Just a few words, dear readers.

There are some things I picked up from the new Hellboy movie - but as it is a reboot of Hellboy's story, it really doesn't fit into my timeline as such. That's why I only took some bits, like a few characters that I liked a lot, but not much else. So don't try to figure out how the storyline of the new film fits into my fic, because it doesn't.

And also, sorry for the bad writing (I want to add a crying emoji here). I am still a bit rusty after almost dying, but it is what it is. Only one way up, huh?

Part IV: Streamline

Chapter: Home Sickness

It had taken a sleeping pill or two for Myers to finally fall asleep that night, and maybe it was because of the drugs or maybe it was just the three beers he'd had before, but for once he had slept without nightmares.

He decided to take that as a good sign. Hell, he was in serious need of those, and there weren't plenty around.

Still, it was a struggle to get out of the bed, and pull open the curtains of his hotel room window to reveal the horrors of England in November. It was raining cats and dogs, and the only thing that was darker than his soul was the color of the clouds looming over the city.

He gave a sigh and ran his fingers through his hair, staring absentmindedly out of the window. No matter how he had slept - he was always tired nowadays. It was like losing Margot had killed something inside of him. His vigor was gone, his energy non-existent.

He took his phone from the nightstand to check the messages. Luckily there were none from Kat this time, but instead one from Amy, and Myers felt the immediate pang of guilt in his chest.

He swiped the screen to read it.

"I miss you dad. R U okay? Call me!"

Myers bit his lip, hesitated a moment before answering.

"Everything's okay. I'm in London, will call you later."

No matter that the twins were over twenty now, they were still his children. Myers would always think of them as they had been the day they were born, as newborns, their blue eyes so full of wonder, their little bodies so incredibly soft and vulnerable and fragile in his arms. They were, and would always be, the thing he loved most in this world - and he knew without a doubt that he had failed them. He had double failed them - first by getting Margot killed, and then by leaving them when they most needed him.

But just as well he knew he wasn't in any state to help anyone.

How can you help someone, if you feel helpless?

If only Margot was here. She would know what to do. She would know how to—.

He shook his head, fought back the tears.

Old habits die hard. Unlike people. He had lost enough friends and loved ones to know, that people died easily.

Putting his phone back down on the nightstand, Myers made a mental Note to call Amy after he had taken care of today's business - even if he didn't have any good news to give. Even if it was just to make sure she didn't start hating him too, like Sean did.

After a shower, shaving his face and getting dressed, he looked a lot better than last night, at least. Though in honesty, that wasn't much.

The mirror of his hotel bathroom ruthlessly revealed the high cheekbones under pale, stretched skin, the dark circles under his eyes, that were a permanent thing these days. When tightening his belt, he noticed he had lost weight, which made him frown. His shirt felt baggy as well, when he buttoned it up. There wasn't any fat to lose in his lean frame, so it must be muscle that he had lost. That wasn't a good thing, surely, he realized. He could almost hear Kat's voice nagging in his head, yelling that he should be eating more (as always) and HB telling him to stop moping around and go to the gym.

A sudden rush of homesickness flashed through his core and made him grimace. He hated these wretched hotel rooms, this suitcase life. He wished nothing more than for it to be possible for him to go home, to embrace his children, to sit down and have nachos and beer with HB and Kat, to watch a movie and just relax and everything would be like before.

Except that nothing would ever be like before.

Margot was dead, and there was no home for him to return to. No movie nights with friends, no nachos, no relaxation, not ever for he had lost his soul and wished to die.

He knew he could never go home. He could never go back. All there was, was revenge - and then—

What then?

Myers looked in the mirror. The haunted look in his eyes, the tiredness in his posture, the scars on his face. He was worn, he was exhausted, he was older than his years.

There was only one course of action he could think of, after he had finished this business with that bloody goddess. No matter he had promised Kat that he wouldn't do it, no matter that it would be the third time he failed his children, it was still in his mind every moment of every day of his cursed existence.

The sweet release, the unending oblivion.

Suicide.

It was almost noon, when he finally made it to the address he'd searched from the BPRD database. The weather was still abominable, his umbrella long ago having succumbed under the gusts of wind, the rain now soaked his hair and his jacket all the way through - but still he hesitated before stepping inside.

The Fish and Chips place just wasn't what he'd been expecting - the greasy stench of deep fried fast food felt too real - but of course, it had to be so.

It wasn't like BPRD headquarters were very welcoming - or forthcoming - either.

Myers made up his mind, and stepped inside, the wind slamming the door shut behind him, making a lady behind the counter look up from the pieces of fish floating in the frying oil. Her face was worn, her short hair dyed blonde, and she had the look of someone being bored beyond imagination.

Which, of course, was probably just an act.

"Hey." Myers cleared his throat. "I need to see someone who's in charge here, please."

"In charge of what?"

"In charge of the M11 headquarters."

"I need an ID, love."

Myers raised an eyebrow. It had been some time since he'd been called 'love' by anyone.

"Sure, just a second."

There was water dripping from his hair to his forehead, and he swiped it off before taking the BPRD ID from the inside pocket of his jacket, and handing it over the counter. A pool of water was forming under him on the tiled floor, but either the woman didn't notice, or (as Myers suspected) she didn't care.

