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“Is he gone?”
“Yep!” Rose chirped cheerily despite the early hour. “And you're never going to believe this! His name was Alex Casey!” She was vibrating with excitement despite being questioned by the FBI.
“Seriously? And you're sure he's not just some intense cosplayer?” Scratch asked, looking up from his worn and intensely sticky noted copy of The Sudden Stop. On the table in front of him was a singing bass that still needed fixed. He'd been more distracted trying to listen in on their conversation than anticipated and hadn't really gotten anything done.
“Seriously! He showed me his ID to prove it! Gosh he even looks and sounds the part. Though, I always imagined a lighter hair color.” She sighed wistfully. “I need to tell my followers, they are going to be so tickled pink about it! Though I wish I had a photo…” She stopped, thinking, pursing her perfectly pink glossed lips. Scratch rolled his eyes.
“Right. I'm just going to stroll right up to the detective asking around about The Word and get some candids for you.” He flatly retorted. “Just get Illmo to do it, he's great at that sort of thing.”
“Oh! Yeah! He seemed to really like our Oh Deer coffee blend, Illmo can lure him in with that.” She clapped and immediately fished out her phone to frantically text the guy. Scratch shook his head but was stuck thinking.
Scratch had met Rose through her Number One Alan Wake Fanblog. Initially he’d thought about killing the plucky diner girl and wiping that infuriatingly positive blog off the face of the Internet, but she'd been so damn enthusiastic about being stalked and threatened by him. Almost no one knew that Alan had a brother, let alone a twin. She'd babbled about how she should have seen the snippets of foreshadowing in his books, mentions of evil twins and estranged family members.
They'd ended up talking about his books for hours. Despite his initial insistence that he thought his brother's books were dumb and bad she had somehow coaxed the truth out of him with pointed remarks. He’d not only read every one but had the hardcover signed editions and okay- yeah. It was kind of nice to be able to enthuse about the plot points and characters and Alan with someone who seemed to really get it. Bonding over a shared obsession.
He ended up letting her go, knowing she wouldn't tell anyone. What he didn't expect was for them to keep in touch. She was someone who saw right through him and decided he was worth talking to just for himself. Didn't mind him ranting about an unrealistic murder scene from personal experience or pointing out great places to hide a body. Someone who got almost as equally pissed when some asshole wrote a smear piece about Alan and offered to give him an alibi.
And then she connected him with a small group of other fans with loose morals and tight lips. Together they formed The Cult of the Word. Yeah, alright. It was more so a monthly book club in occult trappings with a special interest in detective novels and murder mysteries. But it was his, and he’d never had so many people he might even call friends before.
The bell above the door jingled.
“Oh! It's Alan!” She whispered loudly to him. “I’d better go get his coffee.” She left the employee room to him. Scratch was just brave enough to take a stealthy look around the corner. His brother was looking rough today. Bags under his eyes and a sour expression. Not unusual, but he seemed worse than normal.
There were three good things about working for Rose at her little diner. One was the company. The second was the money. Third, somehow the hole in the wall diner became a semi regular stop for none other than the other Wake sibling. He'd come by, get a bottomless lake of coffee, and stare at a pile of notes while occasionally making edits or adding to the pile. Often with his head in his hands. And judging by the look on his face he wasn't any closer to a breakthrough. Stuck in some kind of writers block, he heard. It was driving his brother up a wall. Part of Scratch wanted to help. Wanted to give him the inspiration he needed.
He couldn’t.
He didn't dare meet him in person. Rose never pressured him too much about it. Everything had always come so easily to his brother when they were younger, and Scratch had to fight to try and keep up. He felt like he'd never really gotten out of his shadow. Only recently did he become content with living in that shadow. Wanting to help his brother when the guy hit his only major hurdle in life? Where did that come from? He should be enjoying watching him stumble a little. But, it also meant a new book wasn't coming anytime soon. And every week or so Alan would come in looking just a little less happy.
Scratch realized he was scowling while chewing on one of his nails and growled at himself.
“Oh, poor thing. I hate seeing him like that.” Rose sighed, coming back by the lounge door. “Do you think that's why Casey was here earlier? Because Alan comes around?”
“Probably. If there's a rumor that someone who looks like Alan is leading a cult, he's probably looking into Alan for an easy answer.” Scratch huffed.
“Well, maybe he will stick around and investigate for a bit.” She optimistically smiled.
“Whose side are you on?”
“Oh relax.” She playfully winked at him. Something must have caught her attention and she was off again. He didn't like some agent poking around him and his brother, but the cult itself would be a dead end. A false lead. As long as he didn't slip up.
Alan was probably going to be, or already had been, interviewed. He wondered what Alan would tell them. What the agent might tell Alan. If they had already looked into his own records and tried to figure out where he was living. Fuck. He really couldn't focus today. The cult meeting was tomorrow and he liked to be prepared.
