A/N: This is a story I created based off of the Hungarian mythos of the Táltos and the story of Göncöl. I didn't originally intend for this segment to be in two parts, but I figured I'd go easy on you and not post a 12000 word chapter. The beginning segment is adapted from an excerpt of the comic 1947. A lot of the references and history in this chapter come from the comics, so for those of you who haven't read them, they might seem a little confusing. I could go on a special-interest rant about Hellboy all day though so if you have a question or need clarification or even are curious about what comic to read to find out more about something, shoot me a message and we can hash it out. Hope you enjoy this chapter!
The sun beat down mercilessly on the roofs of the small, rectangular buildings populating the military base just outside of New Mexico. The shiny, metallic shingles reflected the light upwards, like so many beacons piercing the sky in rejection at the obstinate heat. A cloud of red dust rose as a large utility truck made its way down the small street dividing two lines of buildings, on its way to the hangar. When the truck was clear, a small, laughing boy quickly raced across the road, followed by an equally enthusiastic dog. Holding up his large right hand, the boy shielded his eyes from the daunting sunlight. The year was 1947, and Hellboy was three years old.
Dropping his hand, Hellboy stooped to pick up the slightly sticky, dust-covered tennis ball that the quivering dog had dropped at his feet.
"Go fetch, boy!" Hellboy called out, laughing as he lobbed the tennis ball. The dog quickly sped after it, barking excitedly. Hellboy was about to chase after him when he saw the door to building 305 open across the street. Standing in the doorway was Professor Trevor Bruttenholm, his own adoptive father. Glancing briefly in the direction of his friend and seeing that he was still quite occupied with his ball, Hellboy jogged across the dusty road towards the spry, slightly sweaty man. Bruttenholm was about to return to the blissfully air-conditioned interior of his office, when he noticed the small, red child approaching the front step. Smiling, he crouched down to greet him.
"Why, hello there, my boy. Having fun, are you?" he asked, grinning as he pinched and jiggled one of the boy's horns. Hellboy squealed happily, scrabbling at his father's hand, careful not to squeeze too tightly with his right. He had learned of his own strength the hard way.
"Professor, come play catch with me!" said Hellboy, playfully nudging the pen lodged behind the man's ear. Bruttenholm quickly brought a hand up to catch it.
The man sighed. "You know I can't, my son. I'm far too busy. You know my special friend is visiting me today, yes? You remember your great uncle, Ota?" Bruttenholm smiled, his fingers still caressing the boy's horn. He stroked the smooth, red keratin with his pinky lovingly. Anyone would be able to tell immediately that this man cared deeply for the half-demon the BPRD had made a ward of three years ago.
Hellboy's face fell, and he moved his hands behind his back. He scuffed one of his hooves against the hot cement step underneath them, his demeanor quickly becoming anxious. "Yeah, I 'member him."
Bruttenholm's brow furrowed in concern. "What's the matter? Did something happen?" He stooped lower in order to more clearly see the boy's face.
Hellboy twisted uncomfortably. He had never been able to hide anything from the Professor, especially when met with that inquisitive stare.
"I don't think uncle Ota likes me..." he said softly. He picked nervously at the rough, jagged shape of his right hand. If he was being truthful with himself, this particular issue had been bothering him since the last time he had seen his great uncle, several months ago. He wasn't able to meet his father's eyes, and struggled to hold back tears.
"Oh, my son…" the Professor said softly. He moved his hand to the child's cheek, and their eyes met. Hellboy's lip was quivering dangerously. Sighing, Bruttenholm stood up and, reaching downwards, gripped the small child under the armpits. With some effort, he lifted the child up and cradled him in his grasp. The added body heat of the small being was almost unbearable for the fully-dressed man, but he was willing to put it out of his mind considering the circumstances. "Now, what in the world would make you think that?"
Gripping the back of his father's suit with his right hand, Hellboy nervously scratched at his head with his other. Bruttenholm could feel the boy's thick, red tail absently flicking against his kneecap. "He was prayin' on me," he said, his brow wrinkling as he pouted. "He did the thing, y'know? Where you touch your shoulders n' stuff?" He demonstrated, making the sign of the father, son, and holy spirit.
Bruttenholm cursed silently, his cheeks growing hot with anger. He had said to Ota specifically not to let his own private feelings about Hellboy evident to the child. Ota had made it no secret that he thought the boy was a bad omen, and was disappointed with the BPRD in that they allowed the creature to live on as a regular human being. He encouraged his nephew to do away with the half-demon, saying it would bring nothing but pain and suffering to allow the boy to continue living. Trevor had consistently brushed off his uncle's angry ranting, determined that someday Ota would see otherwise.
"Now, son, uncle Ota is…" he struggled to find the right word. "Old-fashioned." He smiled sadly at his son, who was listening to him intently. "You remember what I told you, correct? About how you came to us?" He adjusted his arms around the gangly three-year-old.
Hellboy was silent while he remembered. "L'see...you told me those Nazis made a big hole in th' world, for a dragon to come through…" he began, chewing on his lower lip thoughtfully. "But I came through instead, and...and then y'found me!" He grinned brightly. He had repeatedly asked the Professor for more information about that day in England, but Bruttenholm had always been just a little bit cagey with the specifics of what had occured.
"Yes! Great job," he said, swelling with pride. The small child glowed with the praise. "You see, the thing about uncle Ota, and people like him…" he paused. He was worried he would end up making things worse. "They're worried you're going to be bad. When you grow up, I mean," he said softly. His heart lurched as he saw the expression on Hellboy's face. Why am I so bad at this? he thought.
"Why...why do they think that?" he asked. His voice quavered. "Why d' they think I'm gonna be bad?" His grip on Bruttenholm's suit tightened, and his eyes bore deeply into the Professor's, mirroring his own anxiety.
"I-It's not anything about who you are, per say, or...or what you've done, it's just...it's an assumption . Do you know what that means?" he stammered, hoping he would still be able to quell the storm within his son, without churning it into an all-out chaos. Hellboy gritted his teeth, and shook his head 'no' slowly. "Well, an "assumption" is when we make...a guess about something. Right?" Hellboy stared at him, blinking rapidly. He continued. "A guess based on what we've heard, or...what we feel, or something like that. But the thing about an "assumption" is...often times they are wrong . Do you understand?"
