Bro's Play

Summary:

A story of obsession. How lust drives a man to desperate and mystical means and the consequences suffered by those involved. BRO IS CHUCKY. What else do ya need? Child's Play Spoof. A/U where BPS did not happen.

Triggers: Pedophilia, Major character death, Detailed descriptions of killings, Violence, Gore, Alcohol abuse, Physical violence, Stalking, Obsession, Mental instability.

Pairings include BroEdd and EddxEddy.

Author's Notes:

DuoXKouga: Happy Scary Spooktober, everyone! Well, look at what has finally made its appearance! I've been really excited to get this out and ready! So, sit back and enjoy!

Battygirl: So…this is the other one we've been planning for a LONG time now. We really are excited for this one. It's a silly concept, we know, but we both love Chucky and the concept is too fun. So bear that in mind that Chucky IS kind've a silly concept, but that we're still gonna try to add in some horror elements if possible. We're also NOT following the events of Child's Play to the letter, more like we're taking the concept and working it around the characters and their own stories. Um…not a lot else I can say for this first chapter. We hope you enjoy it.

Like with A Good Edd Is Hard To Break, this fic will regularly update every other Friday. So, two weeks from now, the next chapter will go up and follow that pattern until the end. This also means updates will alternate between fics. So…yay for that.

Without further ado, please enjoy chapter one.

Chapter 1: Buying A Bro Doll

It's quiet, as usual.

It's always quiet.

The trailer is vacant of just about anyone. Its lone occupant sits in the bedroom, staring blankly at nothing in particular. In one hand is a bottle of gin. In the other, he's grasping a document detailing the results of his lab work.

The prognosis is grim.

His liver is shot. No donor. At least, none for him. He's unable to land a spot on a list. Wouldn't do any good. He doesn't have much longer anyway.

He brings the bottle to his lips and drinks slowly. As he lowers the bottle again, his eyes flicker back and forth over the images plastered on his walls. Each with one common trend. Orange. Violet. Black cap. Beautiful green eyes that captivated him entirely. Big, sweet smiles broken by a gap in the otherwise perfect, white teeth. He feels a stirring in his loins as his gaze lingers on that pretty face.

This certainly isn't how he expected to find himself feeling for one of Pipsqueak's little friends. But it didn't take long after that first picture arrived to have him hooked.

After his last joke parcel to his baby brother, Eddy had managed to finally write down and learn Terry's address (perhaps without their parent's knowledge). It wasn't long after this that the letters began coming. Scribbles at first. Eddy liked to boast about scams that never worked out and complain about the kids who'd figure them out too easily. But what the boy never shut up about were his two friends. He spoke of them constantly in his letters. After two or three of them, the photos began joining them.

That's when it had begun. Initially, the man had mocked the two boys — what dorks his brother chose to surround himself with! They all shared the same name, he discovered.

The big, doofy-looking one is Ed. He's the tallest of the three, always smiling like an idiot. He looks like a regular grease-ball too. Even in the photos, Terry could tell that the kid rarely, if ever, bathed. He wondered how his brother could stand to be around that filth.

The other is Edd or 'Double D'. From what Terry can see in the photos, the boy is close to Ed's height and stands perhaps a head taller than Eddy. He's lankier than the other two boys; no muscle to him at all. If Terry could describe him, the first word that'd come to mind would be 'dainty'. Neither of them seemed very interesting and he wrote them off without a second thought.

It wasn't long, though, before he began looking at the photos differently. Started noticing little things about the shy-looking preteen he'd initially perceived to be female.

Ed seemed terribly loose even in the still pictures. Eddy was very similar, but he was always posing for the photos — trying to impress. Edd, however, took a different approach to it. Like Eddy, the boy poses himself in a certain way, though much more conservatively. Where Eddy would stand proud before his friends, striking a boastful stance with limbs spread wide — as though demanding the world to stop and see him — Edd would remain more closed off; arms at his sides and legs closed to stand straight. It looked awkward, but the boy seemed determined to look proper. Like a little Princess.

