AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Hi guys, Social here.

This little fic will be a kind 'a side project since I've got two other stories I need to work on. But don't let that discourage you, I will use all the free time I have to work on these.

Without giving too much away, I'll just say this will be my attempt at turning Brief into a more competent character, yet giving a good reason as to why.

Hope you guys enjoy it. If you happen to like it, fav or even try and follow. If you have any questions, be sure to PM me. If you'd like to voice your opinions, leave a review (I enjoy those the most).

WARNING: I do not have any rights, that includes the ones pertaining to Panty and Stocking with Garterbelt. They are owned by studio Gainax.

See ya later!

…

Prologue:

His Name Is Brief

Eight Years Ago

It was a cold, windy night down in ole' Daten City. The air had a particular chill to it, one that could cool your blood, and freeze the spine.

Not like that would bother the tall black, afro-sporting man dressed in preacher's garb, who happened to be outside on said night, walking towards the front door of a large, lavish mansion.

Nope, not one bit. He was too reserved, too proud, too dignified to voice his dissatisfaction with such a trivial matter. Heck, with his poster, you wouldn't even think such a wind was a blowin'.

Nope, he didn't mind at all.

Not. One. Bit…

"Fuck, it's cold."

… Okay, fine. Yes, he minded a little bit. Happy now?

"What the hell are we doin' here, Chuck?" asked Garterbelt, with a tired groan, "I mean, what kind ah' parents ask for a reverend at this time a night?"

All the green skinned... dog (?) did in reply was to nibble on the zipper representing his crotch.

All Garterbelt could do was glare at the pooch, wishing hell and brimstone on the poor, clueless bastard.

Garter sighed heavily, before pushing the buzzer, signifying his arrival to the house's residents.

Not a moment later, an older, balding gentleman, wearing what only could be described as "butler" attire, opened the door. As soon as the old man laid eyes on the hulking figure, without a word, he used every ounce of strength he could muster to bring the preacher inside, with Chuck having the door slammed in his face(1).

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hey, watch the robes asshole!" Garter exclaimed, while being dragged through the mansions glorious interior.

"I'm terribly sorry for the haste, preacher, but I'm afraid there is no time for idol chat!" said the butler, "the master is in need of your services and we are certain that you are the only one who can help!"

Before Garterbelt could voice anymore complaints, the butler and he entered what seemed to be a living room, what with the T.V. and various furniture surrounding it, though only a tad more grand than anything Garterbelt had ever seen.

Damn! thought Garterbelt, I knew these people were rich, but shit! If I sold a single, one-inch square of fabric from that couch, I could feed myself for a month!

As soon as Garter's amazement washed over, he noticed a tall, finely shaped man with ginger hair and a matching beard, wearing a snazzy, ocean blue suit sitting on one of the chairs directly facing him. Next to him was a beautiful brunette woman, no older than twenty five, wearing a comfy looking, silk dress. However, it didn't take the greatest minds in the world to figure out that something was troubling them. They both wore anxious yet tired frowns, signifying that something went down not too long ago, and something needed to be done, now.

After a pause of time, the gingered man in the suit stood up, folding his hands behind his back in a dignified manner, leaving the woman to sit by her lonesome.

"Hello," the man spoke with an edge, which had no doubt been sharpened over the course of years of dealing with over-zealous businessmen like himself, "You must be Reverend Garterbelt. I am…"

"Winston J. Rock, CEO of the Rock Foundation, and the second richest man in the city, right behind the mayor himself." Garterbelt said in his usual gruff tone, interrupting the man before him, "Am I right?"

"…Yes," said the man, never ridding away his sharp tone, "You've heard of me?"

"Hm, here and there," told the preacher, "that and every billboard from here to church has your face smacked on it."

Hearing this, the man now named Winston beamed towards the reverend, seemingly satisfied with that answer.

"Good, than we can skip straight to the problem at hand," told Winston.

"Yeah, about that," Garter said, crossing his arms in front of his well-toned chest, "please tell me why a man like yourself calls me in the middle of the night, tells me to rush over here unnoticed, then have his butler drag my fuckin ass all the way here, all the while refusing to tell me anything except…"

"My son is being haunted."

Those five words stopped Garterbelt in his tracks, giving away to a long pause of time. The couple, of course, knew that such a thing would shock the man, so they gave him plenty of time to come to terms. Garter really was at a loss for words. He didn't know what to say, other than:

"You for real?"

"I wouldn't have called you on such short notice, or at all, if I wasn't absolutely sure." Winston explained.

Still in a bit of a tizzy, Garter quickly shook whatever doubts he still had from his head. If the Rocks knew who to call, namely himself and no one else, then they must have had some inclination to the supernatural. They knew exactly who to dial, which puzzled Garter greatly.