Hellboy sniffed, and scratched at his horn while nodding morosely.
"So the way that uncle Ota, and all these people feel about you...it's an assumption. They're making a guess about you," he continued purposefully. He tenderly rubbed at the boy's back with his thumb, unable to move his hands much more than that. Hellboy peered unwaveringly into the man's eyes, absorbing his every word like a plant would water. He would never have afforded anyone else the rapture with which he listened to his father. "And let me tell you, my boy; that assumption is dead wrong."
Hellboy blinked, and rubbed at his damp eyes. "Y'mean...I'm not gonna be bad?" he whimpered. Maintaining eye contact, Trevor smiled lovingly.
"I don't think so, my son," he responded. Hellboy smiled as well, perking up almost instantly.
"I wanna be good, Professor!" he said loudly, slapping his father on the back with his right hand. The action drove the wind out of Bruttenholm, but he righted himself quickly. He laughed jovially, taking great pleasure in the look of excitement and determination in his son's eyes. He bent to place Hellboy back on the ground, groaning at his stiff joints.
"I know you will be," he said, grinning. He was struggling to remain composed, himself. He could feel the sting behind his eyes that signalled the onset of tears. Like any father, be it adoptive or not, he constantly worried about the small child he had become responsible for. It pained him greatly whenever he saw the conflict in his son's small, amber eyes; the weight of his destiny, unbeknownst to all of them. Luckily, Hellboy was almost consistently in a great mood. He quickly wiped the sleeve of his wilting suit jacket against his eyes. Hellboy turned to face him, looking upwards at the tall man.
"I'm gonna show uncle Ota, and all those others!" Hellboy said loudly, clenching his fists. "I'm gonna show 'em how good I'll be!" He raced down the step and stomped back onto the dusty red street, a cloud forming around his ankles. "Professor, you're gonna be proud o' me! Cuz I'm gonna be so good! I promise!"
Hellboy sharply inhaled as he awoke.
For the first moment, he couldn't remember where he had fallen asleep, and stared in confusion at the unfamiliar cracked ceiling above him. He blinked sleepily, and was surprised to find his temples were damp. He brought his left hand up and wiped at his eyes, realizing he had cried while he slept. Dropping his hand, he grunted as he remembered the previous night, and the church. He sighed, and closed his eyes. It had been a long time since he had had a dream about his the Professor.
"Hellboy?" A voice emanated from the morning twilight. Hellboy started, and quickly moved to prop himself up with his elbows. He stared bleary-eyed into the room, and found he was faced with a man's chest. Looking up, he saw Roger's pinched, worried expression peering down at him. The Homunculus blinked, his luminescent eyes wide and inquisitive. "Are you alright?" he asked.
"Jeez, Roger...how long you been standing there for?" Hellboy grumbled, moving to sit up on the small, now concave bed.
"I don't know. It was still dark out when I started," he responded, scratching at his stone belly. "You were making noises while you slept."
Hellboy closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He wasn't used to revealing his own thoughts and emotions, and was frustrated that Roger had been able to see such an intimate display of them, despite it being unintentional. "It's nothin', Rog'. I'm fine." He moved to stand up. He felt refreshed and rested, but could still feel the rotting peach pit of mourning that had been unearthed within him. He missed the Professor terribly.
Hellboy moved to a small chair resting near to the bed, and lifted up a pristine, black t-shirt that had been given to him by Miriam on behalf of her late husband. He looked down, and inspected the numerous holes and rents in his own. Begrudgingly, he peeled off the once-prized shirt and exchanged it for the new one. With a tinge of satisfaction, he recognized the Guns N' Roses logo adorning the new shirt. Must have been a cool guy... he thought with amusement.
Roger recognized the long coat that had been set aside for himself, and moved to grab it. "Were you having a dream?" Roger asked tentatively. Despite his lack of social nuance, he was able to recognize that this was a sensitive issue to his friend. Hellboy looked up at the ceiling, slightly exasperated.
"Uh...yeah. Yeah, I was dreaming. Of when I was a kid," he answered shortly. He could hear Liz Sherman's voice echoing in his head. "You have to open up to people, you know…" she had said. "People like you. They want to know about you." God, he missed her. "Also, how do you even know what a "dream" is?" he asked.
"Abe told me," he responded succinctly. "I've never had one, but they sound fun." Roger shrugged on the navy blue coat, and was pleased to see it was somewhat similar to Hellboy's own tan one. It even had large pockets and a drawstring. Smiling brightly, he plunged his hands into the front pockets, and imagined all the cool rocks and bottle caps he could put in them.
"That's definitely one way to put it," Hellboy responded. He quickly gave himself a once-over, checking his horns to see that they were still neat, and scratching under his chin at his stubble. He could use a shave, but he wasn't too unkempt just yet. "C'mon, I gotta go take a whiz."
Hellboy and Roger exited the room together and, after stopping by the brutally small washroom (Hellboy could barely close the door behind himself), they made their way back into the main chamber of the church. They found that Miriam was already awake, and she smiled and waved to them. She did not speak, for she was gently trying to push a mug of coffee into the hand of who must have been Domi. He was awake and upright, but stared unseeingly into the wood grain of the pew, and swayed as if he were not aware of his surroundings. Spots of blood still stained the shirt he was wearing.
Roger leaned towards Hellboy slightly. "Do you think he's gonna be alright?" he asked softly, watching the man. He could also see the remaining two rescued adults, Bart and Tamim. They were sitting upright in a similar fashion, staring vapidly ahead of them.
"They are shocked," Miriam said softly, looking at them once again. She beckoned for them to come closer, and they sat in the pew in front of her. Hellboy groaned audibly as she handed him a steaming mug of coffee, quickly taking a noisy slurp.
"When did they wake up?" Hellboy asked once he had downed half his cup. Roger peered over his shoulder at the dark, swirling liquid and, after watching Hellboy treat the drink with such enthusiasm, wished he were able to drink liquids as well.