Alright. Well. It's not like he had much else to do this evening or tomorrow. If he was careful he could do a little light stalking without being noticed to put his mind at ease. Alan was usually too lost in his own head to notice, and no one ever mistook him for his own twin somehow, so a couple touristy effects and he'd be good to go.
Easy peasy.
He finished fixing the fish but had to wait until Alan had left to change the light bulb in the bathroom, so he just cleaned up around the office. A news broadcast came on over the old tv mounted in the diner with a news woman recapping how Alan had broken a nosey reporter's nose just yesterday. Scratch wished he could have seen it. Someone had probably posted it online where he could find it later. The sound switched to an infomercial, meaning Rose must have changed the channel, but it was too late. He could hear the slide and rusting of papers of his brother cleaning up and thanking her for the coffee. He was out the door.
Scratch sighed, deflating a little without his brother there. God. He was a bit pathetic, wasn’t he? Couldn’t stand to face his own brother and yet obsessing over him. Unable to get him out of head. He’d sure as hell tried too, for a good fistful of years. Left home and explored the country, doing his own thing. It had maybe almost worked until his brother became a bestselling author with his Casey novels. By the third and fourth book fans were on the edge of their seats and Alan started getting more interviews. He’d watch every one. It wasn’t so much the questions and answers as it was seeing how he was doing. Alan was almost always a bit nervous. He’d never taken to the spotlight well. By the time Alan had published The Sudden Stop Scratch had given up trying to avoid whatever this was and moved to New Night Springs to follow his brother. It had sure worked out in his favor.
Alright. Better finish the rest of the maintenance work Rose had for him today so he could go watch his brother and see for himself what was going on.
—
It happened so fast. Scratch was left wild eyed and adrenaline fueled, and not in the way he liked.
One moment it was a cheery afternoon. Scratch was getting some Alan watching in before getting ready for the cult meeting tonight. Alan was fidgeting and looking nervous again. He’d noticed that yesterday. He kept glancing around as if expecting to see something, causing him to be a little more careful about tailing the author, but he never seemed to be spotted. Was he waiting for something? Was he spooked? Alan spent most of his time at home, holed up at his office, but today he had been out picking up groceries and alcohol.
From down the street, leaning against a bus stop casually until he would need to move again, Scratch could see the exact moment a van’s doors were flung up and Alan was yoinked right off the pavement and into the vehicle. Groceries and all. He started jogging to catch up or intercept but the driver took off just as he started to close in. The license plate had been duct taped over and despite a few odd glances no one had seemed to even notice the writer being kidnapped.
Fuck fuckfuck-SHIT. He needed to find out where they went and fast. He couldn’t lose Alan like this! He broke into a sprint for his motorbike, knowing he didn’t have much time. He’d left it a full block away at this point and there was every possibility he could lose the shitty van if he wasn’t quick enough. And he knew he was lucky it was even that close.
His chest was heaving from the flat out run but he wasted no time unlocking his bike and speeding out onto the road in the direction the van went. Every second he didn’t see it felt too godamned long. Time stretching like a rubber band about to snap. He was going to snap. One way or another.
Whatever forces blessed his existence let him catch sight of the tail end of the ugly van in an alleyway squeezed between a dumpster and a couple of pallets leaning against the wall, confirmed by the duct taped plate. It was a half decent hiding spot, not good enough for long term though. He had to wonder if the vehicle was stolen and it was planned to be left here. No time for that line of thought.
He saddled up as near as he could to see the van was empty. He had to leave his bike to investigate. An opened pack of zip ties sitting in the passenger's seat. A few specks of blood on the beige back seats. Groceries carelessly on the floor. He growled. They’d walked somewhere. Where? A building nearby?
Wait, he knew where this was. If he followed the Alley he’d come out near an old hotel with a sad, mostly unused subway station next to it. He knew those tunnels like the back of his hand and they were excellent for hiding things people didn’t want found. He still needed a clue to point him in that direction though, over any other lead. He found it in a small smear of blood on the corner of the brick work leading out of the alley, nearly invisible. Fresh. Two pairs of shoe prints left by trekking through a puddle. One with a normal gait and one stumbling and uneven. Sloppy work. At least he knew Alan was still alive, being coerced into walking to his grave.
He jogged down the leaf littered and garbage strewn stairs to the landing and through the terminal. A couple of people looked at him oddly. He stopped to ask if they’d seen a guy who looked like him being shoved along, and which way they went. They pointed him down to the left. He thanked them and kept jogging. He had to stop and fish out his flashlight before going much further, the looming darkness of the unused tunnels eating up the few maintenance lights that hummed this close to the station.
