A/N: Well howdy friends! I've taken my sweet time, haven't I? This is why I should finish fics before I post them. Otherwise this happens LOL. Thanks for staying with me, and thanks especially to the reviewers who asked me where I had been! You're all beautiful.

(also, I can't write battle scenes well LOL. And, angst warning, wooo!)

10. Battle Scene

Panty liked to think of herself as a patient person. Patient enough, anyway. She had a lot of flaws, sure, but she owned up to most of them. Never tried to be anyone she wasn't. There was a sense of nobility in that. But when Stocking took her damn sweet time getting home from her shitty date with the One-Who-Will-Not-Be-Named, Panty couldn't help but be a teeny, tiny bit frustrated.

"WHAT THE HELL, STOCKING?!" she screamed, back pressed against the inside of the front door. There was a torrent of ghosts pressing to get in, the ruckus of them deafening. Stocking had entered through a secret back-entrance created just for this purpose, and they could thank Garterbelt for that. They probably wouldn't actually thank him, but they were truly thankful at the moment. Ever since the dealings with Hell's Gate, Garterbelt had been busy taking care of stuff upstairs.

"Don't give me sass," Stocking said, slipping off her stockings while Panty held back the ghostly tied. "I came as fast as I could."

"What are you wearing?"

Stocking gritted her teeth. Panty was a fan of hot, sexy tones, and Stocking was the navy-and-darker Goth chick. But, for Brief, she had worn cutesy-pastels. She didn't anticipate how embarrassing it would be to get called out on it.

"Just shut up," she groaned. It wasn't like this was the first time she wore light-colored clothing, but she had to admit to even herself that the side-braid was new. Whatever, they didn't have time for this. Helping Panty brace the door, immediately trying to sort out the problem. Ghosts and demons were not supposed to have the power to push into the church; it was holy ground, and therefore too pure for evil to enter.

Panty kept her back to the wood, feeling the roiling hate behind it. Little by little, the force was growing. They could not hold it back forever. "What's the plan, genius?" she grunted, heels sliding against the floor.

"I don't even know why this is happening," Stocking complained. Her voice was tight with the effort of holding them back, wondering with a little fear if they would find another way in or grow too strong to keep outside. "I guess we'll just have to – "

Pressure built and released, bursting the windows of the church and sending glass shimmering to the ground. Immediately, spiritual bodies flocked in like a fog too thick to see through, and Stocking realized with a sick horror that just about every ghost in the city must have come.

None of them were particularly big or violent, but there were so many of them. There was no time to think, and the sisters set about shooting and slashing without pause. This wouldn't be the first time the church was destroyed, after all. They could rebuild, if they lived through this. And they would, like they always did.

But then again, this was a more difficult fight than they may have ever faced. There was no strategy, no creative angle – just ghost after ghost after ghost, all faceless and angry and fast, coming for nothing but blood. There were floods of them, and Stocking quickly found herself growing very tired from the onslaught. Since Hell's Gate, there hadn't been much activity to take care of. Maybe they were out of shape.

Panty missed a shot and took a hard blow to the side from one of the ghosts, slamming into the wall and sending debris sprinkling as the foundation cracked. Stocking turned to look, worried for her sister, and she took a crack to the jaw. Staggering from the stinging pain, she swore at the back of her throat and used one of her katanas to deflect and slice. Panty gathered herself to stand, but was already being swarmed by more ghosts as she tried.

How long had they been fighting? How many had they purified and how many were left? It was impossible to tell, and the sisters were slowly but surely getting pushed from offense into a constant defense while they tried to stand against the relentless force of the ghosts. Eventually they would be too exhausted to even to that much. There was just no opening, no way to get a leg up over so very many adversaries. The sisters' most safe, sacred place was now profaned by evil, and that was painful enough, without the battle.

The roar of the ghosts was loud, filling the church like a wind-tunnel and whipping Stocking's hair around her like a whirlwind. Splinters and glass stung her skin; the continuous gasp of the dead echoing in the church pressed her ears. Panty kept a hand across Stocking, trying to shield her with her body, aiming the gun with her free hand. Not as if it would do anything. There were just too many to shoot. The sisters would die under the weight of corrupt souls, but at least they would die together. Stocking always did wonder what the death of an angel would feel like. She closed her eyes tight.

And then nothing happened. The wind kept going, the ghosts kept moaning, but there was no crushing pain or bright light. Tentatively, Stocking opened her eyes again. What she saw there rocked her to the core.