How the fuck do these guys… Garter thought, before waving it away, Bah, ain't got time for this. I'll have to ask later.

"Where is he?" the reverend asked.

"In his room." Replied Winston, "Please, follow me."

Winston motioned for the preacher to follow, while heading towards a door that led to a hallway. Garter took a step forward, yet noticed how the woman was still sitting, making no motion what so ever.

"Hey, a boy usually does better in these circumstances when's his momma's around," said Garterbelt, yet the woman still made no move, "Don't cha want ta…"

"She," Winston interrupted, "is not the boy's mother."

A moment of unease went by, until Winston continued his walk, leading Garter to the other side of the room.

"Oh," was all Garter said, leaving the woman behind.

…

The two men had made their way up the stairs to the second floor in complete silence, until Garterbelt broke through with;

"So… how bad is it?"

"We aren't sure. We have no other knowledge of ghosts, or other such entities, other than that of their existence." Explained Winston.

"How do you know the kid's being haunted, then?"

"There have been… signs." Was all he said.

Grumbling in dissatisfaction, Garter kept whatever questions he still had, figuring he'd have to see the boy for himself.

"We're here." Winston said suddenly, stopping at a poster-covered door.

The posters themselves were of various movies and shows concerning the occult and other various supernatural beings.

"These wouldn't happen to be the signs, would they," Garterbelt cracked, hoping to ease the tension.

"No," said Winston, "my son just so happens to enjoy such things. Bit ironic considering the circumstances."

They both just stood there, waiting for one or the other to take the initiative.

"Ah," muttered Garterbelt, "I guess… I'll just go in. You can hang back."

"That would be very much appreciated." Thanked Winston, taking his leave.

Garterbelt grabbed the door handle, and was about to fully turn it, when Winston turned around to say;

"Please preacher, help my son."

Garter gave a firm nod, then made his way inside…

...

Surprised at the lack of ghostly activity, Garter thought the only real creepy thing about the place was its lack of light, but that was just because the lights were turned off. What little light here came from the moonlight that shone through the opened window opposite of the man.

The room itself was like any other six year old's room, although the large size, coupled with the many electronics and the abundance of toys, games, and other such childish possessions, really cemented how wealthy the Rocks truly were. Garter also noticed how most of the room was decorated with things concerning the occult and the supernatural, to the point of obsession

Damn, that bastard wasn't kiddin'. This kid's got a real hard on for this crap. Thought Garter.

Speaking of kids, the reverend noticed a small lump shivering underneath the covers of the nearby bed. Garterbelt slowly made his way towards it, making sure to quiet his steps, lest he spoke the poor kid…

"ROOOOOOAAAAARRRRR!" yelled the toy T-Rex Garter just so happened to of stepped on.

"YEAAAAAAA!/AHHHHHH!"

Almost having the religion scared right out of him, Garter saw a flash of ginger run from under the covers to the closet located on the other side of the room, which closed with a load clack.

Sighing, Garterbelt stood back up from where he had fallen, dusted himself off, made his way to the closet doors, took a deep breath, and slowly opened them.

Inside was a boy no older than seven, with a thick head of ginger hair, shivering in his Ghost-Kickers pajama shirt and pants, clutching a well-worn teddy bear close to his chest. The boy looked up at the big black preacher for a split second, only to quickly gaze back down, seemingly praying to whatever god or gods that could possible exist in the broken, corrupt pile of shit world they called home for some semblance of help. And it broke the man's heart to pieces.

Casting aside whatever unease he had, Garter slowly lowered his large hand onto the boy's shoulder, and, ignoring the slight flinch, spoke with a hush, gentle tone in his voice.

"Shh, hush now, little man. Is alright, Mister Garter ain't here to hurt no one," when that didn't seem to work, the reverend tried a more direct approach, "In fact, your father sent me here to help ya. Says you got some evil spirit that needs a kick in the as… er, butt. Yeah."

After a few moments, the boy finally started to lift his tiny head up at the preacher, his long, shaggy hair covering most of his eyes. However, Garterbelt, with his unnaturally sharp gaze, could see a hint of ocean blue under all that red, giving away the absolute terror the boy was feeling.

"Y… you're here to…. help?" asked the boy, his voice quivering in fright.

"Yep," Garterbelt stated with a smirk, "I'm the guy people call when they need an exorcism on the down low. No point in scarring half the city over a scrawny looking specter."

"W-w-whoa, cool." Said the boy, star-struck, "So, you save people from evil ghosts?"

"That's right," replied the preacher, "Now, why don't you tell me where that big ole meanie is, and I'll lay the smack down on 'im?"

