THANK YOU! to pizzaluvr and epalladino for reviewing this story! I always like to know what you guys think about the stories I write! (hug!)
Sorry I haven't updated for a while...but now I have a few chapters that are ready to be uploaded.
Enjoy!

Titan :)

Also, the prices listed for rent I know are completely unrealistic...just go along with it. $50 for rent can be a good thing! ;)--Titan
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"Sooo….have you had these powers for long, or are they new?" Hellboy interrogated me. We sat on the ground of the warehouse, exchanging questions and trying to stop HB's bleeding.

"All my life. I've been a telewhoosit forever." I responded.

"Telekinetic?" Hellboy tried to correct me.

"Not, really. I can also read people's thoughts and astral project, but I'm pretty sure the eye thing isn't telekinetic.
"I know you probably get this question a lot, but what…race are you?"

Hellboy grimaced; he had a massive underbite. "Not sure. I was summoned from another dimension thingie 60 years ago. A professor took me in and made me his son. We think that I'm a demon…I hate that word."

"Why?"

"'Cuz I fight demons. I don't wanna be considered scum like them; I'm different."

I smiled at this. "I fight demons, too! But—" I was cut off as a crackling went off and Hellboy's jacket mumbled something. He pulled a walkie-talkie from an inner pocket and asked the person on the other end to repeat their statement.

"Meyers to Big Red—where are you? You've been gone for more than an hour! We knew you were gonna visit Liz, but we got worried when we called and Liz said you left! What happened?"

"Big Red? Dang, the only nicknames that I get are freak, weirdo, witch, half-pint, and my favorite: 'Hey, Kid'." I teased. "Who're Liz and Meyers?"

"Later." He told me and quickly said into the speaker of the walkie-talkie, "Be right there. I might have a new recruit." He put the communicator away, then asked me, "Where are your parents?"

"Dunno. I live alone."

"Did you run away?" Hellboy looked at me disapprovingly.

"No! I've always lived alone. Currently, I live in a junkyard apartment on 57th." I corrected, giving Hellboy a look back.

Hellboy hesitated, thinking of how to put something into words. "Then…..would you like to come back with me and…uh, fight demons in a secret government agency?"

"COOL!" I shouted, (regretting it after several crates smashed themselves against the wall) thinking of the possibilities of this 'agency'.

Hellboy smiled and nodded in approval. "Follow me."

I followed Hellboy in the shadows back to where the demon attacked the woman, still on edge with more power than I could currently handle, occasionally flipping parked cars and rolling dumpsters into—still—more cars.

"Uhh…. sorry I threw you into that brick wall earlier." I meekly said, eyes turning a soft black from grief.

"It's okay! I told you that you can't hurt me--" he glanced at his chest—"easily." I laughed and my eyes inked from deep black to yellow (like Hellboy's) from happiness and acceptance.

We walked to the mental facility, where I saw men in suits (looked like FBI agents...or those robot things on Matrix...Mr. Anderson), a large garbage truck with the logo "Squeaky Clean Garbage Centers", and the woman from my vision talking to a young man about her age.

"Hey Boyscout, Liz." Hellboy greeted the woman and…...'boyscout'. He said the name 'Liz' like it was something delecate and precious. (singsong voice: big red guy's got a cruuuush! ;) )

"How many times do I have to tell you not to call me Boyscout?" the…non-boyscout chided. Then he turned to me; "My name's John Meyers. I'm Hellboy's caretaker." He held out a hand for me to shake. My eyes immediately changed from yellow to a meek grey; I'm really shy (with humans…that didn't happen with Hellboy.). I took in a sharp breath, my power taking me under again, and it threw John back a few steps.

I started to whimper inwardly, "sorry." I tried to turn and run away, but Hellboy turned and grabbed my arm with his stone one before I could take a few steps. I kept my head down; I couldn't bear to look at any of them. Then I sensed something…sympathy and understanding from the woman.

She put a gentle hand on my shoulder. "……we can help you." I looked up into her eyes. Though, I sensed an immediate dislike of this, so I quickly looked back down again. "Why did you come here to that demon?"

"I had a vision of you getting attacked." I responded simply, staring at my feet. Hellboy let go of my arm and used the same hand to roughly tap my chin, making me look up at them; I made a point to avoid the woman's eyes.

The woman smiled in wonder; "A vision?"

"If you don't mind telling us, what are they like?" Meyers asked, also fascinated.

I non-humerously half-smirked. "To put it mildly, they're like having your skull cracked open with a dull chisel and getting molten lava poured inside."

Hellboy grimaced. "Soo….they hurt?"

"Yyeeah." I responded bluntly.

Hellboy immediately changed the subject. "You guys ready to go back to the BPRD?"

I raised and eyebrow. "The what? The Burp?"(AN: I got the 'Burp' joke off of 'Bump in the Night' by oldscout1011...great joke, great fanfic, but please don't get mad. I gave you credit for it!)

Meyers decided to break the rather thick ice between him and me. "The Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defense. Not Burp."

"Ohhhh! That's why you knew about the paranormal!" I directed the last part at Liz. "When I tried to calm you at the attack, I saw brief glimpses of a red dude—Hellboy—and also a few memory flashes with a girl engulfed in blue flames."

Now it was Liz's turn to look down. Hellboy put in, "Liz is a pyrokinetic. In other words, she can--"

"I know." I interrupted.