That's what Terry had begun calling him. The more Terry saw of him in the onslaught of photos, the more the name began to mean to him. What began as a jab at how prim and proper the boy presented himself as now feels…different. Of course, he still sees that prissy little boy Eddy seemed so damn fond of, but now there's a slight…fondness as well.

He'd be lying if he said the kid isn't pretty. That much he'll assert without hesitation. More and more, Terry found himself staring at the photos, admiring the boy's beauty and trying to discern just what it was that drew him in.

It was his voice, though, that put him over the edge.

He'd called home to surprise Eddy and tighten his hold on his hero-worshiping brother. His mother hadn't liked it. At first, she'd hung up. He called later, when he knew his folks would be working. As expected, Eddy answered.

"Sampson residence?"

"Hey there, Pipsqueak," Terry remembers chuckling into the phone, "Been a while, huh? Didn't think you could even reach the phone?"

"BRO?!"

"Who'd you think, shrimp?"

"This is so cool!" Eddy cries. His next words are muffled. "Guys! C'mere! It's my bro!"

Terry remembers the next part greatly. He'd given his entire focus. The other two Eds were there that day. He would finally hear his Princess speak. Would finally be able to put a voice to the face he'd been admiring.

"Bro, is it cool if I put you on speaker so you can talk to the guys?" Eddy had asked.

"Sure."

He heard the phone being set down, then the sound around Eddy changed slightly; there was more noise.

"Say hi to my bro, boys!"

"HELLO EDDY'S BROTHER!" a voice exploded from the phone, which caused Terry to jerk back in shock.

The little bastard had nearly screamed his ear off! He grimaced. There was no way in hell that that was the voice of his gentle-looking, little Princess.

"Ed!" Eddy's voice hissed back as there was a struggle on the other end of the line, "You're gonna make him go deaf or somethin'!" The struggling ended before Eddy spoke again. "Sorry about that, Terry. I shoulda warned you about Ed…"

Terry had scoffed here. He didn't care about that. What about—

"Yes," a delicate voice had spoken before coughing a bit to clear the owner's throat, "Apologies, please. Ed can be a bit of a handful. He means well, he just gets a bit too…excitable." A short pause. "I-I'm Eddward Vincent. For the sake of simplicity, of course, you may call me 'Double D'. So-So y-your name is Terry, is it?" A soft, nervous laugh. "Forgive me, but this is the first I'm hearing your name. Uh…N-Nevertheless, it's a pleasure to meet you…even if it is over the phone…"

The boy rambled on nonsensically until Eddy cut him off with a mocking laugh, but Terry didn't care to hear it. He hadn't heard much else past the boy giving his name. The kid's voice had been so soft and meek, but made the effort to sound confident. He used big words, which Terry attributes to the boy hoping to sound more intelligent. There's a thick sweetness dripping from every syllable he utters.

From that day, Terry dreamed of tasting that sweetness.

He barely remembers the rest of the call in general. What else did he need? He'd finally heard his Princess speak. That was the end of it. He began collecting the photos Eddy would send him. In every one, Edd looked beautiful. On more than one occasion, Terry would look at the pictures and touch himself, coaxing himself to orgasm as he imagined the small body writhing beneath him. He acknowledged, finally, that he wanted the boy. And in the most depraved ways possible.

As beautiful as Edd's voice is, he knows it would sound even more alluring in screams. As captivating as those brilliant, green eyes are, he knows they'd look even more beguiling with fear in them. As lovely as that pale skin looks, he wants nothing more than to blemish it with bruises. To leave behind his mark; branding the boy as his own and warning others against touching what belongs to him.

A dark look passes over Terry's eyes as he downs the last of the gin. He'll never get that chance now. His days are numbered.

