Chapter Text
Meet Emily—your typical, cold open kill.
Pathetic whimpers mix with breathless, pitchy sobs that echo against rusted metal walls. The sound bounces from boiler to boiler, the pipes send the sound flying back to Emily’s ears. Sweat is pouring down her brow and nose, collecting in the crevice of her clavicle and dripping past her chest. Intense heat swells all around and makes her skin burn. Pure fear trickles out of her like the sweat clinging to her skin.
She runs, fast as she can, eyes scanning the walls for openings and exits. Without hesitation she turns a corner. All she cares about, all she prays to God for, is an exit. Somewhere, anywhere, in this hell-hole.
Instead of an exit, she finds a dead end.
Unable to slow down in time, she slams head first into the steel wall. Her forehead splits open with a crack. Emily cries out in pain and squeezes her eyes shut. Hot tears and the blood trickle down and over her upper lip. Head pounding, she slaps her palms across the steel wall, feeling for a door, an edge, an opening; anything.
All she feels is hot steel.
“No!” Emily feels her throat tighten, and a sob claws its way out, “No, no, no, no, no!"
She tries to ignore the throbbing headache that's blooming inside her brain but the hissing steam and clanking metal all around her only makes it worse. Eyes blurry with dizziness and tears, Emily turns and presses her back to the wall, sliding down it in defeat. Unable to contain it anymore, Emily wraps her arms around her legs and begins to sob.
“Emily…”
Hearing her name she opens her red, swollen eyes. He's found her again. His voice growls, “Are you hiding from me Emily?”
Now she can see a shadow stretching across the wall, and she screams, slamming her palms over her ears as metal whines. Her sobs only worsen, and she crawls pathetically into the corner. He's getting closer, and she can finally see the twisted face of the man who's been stalking her nightly.
“Leave me alone!” Emily screams. It sounds more like “Le-he-he-he-aeve me-he-he ah-ah-lo-oh-ohne!” as her voice buckles and caves. Metal claws twitching with excitement, the man—no, the monster—chuckles darkly.
“What’s wrong?” He steps closer, nostrils flaring. She smells like cheap body spray and pure, delicious fear. “Are you scared?” His footsteps are quiet, but his presence is strong. Now having closed in on her, he kneels down slowly, and holds back another laugh as she pathetically shields her face with her arms.
It hurts him to laugh these days.
Emily is babbling now, unable to coherently think, speak or act. A charred hand shoots out and shoves her arms aside. Rough fingers catch her chin and force her face in his direction. Able to see every detail, her warm brown eyes exposed to violent bright blues, Emily lets out another sob. All around him the scent of her fear strengthens, and he feels a tingle and a rumble deep in his hungry gut.
With a Cheshire grin he slowly points a claw towards her forehead, which only draws out more fear and more sobs. Planted firmly on her skin, he drags the blade down, relieved and excited to find contact. A red line follows the claw, blood gushing from it as it trails down to her chin. He stops, and pulls back to admire the art he’s created. Ribbons of red split off in every which way from the fresh cut, creating a web of blood on her face.
“Please,” Emily’s voice has begun to crack and die, it's nothing but a pathetic murmur now. She seems to blink in and out this reality, going from a solid figure to a translucent ghost. All around her is a glowing pink and yellow aura. It's blooming brighter, and with a snarl he spreads his claws, nodding vigorously. He can’t wait anymore; not at the risk of her waking up.
“Since you asked so nicely...” He croons.
In one violent thrust his claws move upward, their tips bursting through the underside of Emily's chin and reappearing through her screaming mouth.
Hot blood sprays his face, he licks his lips to get a taste. He pauses, listening as she gurgles, before yanking his claws free. The ligaments of her jaw tear with the sheer force and it dangles, her eyelids twitching in pain. With just enough energy left he draws his arm back and thrusts forward again, his claws breaking the skin and erupting from the back of her neck like spikes driven through dirt.
A weak gurgle escapes her dying throat. Blood bubbling out like a broken fountain pools on the cold floor. He watches with satisfaction as the colorful light around her is eaten away, bit by bit, seeping into his own deep black aura. His eyes close, he hangs his head back, enjoying the rejuvenation.
Of course, it won't last.
With a huff, he yanks his claws free again, and the body drops to the floor. Fair hay blonde hair is tainted red, and the body blinks in and out of the dream for a few more seconds, before disappearing entirely. Emily had been a decent catch, but not enough. She'd last him a few days at best, and who knows when another one would so easily fall into his lap? He lifts his claws to his lips, and eagerly licks the rest of Emily's blood from them.
He inhales sharply, feeling tired and pissed off; no, Freddy Krueger isn't feelin' like himself much these days.
Never one to admit defeat Freddy scowls at the spot where Emily once laid. This is bullshit. He'd once been an apex predator, his name on billboards, on the tongues of horror horny teens and tee shirts. The name Freddy Krueger meant somethin'. He was more than a nightmare, he was a legend. A God-damned celebrity. He had his own TV Show for Christ's sakes and now?
Nothing.
All because someone had to go and fuck everything up. Take away his shot at a comeback. Burn his franchise to nothing.
Freddy curls his left hand into a fist; he isn't going to be a joke anymore.
Jason Voorhees is tired, too.
He has always loved walking through the woods. But it's different nowadays. Over the years animals have grown less weary of him, and he's come to love the sound of birds singing and the different insects that hum along. It gives him a peace he hasn't known in years. And although he knows he should be scared he's going to disappear, he does his best to keep moving forward.
He isn't alone, after all.