The jumpsuit. He was standing, legs apart and holding him steady against the tornado ripping furniture up around them. One arm buffered the debris, held near Stocking to keep them out of her face. The goggles across his eyes were mirrored and made it impossible to see the green orbs beneath, but Stocking knew they were be there. And they would be determined, as they so often were in times of peril like this.

Brief held an orb in his hand, white and smooth, and from it an arc of electricity bloomed. Like a fountain, lines of lightening frizzled and flickered around them, creating a large circle. The ghosts would not come close to it, would hiss and toss themselves in circles in anger because of it. After watching them for a moment, Brief turned and crouched in front of the sisters. Panty was the first to speak, trying to keep the shock from her voice.

"W-.. What is that?"

"A purity barrier," Brief said, taking Panty's hand without permission and gently passing it to her. Panty looked upon it in wonder, even her sarcasm and crudeness overwhelmed by expressions of awe. Brief continued, standing to begin unhitching things from his tool belt. "It electrifies the air around us at such a frequency that ghosts can't enter."

"Damn," Panty breathed, blue eyes alight with the glare the lightening bolts were putting off. "Where'd you get it..?"

Brief's smirk was rueful in the most soft of ways. "I built it."

Neither of the sisters said anything to that, and Stocking could feel Panty squirming a little beside her – uncomfortable. Both of them had underestimated Brief too much too early. Now he had grown into something quite fierce. Before they could ruminate, he was talking again.

"I think the corruption left over from the opening of Hell's Gate began to weaken the sanctity seals of the church," he said. Brief unhooked what looked like a gummy grip. Something you would hold in the palm of your hand. "One of you will have to reapply them."

Stocking hadn't even thought of that. When churches are built, they imbue the land with something holy and clean, but she supposed huge amounts of corruption could indeed undermine and kill purity over time. All angels had the ability to bless and clean objects or land, though Stocking couldn't say she knew the way.

"How?" Panty asked, voicing Stocking's thoughts. She held the little orb close to her, watching the chaos just outside the barrier. The paint on the walls was peeling with the force of the wind. They had to shout over it to be heard.

Brief looked annoyed. "I don't know. It's an angel thing, right?"

"I think I remember," Stocking said a little too quietly. Both of them managed to hear her anyway, and she stood up with purpose. There was a little, blinking instinct at the back of her mind. Something about drawing a circle around the church?

Brief nodded to the orb in Panty's hands. "Take it! They'll be after you once they know what you're doing!"

Panty was a bitch most of the time, but she wasn't an idiot. She could fight, and she could strategize. Brief's plan was sound – give Stocking the protection while Panty acts as a decoy. The only problem was the amount of ghosts. Even at her full strength with her head in the game, she couldn't do it alone.

Brief stood in front of Stocking with the orb now, carefully fastening it to her waist where it would be out of her way yet secure. This close, she could see the freckles on his face and feel the warmth of his breath. He was focused, clear-headed… when had he grown up from a boy to a man? Stocking had been there, and somehow missed it.

She jumped when he took her shoulders, his face suddenly very close. "Be careful," he said. The words tickled her lips, and even though she couldn't see his eyes through his glassed goggles, she knew he was looking at her without glancing away. There were long seconds of it, until Panty cleared her throat. The contact between them broke.

There wasn't much time to dawdle, and Stocking quickly began moving away, taking the circle of protection with her. Immediately she was nervous the electric barrier would hurt her sister, would hurt Brief, but it didn't. The waves of it passed over them as if nothing more than air, and as it happened, Brief lifted the gum-grip he had been holding in his fist. It grew long suddenly, like an automatic umbrella, and electricity buzzed along it. Stocking knew it was the self-same stuff protecting her right now.

"FUCKING GO ALREADY!" Panty shouted as the ghosts swooped a decent. Stocking watched as Brief stepped forward and began to spin his spear, creating a wheel of defense. When had he learned how to do this and that? To be a hero? Stocking supposed he always had been.

She fled from them, disappearing into the depths of the church. What she needed was holy water, oil, and the prayer for purity. They would all be in Garterbelt's personal library no doubt. Her barrier of protection made her of no interest to the ghosts, though she still had to dodge the hazard of flying furniture. The very floorboards were ripping up at this point. There was a tell-tale groaning above her that meant the roof would soon tear off.

Panty and Brief, meanwhile, were managing to find heated awkwardness in the midst of a life-or-death battle. They had not spoken once since the afternoon last winter, and a season later, Brief still didn't have much to say. Panty did.