Miriam smiled sadly. "Just shortly ago. My Domi was the first." She took in a long breath, and exhaled. "He was himself for first few minutes, but then...he remember." Her eyes grew damp. She turned back towards the three vacant adults. "They all remember."
Roger picked at a splintered section of the pew he sat on. "Sorry, ma'am," he said softly. He looked at her, his expression contritious. "We brought them back for you, but...they're different now."
Miriam turned back towards them, and placed her wrinkled, dainty hand on Roger's stone forearm as tears formed on her cheeks. "No, my child of God…" she choked. "They are here. They are just scared." Roger, taken aback by the woman's touch, hesitated for a moment, before gently laying his own hand overtop of hers. They smiled at each other. Hellboy watched silently, peering over the rim of his mug. Taking another sip, he was pleased to see that Roger was coming out of his shell. He's learning… he thought to himself. He really is a friendly guy.
They spoke for a little bit longer, and then it was time for the two former BPRD agents to continue on their way. Miriam and the two men moved past the front double doors of the fading church, and stood together on the front step. The sun was just rising on the Austrian landscape, casting a warm honey glow on the peeling white exterior of the chapel. Birdsong could be heard from the adjacent copse of trees. The canopy swayed in the gentle breeze, almost as if it were expunging the previously all-encompassing night. Hellboy self-consciously stared at the very noticeable scratch he had left in the front door the previous day, hoping Miriam wouldn't notice. Roger smiled pleasantly as a pochard wandered in the grass nearby, coming from the nearby pond. He had to restrain himself from wandering into the grass to meet it.
Miriam grasped Hellboy firmly by the right hand, holding the cumbersome limb with both of hers and a bit of effort. "Thank you so much, my child...God bless you both, you have done wonderful thing for me and for this town," she warbled with elation, giving the half-demon the best handshake she could manage, given the circumstances.
Hellboy smiled down at her. "No sweat, ma'am. It was our pleasure," he said, looking to Roger and clapping him on the shoulder with his left hand. Roger smiled back at the other man, and Miriam turned to shake his hand as well.
Shortly after, they made their way back to the worn road they had previously used to travel through the countryside. Pleased to be travelling once more, they pointed themselves south and began to walk. Roger was able to keep up for the most part, but was likewise eager to take advantage of his newly acquired pockets and made frequent stops to inspect something on the side of the road. Hellboy walked along pleasantly, whistling around the cigarette pinched between his lips, and enjoyed the beautiful, verdant scenery laying before them.
After a couple hours, and long after Hellboy had run out of cigarettes, a large truck began to catch up to them on the road. Noticing the noisy machine and it's incumbent dust cloud, Hellboy quickly called to Roger and they moved to the side to allow the truck to pass. Standing side by side in the grass, Hellboy apprehensively held onto the back of Roger's new coat as the Homunculus stared with wonder at the mediocre vehicle.
Instead of passing them, the truck began to slow. Stopping directly parallel to the two men, the driver side window rolled down and a small, moustachioed face peered at them from inside the cab.
"Brauchen sie einen aufzug?" the man asked, gesturing to the large canopied back of the truck. He smiled at them, albeit a little nervously. Hellboy looked over at Roger, and Roger stared back in confusion.
"Uh...sure," Hellboy responded, giving his best attempt at a friendly smile. Still holding onto Roger's coat, he led the hesitant man around the vehicle and towards the back of the truck. Letting go, he reached up to draw away the flap obscuring the interior, and jumped backwards in alarm. " Jesus!"
A small, white lamb had poked its head out from under the flap just as Hellboy had lifted it. It bleated loudly at the cursing man, sniffing at the cool air outside the flap. Roger gasped audibly as he saw the pure white lamb, reflexively reaching towards it. "Hellboy...what is this?" he asked with wonder. The lamb nudged his outstretched fingers with its nose.
"It's a freakin' pain in the ass, is what it is…" he grumbled, embarrassed. He hoped the driver hadn't been watching through his mirrors.
"Whoa…" Roger breathed, eagerly climbing into the back of the truck. "Hellboy! There are more pain in the ass in here!" he called behind him.
Snorting as he tried to contain his laughter, Hellboy followed behind the other and found that there were indeed several sheep inside the back of the truck. They watched their guests with interest, and bleated noisily. Soon after the men had sat down on the dusty, wooden truck bed, the vehicle began to move once more down the bumpy road. Roger sat at the back of the truck, and laughed giddily as sheep nuzzled his cheeks and climbed over top of him. Hellboy smiled as he watched Roger gingerly pet the lamb, almost as if he were scared he would shatter it.
"Alright, lessee where this takes us…" Hellboy said to no one in particular, resting the back of his head against the bouncing wall of the truck. He winced as they went over a particularly large bump. Roger continued to make friends with the sheep.
"Hellboy...I... love them..." Roger looked up at him, meeting his eyes with a serious expression. "Can I please have one?"
"Jeez , Rog', no you can't have one. They belong to this guy," Hellboy responded, gesturing towards the front of the car. Roger deflated visibly.
"Oh…" he said quietly. He resumed petting the lamb, his previous elation tainted with the knowledge that he would soon have to say goodbye to his new friends. "...Okay."
Hellboy groaned and scratched at one of his horns. "C'mon, Rog', we're gonna be here for a while, so…" he looked imploringly at the other man. "Some nice things just don't last forever, y'know?" Hellboy looked down at his hooves, and saw that they were covered in brown dust and grass from the road. "You just gotta enjoy things while they're good, that's all."
Roger was silent, but nodded thoughtfully. He pet the lamb with slightly more enthusiasm, his previous happiness somewhat restored. "I will enjoy this. While it lasts," he said.
Hellboy smiled with satisfaction. Laughing, he said, "I was yankin' yer chain back there, by the way. They're called "sheep", these things." He gestured at the animals.
Roger grinned broadly. "Sheep!" he called out loudly, then guffawed. "You got me."
They rode like that for a little over three hours. The truck made frequent stops, and the sound of chattering voices could be heard outside while Hellboy and Roger tried to remain inconspicuous. After the fourth or fifth stop, there was a loud rapping on the side of the truck, and the ruddy, slightly sweaty face of the driver appeared under the flap.
