Chapter Text
It was dark in the dead of the forest. The environment rattled with the wind in the trees and the breathing of countless nocturnal predators. Katya worriedly wrestled with the firepit. Trixie had been right. They should have gotten the fire going long before the tent. Stupid Katya, stupid! She sat back against the log bench of the campsite, grumbling in frustration.
“I just really don’t think it’s safe out here,” complained Trixie in a small voice. Something rattled in the canopy above and the pink-clad girl jumped in fright.
Katya rolled her eyes in the dim light. “This was supposed to be a relaxing getaway, Tracy. Why you gotta psych yourself out like this?”
Another rattle of the canopy and Trixie was pacing back and forth on the edges of the circle of light provided by the one gas lantern they’d thought to bring.
“God! Will you quit it?!” demanded Katya, more than a little aggravated.
Trixie halted, tense. “Would you rather I calmly wait for a mountain lion to come eat us?”
Katya ignored the sarcasm. “Actually being eaten by a mountain lion may be the greenest way to die. You contribute to the local environment and ecosystem in far more ways than traditional burial--”
“I’M NOT HAVING MY BONES SHAT OUT BY A PREDATOR, KATYA!” snapped Trixie. She shot daggers at her friend. Ex-friend, she was about to be. “Look,” said Trixie as she grabbed the sole lantern. “I am going to the lodge.”
“Oh no you’re not.” Katya tried to grab the light from her. “You have the directional sense of a drunk preschooler.”
“And you have the danger sense of Bella Swan,” retorted Trixie. Boosted off the strength of her recent fitness journey, she yanked the lantern away from Katya, sending the other girl stumbling back to the ground. Before heading off into the night, leaving Katya behind, Trixie offered a salty “See you back at the lodge, bitch!”
Katya’s heart sped watching her disappear into the dark. This part was never easy.
About ten minutes in, Trixie realized going it alone in Appalachian wilderness on the night of a new moon was a bad idea. No friendly moonbeams waxed their way between gaps in the canopy above, no light shimmered off the surface of the bubbling brook. All Trixie had was the waning light of the lantern.
Twenty minutes in, her mind started playing tricks on her. Her footfalls on the dead leaves seemed cacophonous. The hoot of the owls was so loud every time it happened she jumped at the noise. The air seemed to grow colder around her. The ground itself felt like it sucked on her heels, attempting to pull her into the earth beneath rotting plant matter.
Twenty-three minutes in, her footsteps had an echo.
She’d stop. So would the echo. Her heart would pound. She’d wait, and hear nothing but the night.
She picked up the pace. The echo returned. And it sounded like it was getting closer.
Trixie sped to a brisk walk. The echo followed, sounding actually faster. In fact, it was her footfalls which seemed the echo now. Her breath sped in and out of her throat, rubbing it raw. I am definitely being followed.
She wanted to spin around, to face her pursuer head on, but she’d played enough Slender to know the number one rule of escape type horror games. Never. Turn. Around.
The trail seemed to go on forever. It had been about an hour hike up to the campsite from the lodge, but they’d taken stops for photo ops and water breaks. Trixie was almost at a full run now -- where the hell was that lodge?
Her lantern hit a wall. A cliff, to be exact. Where it had come from she didn’t know, but the trail stopped. In fact, she realized she’d veered off the trail a while ago. And she’d stopped… but the other footsteps hadn’t.
So much for the one rule.
Trixie spun around, lantern in hand, ready to fight with a gas flame in a jar and her bare, acrylic-tipped hands.
I’m from the Midwest, bitch. We grow two things: wheat and serial killers--I’m not afraid of you!
… is what Trixie thought she was gonna say upon seeing her pursuer. What she actually said was “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!”
It was a humanoid mass of matted fur and leaves, the size of a linebacker and pitch black holes served as eyes. And it was coming right for her.
Until Katya swiped her magic sword through the thing’s neck.
The black eyes bent forward with the head as it fell freely from its neck, oozing otherworldly black smoke from the open wound and giving off the distinct odor of burning flesh and rotting leaves.
“Gotta say, not my best work.” Katya walked over to a nearby tree stump and wiped off her sword. Trixie always thought it was badass--carrying a sword. But she’d been awful controlling them, no matter how often and in what ways Katya tried to teach her. She was just better with a revolver than with a blade.
