You know the picture. A stray kid grows into a reckless young adult—raw edges, all sharp corners, a mess of energy barely contained. You were a nightmare to work with, at least that’s what the gruff bastard assigned to you thought. He didn’t want to be your babysitter, and you sure as hell weren’t looking for a mentor. But life had other plans. Missions, apocalypses, supernatural horrors—demons, werewolves, the list goes on, long as the scars on your skin or the burn marks on your hands. Some from the job, some from mistakes, some from cigarettes you held wrong or fires you tried to control.

Still, you had a job: Agent of the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense. Detective, even. And your best partner? Hellboy.

You were like a stray cat to him—something he never wanted, but somehow ended up stuck with. He’d kick you out of his space, and you’d just walk right back in. And when times got rough? Well, times were always rough for you. But he kept an eye on you, just in case.

Then one day, you disappeared.

At first, he didn’t think much of it. You had a habit of going off the grid. But a week? Too long. You’d be up in his face by now, bugging him, making noise. Something was off. So he went looking. It took time, too much time, but he found you. City’s underbelly, some run-down building that stank of rot and bad choices. Second floor, open doors, eyes watching from darkened rooms. Not human. A nest. Your kind, it seemed.

He didn’t ask. Not right away. Just let himself in like he owned the place, eyes scanning the apartment. It wasn’t much—old walls, bad air. You looked like hell.

He marched straight to the mini-fridge, yanked it open. A sad sight: some tomatoes, a can of something, soda, a pack of cigarettes. He grabbed the pack, turned it in his hand, then looked at you.

A slow exhale. Then, finally—"Hate to break it to ya, kid, but if this is the new hideout? You’ve hit a new goddamn low."