"Sie können jetzt aussteigen," the man said, smiling. He gestured to the outside of the truck. With a groan, Hellboy slowly brought himself upright, his stiff muscles aching from the long ride in the bumpy truck. He growled as he accidentally banged one of his horns against the roof of the vehicle, forgetting to crouch slightly. Roger, looking as though the Earth might crack open right then and there, gingerly and regretfully evicted the small, now sleeping lamb from his lap, placing it on the truck bed next to its resting mother.
Exiting the truck, Hellboy gave a short wave to the man and turned to Roger as the truck began to drive onto the lot of a nearby farm. Roger looked around excitedly, taking in the new scenery. "I wonder what part of Austria we're in now?" he asked.
"Hmm…" Hellboy grumbled. They were just on the outskirts of a small town, and perched next to the road leading towards the main street, was a worn, wooden sign reading "VASVÁR, MAGYARORSZÁG." Hellboy looked towards the town. "Not Austria anymore, Roger," he intoned, scratching as his goatee. "Hungary."
Roger nodded thoughtfully. "You did eat over five hours ago, so that makes sense," he said.
"No, Rog', not hungry ," he admonished. "Hungary. It's a country right next to Austria. We must have crossed over the border in that truck." He put his left hand in his pocket, his right too big to fit into the other. "Good thing, too. Neither of us have passports."
Roger put his hands into his pockets too. "You'll have to explain to me later what that is," he said.
"Will do, buddy," Hellboy responded. They began down the trail towards the austere town of Vasvár, their backs warmed by the mid-afternoon sunshine. The path gradually widened, and the rocky dirt was replaced by clean, mismatched cobblestones that flowed together like schooling salmon. Hellboy's hooves clicked against the warm stone as they passed underneath the shadow of the tall spire of a church, pointed at the top with a cross. Roger kept his gaze firmly directed upwards, gazing excitedly at the chic exteriors of the nearby homes. He stumbled while he walked, an uneven stone catching him on the toe. He found this town to be quite pleasant; the outer walls of the buildings were often painted in a lighter color, such as white or pink, and the roofs were all a beautiful, red clay. He smiled widely as he saw a flock of common sparrows emerge from underneath a group of shingles on a nearby home.
"I like this place, Hellboy," he remarked quietly, watching as the sparrows dropped nimbly from the eavestrough and took to flight.
"You like every place," the red man responded, leisurely taking in the adorable scenery around them.
"That's true, I do like every place," said Roger. He jogged ahead slightly in order to get a good luck at the bark on a nearby tree. Hellboy laughed to himself and shook his head. They continued strolling down the main avenue of the Hungarian town, occasionally making remarks about this and that. Despite this, Hellboy had an eerie feeling about their surroundings (and right on time, too.)
"There's nobody here, Rog'..." he said slowly, narrowing his glowing eyes as he peered down a barren side street. Roger, who was walking ahead, slowed down to join him.
"You're right. I have not seen a single person here," he added, running his hand over his bald head. The action made a sound like two boulders scraping across each other. Hellboy rolled his eyes in exasperation.
"God, do central Europeans have somethin' against leaving their damn houses?" he growled, wishing he had a cigar, or even a cigarette. He had been smoking since he was four years old and he was pretty sure he had cigar ash in his bloodstream at this point. Roger shrugged noncommittally.
They stopped walking in the middle of a spacious plaza, lined by decoratively sculpted benches and shrubbery. In the centre of the cobble plaza was an impressive fountain, reaching five-and-a-half meters in height and depicting several cherubim circling a pair of outstretched palms. Water stemmed from spouts protruding from underneath the cherubim, falling across multiple tiers before splashing into the tiled basin below. As opulent as the fountain was, the sight was slightly disappointing; the walls of the basin were caked with muddy, green algae, and the water flow was stunted due to blockages caused by leaves and sticks stuck to the intake filters. The statuesque sculptures at the top of the fountain were covered in a thick film of bird feces, and Hellboy waved his right hand in front of his face, grimacing as he caught the pond-like stench emanating from the water.
"It's really dirty," Roger said nonchalantly as he immediately began to climb into the basin of the fountain. "Filthy, actually." He inspected the intricately carved faces of the cherubim. He scratched a chunk of guano off of the eye of one of the infants. Its gaze seemed far away and dispassionate. Roger felt bad for it.
"Looks like no one's cleaned this thing in...forever," Hellboy remarked, glancing around the unpopulated plaza. "Don't they got janitors around here? Y'know...fountain-scrubbers?" Roger climbed out of the fountain, the bottom of his coat discolored and dripping.
"I think I would enjoy doing that," said Roger, shaking excess water off of his foot. "I would love to see it all clean and nice."
"Yeah, I bet you would, buddy," Hellboy snorted, remembering how the Homunculus's room looked back at the BPRD. Everything had been neatly organized into its place, and there wasn't a single speck, wrapper, mote, or carapace on the carpet. The man kept his living space perfectly immaculate, in stark contrast to his own room, which was lined with crooked rock posters and energy drink cans. "C'mon, let's move on. This place gives me the creeps…"
The continued together farther down the street, passing out of the plaza and back onto the main road. The buildings became larger and more interspersed, with trees and berry bushes filling the gaps between the walls. There was one building that, upon closer inspection, stood out among the rest. This building was much taller, and had an intricate, layered step resting before the front door. A brass knocker hung underneath a small window embedded into the wood, the ring resting against a small divot that had been stamped into the material. Just outside the door, resting on the metal fence dividing the path from the front yard of the building, was a steel sign that read "Látogatói információk."
"That last word looks like "information", Hellboy," Roger said, pointing. "I wonder if this is some sort of administrative building?"
"Hell, I don't care, as long as there's people inside…" Hellboy growled back, looking upwards at a slightly illuminated window on the second floor. "Let's go say hi."
They approached the front door of the building and Hellboy, once again foregoing the knocking custom, pushed through the door and walked into the lobby. Roger followed, and closed the door behind them. The lobby of the building was small, but densely packed with resources and materials. The walls adjacent to the wooden double doors were lined with metal rackings, containing brochures, pamphlets, leaflets, and other disposable reading material. A table resting in the corner contained an interactive map of Vasvár, intended for children to play with. Across from the doors stood a long, wooden counter that ran the entire width of the room. The countertop made up three service stations, each containing a computer, a stack of maps and pens, and a silver bell. Not a single person was present within the lobby, except for Hellboy and Roger.