Even if he checked a couple extra tunnels he should catch up with them eventually as long as he paced himself. It was hard to tell how far the kidnapper would want to take Alan until either killing or keeping him there. Scratch wouldn’t allow that. If anyone would be killing or keeping Alan captive, it would be him. That kidnapper would be killed for this. He couldn’t allow him to live. He seethed with obsessive rage, trying to ignore the building fear the longer he went without seeing Alan. He should have caught up by now, shouldn’t he? Did they take a different path somehow? Did he miss them? He was starting to reach the stranger parts of the tunnels where even he didn’t come too often. Places long abandoned. Where the air was stale and the occasional dripping of water and echos of his footfalls and breathing were overwhelming.
He stopped, straining his eyes, trying to control his breathing. Ended up putting a hand over his mouth to stifle the sound, thinking he heard something. He did. His head snapped in the direction of the noise, further down the tunnel. Softening his footsteps he moved as fast as he dared.
Come to think of it, this was the perfect room for a weird ritualistic murder. A little natural light filtered down from somewhere high up above, massive reinforced concrete pillars stretching into apparent infinity supporting something up there. Dim, quiet, hidden away.
The writer was duct taped and gagged to the massive stone slab in the middle of the room, concrete support pillars framing the scene. The kidnapper’s back was turned. Monologing. Spouting something about how Alan's writing was changing reality, and he needed to be stopped before nothing was how it was supposed to be. Blah blah blah. He had a knife. It was being raised above his head in preparation for the plunge. Scratch saw red and black. Visceral seething hatred like a storm cloud bubbled over. Alan was HIS.
The man didn't even notice Scratch stalking forwards. Confident and silent through the shadows as he had plenty of times before. A knife cut deep through the flesh of his throat the same moment Scratch grabbed the scruff of hair and yanked it back to create the opening for himself. Blood splashed over his hands and onto the stone altar, hot and slick. The slip resistant handle grip was putting the work in. As the man gurgled and choked, abruptly struggling for breath and life. Scratch rode the high and stabbed him again and again, making sure he wasn’t going to do so much as steal another glance at Alan.
He was laughing as he let the sorry sack of useless flesh finally drop to the dirty concrete. It felt so good. That bastard wasn’t going to have Alan. Not anything anymore. He absentmindedly pushed a stray hair back with the back of his bloody hand, smearing blood on his face. Still high on the bloodlust he looked down at his brother who stared owl eyed and disbelieving up at him. He was an absolute sight too, splattered with blood and tied up for him. A gift to be unwrapped. Scratch kicked the fresh corpse out of the way so he could rip the duct tape from Alan’s mouth. He knew there wasn’t any kinder way to remove it, even as Alan jumped and whined at the pain, tears springing to his eyes. Utterly adorable.
Scratch crashed their lips together immediately afterward. He hadn’t even realized how much he wanted this until he was doing it. Alan was his and safe and it had been so so long and he needed to show him he was safe and loved and his and- Fuck. Fuck fuckfuck. The taste of blood in his mouth helped pull him slowly out of his daze. Still half stupefied he looked down at Alan's face, which was somehow even more baffled and wide eyed than before but now with a smear of blood around the mouth and in his whiskers from the sloppy relieved kissing. Shit.
Spend almost a decade avoiding all of this only to dump his load within a minute of meeting Alan face to face again. He might as well have walked up and said “Hi! I love murdering people and I’ve also always been weirdly into you.” Way to go. He grit his teeth and stumbled back a couple steps. Deep breathing, count to five just as Rose sometimes suggested. He couldn’t leave yet. Alan was still tied down. Leaving him here would be a death sentence. He flipped the knife in his hand and used the built in seat belt cutter to rip through the duct tape and zip ties, hauling Alan up into a sitting position while trying and failing to squash the butterflies threatening to choke him.
“S-scratch? Is this real?” Alan finally asked shakily. He even remembered to call him by his preferred name instead of that shitty rhyming twin name their parents gave him.
“Yeah buddy. You just about got yourself ritually sacrificed where no one would find our corpse for months.” He explained, voice hovering somewhere between bitter and hysterical.
As soon as Alan’s wrists were freed he grabbed for Scratch as if afraid he might vaporize into smoke the second he took his eyes off of him. His movements were stiff and jerky. Probably the loss of blood flow from being tied up and cold ass wet cave air. Scratch huffed and massaged from Alan’s shoulders down to his elbows and wrists through his stupid plaid jacket to help him get feeling back in his fingers. It was indulgent, touching him like this.
“H-how?”
“I happened to be stalking you today. If I was any less familiar with these tunnels I wouldn’t have reached you in time.” He said dourly.
“O-oh.” Alan leaned into his touch, shivering. “Why? Please, why did you leave?”
“I figured you were better off without me. You had everything going for you, and I was just… holding you back.” Scratch wretchedly admitted. Ripping out a piece of glass he hadn’t even realized had been stabbing him for years. His hands stilled, fingers still loosely around Alan’s wrists.
