A/N: Howdy! I don't own

Child's Play *sniff*.

I guess I just kind of wanted to write a one-shot about what would happen immediately after Seed of Chucky; something that was different to everyone else's idea. So… yeah.

Respect

The gleeful sounds of the party and entertainingly-spooked squeals of the children listening to the story of Tiffany the Doll were interrupted by a loud, strangled scream. Tiffany Ray – or, as she was now known, Jennifer Tilly – looked up.

Glenda had been giving herself a tattoo of a dagger, the end of which was covered in (and dripping) blood, in gel pens on her hand [*1]. But she, too, had to know what was going on. She'd recognise that scream anywhere – it was the scream she loved to hear first thing every morning when she got up; the scream she heard every day at lunchtime when she snuck up behind him.

It was Glen's scream.

Glen was trying to wrestle a murderous, dismembered doll's arm off his neck, but so far his father's grip was too tight around his throat. His usually pale face was turning blue from lack of oxygen and he didn't have the strength to stand any longer. He collapsed and tried to force the arm away, but the terrifying dark of unconsciousness was creeping up on him.

He could just about see Glenda and his mother running over to him. "Jennifer" wrestled the hand from his throat but Glenda simply stood there, looking shocked.

She was very pretty, really. Funny, the things people noticed when they were going out. Glen had always thought of himself as ugly, after being given names like "Shitface". But Glenda wasn't ugly. Glen's last thought was a sort-of pride at being her brother.

If dad doesn't get her too, she'll be beautiful when she's older.

"Glen, honey? Wake up."

That was Tiffany's voice. Glen realised he couldn't be dead, unless of course Jennifer Tilly had found him. Jennifer and Glen's mother sounded exactly alike. After It happened, Glen had thought for a moment it was Jennifer Tilly who was trying to make him feel better, as opposed to his mother.

"Come on, Sweetface, wake up. Please wake up."

Huh. That was kind of like during those Events of the Past that he didn't like to talk about. Glenda had surfaced once or twice, towards the end of It All, and Tiffany had told him to wake up several times before he surfaced again. And another thing: how would Jennifer Tilly know what his mother used to call him? Unless his father had caught up to the rest of the family…

"Glen, wake up!"

That one wasn't Tiffany or Jennifer Tilly, or whoever it was. That voice was Glenda's. Glen barely recognised it, because he'd never heard his twin sister call him by his real name before. Normally she called him things like "moron", "dork" or – the all-time favourite of Glen's past employer – "Shitface".

Maybe this was hell, then, if Glenda was here. Glen wondered what he had done to get in – unless It counted. But it was a good thing, wasn't it?

Maybe the sixth Commandment [*2] counted for every single case.

A heavy weight on Glen's middle brought him to his senses and opened his eyes abruptly.

A pretty, five-year-old girl with frizzy, fiery red hair and pale-ish skin was sitting on him.

"Argh!" Glen groaned. "Glenda! I can't… breathe…"

Glen seemed okay, apart from the fact that his sister was squishing him and his throat hurt whenever he spoke. He was in his room, nice and comfy in his bed. It was night now, but that wasn't really important.

"Glenda, honey, get off your brother."

The only one who could really keep the younger twin in check was their mother. Glenda immediately hopped off Glen and climbed onto the top bunk.

"How're you feeling, sweetie?" Tiffany asked.

"Okay," Glen said hoarsely, his throat hurting again as he spoke.

"Alright, well then… goodnight."

The tall, black-haired woman kissed first her son, and then her daughter, on the forehead. Then she left the room and turned off the lights.

"So."

Glen nearly screamed. His sister was staring at him, upside-down, from the top bunk.

"So what?" he asked quietly.

"Mom said dad tried to kill you. What happened? Why would he send you a hand?"

"You don't wanna know. Trust me."

Glenda jumped silently down from the top bunk and sat down on Glen's bed. "Yes I do. You're the only one who remembers dad properly – apart from mom, but she won't tell me anything."

"Lucky you," Glen said, with honest envy for once.

"Why do you have this picture? Why do you hide it from mom?"

Glenda shined a flashlight on a photo she'd taken from his pocket while he'd been unconscious. The picture was of two dolls – one with pale, greased-back red hair and pale, cold blue eyes. The other with lightly messy ginger-ish red hair and large, blue eyes. The pale-haired one in dungarees looked pleased; the pale-skinned, large-eyed one in the purple top was on the verge of tears. They were standing on either side of the dead body of a man whose face (or the left side of it, anyway) had been burnt away with acid.

"That's me and dad," Glen said. "Back when It was still Happening."

Glenda looked at the picture. "Did dad kill that man?"

Glen didn't answer. Though he knew he was about to – in his mind, anyway – he didn't to relive what had happened.

Glen was sleeping. He'd been having nightmares. Not the usual gory nightmares; dreams about murdering people. Not entirely, anyway. There were things like his past – that horrible sideshow; the people laughing at him. That tiny cage he'd been forced to live in.