"Gimme a break…" Hellboy hissed, throwing his head back in annoyance. He wondered when the next sheep herder was leaving town, hopefully for somewhere with people .
"There's no one in here either…" Roger said softly as he plucked a brochure from the wall. "Where did everyone go?"
"They are in their homes, " a heavily-accented voice said from the back of the room. Roger jumped and dropped his brochure. Whipping around, he saw Hellboy quickly drawing his gun, and searching the room apprehensively. There was still no one there.
"Alright, pal, come on out right now, or…" Hellboy said loudly, taking a step towards the long countertop. His fingers flexed on the handle of his weapon, and he held his right hand up menacingly.
"There is no need for violence, " the voice said again. Footsteps could be heard from around the corner, and a man emerged to stand on the other side of the desk from Roger and Hellboy. Roger took a reflexive step towards the other non-human, and Hellboy's aim wavered slightly with surprise.
The man who had come to greet them was clothed from head to food in a biohazardous materials safety suit. He waved a single rubber-gloved hand slowly, the thick material covering his arm squeaking loudly with the motion. His chest blinked slightly with small screen relays and diagnostic tools, and his thick rubber pants were held on by polyester suspenders. On his head, he wore a large, cylindrical helmet with a front visor allowing others to see his face. Through the visor, Hellboy and Roger stared incredulously at the man, his bespectacled and smiling face looking back at them.
"What the heck, man…" said Hellboy, holstering his pistol. Roger narrowed his eyes as he peered at the man, his mouth slightly open in thought. "I mean, I know it's always important to use protection, but... should we be worried about somethin' ?" The two walked closer to the desk.
They heard a laughing sound emanating from the man, but the cumbersome nature of his suit prevented his body from displaying his joviality. "No, my friends, no need to worry. Not for you two , of course. This öltöny is for my own protection." The man closed the distance to the counter, and placed his thickly gloved hands onto the wood countertop. He seemed perfectly at home. Roger, having also approached the counter, touched the material gingerly.
"Don't you get hot in there, sir?" he asked, captivated by the shiny texture of the glove.
"My suit has an internal air conditioner," he replied, his voice chipper.
"Wait a minute, back up…" said Hellboy, moving to stand next to Roger. "You said us two . What do you mean by that?" He narrowed his eyes, and crossed his arms. Intimidation came naturally to him.
The man was unphased. "Well, I don't know about your companion, but I know all about you, Mr. Hellboy! You see, I went to University in Connecticut, and saw you in the papers all the time!" He smiled widely, staring at the tall half-demon with what was undeniably admiration. "I doubt that you would need the same safeguards that I would, what with you not being completely human. I doubt that your friend qualifies as a human as well."
Roger looked down dejectedly. Hellboy frowned, disapproving of the slight against Roger, and uncrossed his arms in order to pat the Homunculus on the back with his left hand. "This is Roger, my friend. We're travel buddies," he said, looking to his companion and smiling. Roger looked up, and smiled too.
"Ah, that is so nice. Vasvár is so beautiful this time of year, have you looked at any of our scenic hiking trails?" the man chirped, picking up one of the maps. Hellboy waved his hand in dismissal.
"Cut it out with that stuff," he said shortly. "Who are you?" He pinned the man with a pointed stare.
The suited host seemed not to notice. "My name is Andras Tóth, and I work here at our Visitor Information Centre," he explained, straightening as much as he could. "I come quite in handy, since I know Hungarian, English, and French! I have also lived in Hungary all my life, save for my one trip to America to study." His proud demeanor was incredibly apparent, despite the wall of rubber. Roger smiled, pleased by Andras's open, inviting demeanor. He had obviously been a perfect choice for his current job.
"Well, nice to meetcha, Andras," Hellboy hissed, slightly annoyed at the man's uppity attitude. "Now, why don't you tell us what the deal is with the Halloween costume."
Andras's attitude dampened slightly, and he cleared his throat. "Well, you see...Vasvár actually hasn't been doing so well lately. Our town has been hit by some sort of epidemic, if you will. The worst case of the flu we have ever seen." He paused to organize the pens on his desk just a bit. "82% of our local population has fallen ill to this sickness...and 17% have already perished due to the symptoms." His hands shook, and a pen was placed askance. He cursed softly in Hungarian.
"Sheesh, that...that sucks, man," Hellboy said softly. He wasn't really sure what to do in these sorts of situations. He didn't think he was good at making people feel better. "So, lemme guess...you've managed to avoid this thing so far with the suit?" He gestured at Andras's outfit.
"Yes. Right from the beginning, more and more people fell ill at an advanced rate, so many of us quickly started to isolate ourselves within our homes. I, for one, hate being cooped up and so elected to change my work uniform." He smiled widely, but grimaced as his spectacles slid down his nose. "Oh, az istenit ." He groped at the front of his visor with his gloves until he was able to compress the plastic, pushing his glasses back up his nose.
Hellboy snorted. "You got kind of a potty mouth there, don'tcha Andy?" Andras chuckled and nodded sheepishly.
"So that's why the city is so empty? Everyone is at home?" Roger asked, his hands hanging off of the edge of the desk.
"Yes. They are either shielding themselves, or…" Andras looked down. "Or they are gone."
Roger looked at the man sadly. Hellboy saw this, and felt impressed with Roger's capacity for empathy. Despite literally having a heart made of stone, the man had made more of an attempt to connect with people than the half-demon ever had. In a way, it made him want to do better. Just a bit.
"Hey, man...if there's anything we can do…" Hellboy said softly, tapping his hoof against the bottom of the desk. "Y'know, 's only the two of us, but…" He looked up at Andras. Andras appeared thoughtful for a moment, and fiddled with one of the dials on the front of his suit.
"Well...if I can be honest with you for a moment…" he said, surreptitiously taking a glance behind him. "I...like to dabble a little bit in the occult."
Hellboy's eyes narrowed. " What do you mean? " he asked, his voice low.