“You don't get to tell me how I feel, asshole!” Alan cried out. His hands grabbed the front of his shirt. “You left, no way to contact you, and I had to suddenly learn how to exist without my brother! Wondering, night after night, if you were even still alive. If you would be able to contact me if you were in trouble and needed help. What made you leave.” His voice wavered, about to break. He looked up at Scratch with eyes shiny and wet. Scratch's heart was being ripped out with each word. “I kept getting these empty ass reassurances about how you would come home when you were ready. But you never did. And sometimes I would think I saw you, or heard you, but I couldn't stand to get my hopes up again and again.”
The tears were starting to fall. He slumped forwards into Scratch’s arms, burying his face into his cheap cotton shirt. Scratch wrapped his arms around the writer and held him close, fighting back his own tears from welling up. He was warm and trembling slightly in his hold. He smelt like sweat and sweet shampoo.
“Please. Please. Please don’t leave again. I know I could survive, but it hurts so much.” He begged. It twisted the knife deep. Alan had looked happy without him. Moved on. Made news and made money. Unlike Alan, Scratch had been able to keep tabs on his twin. Did so religiously despite not intending to.
“I'm here. But if I stay I might- fuck. I’m not a good person, Alan.” He stressed.
“You don’t have to be.”
“Listen, will you?” He cupped his brother's face in blood stained fingers. “It's so hard to be around you.” Alan's big blue eyes searched his, distraught. Pained. Despite being twins Alan's eyes had always looked prettier. It ached, seeing them again. “God, the things I wanted to do to you. I hated the way everyone looked at us. At you. I wanted to keep you all to myself. You would have hated it.” The words tumbled out more accidental than purposeful. Alan bumped their foreheads together, noses touching, breath ghosting his lips. They were both quiet for a long moment.
“So, do you you want to kill me or fuck me?” He asked without wavering. So, so close that he couldn't help stealing another kiss. Alan was free to push him off, he expected the rejection of his sick desires. He didn't expect to be kissed back. For Alan to put his hands around him and pull him closer still. Pressed into each other. He isn't sure which of them made the needy whine. All he could do was hold the object of his obsession and try to convey a decade's worth of affection with every lingering moment.
“Fuck.” He breathed, stealing air between kisses. Unintentionally answering the question.
“I’d never known you to hold back from anything you wanted, before.” Alan snarked, but with how breathless he was there wasn't any bite to it. Scratch kissed him again to make him be quiet.
“I couldn't stand the thought of you being so disgusted with me.” He admitted, again. Alan was pulling words from him like teeth with pliers.
The hands shifted, tugging him forward as Alan leaned back on the stone altar. Prompting Scratch to shift, finding a comfortable position straddling his brother's thighs. He looked up at Scratch so open and wanting, blood smears decorating pink stained cheeks. Eyes dark with how much they were blown. He shifted his hips against his brother, trying to relieve the pressure in his pants, find something a little more comfortable, and oh. Oh. They were both getting really worked up by this.
Alan made a little gasp as Scratch rolled his hips against him more purposely, making sure he could feel it. His brother still wasn’t telling him to stop even as he worked a hand between them to feel that hardness under his fingers. Alan's breath hitched, fingers kneading into his hips. Asking him to stay put. With that encouragement Scratch popped his belt loose and undid the zipper. He wasted no time pulling Alan's cock free. It was hot and hard in his hand, making Scratch moan just feeling it. Just knowing he did this to him. Seeing it all flushed with color and pants framing a small portion of his balls. Damn. Now this was art.
“Scratch- scratch c’mon-” Alan grabbed at his belt, unable to get a good angle with his hands in the way. Scratch stroked him just once before relenting. Just so he could see how badly the other Wake wanted this. Alan's shaky fingers at his buckle with his pretty cock bouncing between his hands as he worked was admittedly a good fucking sight. And then Alan's hand was on him, teasing his length and punching the breath out of his lungs in the process.
“Christ-! Got those skilled writer fingers huh?” He panted.
Alan pressed their cocks together, making them both shiver. Scratch managed to get his hand back around Alan’s so they could both stroke each other while watching. Matching each other’s speed. Exploring. That didn’t last long. They egged each other on until they were both panting and squirming and moaning, stroking fast and hard. Wet with pre. Their free hands clawed at each other desperately.
“Scr-ah-tch please-please, I want you- I… fu-ah-k!” Alan whined breathlessly, almost hard to hear. But Scratch did hear. And the edge of pleasure stabbed him hard in the gut, making him growl out Alan’s name as he bowed over his brother, cock jerking in his hold as he came. Making a fucking mess over him. Claiming him. Owning him. His.
