seat.

"I'm sorry. People around here are always suspicious of newbies," He said as he propped her crutches on the side of the table, "Your Sparrow Wilson, right?" She nodded mutely, "I'm Agent John T. Myers, but you can call me John."

Sparrow blushed a bit, not used to such good manners coming from a handsome young man.

"Well, call me Sparrow," she answered.

John smiled, "Would you like me to get you something to eat? We may not be friendly, but we do have some excellent grub."

"That would be nice."

Myers nodded and told her he'd be right back. Sparrow felt her blush brighten as she watched him walk off to the long line of buffet tables. He returned a few minutes later with mounds of food and set a tray in front of Sparrow with three full plates.

"I didn't know what you'd like, so I got a bit of everything," said Myers as he picked a sandwich up off his plate.

Sparrow stared disbelievingly at her selection. Myers really had gotten a bit of everything. There were slices of pizza, sausages, fruits of all kind, and even a bit of Chinese food. None of it looked second rate either. This food was the kind she'd stared longingly at through restaurant windows...until she was shooed away by the managers, of course. She felt anxiety rear its head in the back of her mind as the thought occurred to her that this stuff may not be free.

"I-I have no money."

"Join the club," Myers grinned, then took a bite out of his sandwich.

Sparrow smiled as well. Emboldened by Myers' candid response, Sparrow picked up a slice of pizza, folded it in half, shoved nearly a quarter of it in her mouth, and chomped down. Myers looked at her in amusement.

"Whaaa?" Sparrow tried to articulate.

"It's just...you eat like a friend of mine."

Sparrow swallowed and asked playfully, "Is that a bad thing, John?"

"Nah. Just funny. That's all."

"This friend of yours, does he work here too? Would I have seen him in the halls?"

"Trust me, you would know if you've seen him out in the halls," Myers said, as if it was a private joke, "Do you ever read the tabloids?"

"A bit. Why?"

Myers contemplated for a moment, before replying, "Ah, no reason."

Sparrow took the hint and dropped the subject, even though she was curious. The rest of their lunch was filled with pleasant small talk, until Myers brought up the subject of the elusive Professor Bruttenholm.

"He's a great man, Professor Bruttenholm. You've met him, right?" Inquired John.

Sparrow finished off the rest of her sausage, chewed thoughtfully before answering, "I've met him, but I don't know what to think about him. He won't tell me anything, or rather, I can't find him to make him tell me anything."

Myers fixed Sparrow with a stern stare.

"Bruttenholm has the best judgment I've ever seen. And he always has a reason for doing, or not doing, something. I trust him with my life. And I know you don't have a reason to, but trust him too."

Sparrow frowned, "He was supposed to tell me where I am, why I'm her, all that stuff, a couple days ago."

"Then he's keeping you in the dark right now for a reason."

"Well, couldn't you just tell me where I am? What harm could that do? Please, John," She implored.

Myers felt his determination crumble. If there were two things that always got him, it was girls and puppy dog eyes, and of all his luck, this one had both.

"Alright," Myers said, feeling disgusted with his lack of resolve.

Sparrow's eyes lit up and she leaned in eagerly.

"You already know that this is a government facility right?" Sparrow nodded, "Well, what I can tell you about this place is that it's very...unique. There are things here that you won't see anywhere else. Things the government doesn't want you to know about."

Sparrow looked about ready to jump out of her seat with excitement, "You mean like aliens, and monsters, and Area 51 kinda stuff?"

Myers grimaced, "No...well....sort of, I guess....but...that's all I can say so-"

He was cut off as a loud buzzing noise erupted from intercoms stationed around the court, followed by a voice heard in every sci-fi movie: "Squad B, report to platform 31. I repeat: squad B, report to platform 31."

"Well, that's me." Said Myers. He stood up and scooted in his chair.

Sparrow looked up at him in horror.

"You're leaving me here?!"

"Well, I could walk you to your room, if your more comfortable with that."

Myers helped Sparrow with her crutches and led her out of the cafeteria. A crowd had gathered around the exit. Some were finishing there lunch, others, Sparrow assumed, were getting ready to head to platform 31. Myers placed a hand behind her back and helped her swerve in and out of the sea of people. Off to her left, Sparrow's ear picked up the muffled whisper of a woman.

"Is that her? Is that who did that to Robertson?"

Myers heard as well, and his grip tightened.

Another voice: "Is she the one who put Bayler in the infirmary?"

"Yeah. They say he isn't gonna make it."

Sparrow's mind flashed to the ward. To the man hooked up to all the machines. To the nurse closing the privacy curtain.

"Man, and there letting her walk around out here?"

"She should be locked up."

"After what she did to Robertson and Tack, she should get worse than that."

Myers picked up the pace and got her away from the crowd. They walked in silence down the now empty hall. Sparrow's gaze didn't leave the floor.

Myers broke the silence, "I know your confused right now. But just tough it out, ok?"

Sparrow nodded, still staring at the floor as it passed by her crutches. She had a sick feeling in her stomach. Something terribly wrong had happened to her, and no one would tell her what it was.

Sparrow rounded a tight corner, too lost in thought to watch where she was going, and smacked into a hard body. She stumbled backward and lost her grip on her crutches. She felt herself falling, but a hand, stronger and larger than Myers', grasped her by the arm and hauled her back onto her feet.

"Jesus Red! Be a bit more careful would you?"

Sparrow regained her senses and looked up. At least two feet above her, a big red face stared down at her in amusement. Her eyes grew to the size of saucers, because before her stood an honest to God, real demon all the religious nuts always ranted about. She had never believed them, but now, staring up past a barrel chest into golden eyes, all those things the preachers and evangelists said about fire and brimstone didn't seem like such a stupid concept. Though Sparrow was definitely not great in stature (she'd been overjoyed when she finally reach 5 feet), the demon before her could have sent the toughest linebacker into cowering sobs, so imposing was his height and physical strength. The monster opened its mouth and uttered one word:

"Boo."

Sparrow's face contorted into absolute terror. The demon must have gotten the right reaction from her, because he released her arm and let out a loud guffaw.

"Don't worry kid, I ain't gonna eat you." He said, giving her a slap on the back that made her lose her balance again.

The demon's was sarcastic and uncultured, and reminded her of a normal, everyday guy. Her body loosened, faintly registering that he meant no harm.

"So Myers, is this the kid from the infirmary?" He asked casually.

"Yeah, I'm escorting her to her quarters."

"Escorting, huh?" He said as he lit the stub of a cigar he'd fished out of one of the pockets of his coat, "You got a name, kid?"

"Y-Yeah. It-It's Sparrow, sir."

"Hellboy." She smiled brightly at him, relieved that she'd finally met someone with a weirder first name than her own. He thrust his giant left hand in front of her. She placed her own in his and he engulfed it in a mighty handshake. She noticed that as big as his left hand was, it looked stunted compared to his right one, which seemed to be made of some kind of stone.

He let go of her hand and turned to Myers.

"Hurry up and get to the platform, ok? The guys there always get pissy when I get there before you. They act like I always do something to ya."

"Last time you locked me in a broom closet...for two days" Myers said tartly

"Did I?" Hellboy asked mischievously. He walked past them and waved a hand goodbye.

Sparrow watched his hulking figure amble down the hall, his bright red tail swishing behind him.

"He's a mess," Myers said in an exasperated tone.

"I think he's great," Sparrow said as she watched his figure disappear around the corner.