Quickly catching himself, Andras added, "Well, I mean I like to research the occult. Ever since I was a boy, growing up in Celldömölk, I have liked to read about weird and creepy things, you know, like urban legends. One that I've been reading about a lot recently, is the legend of Göncöl, and the táltos."
Hellboy nodded slowly, his eyes far away and searching. "I remember that word... táltos … " he said, snapping his fingers as if it would help him remember. "It must'a been...the Professor must have told me, as a boy. A bedtime story."
Andras clapped his hands excitedly, producing a thick, slapping sound. " Yes! You are familiar with this tale then!" Through the visor, his face practically illuminated the whole room. Roger smiled broadly, enthralled by the man's enthusiasm.
"Well, I mean...that was, what, sixty years ago?" he mumbled, absentmindedly tapping the fingers of his right hand against the surface of the counter. Andras's pens slid into horrible disarray from the vibration.
Roger looked back and forth between Hellboy and Andras. "I don't know this one, please tell me," he said, turning back to Andras.
Hellboy cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. "Yeah, why don't you tell the story, so, uh, Roger here knows." He coughed.
"Yes, I would love to tell this tale!" he said. He shimmied around the side of the desk, and walked through a small hinged door so that he was standing in the main part of the lobby. Joining Roger and Hellboy, he pulled a smart phone out of the back pocket of his suit, and with great effort, was able to retrieve a drawn picture of an old man with a cane, juxtaposed to an image of the Big Dipper constellation.
"So this man is Göncöl. He is a very well-known táltos in Hungarian mythology, which, by an American standard, would make him a type of shaman or mystic. So Göncöl had all of these really special powers, like he could make storms happen, he could heal people, he could talk to animals, all sorts of stuff. Now Göncöl wasn't the only táltos to exist in Hungarian mythology, but he was definitely the most famous because at the end of his life, some say that he never really died , but that instead, he joined the stars as the Big Dipper." Andras gestured to the photo of the constellation. Hellboy nodded his head thoughtfully, remembering how the Professor had told him about his own research into the táltos mythology. Roger brightened, and looked closely at the picture of the stars.
"I wish I could turn into stars someday," he said. "You could look down at the Earth and see all your friends."
Andras smiled. "Yes, it is a very nice tale. Now, the reason I have been so interested in this particular story…" He leaned closer to Hellboy and Roger. His helmet squished slightly against Roger's head. " I think that there is another táltos amongst us! "
Roger's mouth fell open with surprise. "Really?" he asked, incredulous.
Hellboy narrowed his eyes. "You think there's a táltos here? In 2001?" he sneered.
Andras nodded excitedly. "Yes! It's been a very long time since a táltos was documented, but I think that we have another!"
Hellboy's eyebrows raised, and he crossed his arms again. "So lemme get this straight...you think this new táltos can set this place right?" he said. "Since they have healing powers?"
Andras clapped his hands again and pointed to Hellboy with enthusiasm. " Yes! That is exactly it! We can find this táltos, and they can help us!" His wide smile was visible through the plastic visor.
Roger frowned. "Mr. Andras...do you have any doctors in town? Are these people receiving medical care?" He tried to keep the sound of his doubt out of his voice.
Andras nodded sadly. "Yes, we have our own hospital, but this problem has gotten so bad that they're unable to help on the scale that they need to. Now, if we had a táltos though…" He smiled again, and placed his hands on Hellboy and Roger's shoulders. Hellboy smirked, and winked at Roger. Roger tilted his head and blinked back at Hellboy.
"Alright, Andy...now what makes you think you got another táltos in town?" he said dryly, placing his hands on his hips. Andras clasped his hands together.
"I am very glad you asked me that! So. I was searching through the town records and old newspapers, and I found a story from nine years ago about a mother and her baby who were forced to live in the forest outside of town. I suspect that that infant is a táltos," he explained.
Roger's mouth was agape with surprise. "They forced a new mother to live in the woods? "
Andras nodded solemnly. "Yes, on account of the strange nature of the child. When it was born, it was found to have a full set of teeth . Not only that, but six fingers on each hand! Hungarian mythos states that that is a clear indication that a child will grow to become a táltos!"
Hellboy scoffed and shook his head. "People are scared of what they don't understand…" he grumbled. "They shouldn't have been forced to leave."
Andras nodded solemnly. "Yes, I agree. I do not think even the mother knew the truth about her child. Not many people these days know much about the táltos."
Hellboy sighed, exasperated. He could feel his temple pulsating with the onset of a headache, and there was a terrible pinch in his back from the meager state of the mattress he had slept on. He wished he had gotten a better sleep last night. Usually, on nights where he dreamed about the Professor, the next day proved to be emotionally stressful. Trevor had been taken from him so suddenly, and in a way that he himself could have prevented. His father, after having disappeared for two years on a polar expedition and suddenly reappearing back at the BPRD, had become a changed man and was no longer the person that Hellboy had known all his life. Hellboy had just been visiting with him in his office, when he was attacked by a monstrous frog creature, and killed swiftly. Hellboy had not allowed himself much time to grieve the loss of the Professor, but if he were honest with himself, he thought about him every day. He wished he had made an effort to spend more time with him.
"Hellboy?" Roger said softly. Hellboy looked up sharply, and met the other's eyes. Roger was looking at him with concern.
Hellboy cleared his throat. "So, Andras...you know where this kid is now?" he asked, looking towards the suited man.
He nodded rapidly. "Yes! According to the 1998 city census and local tax records, I have a clear idea of where they are located. Let's all go together, no?" he said happily, practically jumping. "I'm so excited! I finally get to meet a táltos!"
Hellboy rolled his eyes. "You do know, by your own research, this táltos kid is gonna be, what , nine years old?" They began moving out of the lobby, Roger taking up the rear. "How is a little kid gonna solve all of this? " He gestured with his right hand at the empty streets.
Andras waved his finger in the air, like a maestro with his baton. "You see, táltos are born with natural wisdom! Even if this child is only nine, they will still understand the world like an adult!"
Roger frowned. "That's kind of sad. It's like that kid never got to be a kid ." They moved down the front steps and stood together on the cobbled path laying before the visitor's centre. "I never had one, so I wouldn't know, but isn't childhood important for child development?" Hellboy smiled. Roger sounded so much like Kate, it was almost adorable. And a little bit sad.