At first, he'd wanted to blame Edd for his condition. His alcohol consumption had skyrocketed after he'd discovered his desires, if only to numb him of the fact that he cannot quench his lust. He couldn't very well head home to take this kid away, after all. If the boy was around Eddy's age (and if he was calculating his brother's age correctly), he couldn't have been older than eleven when the photos had begun arriving. The knowledge that his desire had fallen upon such a young child nearly made him sick as well, drawing him to attempt to desperately drink away the depraved thoughts. Despite this, he could not fend it off. For two years, he drank himself sick and tried to sate his lust in any woman he could get his hands on, none of whom could compare in beauty to his little Princess. Now he's facing death's door; a punishment for his depravity and being unable to control it.

He'd tried to blame his brother too. Pipsqueak wouldn't stop sending him the photos, forcing him to watch the object of his desires grow over the years. It had occurred to him once or twice to tell him to stop sending him so many letters, but a part of him wanted to ensure that he had a willing little worshiper should he need a scapegoat. It was a decision he wrestled with fiercely.

After about a year, he'd tried to stop checking his mail altogether. Eddy could still send him letters like the little fanboy he was, but Terry wouldn't have to see the pictures. If he couldn't see them, he couldn't feel the desire, right?

He lasted little more than a month.

Tearing open his mailbox. Scouring through the junk mail and bills he only just cared enough about to sift through later. Throwing away any photograph that didn't include Edd. Taking a pair of scissors to every photograph to cut out everything that didn't pertain to his little Princess. Plastering his depraved collection all over his walls at random in a desperate attempt to see them all at once and at any given moment.

Now the boy is thirteen and the man's lust has not been assuaged. He feels himself slipping further and further into madness. To be granted no reprieve to his desires and to yearn for so long is wearing him down in tangent with the alcohol slowly killing him.

But he can't blame Edd, his beloved Princess. He'd not actively done anything to make the man desire him so. Hell, for all he knew, the boy may not even know what he looks like. He has a strong feeling that his parents probably don't keep many pictures of him up around the house. To Edd, he's nothing more than a familiar stranger – recognizable only vaguely because of his relation to Eddy.

In regards to Eddy, Terry can't bring himself to blame him, either – at least not as much as he would like. Eddy had only played the part Terry wanted him to. Innocently sharing about his life in a desperate attempt to impress his brother. How could he blame his little pawn for doing what he expected of him?
Instead, he places most of the blame on the doctors doing nothing to help him and perhaps some of it on himself and his pathetic inability to control his desires.

With a grimace, he throws the bottle down onto the floor and rises to his feet. He turns to a photo above the head of the bed and approaches it. His fingers graze the slick surface just over Edd's sweet, smiling face. He sneers. Even removing his brother's face and that dolt's from the photos didn't quell his rage over his situation. And even replacing his brother with images of himself in every last one of them did nothing. They're band-aid solutions. A game of pretend he gained nothing from. He has to approach the real problem of his mortality. His eyes return to Edd's face. He leans in close to the photo.

"Don't you worry, my little Princess," he purrs, speaking as though Edd were physically with him, weeping for him and his limited lifeline, "I'll find a way to live on." He rests his forehead against the wall, eyes locked with the image of Edd's own. "We'll be together, my Princess. I promise you that."

Placing a light kiss to the photo, he turns away and exits the room.

He needs some air.

Ignoring the murmurs as he walks through town. He has a bit of a reputation here. It reminds him of home.

A few of the people he passes recognize him from the park, though he hadn't worked there for a few weeks since this condition of his started. After leaving his job, he'd moved his trailer as well. He now lives just outside of the town, though it's not much of an improvement.

It's late, so there aren't many pedestrians walking about. Their mumbled voices are still grating when he catches them, though. He grimaces every now and then from pain, well aware that he should be resting — rather, he should be hospitalized.