"Bet it burns your ass that you have to fight next to a bitch like me, huh?" she called to him, shooting three ghosts right between the eyes. Brief stabbed several through with his spear, immobilizing them but not purifying. He couldn't put holiness into his science.

"Can we not?" he asked. Most of his attention was on fighting anyway. Stocking and Panty sparred enough to where they could carry on conversations, but Brief was not so experienced. Didn't stop Panty, of course.

"Aww, poor baby still got sore nuts? I did kick you pretty hard."

Brief didn't give her the dignity of a reply, but he was beginning to wish he had gone with Stocking and just left Panty to deal with this herself. Obviously if she could taunt him during a fucking ghost tornado, she could manage just fine.

On the other hand, Brief l-.. li.. well, he kind of liked hearing her voice again. And that was pathetic. It made him hate himself, if only just a little. He had loved her for a long time. It seemed weirdly natural that he would find himself missing her abuse. Brief must had thought about it too much, because he missed a parry and a ghost got him. She had long nails, and he felt the bitter sting of them as they cut across his face.

Stumbling back, he heard Panty swear and the quick fire of her gun would have been louder if not for the sound-sucking ghost-nado. He was surprised, however, by the hand that gripped his shoulder.

"Dammit! Shit, you gotta keep on your toes!"

"Kind of hard to concentrate when you – "

"Shut up!"

There wasn't much time to dwell on it, and instead they kept on fighting, back to back, covering one another's blind spots. Brief could feel the ache in his cheek, the flesh torn and bleeding hot against his skin.

Stocking had finally made it outside, and had to stare at their incredible church. It looked like there was a storm raging inside, shaking the bricks to their core. It wasn't so far from the truth. She had coated one of her swords in oil, and now recited the prayer as she sprinkled water along the land, dragging her sword into the earth as she walked. It had to be a perfect circle, with no breaks or abrasions. A constant pace. Stocking had to keep repeating the prayer, and tried to let it become a routine, a rhythm. But her eyes kept straying to the church.

Inside, Brief was quickly tiring. He could invent useful gadgets, and decently weird his spear because he had been in fencing lessons once upon a time ago. But he wasn't very athletic. Panty was breathing heavy beside him as well, though she had been fighting longer than he.

"Would've been nice," she wheezed, dragging him along as they rolled and dodged a few dive-bombing ghosts, "if you had more than ONE of those purity balls."

"It's a prototype," he gasped, the sweat on his brow trickling into his wound and stinging. "I didn't even know if it would work."

"You have more faith than I do," Panty snorted. Brief stabbed a ghost through as she finished it off. The pace of the fight was tiring, but Brief had to admit he was actually too out of breath to even care about he and Panty's fight anymore. It made talking to her much easier.

"You're an angel," Brief said, smiling and then wincing as it pulled at his cheek. A cheek wound was a very inconvenient wound. "Aren't you made of faith?"

Panty snorted, and he could have sworn her eyes were actually a little fond. "You're such a kid."

Stocking was about a quarter of the way around the church, feet moving steady and breath moving through her body at the same rate. She could hear the rush and whoosh of ghosts inside the building, and it made her nervous. They were still very occupied, so Panty and Brief must still be alive and distracting. It wouldn't be long before Stocking was discovered.

One foot in front of the other, Stocking walked. One strike in front of the next, Brief fended. One shot before the one after, Panty shot. Two were getting slower, one was fighting to get faster, and the ghosts were ever constant. The fighting got dirtier, more desperate, as the ghosts began to feel the church seals awakening again. Contrary to everyone's assumptions, the ghosts did not flee the premises, or search for Stocking. Instead, they just got more inventive.

It wasn't long before furniture started flying at them, and when Panty was struck in the face with a giant-ass fridge, she realized the ghosts were really, really going to kill them. Mentally, she willed Stocking to hurry. Brief didn't have much left, and if he faltered, Panty would have to deal with this shit all by herself.

Stocking wasn't sure whether to be relieved or worried when nothing came for her. Past the halfway mark now, she kept walking in her wide arc. She was on the right trajectory, but she still had to move so slow, sprinkle the water, recite the prayer. If she lost even an ounce of her balance or cadence, she would have to start over. And she knew Brief and Panty would not live through this much longer.