Andras nodded as they continued to walk. "That's true, I guess. I wonder how that little baby is doing now…" he said wistfully.
They began walking together down the street, Andras leading and Hellboy and Roger following. Andras informed them that nine years ago, an area had been designated for the mother and child by the municipal authority, and that their home was located an hour's walk outside of town. As they walked through the cobble streets and in-between the chic, white and red buildings, they were still unable to find even a single other person. Andras chattered excitedly, wildly gesticulating with his hands.
"So is it true that you file down your horns? I mean, obviously they look like they've been filed, but how fast do they grow? What is the BPRD headquarters like? You are part of the FBI of America, so I bet it's a pretty big operation you have! I read Ms. Corrigan's thesis paper on transdermal projection and paraphysical morphology, she has such a brilliant mind! Oh, I'm so happy I get to spend the day with Hellboy! Oh- and you too, Roger! Tell me-" he continued to talk excitedly, and Hellboy tried to dissociate as quickly as possible in order to escape the massive line of invasive questions. He walked mechanically, as if he were lost in thought. Roger smiled, and walked on pleasantly.
"Hellboy and I are actually no longer-," Roger began, but was cut off by Hellboy aggressively putting a finger to his own lips. Roger stalled, and then nodded. Andras continued, not even paying attention to the men behind him. Roger and Hellboy put a couple steps worth of distance between themselves and the suited man.
"Jeez...does that guy have an off switch?" Hellboy grumbled, gritting his teeth. He huffed and looked upwards, a light breeze ruffling the collar of his coat.
Roger frowned and looked over at his friend. "Hellboy...are you alright?"
Hellboy glanced at him. From his gaze, Roger could tell he was tired. Morose. Troubled. "Yeah, buddy...I'm alright." He smiled, but was not convincing.
Roger persisted. "You've been thinking about your father," he said quietly. He didn't want Andras to overhear them, although he appeared to be lost in his own thinkspace.
Hellboy sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his left hand. Guy's like a dog with a bone… he thought. Can't blame him...he's a natural sweetheart. Scratching noisily at his horn with his right hand, he spoke. "Yeah, Rog'. I miss him." He swallowed thickly. They walked in silence for a few more moments.
"Tell me about him," asked Roger. He looked over to Hellboy expectantly. "He passed away in 1994, right? That was two years before we met." He was, of course, referring to the year he had been revived for the first time, underneath Czege Castle in Romania.
Hellboy didn't speak for several moments. They moved forward, but his eyes were focused doward, counting the cobbles as they walked over them. He had never been good at sharing his thoughts or feelings, and Roger's request had left him unprepared. He remembered Liz's voice once again, telling him he needed to open up. It was exhausting, being the tough guy all the time. Everybody needs to talk sometimes, right? He was just terrified of stepping outside of the hardened, stoic persona that he had been forced to develop over his lifetime.
"My dad…" Hellboy began. "Professor Trevor Bruttenholm...was a good man." He swallowed again, and looked upwards. He saw that Andras was still chattering to himself, and continued. "He found me after a man who was commissioned by the Nazis to summon a dark force through a portal into another dimension failed, and ended up bringing me through instead. I was just a baby, I didn't know nuthin'...but when he found me, I think he knew right away that he was gonna take care o' me." He looked over to Roger, and saw that he was listening intently. "I don't think he had any idea what he was gettin' himself into." He snorted as he recalled a fond memory.
Roger smiled. "You love him a lot," he said.
Hellboy nodded slowly. "I sure do," he replied. "For a while, he was my whole world. Growin' up on an airforce military base in New Mexico...there's not much for a kid to do there. The Professor was always so busy, talkin' to people and organizing troops...but he always found time to play with me." He smiled toothily, rubbing the back of his neck with his left hand. "Everyone always told him to just get rid 'o me. That I'd bring "nothing but pain and fire", and all that bull. I'm sure there were times where he was mad enough with me, he could'a probably killed me, but…" Hellboy smiled sadly. "He never did." He blinked rapidly, and turned his face away from Roger. "I wish I would'a been there for him more." His voice wavered, and Roger could see the tension in his neck muscles. "He was always there for me, but...I sort'a left him." Hellboy fell silent, and didn't say any more. Roger could feel the sadness and regret emanating from his friend, and felt it within himself like a tangle of thorned and knotted brambles. He reached out slowly, and gently placed his hand on Hellboy's shoulder. The man stiffened, but made no effort to shrug him off.
Sensing that Hellboy probably needed a break from the conversation, Roger made some space between himself and the other non-human and instead sped up in order to join Andras, who put a spigot in his outpouring of questions and commentary in order to greet the Homunculus.
"How far are we now, do you think?" Roger asked. Looking ahead, he could see that they had left the buildings of Vasvár behind, and were now following a dusty side road that would eventually lead them through the copse of trees stretching off into the distance.
"We're about halfway there. Oh, just one second-" Andras held up a hand, and without slowing his pace, pulled on two separate release latches on either side of his helmet, and with an audible hiss, removed the cylindrical device from over his head. Sighing loudly, and smiling as the afternoon breeze made contact with the clammy skin of his face, he held the helmet between his arm and body and, after removing one of his gloves as well, began to scratch at his head and neck with renewed vigor. "Oooooh yeah...I've had an itch on my ear for the past two hours."
Roger laughed as he watched the man's display. Andras, upon closer inspection now possible due to the absence of the visor, had short, curly red hair and a face dappled with freckles like the surface of a pond during a rainstorm. His nose was short and stubby, and his bottom lip jutted out while his top lip was scarred due to what must have been a former cleft palate. He was clean shaven and had clear skin, save for a birthmark on his right temple. Pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his nose (now, with ease,) he turned to Roger and smiled.
They chatted amicably with each other for the next leg of the journey, Roger asking Andras about his life before the epidemic and Andras struggling to find conversation topics that would allow Roger to use his perspective. Hellboy remained silent as he took up the rear, but was perfectly content to marvel at the splendid, rustic nature laid out before him.