What's the point, though? I'm dead soon anyway…

Terry's eyes wander over his surroundings. Little shops line the main street and most of the other subsequent streets around it. Nothing spectacular, nothing that ever truly caught his eye. His hands are shoved in his jacket pockets. It's a bit chilly tonight. He assumes it's because of how close they are to the shore. The burning end of his cigarette and the few shops still open are all that offer the limited lights he has to follow. With the town being as small as it is, there isn't much reason for anyone to drive. Therefore, there aren't many lights lining the street. Why waste the electricity to light a street no one drives along at night?

A green and purple light ahead of him draws his attention. There's a bright neon sign above one of the shops. It's one that he's surprised to see in this town. His eyes drift lazily over the name.

Ubuntu Voodoo Parlor

He cocks his brow. It's definitely an odd shop to find here. How had he missed this oddity before? He takes a drag off of his cigarette, reading over the rest of the sign. The store promotes its offers of the typical 'Voodoo' practices; spells, hexes and the like. Curiously, he approaches the door, flicking the cigarette away. There are no store hours listed anywhere in the windows. He tries the handle. The door opens easily, a small bell ringing above him, and he walks into the shop.

The displays around him are all rather strange. Some may look around the shop and feel uncomfortable — say the items on the shelves are 'creepy'. By now, Terry's totally desensitized to it. The things he sees are certainly interesting, but not disturbing to him. With slight disinterest, he pokes and prods at a few of the items. He begins to wonder why he's here in the first place. When he receives no answer to his unasked question, he turns to leave.

"You…are a very sick man."

He stops and turns at the voice that speaks suddenly, brow raised as his interest is piqued. A man is standing in a doorway near the back of the shop. He's very old, with dark, leathery skin and wild, white hair. His clothes are old and shabby and he's wearing a lot of feathered jewelry. Terry turns to him fully, grimacing.

"You talkin' about my liver or was that a shot at me personally?" he grumbles.

"You are dying," the man continues, speaking as though he hadn't heard Terry's retort.

The statement surprises Terry some as the man turns in the doorway he had entered from.

"And how do you know that, old-timer?" he grumbles, watching the man carefully, "Who the fuck are you?"

The man doesn't answer, only waves for Terry to follow. With a shrug, and because he has little else to lose, he does so, following the strange man into a back room. The decorum is even more unsettling here. Jars that contain body parts line the shelves. Most are from animals, but some, he notices, are human. The man fidgets as he wanders around the room. Terry watches him carefully for a few moments, his patience quickly wearing thin.

"Are you gonna tell me what the fuck you want or should I just go?" he asks with a grimace.

"You seek eternal life, do you not?" the man asks, glancing at him.

Again, Terry's startled by his words, but he looks more suspicious than surprised. The man nods, accepting the silence as an affirmation.

"I can help you," he informs him.

Terry scoffs; "Why would you help me?"

"You want to live on past your illness," the man takes a seat, "I assume this means that you have a reason to live on, yes?"

Edd's face flashes in Terry's mind at those words. He eyes the man warily.

"Yeah…" he nods, his eyes drifting to the empty seat opposite his host, "And you think you can help me…?"

"It will involve a great sacrifice from you," the man acknowledges, "and may prove difficult. But yes. I can."

"The doctors can't do shit," Terry notes, sitting down, "Said I need a transplant that I can't afford and, even if I could, I can't even get on a fucking list. What are you gonna do? Magic me onto one?"

The man shakes his head some.

"You are impatient," he comments.

Terry rolls his eyes, earning a smug grin. With a sigh, he forces himself to relax some.

"What is it you think you can do?" he asks.

The man looks at him pensively for a moment, thinking hard about how to explain.

"It is…similar to a transplant, though still very different…" he explains vaguely, "You can call it…a 'transfer'."

Terry gives him a hard look; "And…what the fuck does that mean?"

"Just how it sounds," the man replies, "I can give you a spell that will allow you to transfer your soul into a new body. One that is free of your illness and which will allow you to live on past your current form."

Terry furrows his brow some.

"So I'll…be someone else?" he asks, confused.