"Anyway," Hellboy said, agitated, "she sometimes loses control. It's not the easiest thing for her to deal with." With that, Hellboy tried to put a comforting stone arm around Liz's shoulders, only to get it shrugged off.

"Can we just get my stuff and go, please?" Liz didn't want to dwell on her experiences with her 'episodes'.

"I'll go get it." John offered. "Is your camera up there?" Liz nodded.

"You do photography?" I asked.

"Not professionaly, but with all the Polaroids I make in a month is enough to wallpaper a wall in my room." Liz informed.

Meyers came down with a Polaroid camera in one hand and a stack of pictures in the other. "Do you have anything you want to get…er…?" he asked me

"Evanescence….Evan. Yeah; my apartment's on 57th if that's not too far out of the way."

"Not at all!" Meyers responded, "Er…doesn't 'evanescence' mean 'the act of disappearing'?"

"Yup. But I've never been called anything else…I think my parents used to call me that."

"Wait…I thought you said you don't live with your parents!" Hellboy accused childishly.

"My parents contacted me when I was in a coma in the hospital 10 years ago."

"What were you doing in a coma?" John asked.

"According to what they said, there was a demon attack when I was 2, and though they…didn't survive, I was in a coma for a couple of years. They kept saying 'Evanescence', but I woke up too early to find out more.

"Can we go now? It's kinda uncomfortable for people I barely know interrogating me about something I'm not even sure of myself."

The 3 apologized and we headed over to the dumpster impersonating an apartment building (Liz and I rode in black Saturns and Hellboy was forced into the garbage truck.)

When we arrived, John Meyers came out with Hellboy, but Liz had slight claustrophobia, and the building istelf was very cramped, let alone the rooms. Hellboy came only out of the excuse that I was still vulnerable with my outburst, despite my insisting that it has happened before and I know how to handle myself.

I headed toward the landlord's room to give the key back and announce that I was leaving, warning John (and especially the 300 lb. red dude also known as Hellboy) of the rotting floorboards. This time, when I knocked on Mr. Oldman's (that was really his name!) door, he opened his peephole right away, instead of questioning who I was.

"What'dya want, kid?" Mr. O asked me in his usual drunken stuper-sounding voice (sometimes I wonder if it is only his voice, or if he really was in a drunken stupor).

"Well, here's the key--" I slipped it through the open mailslot—"and I would like the rest of the money I paid you a week ago."

"Why'ddI do tha'?" Mr. Oldman gave me a look as if I were a naughty child who always got into trouble.

"I paid you for a month's rent, I stayed for a week. Those extra weeks add up to enough money to make a difference, Mr. O." I told him simply.

"Ah'm s'ill not gonna give yeh the mun'y. Yeh paid, I gave yeh a room, yeh li'l maggot!" some saliva flew through the open hole to me. I was rather surprised; not because of the spit (Mr. O seemed like the type who always appeared to have too much spit for their mouth to cleanly house), but because of how greedily he spat (literally and figuratively) 'maggot'. Sure I knew he was greedy, but not this much.

Hellboy, who had been standing out of view of the peek-hole, came up to the slot. He was tall enough so all dirty, cheap Mr. Oldman could see of Hellboy was his large, red, under-bite-evident mouth. "How about you give the kid the extra money, maggot." he growled the last part, a hint of humor in the booming voice. I stifled a snicker. Mr. Oldman was terrified. The extra money (plus interest ;D) was slipped through the mailslot. Hellboy looked at me questioningly after I counted the wad. I nodded; this was everything. Hellboy, looking mischevious, growled one last time to Mr. O. We all heard a girlish squeal through the door. I couldn't take it anymore; I burst into fits of laughter. Meyers also sniggered and Hellboy gave a satisfied grunt and headed towards 213.

"Prepare yourselves." I warned them of the mess they were about to see. "Especially you, John. This place isn't built for human habitation. It's not even cockroach compatible." I opened the door with some extra power I had left (I used as little power as possible, but it still almost broke the door off its hinges.). While John and HB stood in the doorway in awe or horror, I went to pack the small amount of things I had. I was done in a matter of minutes, lugging a backpack, gym bag, and guitar bag.

"You said this place was a mess, but it's not much worse than my room." Hellboy informed me as we headed back toward our rides.

Meyers' eyes widened and sparkled with laughter; "Listen to him; I'm the one who helps clean up the place. Didn't you lose a couple cats, Hellboy?"

Hellboy mumbled defensively, "They came back in a few days."

"Oh, boy." I said sarcastically. I couldn't even imagine what Hellboy's room looked like.

John noticed the guitars slung over my back (I had an acoustic and electric.) "You play? Guitar, I mean."

"Yup. I'm kind of in a band, too."

Hellboy snapped out of his trance (probably thinking of Liz) and looked at my guitars. "Oh, goody. A rock star. Or are you one of those ditzy blonde pop girls? ……you do know the difference between chicken and tuna, and that buffalo wings aren't really buffalo?"

"What? They aren't! Whatever. I'm only in a garage band; think realistically. What would people think if I stop singing and playing and start, like, throwing things at the audience telepathically with one of my outbursts, or astral project somewhere off the stage?"

"You can astral project?" John asked me.

"Yeah, but I'm not that good. It takes some practice."

We arrived at the cars and I put my stuff in the Saturn trunk and got in with Liz. Hellboy grumbled and reluctantly got into the garbage truck, and John got into the truck's driver seat.

R&R please! I'll update soon!