HELLBOY'S FIRST WORDS

Author’s notes: Just a little movieverse fic. Main characters not mine. I’m just having some fun.

Hellboy’s First Words

Somewhere in New Mexico, August, 1945

Everything seemed peaceful as Trevor Broom tried to fall asleep. For once, it wasn’t even too hot. Still, his concerns kept him long awake. Hellboy was now over eight months old. Yet, even though he showed great intelligence and communicated well through the sign language taught to him by Broom, he had never spoken a word.

Broom sighed and rolled over in his bed. Not unless you count the word ‘crap’, he thought to himself. For some odd reason, Hellboy, when he had first been found, imitated Sergeant George Whitman’s use of that word; but then had never uttered another thing after that night outside of grunts and squeals.

Regardless of his anxiety, this memory of the bizarre night he had discovered Hellboy pleased Broom. Closing his eyes, he again relived the storm-filled night of pain and dread that yet became the happiest night of his life. Finally finding himself able to relax, he fell asleep.

Unfortunately, weather in desert areas can be unpredictable. It seemed that Trevor Broom had barely closed his eyes, when he was rudely awakened by an enormous crash of thunder. Sitting up, he took a deep breath to bring the pounding of his heart under control. As he was doing this, there came the bright flash and sizzling crack of a lightning strike in the desert near the secret military base where he was located; it was immediately followed by an even louder peal of thunder.

A piercing squeal of terror came to his ears. Despite his weariness, Broom knew that falling back to sleep was not an option. Arising, he limped across his bedroom; the leg where he had been shot the night he found Hellboy aching even more than usual because of the sudden change in the weather.

Just as he approached his door, it flew open. A bright-red projectile, about the size of a large toddler, launched itself at him. This projectile came complete with still-smallish horns, largish cloven hooves, and a tail poking out from under a nightshirt made from an extra-large olive-green military tee shirt.

Another lightning strike hit even closer, thunder shaking the thin walls of his bungalow. Broom was almost bowled over as Hellboy clung to his legs. Gently easing the crushing grip of that gigantic stone-like right hand, Broom fell to his knees and gathered a completely terrified child into his arms.

Hellboy buried his face in Broom’s shoulder, grunting, sobbing, and squealing as the already violent storm became even louder. Just like other recent times of like nature, Broom could swear that some of these grunts almost sounded like words. As he knelt there holding the shaking child as tightly as he could, he still could make out nothing for certain.

“Don’t worry, Son; Father will never let anything hurt you,” as Broom spoke, the storm moved off as quickly as it had arrived; almost as if his words had driven it away.

Hellboy pulled back a little from Broom’s embrace and stared in awe at the man kneeling on the floor in front of him. “Fafah?” he whispered.

Blinking in surprise, Broom wondered if he had truly heard what he thought he did.

“Fafah,” Hellboy repeated, even more confidently than before. Smiling, he then reached up with his normal-sized left hand and gently touched Broom’s cheek.

Trevor Broom embraced Hellboy again. “Yes, that’s right; Father.”

Never was any ‘real’ father happier or more proud than he was at that moment.

Thanks for reading, Beth Palladino

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