Despite cumming so quickly he didn’t have time to be dissatisfied with himself as Alan followed him right after. He looked so beautiful, sweet noises being wrenched from him as hot cum splashed their fronts. Feeling the pulse of his brother’s cock in his hand with every jolt. Scratch drank it in like it was everything he’d ever wanted.
Scratch only withdrew when Alan did, wiping his hand on his pants and catching his breath. They watched each other, not yet breaking the peace. Scratch brushed a stray hair out of Alan’s face and carefully got off of his brother and the stone slab. His knees weren’t happy with him, but who gave a shit. Alan rolled himself up back into a sitting position, squinting at the corpse at the foot of the slab with an unreadable expression.
“Do-do we need to do something about that?” He asked.
“We? No, no. I’ll get it handled later. We probably need to change our clothes and get cleaned up though. What, do you recognize him or something?” Scratch tucked himself back into his boxers and made sure his pocket knife was safe in his pocket. That was going to need some real cleaning. Other pocket, phone. He took a glance at the time and missed texts and grimaced.
“No, not really. What? What is it?” Alan asked, looking anxiously at him and edging closer to him.
“Nothing. About to be late to my own book club. Don't you worry about it. I’ll let them know to go without me.” He grumbled. He should probably text Rose back sooner than later. A surprised chuckle made him look pointedly at his brother.
“Sorry, just. You run a book club?”
“Yeah, the big bad boy that kills people and rides a motorcycle also reads books. Laugh it up.” Scratch huffed, trying to play it cool. He kicked the corpse lightly with his boot.
“Uh- hey. I mean. I-I don’t want to be alone right now. A book club sounds really safe and normal. We’re probably going to be super late and not be able to make it but I have so many questions! I want to know everything you’ve been up to. Who all your friends are, when you first killed someone, where you’ve been-” Alan was getting lost in his thoughts again, asking a dozen different questions before Scratch could say anything. He rolled his eyes affectionately and ran a hand through his brother’s hair before helping him to his feet.
“If you hurry your ass up we shouldn’t be too late. I have a stash around here somewhere we can use to clean up.”
“You keep stashes down here?” Alan asked, curiously looking around. The body should be fine where it lay for at least the rest of the evening.
Scratch texted Rose that he would be late but might be bringing a special guest. She key smashed excitedly at him. Thankfully the stash he hit up was well stocked, and Alan let him dotingly clean the blood off of him. He managed not to get overly distracted by his pretty face, instead basking in the euphoria of just having him here, touching, talking, being. Positively drunk off of it. They swapped out Alan's shirt and jacket for a new plain t without the blood and cum stains, shoving the old one in the box to be taken care of later. Mostly blood free, they continued on.
The maze of musty concrete passageways winded this way and that, the glow of a flashlight making the shadows stand in stark contrast. To Scratch, it was familiar. Safe. A bone deep satisfaction warming him. Alan clung to him the whole way, jumping at shadows. He let Alan hold his hand so he couldn’t get lost. Satisfying to have his brother’s softer fingers in his. On that note-
“Hey, see those triangles there?” He pointed the flashlight over to a small pair of triangles at the foot of the wall at a crossroads.
“Yeah?”
“If for some reason you ever get lost down here, you can follow these back to a subway entrance. This one means take a left. If both triangles point up, go forwards, both pointing down turn back, so on.” He informed. He couldn’t let Alan get lost or hurt in his own domain again.
Scratch stopped at another stash to change, his brother unabashedly ogling him the entire time. He was allowed to show off a little. He had a little bit of muscle definition from his odd lifestyle, unlike his writer boy twin. For the last touch he pulled on a deer mask. Chuckling darkly to start getting into character, he turned and motioned to Alan to offer him an identical deer mask. Despite the dubious look, Alan put it on. Was it wrong to get butterflies from seeing Alan in the dumb cheap deer mask? Just another way his brother was made his, now.
“We're about to get into the more lived-in section of the tunnels, just keep your head down and follow me. No one is going to bother you, especially wearing this.” He told him. The cult had a reputation down here and Scratch liked to keep it that way. The amount of graffiti grew, more trash piling up as they reached the tunnels proper. It was a long ass walk to the meeting place, and even that was out of the way from a proper subway entrance. The guy who was going to kill Alan definitely knew his way around. He’d scouted these tunnels before. And Scratch hadn’t even noticed.
He shoved open a gate and led him past a small camp and into the now abandoned Shrine St. Station. It was perfect in all the ways an abandoned subway station could be. Pool of stagnant rainwater, a little natural light from grates high above, a perfectly adequate amount of rats, and just enough air being filtered out that it didn’t smell too bad. He could see the red glow of lights set up in the back.
“Almost there.”
“Wait, you host your club down here?” Alan asked, taken aback.
“What? It’s slightly better than a sewer. It has its charms.” He shrugged.