The man shakes his head; "Not at all. You will still retain your personality, your memories, everything you are. It is only your body that will be different. And, even then, it will not be for long."

"What do you mean?"

"After some time has passed," the man replies, "your new body will begin to change and take on the physical appearance of the original."

Terry thinks that over. It's not a bad prospect, if it's even possible…

"It does involve the loss of another person's life," the man informs him, "When you take your new body, the person you choose will die."

"I don't see how that's much of a problem…" Terry grumbles.

"You are willing to sacrifice another life for yourself?" the man asks, concerned.

Terry looks away thoughtfully. Is the effort even worth it? He doesn't have too long to risk.

"I don't exactly have a lot of time…" he tells him, avoiding the question, "And I doubt I can find a…'suitable' replacement before I croak…"

The man nods and rises to his feet. Terry watches him as he retreats to a closet and returns with a bland, wooden doll.

"What's with the doll?" Terry asks with a sneer as the doll is laid upon the table.

The man ignores him as he turns to a shelf upon which rests a multitude of bottles containing a variety of liquids. He begins mixing the liquids together into a large pot in the middle of the table. It starts to glow in several colors, transitioning quickly from one hue to the next. After a moment, he reaches towards his guest and grabs Terry's goatee. In one swift motion, he plucks a couple of the hairs there, earning a sharp yelp.

"The fuck was that for?!" Terry demands, rubbing his chin and glaring hatefully at the man.

His rage is ignored as the man drops the hairs into the mixture. The color changes to an ominous red as smoke begins to pour out of the pot. Stumbling to his feet, Terry backs away some as the man begins chanting in some language he can't understand. He shields his eyes as, with the last syllable uttered, there's a bright flash.

When he lowers his arms, he sees the man struggling to remove the pot from the table. It's empty. He furrows his brow, confused, before his eyes settle on the plain doll. However, he finds that it's not plain anymore. He's startled as he looks down at a smaller, wooden version of his own face. His hair, his facial features, even his clothes have now been passed on to the doll, as though intricately carved and sewn with a careful hand that would have taken days - if not weeks traditionally. The parts are all separate, able to move at the joints. He looks at the man with a grimace.

"What the hell is this?" he demands.

"You can use this…" the man explains simply, "As a temporary shell to house your soul until you find a suitable human replacement."

Terry looks down at the doll and rubs the back of his neck. He thinks carefully about the whole thing.

As he looks over the wooden figure, he begins to recognize the rare opportunity he's been granted. This thing may be better than any disguise he could have come up with. His brother worshiped the very ground he walked on. Having a miniature version of him would be like a dream come true for the boy, he's sure. He could even pass it off as a talking doll. He could talk to his brother and possibly to Edd if he was lucky. Eddy would take care of this body until he could find a proper replacement. Then he would be free to escape with his Princess.

A thought occurs to him in that moment. It's a rarer opportunity than he thought. The person who's body he'll take; he'll look like them — become them. It makes his real age irrelevant. It's so simple. Find a younger boy to act as his replacement. One who's Edd's age. One who Edd's close to. One who worships him and will care for his body until the transfer can be made. A grin lights his face as the realization sinks in fully.

Yes, it's so obvious.

He raises his eyes to the man again; "Who…are you?"

"My name is unimportant," the man replied, "I am but a humble voodoo practitioner. However, you may call me Ubuntu."

"Alright…" Terry returns his gaze to the doll, heaving a soft sigh, "So…what's this spell?"

The smell of paint is strong in the poorly ventilated trailer. Even with his doors propped open, Terry finds himself feeling light-headed as he applies the finishing touches to the drawing on the floor. With a sigh, he rises to his feet and looks over the paper Ubuntu had given him. It's one of two; the other is sitting on the table beside his bed. The slip in his hands details the steps he would have to take to perform the ritual the witch doctor had shared with him. Along with the chant, he has to have a symbol to lay his new body upon.