Brief had taken to tumbling and deflecting now, too tired and winded to do anything else. He was dusted with debris, but his jumpsuit kept his skin from getting cut by all the sharp edges on the floor. They had to avoid falling into the foundation where the floor was missing, and had to be aware of the ceiling. It was all starting to cave in on them. They had all but lost their hearing from the insane sound of contained air, stirred and frothing from the dead. Panty could see Brief's ears were bleeding.

Stocking could see the end in sight as she moved, could see the start to her circle. She had but maybe twenty steps to go before she was finished. If they could only last that long-… please let them last that long. They couldn't be dead. They just couldn't. She would feel it.

The ghosts could feel it too – their ends were drawing closer and closer, and rather try to save their undead lives by escape, they instead settled on taking one of the living for their own. Better the angel, who irked them by merely breathing her light (as slutty as it was) into the world. They gathered, a directed wind blowing Brief back off his heels and onto the floor. His spear went flying, rolling, and so did he. By the time he was pushing up with his elbows, he could see Panty was cornered.

Stocking had ten steps left.

They say the world slows down when something important is happening, but to Brief it felt just as fast as everything always is. He couldn't hear anything over the roaring whistle in his ears, his vision tunneling as he watched Panty's gun get wrenched from her hands by the gusts, even as she tried to kill what she could in the meantime.

Eight steps.

Brief surged to his feet. Panty had done him wrong, and perhaps he had done her the same more than he realized. But no matter what happened, Brief wouldn't let it end like this. Panty was an angel – as far as he knew, that didn't mean she was immortal. He wasn't either. He wouldn't let her die like this. There was no time to look for his spear. Brief ran for her.

Five steps.

Her eyes were wide, blonde hair rife with bits of wood and paper. She was sitting in her sweatpants and her tank, looking lost as a child might. A brunt of wind tried to take him off his feet, but Brief bent low and kept sprinting against the gale. He needed to do this. Stocking would never forgive him if something happened to her. He would never forgive himself.

Three steps.

Brief called to her, reaching. The ghosts swarmed. He felt pressure touch his thighs, pain explode in a prickly star on the back of his neck.

Two.

Panty's hand was suddenly in his, and he pulled her close against him, trying to shield her. But he was only human, just flesh. Flesh that can tear, rip, wrinkle, and concuss. Brief felt his feet leave the ground.

One.

Stocking felt the ripple of the earth as the circle connected, sending out a wave of holy air that all but imploded every ghost from the inside out. There was an abrupt silence as the howling winds finally ceased, and then a violent clattering of various things dropping to the ground. Without the momentum of the storm, they were all sagging, crashing, thudding. Stocking's heart leapt to her throat as she darted into the church, and found nothing but wreckage.

"Panty!" she yelled, immediately listening for her sister. They had been in tight spots before, but nothing that felt as grave as this did. The creaking silence, grainy from shifting rubble, answered her. "Panty!"

Stocking began to advance, looking up and down and around for any sign of life. It wasn't until she stepped on something fleshy that she felt any measure of relief. That fleshy something cursed at her, slapping at her ankle. One sister gripped and raised another, and Panty groaned from the ache of injuries.

"Fuck," she said softly, rubbing one of her shoulders. Panty was tough – both of them were – but getting tossed like a doll while a building caves in on you is no picnic. "We're replacing that damn circle thing regularly from now on. Ghost pest control is a bitch."

Stocking's heart began to calm upon hearing her sister speak as she did, and she put a hand to her chest as she drooped. She couldn't be that hurt if she was already complaining about nearly dying. The warm feeling didn't last long. Stocking's head snapped up, body suddenly pin straight.

"Brief."

Panty managed to look both cocky and pale at once. "He's around here somewhere, relax." The cool confidence of that statement both soothed and worried Stocking, and Panty could see the feelings war on her face.

"C'mon, we've put him through way worse," she said, gently stretching out sore muscles and starting to poke around. "He's going to be fine, like always."

But nothing was like always anymore, Stocking thought. Nothing was. What had once been foolhardy and ridiculous was now very grim and very stark. Fights they had fought were silly, were dependable, like Brief had been. Today's fight had shocked everyone, and it had been not contrived and not plotted. It was an act of extreme hate, born of rage, and it had ended as violently as it had begun. Stocking thought of this, adrenaline making her shaky as she poked around under boards and broken furniture.

Perhaps the search would have continued in silent, dogged optimism for while. Perhaps it would have, if they had not heard Chuck whine.

A/N: Promise the next update won't be so damn slow LOL. At least not as slow as the last one. Thanks for reading, friends, weee~ *floats away*