Down the way and across the tracks he could see the gate had been opened and propped with a brick, snippets of voices and laughter trickling down to them. Strings of lights had been hung and placed in such a way to give it an eerie look at a distance, walled off with chunks of corrugated metal braced up against the fencing to keep anyone uninvited from watching the proceedings. But closer? The main area was reasonably lit with warm hanging lights, metal stools and pop up camp tables in a loose setup in front of a podium with fresh occult graffiti decorating the wall and floor. Soft music played over a little shitty speaker. It was cozy. It was as close to home as he’d had since leaving Alan.
There was a loud whoop as his presence was noticed, followed by a few cheers. He put his hands up, letting everyone welcome him in before motioning them to quiet down.
“We’ve got a fresh face with us here tonight. Please, give him a warm welcome.” He announced and waved Alan in behind him. The poor author nervously waved, steps unsure like a frightened deer. There was a babble of welcomes from the part. Illmo approached them with a can of beer for each of them, Jakko trailing behind him to hear the news. Those two were plenty recognizable despite the deer masks and thick jackets they wore. Scratch took his and watched Alan gingerly accept the can held out for him.
“I heard you had some trouble, but it looks like you got that sorted?”
“I might need a little help cleaning up later, but I took out the trash.” He smugly reported.
“Allllrrrright, but you’re going to owe us one later.” Illmo relented good naturedly with a sigh. Those two were surprisingly efficient at hiding bodies. Maybe that's why he liked them so much.
“It looks like we aren’t the only twins in the cult anymore.” Jakko observed, sipping on his own beer.
“Holy shit! You-” Illmo cut himself off and clasped his hands around Alan's free hand, giving him a firm handshake. “It's very nice to meet you.” He said solemnly.
“Uh, right. Likewise.” Alan managed to answer evenly despite the look of utter bafflement half hidden by the mask he wore.
“Oh. M. G!” A familiar squeal let them all know who was jogging over, hair bouncing. “You're here! You're both here! I need all the details about how that went. Gosh.” Rose fawned over them and sighed dreamily.
“R-rose?!” Alan blanched with recognition.
“Oh, we don't use our names here in the cult hideout, silly.” She said as if it was obvious. Scratch probably should have told him about that.
“Whyyyy is this a cult?” Alan looked to Scratch in desperation to understand. Illmo burst out laughing, and Jaakko chortled with him.
“Don’t mind them. Welcome to the Cult of the Word.” He presented dramatically, spreading his arms to show off the room around them.
“What the fuck.”
Despite Alan's reservations, he found a seat while Scratch gave the opening speech for the monthly meeting. Sitting down to let everyone in the circle introduce and talk about their book he put a (hopefully) comforting hand on his twin's thigh and smiled softly at him. Alan was nursing his beer and starting to relax as yeah, despite the trappings of a cult this was a mostly normal book club meeting. A cooler full of beer and a tray of cheese and crackers and an odd group of friends sitting around and chatting.
Rose had a short story she was working on about saving a cute writer boy from a hoard of zombies. It was a little confusing but her enthusiasm was heartwarming. Cynthia had another one of Tom’s poems she wanted to share. She always did. Mulligan expressed supreme disappointment in a book he'd read this month. The cult wasn't very big. Just enough people for a fun time without it getting too loud, too out of hand. He'd helped a couple of them hide a body before. Now that was what he called friendship.
The circle passed until it was technically Alan's turn to talk.
“Would you like to say anything?” He prompted. All of Alan's talk show training couldn't stop him from stumbling over his words.
“Oh! Um, ah. Gosh, I don't think I've sat down and read a proper book in a while. I don't know what to say. I'll take suggestions?”
“Really? Why’d the Devil bring you if you don't do much reading?” Thornton complained. Or, it sounded like complaining but that's just how Thornton was.
“I'm uhm. A writer. I write books. Guess I haven't been doing much of that lately either.” Alan tried to joke but it just sounded sad.
“You need to allow yourself to take a break and relax young man.” Cynthia shook a finger at him sternly. “No use pulling water from a dried sponge, you gotta let it soak. With a good book, perhaps.” She sat back satisfied. “Now, what sort of genres do you like?”
Alan ended up with half a dozen recommendations. People usually brought their books in to be shared or loaned around the circle, so he had his pick of what he might like to borrow. Scratch assured him he could take anything, he could return it at the next meeting if he didn't want to come.
With the formal sharing done, casual conversation was stuck back up. More snacking and drinks.
“You might wanna dip your feet in the pool over yonder, or find a little mud to splash on your pants. It's not so noticeable down here but under good light someone might notice the blood.” Mulligan advised while shaking Alan's hand. His brother froze like a deer in headlights. Jake Fischer came by and clapped him on the back.
“First time?”
It was heartwarming to see his brother and friends getting along so well.