He grunts a bit, grabbing at his abdomen as a particularly sharp wave of pain accosts him. He pants heavily as he sits on the bed, holding his middle. It's getting worse, he realizes. He'll have to hurry.

With a grimace, he looks down at the symbol. He can do nothing while the paint is still wet. He can't risk smudging the freshly painted lines. Ubuntu had been pretty clear that everything about this ritual has to be perfect. Rubbing his forehead, he stands again and walks out of the bedroom, heading for the door to exit the trailer.

He needs a break from these fumes.

Standing outside, he lights a cigarette. The smoke is a much more welcome scent than that of the paint. He breathes out a sigh, watching the smoke rise into the night sky. The sun had set less than an hour ago, leaving him with several hours to finish what he needs to.

While he enjoys his cigarette, he thinks about his plan. He's been to the post office. Picked up a box large enough to ship the doll in. They'd be by in the morning to pick up the package for him. He can only hope this works.

He grins a bit. The timing couldn't be more perfect, he supposes. If the postal service runs effectively, the package should arrive just in time for little Eddy's birthday. Laughter bubbles up from his chest as he pictures his brother's excitement over the gift. The kid had been ecstatic to receive anything from him — even his old swimsuits! Terry's sure the boy will be over the moon when he receives a doll-sized version of his 'cool older bro'.

He chuckles some as he flicks the ashes off of his cigarette. Yes, that part would be easy. When alone with his brother, he would be able to talk to him, fill the kid's head with ideas and make the boy believe they're his own. He'd start with driving Eddy away from their folks; isolating his baby brother and his little friends. The more difficult matter would be the symbol. If he could not manage to set it in his parent's home, in Eddy's bedroom, he may have to hatch a scheme to lure his brother back to the trailer. That part would take some careful planning, but he would cross that bridge when he'd come to it.

With a grin, he reaches into his pocket and withdraws a photo. It's his personal favorite. Eddy is hugging Edd tight against his side. It seems to have been intended to be the two of them; Eddy's also taking the photo, so it's close to them. He sees Ed behind them, trying to get into the shot as well. They're all looking directly into the camera, giving big smiles. Like the others in his collection, he's scribbled out Ed's face and replaced Eddy's with his own. He traces his thumb over Edd's cheek, his eyes trained on the boy's.

Sighing, he takes another long drag off of his cigarette and looks back into his trailer. This 'transfer' he's attempting is a long shot. That much is fact. If he weren't so close to death, he'd write it off entirely. He wonders if there's really any point to trying this. Another glance at Edd's face. That sweet, happy smile. He hears that lovely voice echo in his mind, words of affection and encouragement he's deluded himself into believing he's heard from the boy before.

Resolutely, he walks back into the trailer. Upon reaching the spare bedroom where he'd begun his setup, he dabs gingerly at the paint on the floor with his fingers, testing it. The paint he'd purchased was marketed as quick-drying and he's happy to say that it lives up to that claim; his fingers come away clean.

Everything seems to be ready.

He lights a few candles, using them as his only source of light. The flames flicker over the photos on his walls. He takes great care to keep the flames away from the pictures, though. If this doesn't work, he's not willing to lose his shrine to his Princess; he'd need it to give him some level of peace before his inevitable demise.

He retrieves the doll from the corner of the room and sets it over the symbol. Checking over the steps he would need to perform, he finds that there's only one last thing to do. The chant. He looks over his walls and then to his prized picture. Holding it up, he locks eyes with the image of Edd's once more.

"It's all for you, my Princess," he breathes, "If this works, we'll finally be together."

After setting the photo on his nightstand, he kneels down before the symbol and the doll. He breathes deeply, calmly. He's practiced the chant several times to himself after learning it. It did nothing of course, because he hadn't had the symbol or the body for him to transfer his soul into. He has no idea if this will actually work.

No better time, he supposes.

Rolling up his sleeves, he takes a deep breath and begins the chant.

DuoXKouga: See you all in the next chapter! Bye Bye!