Nevertheless, Katya’s sword was gorgeous. One side of pure iron, the other of pure silver, perfect for80% of their monster-hunting needs. A vial of holy water fit secretly into the handle of the weapon, upon which was scrawled a dozen runes Trixie had no idea the origins of, but she could feel the power the symbols carried when she was even close to the elegant blade.
“Okay,” Trixie took a deep, steadying breath. “That counts as my cardio for the day.”
Katya chuckled. “Sure.” Done with cleaning, she sheathed her sword in her completely inconspicuous golf bag which she slung over her shoulder. “Anything we missed in the lore?” she asked, just to be sure. They never missed anything.
Trixie shook her head and lightly poked the corpse with her toe. “Forest Ghoul here is the keeper of the others he’s killed in his area. When he dies, the other souls get set free to go wherever it is that souls go when they aren’t wandering around like angsty teens.”
Katya nodded. “Any special way we need to dispose of the body?”
Trixie looked straight into the smoking open neck wound. There was something about the way the ooze reflected the lantern light that was strangely captivating. “Nah, by sunrise he’ll melt into the earth. Supposedly if we return here in a year’s time, a really pretty glade will rise up thanks to all the energy released by the death of the ghoul. In the center should be a spindly white and grey Ghoulbush, its’ leaves believed to give visions beyond the veil when smoked.”
“Sounds like a fun Halloween prank,” remarked Katya. With nothing left to really touch base on, Katya extended her arm for Trixie to take. “Now is cuddling up in a tent with me really so awful that you still want to go back to the lodge?” she asked, only half-joking.
Trixie rested her hand in the crook of Katya’s ebow and rolled her eyes. “I just ran half a mile in kitten heels. I’m pretty sure I deserve the lodge.”
Katya smiled. Having slain the monster in record time, back to civilization they went.
“I’d like to report the status of one Appalachian Forest Ghoul,” said Katya proudly. “Deceased.”
“Excellent work, boys,” congratulated Ross from Dispatch. It was the next morning, and The Brians were supposed to check in when their assignment was finished. If they didn’t, someone else would be assigned to come clean up their mess… including their corpses, or what was left of them. Ross had been their dispatcher for the past few months, after Michelle got too attached and had to leave. Monster hunting was a dangerous game, one that carried a high mortality rate. It was only a matter of time before one of her assigned teams got eaten. You had to be ready. And you couldn’t get attached. Ross was good at that.
Ross went about the customary assessment: any casualties-- no; any damage to public or private property-- no; any-- “I’m telling you Ross, it was a clean hunt. Cleaner that we’ve been in a long time.” Katya had reverted to Brian in the hours since returning to the lodge and waking up with Trixie, who was always the first to drop the feminine facade and go back to being a boy.
“Wow, I tell you, you Brians have a great track record. Justin and Aaron always cause a huge mess whenever we assign them somewhere,” Ross confessed.
“Is that why the last time we ran into them it was in that vampire mega-nest?” It had been obvious when they’d gotten to the shipyard that nobody was getting out of that one unscathed. Brian scratched at the scars on his neck, constant reminders of how many times the ‘messy’ hunters had saved his and the other Brian’s ass.
Ross nodded. “And don’t tell them I told you that. You know what the higher-ups think of keeping up with other hunters.”
Brian pursed his lips seriously. The same reasoning behind dispatch and hunters not getting attached.
“Anyway,” said Ross cheerfully, returning to his peppy professional persona. “If you’re still in Appalachia, I have another assignment for you.”
The Other Brian came out of the shower at that moment, clad in boxers and the lodge’s complimentary forest green bathrobe. It hung slightly open to reveal his toned chest, and the many scars that came with the job. So many things had gone for Brian Firkus’ heart, it was no surprise why he guarded it so heavily. Brian McCook smiled slightly. Firkus kept his heart shoved away from the world, except, on occasion, from his hunting partner.
“What’s this assignment?” asked the Brian in the bathrobe to the open laptop.
Ross pulled up a collection of images as he gave The Brians the lowdown. “So we’re pretty sure this is what you’re gonna be hunting in upstate Pennsylvania. Djinn.”