Before long the hour rolled around where Scratch had to give a final small ‘thank you for coming’ speech and choose their word of the month. Rose suggested love, and despite Thornton’s grumbling that's what it ended up being.
Cult members slowly filtered out, finding their way back up to the surface. Rose bounced up and hugged him before excusing herself for the evening, she had to help Cynthia get back home. Scratch had to stay to help take things down. The chairs and tables were left as they were, but the lights needed to be put back in the lockers along with any books that had been left out.
“Oh my God. My brother runs a fucking murder- book cult.” Alan muttered disbelieving to himself when there was just them and the other twins left. Scratch was setting the locks again.
“Technically it's just a completely normal book cult.” Jaakko drawled reassuringly. “It just happens that most of the members have also killed someone before.” He followed up.
“That's… not as reassuring as you think it is.”
“Oh. Whoops.” He didn't sound particularly sorry.
Scratch gave Illmo the codes for which tunnel he left the corpse in and which boxes he'd used on the way here earlier. Illmo diligently made a note of it and smiled softly at him.
“Well, that's not the worst place to leave a body. Go take care of your brother, he's probably still shaken up from being kidnapped. We’ll handle everything else here.”
“Thanks. You know how to contact me when you need to.” Scratch nodded. With that weight off of him he walked over to his brother and took Alan’s hands in his own. In the darkness he couldn’t see his pretty eyes, which was a shame. He leaned in close.
“Alright, let’s get going. Your car is still back at the diner, so let me give you a lift.”
“Where do you stay? I can come home with you, or you can stay the night with me?”
“Aw, don't want to take your eyes off me? Well I don't think you want to stay down here. I guess your place is fine. Let me grab a couple things first.”
“You live down here??!”
Alan let a small pleased humm escape him as he stretched and pulled himself towards wakefulness. He was less pleased as the warm body in his arms tried to extricate itself from his heavy limbs. He tugged his brother back to him so he could bury his face between soft shoulder blades and take in a deep breath of his brother’s scent.
“I have to piss.” Scratch’s voice was thick from sleep, his complaint a whine.
“Just a couple more minutes. S’not my fault you’re so comfortable.” Alan bemoaned. Really, this was the best sleep he'd had in years. He ran his hand over his brother’s bare stomach, feeling the hint of toned muscle under skin. Scratch huffed, but ceased trying to crawl out of bed for the moment.
There was never a point in Alan’s life that he thought they’d end up like this. He couldn't say he was disappointed. Not even in himself, anymore. Barry and Alice might. His best friend since fourth grade had once said his brother wasn’t so much a red flag as a stop sign. Alice seemed, at least, artistically interested in him. With how both Alice and Barry never quite got along because of their possessiveness over him, he couldn’t entirely be surprised they were a little weird around Scratch.
After a few minutes of comfortably sleepy morning quiet his alarm went off, making Alan groan before rolling over to make the damned thing shut up. Scratch took advantage of the moment to get out of bed and make for the bathroom, but not without giving Alan a quick kiss on the lips. Like clockwork their morning routine unfolded from there. Scratch read the news on his phone while he got the coffee brewed and Alan managed to put some simple eggs and toast together for them.
“God-fucking-damn sensationalist garbage.” Evidently something was particularly irksome this morning. With the way his twin was glaring at his phone the poor thing might catch fire any second. Alan draped himself over his brother’s shoulders while keeping an eye on the eggs to see what was up. Scratch scrolled back up so he could look.
“Honestly, I expected an article like this to come out sooner. They were really slow on the uptake. Must be because I haven’t published in a while.” Alan noted. It wasn’t unusual to get something like this. Still sucked, but there wasn’t much he could do about gossip mags gossiping.
“They’re saying I only came back because of the money and wanted to leech off your fame.” Scratch sneered. “Bad influence. As if.”
“Guess some things haven’t really changed huh?” He reflected sadly, prodding at the eggs. It wasn’t all too different back in college. Everyone always thought Scratch was the bad boy, the evil twin, the psycho oozing charm but no special skills or smarts. And so everyone seemed to conclude he was the nice twin. Bookish, soft hearted, talented, going to really make a name for himself when he started publishing. Being taken advantage of by his brother. Things could never be so black and white. They were more similar than they were different. “They will see what they want to see. But we know it isn’t true. And our friends know, too. Besides, most people don’t read that crap.”
Scratch gave him a quick peck on the cheek in thanks and seemed a little less murderous by the time breakfast made it to the table. A little buttered bread could ease most moods.
“So, are you still planning on killing the author?” He asked between bites of toast. Scratch still looked cutely embarrassed whenever Alan brought up anything related to him being a serial killer. Which he did. Often. Having a murderer on hand to ask questions was just such a great writing resource! And he wasn’t shy about giving graphic answers. Some things would need to be dialed back a bit for a book, but it was all good to know anyway.
