“Okay,” Dr. Eaton surrendered without a fight, offering the young man before whom he sat a friendly smile. “Consider the subject off-limits.” He said, scribbling more notes onto the clipboard in front of him. After a beat of silence, Dr. Eaton returned his full attention once more to his patient, or rather, his subject. For the Occult Specialist of the B.P.R.D., the young doctor’s job had become much more interesting.
“In that case, let’s just talk about Nikolskoye.” He continued, referring to the mission from which the agent had just returned. “You mentioned what happened to your arm,” as he spoke, he flipped through the pages on his clipboard where he had made notes after reviewing all the different agents’ reports. “Your skin went black and you grew claws, right?” He asked, verifying the information with the individual himself in question. “You said it was a ‘physical boost’, what do you mean by that? Where did it come from?” He asked, reiterating the statement that the agent had made earlier in their conversation. As Agent Myers spoke, Dr. Eaton looked down at his clipboard through the glasses that slid down the bridge of his nose, his pen moving in that impossible, chicken-scratch way for which doctors were notorious.
“Well, whatever it is, do you have any control over it?” He asked patiently. The way that Dr. Eaton carried himself, was in much the same manner that reminded his fellow Bureau comrades of the late Dr. Butternholm. There was an authenticity about him. The humility of a man who could admit he knew nothing, coupled with the ambition of a man who wanted to know everything. It was something that the young doctor had learned from his teacher.
“So, it’s triggered by anger…” Dr. Eaton gathered from what Agent Myers said, making more notes as he flipped back through the pages pinned in place on his clipboard. “Well, I suppose that explains some things,” he said with a playful smirk as he pushed his glasses up his nose with the fingers that held his pen. “Since there seems to be a pattern in the reports of this anger being directed towards Red.” He pointed out. “You attacked him while you were… whatever you were.” Dr. Eaton told him, struggling to find the right words. “You were trying to kill him.” If Agent Myers was made to feel anything as a result of that statement, he kept it relatively well hidden. Whether he had put the pieces together for himself, it was unclear. Even though Hellboy had healed and was back to his usual, brutish self, it was Agent Myers and whatever was plaguing him that had put him in such a bad way. It was ironic, really. Though the sickly, tired agent before him seemed to hold nothing but contempt for the big, red ape, Hellboy had been obnoxiously concerned about Agent Myers since their return to the Bureau Headquarters. In fact, on more than one occasion, and much to the displeasure of Director Manning, he had voiced that concern in the strongest of terms. Dr. Eaton couldn’t help but wonder to himself at the thought. Oh, how the tables do turn.
“You know, I’ve looked through just about every bit of research material I can think of, and I have to say, I’m stumped.” The blond-haired doctor admitted, melancholy touching upon his sunny disposition. Folding both his pen and clipboard under his arms as he crossed them over his chest, he leaned back on the stool in the subject enclosure of the laboratories, regarding Agent Myers thoughtfully.
“There are some people who don’t even want you here in the Headquarters,” Dr. Eaton told him, watching John’s face as he spoke. “When you were inside that monster, some of our agents got hurt.” Empathy creased his forehead as he spoke the gentle words, though they must have still stung. Perhaps it made sense to Agent Myers now, why Hellboy had mentioned Agent Johnson the last time they spoke. “But I think you’re still you, John.” Dr. Eaton told him, that same smile spreading his lips once more.
“You are… aren’t you?” He pressed after a beat, something sad falling into his wide, asking eyes. At Agent Myers words, Dr. Eaton rose from where he had been sitting, adjusting his white lab coat.
“Well, I think that’s enough for now.” He said. “You haven’t eaten anything in three days, you must be hungry.” The young doctor pointed out, his usual happy countenance returning to his expression. “We’ll get you unstrapped and I’ll bring you something to eat.” He told Agent Myers sunnily. “Can I get you anything else? A book, some coffee, a newspaper?”
Hellboy had wandered his way into the library of the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense. Not the pretty, glistening one up on the second floor. He preferred the dusty, cluttered library in which his father had wasted away the hours on any given day. A six pack of beer dangled from the curled end of his tail as his not-stone fingers brushed against the spines, yellow eyes touching on the titles. He had never been much of a reader, though he did like comic books when he was a kid. Father would return to their humble little home at the Air Force base in New Mexico, a plastic bag hanging in a square shape from his hand, and Hellboy would know that he was in for a long night of reading under the covers with a flashlight. His favourite nights however, were always the nights that his father would sit next to him as he lay in bed, reading him stories about Kingdoms and Worlds long forgotten to the likes of man.
Letting his fingers slip from the shelves, Hellboy brought his right hand up to his mouth, tipping beer from carefully pinched stone fingers down his throat. When he heard the familiar sound of splashing, he knew that Abe was climbing out of his tank. “About time,” Hellboy muttered to himself as he found a spot on the floor and made himself comfortable while he waited for his friend to join him.
“Red, it is barely noon.” Agent Sapien pointed out, a towel around his neck as he gestured to the beer Hellboy sipped on.
“You ever think about quittin’?” The oversized, red-hued man asked suddenly.
Recognizing the ache in Hellboy’s voice, and feeling the guilt and confusion that bled from each pore of his body, Abe switched to a more gentle tone as he admitted, “sometimes.” Coming to sit next to his friend, he placed his hands on his knees and sat in silence as the half-man at his side brooded.
“You’ve done a lot of good over the years, Red.” Agent Sapien told his friend.
“Yeah, I’ve hurt a lot of people too.” Hellboy volleyed back, looking into the beer can he had handed off from his right to his left, leaning back on his stone hand. “Even more, depending on your definition of
‘people’.” He added, making the commonplace word sound jeering on his tongue.
“Is that what this is about?” Abe asked him.
“We always say that when someone goes from being them, to being something else beyond their control, that’s when they become a monster.” Hellboy said, speaking thoughtfully as his eyes wandered to the stacks. He wished, like he had wished a thousand times before, that the old man would appear to him from within the folds of those sacred books he so loved. “But even when that thing that took over Myers was layin’ me out, I didn’t want to fight him.” He explained to Abe. “I mean, it’s still Myers.” As he spoke he gestured vaguely, and his friend who knew him too well nodded wisely in agreement.
“All those monsters I killed, all those people I hurt to do it…” Hellboy wondered out loud, bending his leg and resting his arm upon his knee. “What if they were all still someone?”
“That’s certainly possible.” Agent Sapien answered bluntly, making Hellboy cock his head to the side and shoot him a look.
“You’re not makin’ me feel any better here, Abe.” He pointed out.
“I wasn’t trying to.” Abe said simply. When Hellboy grunted and took another long drink from his beer can, draining it and reaching for another, Agent Sapien gestured to the six-pack which had quickly become a four-pack. “Hand me one of those, will you?” He uttered casually. With a queer grin Hellboy did as he was asked. “You know, you could spend your whole life guessing at the dichotomy of good and evil.” Abe explained to his friend as he took the beer offered to him. “Or you could just do you best and try to be a good man, like your father wanted.” Cracking the tab and opening the beer, he held it aloft and waited for Hellboy to clink his can with Agent Sapien’s.
“You’re a good pal, Abe.” Hellboy told his fishy friend.
“So are you, Red.”