Bathrobe Brian barked a laugh. “Genies?”
“Not Robin Williams in a lamp, Brian,” corrected Ross. “These are spirits made from fire; most of these guys are hostile -- not all, but most. People have been disappearing within a hundred miles of this place.” An image of an abandoned warehouse took the place of the collage on the screen.
“Disappearances are pretty run-of-the-mill,” commented Bathrobe Brian. “What makes you think a) that this is a job for us and not the police, and b) that genies are to blame?”
Ross brought up a crime scene photo of a section of pavement with a pair of footprints burned into the ground, blue dust surrounding them. He then brought up about six other crime scene photos of similar scorched footprints. “This is all that the victims left behind.” Ross returned the view to his face. “Now, this next part is important, guys. Look, we need you to take extra caution with this djinn situation, okay? This isn’t the kind of thing you can cut corners with. You gotta be stealthy. We wouldn’t give this assignment to an inexperienced or messy team.”
The Brians shared a look. They had been hunting together for two years and seen a lot of shit, but Ross’ serious tone was making them nervous.
“These things are old. Really old, and they’re smart. We only think we’re dealing with one djinn here; they don’t seem to travel in pairs or packs like werewolves, but you never know.”
McCook, who had been silent most of this time nodded his head. “You can count on us, boss.”
Ross pursed his lips. “I’m sending an informational PDF your way. Please read it, I’d really rather you not die… I’m getting pretty fond of you boys.” He looked at the Brians with a mixture of love and sadness. They recognized the look. It was the same one Michelle gave them before she had to leave dispatch.
When Ross clicked himself out of the chat, Brian Firkus looked to Brian McCook. “Why do we have to be so goddamn lovable?”
McCook sighed. “I know, now we’ll have to get a new dispatcher. Again.” The laptop chimed, signaling Ross’s PDF had arrived in the inbox.
McCook rubbed his dry eyes and couldn’t help but yawn.
“You wanna grab a few Z’s before we hit the road?” asked Firkus. The other Brian tried to resist, but another yawn took the place of his words and Firkus grabbed the laptop from him. “Nope! I am going to the Business Center to print out the most important info, and YOU, my friend,” he said, shoving McCook toward one of the two queen beds in their suite “are going to sleep soundly before we head to Pennsylvania. Because I am not sitting passenger while you fall asleep at the wheel, again.”
With that, Brian Firkus flounced out the door, leaving Brian McCook all alone to his thoughts.
He lay down on his pristine bed, having never even tried to sleep the previous night. He would never admit it to anyone-- wouldn’t even have confided in the other Brian if it weren’t obvious-- but the night after a hunt, he was never able to sleep. And when he could find his way to rest, he’d wake up sweaty and screaming.
His head hit the pillow and was out.
In his dream, Brian heard screaming. The screaming of his mother. Every time he was a second too late to save someone from a monster, every time he made a mistake, a misstep, and cost a man, woman or child their life, every failure, the hunting partner he’d lost-- all came flooding back to him. All of them screaming at once.
He shot straight up in his bed in the lodge, the blankets rent in his fight against things that were no longer a threat. He looked, foolishly, for the other Brian, who was always so kind with bringing him back to reality, pulling him out of his head. Of course, Brian Firkus was nowhere to be seen. So there was no one to stop the tears of anguish and despair that came right after.
In the car, Brian Firkus was plagued with guilt. His companion was uncharacteristically silent and he knew exactly why. How could I forget about his dreams? He mentally flogged himself for being so inconsiderate. I should have come back after I printed out the research. Some partner I am.
McCook surprised him by clearing his throat and asking “So, the evil genie, how do we kill him?”
Firkus took a deep breath and referenced the documents. “Well, first off, we don’t necessarily know it’s a ‘he’.”
McCook rolled his eyes. “You gonna get into monster gender politics again with me, Firkus? You know what I mean.”
Firkus pursed his lips. “Okay, it looks like a dagger of pure silver--”
“Done,” declared McCook.
“Hey, that’s not all,” said Firkus. “Silver knife, dipped in lamb’s blood.”
McCook winced. “We gotta kill an animal?”
Firkus rolled his eyes. “You literally beheaded something not 12 hours ago.”