Mother's voice whispers to him as he strolls, reminding him of what a strong and special boy he is. Things will be alright, she says, he will just have to push on. Giving up is not the Voorhees way of doing things and he wants nothing more than to keep making her proud. But it's getting hard. He finds less teenagers nowadays, and when he des, he has a harder time keeping up with them.
Before he could just will himself from one place to another, but even still his legs were strong and could carry him a great distance in little time. He was fast, he was strong, and he felt alive.
Lately, his legs move slow, one of his eyes has closed and he can feel his body rotting more and more. People are forgetting him.
Jason stops walking—someone is watching him.
Slowly, he turns in a circle, trying to find the pair of eyes hiding in the woods. All he can hear are the same old woodland animals going about their day. Normally they went quiet when something new and unfamiliar came around. But they are unbothered.
Jason... a voice echoes in his head, a familiar voice that immediately fills Jason with unbridled anger.
He could ignore it, he doesn't want to talk to him, but Mother urges him to go. She seems to know there is a reason for this.
Standing still Jason stares off into space with his one good eye, allowing himself to go into a trance.
Almost like he's dreaming.
Michael Myers has made his way inside the young girl's house, and is waiting for her inside the laundry room.
So many others like him don't understand that patience brings greater rewards. Too many are quick to kill but Michael understands that the wait gives him more than the kill itself ever will.
In the past there was never a need to rush, but this isn't the past. He can't take his time the way he used to. Maybe it's risky, to still wait when a good kill is right there, but Michael prefers to take his time.
Upstairs the shower stops running, the old pipes moan loudly before going silent again. Above his head the floorboards creak as the girl paces around. He can picture her now, wrapped in a bathrobe with a towel on her head, searching for face or hair products. Per her routine, it was only a matter of time before she came down to drop her towel in the laundry basket. Maybe even put a load in since she was already down there.
The footsteps tread down the first set of stairs, and then he hears the creaking steps coming down to the basement. The girl flicks on the laundry room light, and is already pulling her towel off as she enters. She doesn't even see Michael standing there until she flips her head back up, wet hair smacking against the back of her neck.
There's no time for her to process the Shape before her, for her to gasp or scream.
Michael drives his knife forward, straight into her gut. Tan hands shake and the girl gapes at him in a silent scream, eyes trailing down to stare at the blade in her abdomen. Michael pushes the blade in deeper and cocks his head slowly.
Weakly she tugs at the knife handle, a poor attempt to free herself from the blade. Her jelly legs wobble and although they give out under her, she doesn't fall to the floor. Instead she hunches over the blade, groaning loudly as it tears her up more. Finally Michael slides the now red blade free, and watches her collapse. There's no need to move the body before her parents come home; there won't be one anymore. If he were to go out into the living room and gaze at the family photos hung up on the wall, she'd be slowly disappearing from them.
Energy rushes into him, shades of green and pink, and Michael lets out a heavy sigh.
Michael...
Normally Michael wouldn't have paid the voice in his head any mind. After all, he knows who it is. He's never paid the Dream Demon any mind. But the Dream Demon wouldn't be reaching out just to say hello. Michael stands still, eyes staring at the wall but not really looking at it.
He does this long enough until he's entirely in his own head.
Neither Jason or Michael expect to see the other standing there; their paths crossing is a rarity.
Understanding they have both been summoned, each become wary in an instant. What was the plan, here? Jason looks at Michael, expecting him to make the first move. Michael does the same. Before either can, they hear footsteps on the grated cat-walk above. Both look up.
"Surprised you two actually came..."
Freddy appears in front of them, taking advantage of his dream walking abilities. Jason immediately glares at Freddy, his chest rising and falling with angry breaths. Freddy ignores the urge to roll his eyes, he's too tired to care about their canonical hatred for one another.
"I know we aren't exactly pals, but I couldn't think of anyone us to...help me."
Freddy nearly chokes on the word.
God, this is not how he wanted to do this, but it's obvious two of them are weak, too. He can see it in their muted color palettes. Freddy grits his teeth before forcing himself to continue.
"Clearly none of us are feeling' our best. We're barely gettin' by and you know whose fault it is?" He pauses, mainly for dramatic effect. Of course neither slasher responds to him. He sneers, "Theirs. It ain't just legal troubles...it ain't just Hollywood Executives. They came around and fucked everything up for us. We were on top of the world and now? We're fightin' 'em for scraps. It's pathetic. We're pathetic." Freddy motions between himself and the other two with his gloved hand.
Neither reacts, they just continue to stare.
Freddy continues, "But we don't have to be. I think...if we, work together...we can be back on top." It's a long shot, and he despises the idea of it, but Freddy knows getting 'em involved is the only way this will work. He can't do it alone. Not when he's like this.
"I have an idea, something' that can give us the push we need. Then, when we're good n' ready, we can get rid of em'. Make em' pay for taintin' our reputations and puttin' us on the back burner. We'll be the only ones again. We'll make the whole damn world worship us again. Waddya say?" Freddy asks, watching either killer, looking for any discernible reaction.
It's painfully quiet and Freddy almost screams at them to speak or leave. He's risked a lot of energy reaching out to 'em, and if they're too stupid to even listen, he'll-
Michael nods, so quickly Freddy almost misses it.
Jason sees it too, and makes eye contact with the Dream Demon. Freddy is the last person he'd ever consider trusting. But Mother is here, too, and she seems more curious than on guard. After all, Freddy looks weak. He looks like a weak, sad, old man. Jason inhales, and as he exhales slowly, he nods, too.
Freddy has to hold back a smirk; this might be easier than he thought.