He woke up with a start.

Oh. It was alright. Back in the attic, safe and alright. Well, sure, it would be better if it was a real bed he was lying in. Or, better yet, a real room. But it was cosy enough; and they wouldn't be caught, either, which was a good thing. And besides, Mum and Dad had promised not to kill anymore, so they could be like a real family now.

A figure jumped up next to Glen, who screamed.

Then he paused. Scarred face; pale blue eyes; pale red hair.

It was Dad.

"C'mon kid, we're going out."

Dad grabbed one end of the pink ribbon Mum had tied in Glen's hair and pulled, undoing the bow and carefully removing the ribbon.

"Where are we going?" Glen asked. He watched nervously as Dad pulled out a knife.

"Hunting."

At Peters' place, Glen hid under the desk and Dad was on a shelf. Peters was a greying man who took photographs of celebrities for a living and Dad called the man a "Paparazzi scumbag".

Peters was developing the photographs he'd taken. Glen watched with mild interest as the prints showed up on the paper and Peters hung them up. Then Peters spotted Dad. But Dad moved quickly enough and when Peters looked back, the shelf was bare. Glen heard Dad gasp, slightly annoyed, as Peters zoomed in on a picture on the computer. It was Dad.

Peters backed up. Glen didn't know how many people knew about his parents, but obviously this was a bad sign. Peters passed the higher shelf from which Dad was hanging upside down, the knife in his mouth.

Suddenly Glen understood what he meant by hunting.

"No!"

Glen had tried to warn Peters. Everything happened so quickly, he wasn't quite sure what had happened. Peters was scared when he spotted Glen, unlike Psychs had been. Peters reacted wrong, though. He backed into another shelf and overturned a bottle of sulphuric acid which spilt all over his face and melted it away and he collapsed and Dad was laughing and Peters was dead and –

Oh God. Oh God, Peters was dead. And it was Glen's fault.

"…You're a fucking natural!" Dad was saying.

"No!" Glen felt tears trying to form in his eyes. "No, he hit the shelf –"

But Dad wasn't listening. He was too proud of Glen to listen. He told Glen to keep it all a secret, and decided to take a photograph. Glen was disappointed in himself. He'd tried to reason with himself – Peters had hit the shelf – but it didn't make him feel any better.

Because Glen had scared Peters. So Peters had backed up. And hit the shelf. And spilt the acid.

Glen realised it all backtracked to him. He felt ashamed and hung his head.

Oh God, Glen hadn't realised how much he hated that picture until now. He'd only kept it to remind him of Chucky – the person who'd stopped being "Dad" a long time ago. Because what sort of dad wanted his own family – his own son – dead?

"Glen?" Glenda asked. For the first time in her life, she wasn't pleased to see tears in her brother's eyes. And not just because she hadn't caused them – she realised something really bad must have happened to make Glen this upset. He'd stopped crying whenever people mentioned his father a long time ago.

"I'm sorry," Glen muttered. "But I really can't talk about it."

"Well, I suppose it must be pretty unpleasant watching your own dad kill somebody like that!" Glenda joked.

Glen gave a non-committal grunt.

Glenda's green eyes – green eyes that were impossibly similar to her mother's eyes – widened as she realised the full truth of what the photograph meant. "You did that?"

Glen nodded. He didn't care that Glenda knew, although now she knew it made him cry she'd probably bring it up a lot. But the part of reliving his Past that was so awful was the simple knowledge that –

"That's not the worst of it," he whispered hoarsely.

"What?" Glenda asked, leaning closer. Glen chanced a look at her.

Her eyes were practically glowing with interest. She wanted to know.

Glen shook his head. He knew his sister would beat him up until she found out the truth, but she'd kill him if she found out about Chucky.

"Nothing," Glen lied. "Go to sleep, Glenda."

But she wasn't giving up so easily. "If you tell me, I'll clean the room for a week."

Woah. Glenda was… being nice. Or offering to, anyway. That sounded weird, even to think.

"And I'll do all your chores, and I'll leave you alone at school for the rest of the month!"

Glenda was practically begging now. She must be desperate, Glen realised, if she was even promising not to pick on him at school.

"And I'll make sure everyone else leaves you alone, too!"

That last one wasn't really saying much, because she pretty much did that anyways. Glenda only liked Glen to be upset if it was her fault. But it was still a nice thought.

Any other person would have tried to get as much as possible from this one moment of begging, but Glen gave in. He could tell when his sister wasn't going to give up.

"It's my fault our dad is dead," he finally admitted, in a tiny voice.

Glenda gasped and drew away from him, recoiling in shock. She'd never thought her brother could cause a death. She'd occasionally joked about his appearance being enough to kill people, but she'd never really meant it. Glen was too nice. He cared about everyone – even her. Sure Glenda was horrible to him, but Glen was always there for her, to help her get up if she'd tripped over, and he was always looking out for her. He knew that there was a vulnerable part to her, and he'd always nurtured that part, trying to make her more like him.

