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He had been through a lot during his time at the Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defense. He had seen his share of cases, and had his share of injuries. But his fight against Sammael was the worst that Agent Abe Sapien had ever been through.
As he emerged from the water, he hid behind a pylon beneath the streets of New York. He felt the pain in his side, on his chest, and in his stomach. In fact, his entire body ached from exhaustion, from the wounds inflicted by Sammael. He even felt pain from the fear.
As his webbed fingers trembled, he reached for his communication device attached to his belt. He pressed the button, and silently prayed, as he had often seen Professor Broom do. He was – for the first time in his life – terrified of death.
Help came relatively quickly. And although he needed to be carried away on a stretcher, he considered himself fortunate. Several other agents didn’t make it. Clay was in critical condition.
But at least they had captured Kroenen.
He wasn’t sure why, but he was genuinely surprised that Professor Broom came to meet him at the ambulance. As he was transported to a medical tank, the Professor held his hand tightly, to reassure him that he wasn’t alone.
Abe knew that Professor Broom could not stand by his side; he had to begin his work. There was much to do if the BPRD was to defeat Rasputin. Yet, Broom wouldn’t budge; he held Abe’s hand as they hooked him up to the medical monitors and administered some sedatives.
“Hang in there, Abraham. You’ll pull through.”
“Professor,” Abe tried to speak, but Broom silenced him with a gentle “shush.”
Abe was weak, and the fear of death stung. It was far worse than the pain in his side. He felt himself fading out, as the pain killers began to kick in. He worried that he might not wake up from a pharmaceutical sleep.
As he squeezed Broom’s hand even tighter, Abe also sensed the fear of dying in the professor’s grip. It was ironic, since Broom knew that it was really his time on earth that was truly limited.
As Broom lifted Abe’s hand in his own, he gently kissed it, and then pressed it against his cheek. It wasn’t something he did often. It seemed like a prayer for the dying. It was a prayer, for himself, to confirm the familial tie that he had fostered over the years with his second son, Abe.
“Son, you will be alright” Professor Broom said, still holding onto his hand.
Abe closed his eyes, and tried to soak in the memory – to hold onto it. And although it wasn’t the first time that the Professor had called him son, Abe knew that it would be the last.