"Wow. Hardly recognizable." she commented, when checking the ID and comparing it to his face. "BPRD, huh? What brings you all the way to London?"

"Not fast food." Myers noted dryly. "So, can I speak to someone now?"

"Behind you."

Myers turned around, to notice a lift door opening on the opposite wall. He glanced at the lady by the counter, but she had already turned her attention back to the deep frier.

So, maybe the 'bored beyond imagination' wasn't just an act after all.

"Which floor?" he asked, nevertheless.

"There's only one way down, love." The lady stated. "Just press the button."

Fine, whatever. Myers rolled his eyes. Customer service really wasn't any better here than it was on BPRD.

He stepped into the lift, and pressed the button as he had been told.

But there was, surprisingly, someone on the basement floor meeting him. A man, maybe a few years younger than Myers himself, of Asian features and very distinctive scar tissue on the left side of his face.

"John Myers?" the man stated, but didn't offer his hand. "I was told you wanted to meet someone who's in charge here."

Myers stepped out of the lift, wiped the dripping water off his forehead.

It only took one glance of the man standing in front of him, for Myers to realize who that was. It had to be Major Ben Daimio - there was no way there were more than one guy with such scars in M11.

"Yeah, that's me. And yes, I need to speak with you Major Daimio. Is there a place where we can discuss in private?"

Daimio raised his chin, observed Myers without any emotion, his hands folded on his chest. His gaze moved from Myers' soaked hair to his dripping jacket, to the briefcase he was holding in his right hand, to the pool of water that was forming on the floor in his feet.

Myers briefly hoped he didn't look as miserable as he felt, but then decided he really didn't give a fuck what Daimio thought of his appearance.

"Fine, follow me." Damio stated after a short eternity, turned around and signaled Myers to follow him.

They walked down the hallway to a nearby room, that was just as grey, plain and ugly as any room in BPRD was. So, Myers thought, bad customer service, scarred men and underground dungeons weren't the only things this place had in common with BPRD. That made him almost feel like home.

"Cosy." he noted, taking a seat.

Damio sat across the table, leaning forward.

"You hardly came all the way here to admire the decoration, Sir." Daimio stated.

"Major Daimio, may I be frank with you?"

"I encourage you to do so, Agent Myers. You are the Director of Operations in BPRD, for more than ten years. You must have a reason to be here."

"Honestly?" Myers shrugged. "I need help."

Damio stared at him silently for a few heartbeats, narrowing his dark, almond shaped eyes.

"And what kind of help can we give you, that your own resources can't?"

The luxury of not knowing me or my pain? Of not reminding me of Margot and her absence every single unbearable moment? Of not hating me for or my failures?

"I have been taking some time off BPRD, for… personal reasons." Myers shrugged. "There's this case I have been working on, and I need a fresh angle. Maybe you guys can think of something I haven't. Get some new leads. Hellboy spoke very highly of you and your abilities."

Daimio stared at him, the stern look in his eyes reflecting nothing.

"And what is the case?"

"There's an ancient Mesoamerican Goddess on the loose, with a taste for blood, and I don't know where she is, how to find her or how to kill her. Interested?"

Daimio raised an eyebrow.

"You are not a very good salesman." he stated dryly.

"I am very much aware of that."

"Besides, I hate Mesoamerica."

"Well, I'm not asking you to befriend this Goddess. I am asking your help in eliminating her."

There was a moment of silence between them. Myers noticed how the muscles around Daimio's jaw went tight, as he considered Myers' words.

"Fine." He finally stated. "But not without your full honesty. I assume you have a file on this case, that I can look into?"

A sigh of relief left Myers' lips, and just then he realized how nervous, how scared he had been waiting for this man's answer.

"Yes, of course." he dug into his briefcase, and took out a huge pile of papers and folders. There was practically everything they had ever gathered of the Goddess, and of the things that had happened - both twenty years, and six months ago. The only thing he had left out, was Margot's name. He had blacked it out, made it look like the person who'd been killed by the vampire Lucien, was just another BPRD agent.

He didn't want these people to know the depth of his despair. No matter that Daimio had asked for his full honesty, there were simply some things Myers wasn't prepared to share.

"Here." he said, handing the folders to Daimio. "It's all I have. Take a look, and give me a call when you have a chance."

Damio stood up, taking the papers. It was obvious the meeting was over.

He opened the door, and signaled Myers to follow him out of the room. It wasn't until they had reached the lifts, that he stopped, and turned to look at Myers again.

"While I go through these- " he lifted the folder pile "-you could go and pay a visit to Alice Monaghan. See if she can tell you something."

"Alice Monaghan?" Myers asked.

"She's a powerful psychic medium." Damio stated, and pressed the lift button. "The lady on the desk will give you her address."

A psychic medium.

Suddenly Myers felt like there was a wind blowing right through him, and he forgot all about the case, all about the Goddess, all about the reasons that had brought him to London and to M11's doorsteps..

Mediums channeled Dead people.

Why hadn't he thought of this a long time ago?