And she'd tried to make him more like her. It looked like she hadn't needed to try.

"How…?" Glenda asked. She barely remembered her father, but she knew he was a ruthless killer and that her mother and brother had stopped loving Chucky a long time ago. "What happened?"

Glen looked down. "I killed him."

Now Glenda simply laughed. Glen wouldn't kill a fly. And if he couldn't even hurt a worthless bug, how could he possibly –

"What's going on?"

The light was flicked on as Tiffany entered the room. Her son was still crying and her daughter was laughing maniacally. Of course, she assumed the worst.

Glenda continued to laugh, even though it wasn't appropriate at the moment. But the thought of Glen killing anyone was just too funny. It was like she couldn't stop laughing.

Tiffany waited patiently for Glenda to calm down. She went to get Glen a drink for his throat, and when she returned, Glenda was still giggling a little. Tiffany handed Glen the drink and asked Glenda what happened.

Glenda breathed deeply to calm herself. "Glen told me…" she spoke slowly, but seemed unable to take it anymore, and busted up laughing again.

Tiffany turned to her son, who was sniffling a little, and gave him a tissue.

"Okay, sorry," Glenda said, as her brother blew his nose into the tissue.

"What did Glen tell you?" Tiffany asked firmly.

Glenda breathed deep again and, this time, managed to get through the entire sentence seriously, and without laughing. "He said he killed or dad."

Then she smirked again, expecting the other two to burst out laughing. Only they didn't.

Tiffany turned to Glen, who looked back at her, his large eyes wide with worry. He was probably scared he'd be in trouble for it. But how could anyone be mad at Glen? He never meant any harm, and even to somebody who didn't know him all that well, it was impossible to even think about getting annoyed at him. Other mothers had given Tiffany offers of up to a thousand dollars for him before. They all thought he was adorable.

No, Tiffany wasn't angry. Besides, it was probably better that Glenda should learn the truth sooner rather than later.

"Yes, dear. Glen killed your dad."

Glenda stopped smirking now. In fact, her eyes were wide with shock.

"Your father tried to kill me," Tiffany continued. "And then Glen killed him."

"I was mad," Glen whimpered. He was curled up now, his knees drawn up to his chest, hands on his knees and face in his hands. "I thought Mum was dead and Dad had killed her and he was a deranged loony and something happened and I grabbed the axe when Mum passed it to me and…"

Glen's voice trailed off and his voice caught in his sore throat.

Tiffany tried to comfort Glen, who was sobbing so hard his whole body shook.

As the colour drained from her face, Glenda turned paler than her brother and scooted to the other end of his bunk so fast she nearly fell over. For the first time in her life, she was scared. And, something she'd never thought possible, she was scared of Glen.

Glen. Her brother, Glen Tilly, had killed his and her father, Chucky Ray. Glen Tilly, the least violent, least scary, least mean person in the universe, had killed Chucky Ray, the killer doll. Glen had killed him with an axe. It didn't make sense.

And yet, somehow, it did. Glenda didn't know how it was possible, but it was. Something told her it was possible, even though surely it wasn't.

But then, Glen and she had been sharing the same plastic body back then. Maybe – though she could only remember the times when she'd surfaced completely, like when she'd "fired" Joan – maybe Glenda had given Glen the extra push that had caused him to commit murder.

But hey, it showed the kid could kill.

The next day, Glenda either ignored or avoided her family and friends completely. She found the place her mother had put Chucky's arm. She took the arm and stuffed it into a shoe box. Then she used up a whole roll of duct tape to hold the box shut as her father's arm, realising why she was holding a box of matches, tried to escape. Glenda burned that arm, box and all, in the garden and buried the ashes. Chucky had tried to kill her own brother. She might be harsh – and downright evil – to him sometimes, but the vulnerable part of her cared about him, and the knowledge that the arm of her father had tried to kill Glen just made her angry. So she decided to eliminate the problem.

Two days after the twins' fifth birthday party, it was time for school again. Tiffany had to send her children to school on the bus – even though everybody thought the bus drivers were crazy – because some urgent business had come up.

Glenda walked silently behind her brother to the place where they waited for the bus; something she never did on these rare days they had to take the bus – not while their mother was out of sight and earshot, at any rate.

"Glenda?" Glen asked nervously, as they neared the bus stop. "You okay?"

Glenda looked up quickly and nodded. "Yeah. Fine."

"You smell like smoke," Glen observed.

Glenda shrugged. "I burnt that arm last night."

"What arm – oh, right." They reached the bus stop in silence.

"Why did you do it?" Glen asked, out of the blue. "What happened to you?"

"Huh?" Glenda asked.

"Why are you so nice to me all of a sudden?"

Glenda shrugged. "I guess I respect you more, now that I know what you're capable of."

A/N:

Okay, sucky ending. But please review.

*1 = I sometimes draw this in blue fountain pen when I'm bored. I might post a picture on my profile, if you're still unsure and want to know.

*2 = aka "You shall not murder"