After what seemed like forever, but couldn't have been more than just over half an hour, Hellboy was able to spot a small cottage nestled between the trees ahead of them. They fell silent as they got their first looks at the home; it was a quaint, homely structure topped with a triangular, clay-tile roof and a tall, brick chimney. The walls appeared to be cement, and were painted with intricate mural work in a vibrant mixture of colors. Erected in the grass sprawled around the base of the house was a clothes line, containing an apron, socks, and an infant's pair of pajamas. The three looked at each other nervously.
"Do ya think they're expectin' visitors?" Hellboy said drily as he gagged inwardly at the ridiculously wholesome scenery before them. He was half expecting seven dwarves to come stomping out of the trees at any second.
"I don't think so, but it wouldn't hurt to go on and introduce ourselves, would it?" Andras said pleasantly. He kept a cool demeanor, but Roger could tell he was eager to meet the supposed miracle child. Nodding as a group, the three turned back towards the house and began to approach it.
Just as they were about to step onto the large, grassy plateau the house was perched on top of, they all froze as a woman appeared from behind the cottage. Hellboy gritted his teeth in anticipation; they all watched nervously as the woman turned towards the clothes line and began to gather the socks from it. As she moved away from it, she caught an eye-full of Andras, dressed sheepishly in his biohazardous materials suit, then to Roger, the stone-giant with the glowing eyes (who was waving and smiling,) and then to Hellboy, who stood taller than the rest and looked as though he had just stepped off of the train from Hell. Dropping her socks, the woman screamed piercingly, and raced through the front door of her home, slamming it loudly behind her.
"Understandable," said Hellboy, nodding.
"We scared her…" said Roger , dropping his hand in disappointment.
"A kutya életbe!" Andras swore as he stomped his foot in defeat. "Hopefully she will still speak with us...I imagine that was quite the fright."
"Maybe she's just scared of our rugged good looks, eh, Rog'?" Hellboy laughed, playfully bumping Roger on the shoulder with his fist. Roger smiled widely and laughed.
"Maybe we should go say we're sorry," Roger suggested, still chuckling. "And ask if we can please come in for a bit."
Andras nodded thoughtfully. "Of course, I'll have to do most of the talking since I doubt either of you know much Hungarian," he said, smirking. As he spoke, Hellboy could see that he was eagerly searching the yard of the home for evidence of a nine-year-old child. Hellboy pushed him on the back, in the direction of the front door.
"Well, let's get going, then," he said shortly. His tail twitched nervously. He was glad he wouldn't be able to understand all the colorful things that lady would have to say about them.
Andras, leading the group once again, approached the front door of the house. Looking down, Roger could see that the grass underneath them was ridiculously lush and green; his steps bounced as if he were walking on a spongy layer of loam. Now that I think about it… he thought. This whole glade is so verdant. The trees here are thicker and everything. He was quite pleased.
They arrived at the door; it was painted like the rest of the exterior. Andras raised a shaking hand to knock, then paused and removed his glove. Exposing a clammy, speckled hand, he knocked on the door. They stood and waited, Hellboy sighing in annoyance. It had been, what , six hours since he'd had any nicotine? Six hours too long.
After several moments, Andras gave it another try and knocked once again on the door. Immediately afterwards, the sound of furiously vindictive footsteps could be heard, and the door shook slightly with the vibration. Andras stepped back as the door was whipped open several inches, revealing a face that could have contained all of the fury in the world. Hellboy raised his eyebrows; he couldn't help but feel a small bit of admiration.
"Mit akarsz?!" the woman hissed venomously, her eyes glowing as if they were burning embers in the heart of a bonfire. She was breathing rapidly, and looked as though she could strike at any moment. Andras raised his hands defensively, visibly trembling in his boots. They could all see that, in her right hand, she menacingly clutched a wooden, steel-tipped cane.
"Kérlek...csak beszélni akarunk…" he warbled, struggling to maintain eye contact with the woman. Even Roger appeared a little intimidated, and stepped closer to Hellboy for security. Hellboy wasn't exactly sure he could take her.
Glancing quickly from man to man, the woman assessed them all individually, and refused to budge. She remained as though she were a doorstop, barring the way into her home and inevitably to the child they had all come searching for. Andras remained prostrated in front of her door, hoping that she would waver and allow them entrance. During this time, he could not help but look upon her; her skin was dark, and freckled like his. Her black hair was shaved down to her scalp, and her lips were full despite her pinched expression. She had a small scar on the bridge of her nose, and the pale skin stood out against her dark complexion. Andras found her quite beautiful, and his hands dropped slightly with his distraction.
She pointed her chin upwards, and looked down at the small, sweating man before her. She then looked piercingly again at Hellboy, who had likely caused her the most fright. Her lip twisted in disgust for a brief moment, but Hellboy watched in surprise as her gaze softened. She blinked as she continued to observe him, taking in his horns, his eyes, his chin, his tail. Hellboy felt rooted to the spot, as if he were unable to move, breath even. With a lurch, he realized where he had seen that look before; it had been the same one the Professor had given him, the day they had met.
Sighing in frustration, the woman's body language relaxed, and she turned around and moved into the house. She had left the door ajar, and the three men took it as an invitation to proceed. Andras entered, almost stumbling as he clumsily stepped over the threshold. Still standing on the cement front step, Hellboy and Roger looked at each other.
"I wonder if she's scared we've come to hurt her child," Roger said thoughtfully, picking a sticky leaf off of his elbow.
Hellboy said, "I wouldn't blame 'er...I bet these two have been through Hell and back." He chuckled darkly.
Hellboy waited for Roger to follow after Andras, but the Homunculus remained standing where he was.
"We're not going to hurt the child...are we?" he asked quietly. His expression was worried.
"Y'mean other than scaring the bejeezus out of 'em?" Hellboy smiled widely. "Nah, Rog', we ain't gonna hurt 'em." Roger seemed to relax, and smiled wistfully.
"Hellboy, I want a house like this someday," he said dreamily. "It's so beautiful here. The nature is so healthy."
Hellboy smiled warmly, and directed the other man towards the door with a hand on his back. "Yeah, Rog'..." he whispered. "I think that'd be swell." They went inside.