"Oh, uh," stuttered the boy, "actually, I… don't want you to hurt… any of… them."

"…"

The boy's words sent a wave of shivers down Garter's spine, leaving him with a whole mess of questions, the biggest one slipping out of his mouth unintentionally.

"…th… the….them?"

The boy nodded, then proceeded to point his index finger directed behind the man. Garterbelt felt as if looking behind him would lead to heart failure, yet he felt the invisible pull of some unknown force drag his entire front half around himself, only to see what could be a runner up for the craziest, messed up thing he had ever seen.

Scattered all across the room were dozens upon dozens of restless spirits of all different shapes and sizes. Some where the size of small dogs, while the larger ones got to be the size of full grown gorillas. Their forms ranged from near formless with no distinguishable features, to one's going as far as to wear various clothes styled in the era they supposedly died in, to ones that resembled half man, half beast.

Suffice it to say, it took all of Garterbelt's willpower to not immediately shit himself right there and then.

However, with one look at the boy's terrified face, Garterbelt swiftly shoved all fear aside, instead choosing to brandish his holy weapons of destruction, which happened to be a pair of 20 Gauge Shotguns armed with Blessed-Steel Slugs.

"Alright you moth 'ah fuckin shit piles of corrupt human refuse! I'm about to open a can of fuckin HOLY FIRE upon all you filthy heathens!" yelled the reverent passionately, finishing with his signature line, "now… REPENT, YOU MOTHEF…!"

"Wait!"

Before him stood the boy stretching his arms wide, seemingly shielding the spirits from his vengeful wrath. Puzzling the afro'ed man greatly, Garter hesitatingly lowered his weapons a bit, if only so they weren't pointing at the kid.

"Boy," said the preacher without a hint of emotion behind his words, "what the hell are you…"

"It's not their fault!" the boy squealed.

"What the," stuttered the man, "the hell you mean it ain't their fault!? Aren't they the ones that're causin' you all this pain?!"

The boy shook his head franticly.

"No, you don't understand, they're here to help me! They protect me from…" was all the boy could say.

"Wait," questioned Garter, trying desperately to rap his head around all this, "what do you mean help you? What could they possibly…?"

ROOAAAWWRRRR!

Now fully spoked, the boy sank back down to the earth, the nearest specters taking their place in front of him, while Garter nervously surveyed his surrounds, trying to locate the immediate threat. Then, all of a sudden, he felt a large hand rap around his stomach, forcing the wind right out of his breath. With great difficulty, he slowly rotated his head around, only to come face to face with the most powerful specter he had ever laid eyes on.

Attached to a now warped side of the room, which some ghosts had the power to do, from the waist up, rose a giant sized spirit that somewhat resembled a human woman with long hair parted in the middle and big empty eyes, except this ghoul held the distinct features that all ghost seemed to possess. Those included deep black skin, blood red accents, and a hollowed out core that flashed a never ending spiral of orange, yellow and red, although, seeing as how every spirit's core was held somewhere different, this one's was located were the being's heart should have been held, indicating what might have been the cause of this one's early departure from life.

Snapping out of his shock, Garterbelt struggled under the ghost's grip, eventually lining up his guns on either side of the hand, blowing it into pieces, releasing him.

Garter took a knee to regain his stamina while the spirit whaled in pain. The man could have sworn the being said something understandable under all that rage, but he didn't have the time or the patience. He steeled himself before jumping right in for the offensive, discharging shell after shell while dodging every swipe or punch that came his way.

"Take this, you heathen whore!"

Garter rolled under an attempted chop to his right, and aimed both barrels at the specter's core, blasting it to bits. Stunned, all the ghost could do was watch in agony as the preacher took the opportunity to pump round after round into her body, taking a step forward with each shot.

However, an audible click was heard from both shoties, signifying the need for a reload.

Cursing himself for getting caught up in the moment, Garterbelt, as quickly as he could, pulled out a handful of shells from within his robe. Before he could slide in a single shot, the ghost let out an ear piercing scream, putting everything she had into a swift strike to the side that met its target. Hitting the opposite wall, Garterbelt let out a gasp as a spurt of blood escaped his lips.

Nearing unconsciousness, the preacher made another attempt at reloading his guns, but a fully healed hand shoved him against the wall, trapping his body as his weapons dropped to the ground.

"Preacher!" yelled the boy, desperate to try and help, yet the ghosts surrounding him made no move, blocking his route.

As the ghost woman brought her other hand up for the finale strike, only one thought ran through the reverend's mind as he closed his eyes.

Fuck me.