“That was a monster!” he defended. It was attacking you, he didn’t say.
“Well, I grew up on a farm, not a ranch,” said Firkus. “We didn’t kill our animals… we worked ‘em into the dirt then sold them to the glue factory.”
McCook cackled and wheezed, which was far less worrying behavior when he wasn’t behind the wheel of a thousand-pound hunk of metal charging down a busy national highway.
“Wait,” said Firkus, seeing a road sign. “We might not have to heartlessly slaughter an animal. Do you have your drag with you?”
McCook nodded. “Obviously.”
Firkus smiled mischievously. “I have an idea.”
“You want what?” asked the butcher’s wife, more than a little perturbed by the strange request of the even stranger blonde woman.
Katya smiled broadly, flashing her pearlescent teeth. She laid the accent on thick. “It is for a Russian recipe I am making for my dear American husband. I cannot seem to find a rancher who will let me slaughter one of their precious lambs for myself, so--”
“You some kind o’ satanist?” squawked the butcher’s wife.
Katya laughed heartily. “Oh, of course not! Satan lost. It would be un-American to side with the losing side of a conflict, would it not?” She flashed another smile.
The butcher’s wife, though still thoroughly off-put by the appearance of what seemed to be a mail-order bride, decided it would just be better if she gave the woman what she wanted so she could go on her way. Never letting the blonde out of her sight, she collected some leftover blood from their latest case of yearling mutton. When she handed the jug to the Russian, the blonde woman beamed at her and placed a kiss on either side of her cheeks. She left cherry red stain behind, which the butcher’s wife worked to wipe off with her apron.
“Who was that?” asked her husband, watching Katya bounce out the door.
She shook her head in resignation as they watched the car pull out of their lot. “Someone I hope to God we’ll never see again.”
“This stuff smells so bad,” said Firkus as he dipped one knife into the open jar. The contents were a pinkish color, slightly separated from age and refrigeration.
Katya shifted her weight on her wedges. She always felt best hunting in drag. Something about it felt better that way, more powerful, like she was a righteous woman slaying the patriarchy with every subverted expectation of her fighting ability. Seeing as this was more of a stealth mission, Brian Firkus left Trixie in the car. His drag alter ego was more of a tool, a means to the end of the forces of darkness. Trixie was live bait. Katya was Buffy herself.
Weapons prepped, Brian fiddled with one of his knives. “Hey, you’ve got my back, right?” he asked, just to be sure.
“Insecurity will get you nowhere,” said Katya. “The only way you’re gonna get better with a blade is to use one.”
Brian nodded slightly, then looked up at the abandoned warehouse. It was pretty sturdy-looking on the outside, with a few boarded up windows and rotting in some places, but overall it didn’t look so bad.
On the inside it was incredibly dark and dank, must making The Brians feel the need to cough. They held on and found their way around the first floor. Grates and shelves made a kind of maze for them to find their way through. Perhaps before it was abandoned, this place was a factory, a mill of some kind. Brian could imagine the way voices would have bounced off the walls, all screaming over each other, trying to be heard over the whir of dangerous machinery
“Brian!” hissed Katya.
He only had enough time to spin around and see the dark figure with the glowing blue eyes before it touched him.
Katya flung her silver blood-baptized knife at the djinn separating her from Brian, but by the time the metal was about to sink into the back of its’ neck, it had vanished into a puff of blue smoke, along with Brian, leaving nothing behind but a pair of shoe prints where his feet had been scorched into the cement floor.
Katya grabbed the hilt of her sword. It hadn’t been dipped in the blood, but it was still half silver, which should still hurt like hell to a djinn. She’d seen a staircase to a basement level not far away. That’s where her intuition spurred her, so that’s where she ran, vaulting over a desk to get there. She seriously wished she’d read the lore on this one; without her partner she felt unbalanced, out of control, alone. Anxiety grabbed her by the heartstrings, which she funneled into her legs, making her advance ever faster toward the stairwell. She took the steps two at a time, barreling right into a pair of bare, giant blue tattooed tits resting on top of an inflated gut. She had just enough time to look up at the heavily tattooed face of a female djinn, eyes aglow, before she pressed a palm to Katya’s forehead, pushing her into darkness.