“I’m still thinking it over.” His brother admitted. “They might be lucky, though. With the Cult meeting coming up tonight I won’t have much time to dwell on it.” Alan smiled behind his coffee cup.
After breakfast Scratch had to be off to his day job, fixing up a couple things for the Koskela twins today. Alan still didn’t like seeing him go. A background irrational fear that he might up and leave again. His brother’s favorite way to reassure him seemed to include pinning him against the wall next to the door and kissing him dizzy, which seemed like a fair trade. He knew this wasn’t exactly what people meant by ‘brotherly love’, but at this point he was so far past giving a shit.
With that, he was on his own until it was time to make their way down to the station in the evening for the ‘cult’ meeting. Alan cleaned up the dishes and walked to his office. He had some ideas to finish roughing out to try on his test audience tonight.
Scratch brought home something quick and easy for dinner to celebrate, followed by ‘dessert’, and then finally getting packed to go. Manuscript pages, flashlights, and deer mask all tucked securely in his messenger bag for the trip. The evening was still warm, starting to cool.
Unlike the last time, being forced to stumble through long shrouded tunnels while bound and gagged, he was descending into the darkness willingly. Surprising himself in how much he was looking forward to it. His brother held his hand as they walked down secret paths and donned the deer mask of the cult. The abandoned Shrine Street station might not have changed, but it felt different now. He could take in the details knowing he was safe. Unlike last time, they were here early instead of late. Meaning they had to open the gate and set up the lights.
Partway through setting up they were joined by Illmo and Jaakko, whom Alan had met officially a couple of weeks back. Illmo was trying to talk him into a merch deal with a special limited edition coffee based on his Casey book series. He'd never had an easy time making friends, but those two were charming. Maybe one day he could consider them good friends. They helped get everything ready by the time everyone else started showing up.
Rose was easily recognizable, even outside of her diner uniform. He still didn't know most of them. He supposed that was kind of the point. A book club where part of the appeal was the anonymity and cult aesthetics. It was strange, no doubt, but oddly charming. He'd been deeply flustered to learn it had been partially inspired by the cult in one of his Alex Casey novels. And everyone in the circle had read his books. He wasn't sure if that was Scratch's doing or Rose's. Thankfully the others weren't the pushy sort. Even a polite, well meaning question like 'When should I expect your next book?' had a weight that had only pulled him deeper under the waters of his writer's block. He was still healing, not yet ready for serious writing, but working on smaller projects just for himself.
There was casual chatter for awhile, everyone catching up with each other. Getting their snacks and drinks. Finding seats. He cracked open a ginger ale and settled in to see how Rose’s zombie apocalypse romance panned out and what everyone else had brought. He gave Scratch a pat on the back as he walked up to the pulpit-esq stand (how had they gotten that down here?) to give the opening talk and crack a couple of jokes.
Partway into the welcome speech there came a shout from the doorway.
“Freeze assholes!” Casey spat, gun drawn on Scratch. Saga came in right behind him, tight lips with caution and also holding her gun.
“Masks off.” She ordered the collected group.
“Saga! Casey!” Alan cheerfully greeted, taking his mask off.
“Alan?” She said confusedly. Casey was observing their little set up with a scrunched face. He hadn't seen either of them since they had a few questions for him last month which -oh. Right. They had been looking for a cult that might have been responsible for a few murders, hadn't they? Well, they hadn't found the wrong group, but he wasn't about to hand his brother over. Best for him to pretend like he doesn't know anything about it, this was just a book club after all. He carefully got to his feet, drawing some ire from the grumpy detective.
“Hey! You know how I said I had a brother? This is him! We've finally found each other!” His enthusiasm made her let down her guard, at least, if not put away the gun. He moved the few feet to put an arm around his brother, who was grimacing about having to reveal his face. As if everyone here didn't know already who Scratch was.
“Uhm. Hello?” Saga tested the words, eyes glancing between the two of them.
“What the hell is all this?” Casey finally asked, looking at the pile of books on the table.
“Welcome to the Cult of the Word!” Scratch dramatically started, only to flatly deliver the second half. “We read, review, and trade books.”
“It's a book club?” Saga asked, trying to understand.
“A secret book club!” Illmo pitched in. “I mean, what sort of cult calls itself one?” He laughed. Casey groaned in defeat, finally starting to relax. “Exactly.”
“Couldn’t you book nerds set up anywhere less fucking creepy?” Alex Casey complained, turning around to take in the full scene with a less hostile air.
“That would kind of defeat the point.” Jaakko dryly pointed out.
“So it's a creepy secret book club on purpose.” Saga summarized. “Cute.”
“Thanks.” Scratch rolled his eyes.
“Do you… want to join us for a bit? We only just started.” Alan asked them. Casey groaned again, throwing up his hands in dismay.