Garter heard the sound of something cutting through the air, meaning the end was nigh for the afro 'ed man.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

A moment passed, but Garter still felt the pain of life, so he slowly opened his left eye to see the damage. Before him was the ghost woman's hand frozen in midair, almost as if something was holding it back. That's when the man noticed how half of the spirits that were around the boy not a moment ago were firmly locked around the woman's arm, keeping it from dealing the fatal blow.

After a bit of struggle, the spirits were eventually able to repel the ghoul's arm away, only to make their way towards Garter. One ghost in particular, a beefy looking thing with horns on the sides of its head, stuck a blow to the hand still covering Garterbelt's form, releasing him.

The man fell to the ground, unable to comprehend the event's that had just transpired. That's when he noticed the bundle of smaller ghosts bringing him his Holy Shotguns, live and reloaded for his pleaser. Garterbelt, who had chosen to question everything at a later date, excepted the shoties, before pointing them at the monster in front, who was busy fighting off the rest of the specters.

Considering to just lay waste to everything in his path, he instead opted to warn his new found comrades.

"Out of the way!"

As soon as the words left his mouth, the ghosts retreated back to their original positions, giving Garter a clear view.

With one final look in the eye, Garter unleashed a barrage of slugs, before uttering one last verse.

"REPENT YOU MOTHERFUCKER!"

…

Apparently, all it took was one last slug, before the ghoul exploded, leaving nothing behind. The room then reverted back to normal, yet the damaged still lingered, leaving everything in a smoking heap.

It was then that Garter noticed a banging coming from the door, before it unexpectedly burst open with a BAP, revealing the boy's father, Winston and the butler from before.

"Son!" yelled Winston, worryingly.

Forgetting all about the little man, Garterbelt scanned the room, noticing the lack of friendly spirits. Then, out of the corner of the room, the boy stood up from where he was hiding, tears falling freely down his cheeks as he made his way over.

"Daddy!" the boy yelled, before rushing to meet his father.

The man in question opened his arms wide, embracing the young boy in a tight hug. As for the butler, he made his way over to Garter, wearing an appreciative smile.

"Thank you mister, I'm relieved to see you still among the living," said the butler.

"Am I to assume you… dealt with the problem, preacher?" questioned Winston, still holding onto the boy.

"Ah, yeah," muttered Garter, clutching his side in discomfort, "you could say that."

"Then I am in your debt," stated Winston, "Harvey here will be sure to compensate you on your way out. If there is anything else that needs to be done, please…"

"Actually," said Garter, cutting Winston off, "there is something we need to discuss. Alone."

The CEO raised an eyebrow, but nodded. Winston whispered something into the boy's ear, then handed him over to Harvey, the butler, bringing him out of the room.

They waited for a few seconds, then proceeded with their conversation.

"I'm guessing you noticed his… gift," stated Winston.

"Yep," replied Garter, "Being able to command spirits like that? One in a million."

"Yes, he is."

"Then you know the danger he's going to face if left alone? Even if he does somehow survive, if untrained, he'll probably loose it by the time he hits puberty. If that happens, he'll be as defenseless as any other person in this city once the shit hits the fan. And trust me when I say, that time will come, sooner than you think."

Another moment of silence went by, before Winston J. Rock asked the one question that would change his, and even more so his son's life, forever.

"What would you have me do?"

…

"Wow, this is your church?" asked the boy, standing beside Garterbelt and his new friend, Chuck.

"Yep, and starting today," said Garter, clamping his hand over the boy's shoulder, "it'll be your new home."

The boy looked up at the preacher, his eyes shining with a new found glint of excitement.

"So," said Garter, making his way across the room, "You ready to get to work?"

The boy stared ahead, smiling in confidence, before giving his answer.

"I sure am."

And with that, he ran off to follow his new mentor, with Chuck trailing not too far behind.

…

Earlier

"Are you sure this is for the best?" Asked Winston, standing beside the preacher while Harvey helped the boy into the car with his luggage.

"Yes, I'm sure," replied Garterbelt, "With my help, he'll be able to do a lot 'a good around here."

"Will that be enough?" questioned the CEO.

Garter groaned in thought, before giving his answer.

"Honestly, with how much activity I've seen lately, we'll probably need a couple of extra hands. But, I'm confident the lord himself will see to that."

With that, Garterbelt took a few steps towards the car, which now housed the kid, waiting for him.

"Oh! By the way," Garter quickly said, realizing a crucial mistake, "I never asked. What's the kid's name?"

Winston could only shake his head at the man's question, giving him a small, yet playful smile.

"Brief," said Winston, staring up at his son, "His name is Brief."

…

End Notes:

BOOM! Done!

(1)The reason I'm pointing this little sentence out, is because the funny thing is, I had planned on having Chuck be present through most of the fic, but by the time I finished I realized I completely forgot about him while I wrote, so I edited a few parts, that one specifically.

And with that, I out!