Chapter Text
Pounding. Deadeye's head was pounding, echoing around his skull with every beat of his heart, a painful pulse.
How odd.
He didn't remember drinking before he fell asleep. Or doing anything before sleep, really. Groaning quietly, he attempted to sit up, only to realize he was already doing so. The movement meant to bring him upright almost sent him, bound to the chair behind him and all, sprawling across the floor.
He righted himself, cursing under his breath.
Deadeye Detective forced his eyes open with surprising difficulty, focusing foggily on a teacup barely in his field of vision. It took him a moment to register where he was, barely able to concentrate on the table through his pain.
"Innovator," he muttered bitterly. What made him come back to this method? He had thought their talks were much more polite.
He looked across the table, expecting to see the tall, lanky man.
He wasn't there.
That was nothing like Pernicious Innovator. All manners and grace, the member of the Scoundrels was always there to greet his "guests". Deadeye's temple twinged, and he winced, thought crossing his mind. Perhaps the headache was due to a larger dose of the drug than he was used to, intended to keep him out until his "host" returned.
Did he even get home last night?
Probably not, which means that he was wearing the same suit as yesterday. That would have pissed him off, or maybe even disgusted him, festering in yesterdays grime, if he could concentrate enough on anger. As it was, any excessive thought was making the pain worse.
Deadeye’s vision swam, but his eyes could make out a note in front of his face. He ignored it for now, letters blurring too much, and tryied to wrap his mind around an idea for escape. His ankles and wrists were securely tied to the chair, but maybe he could find a way to saw through the rope.
He skimmed around the room, his eyes finding nothing of use. He reluctantly settled back onto the teacup, its companion, and the teapot. Deadeye knew it was all porcelain, Innovator would have it no other way. He was picky about his tea and the fancy containers it went in.
The tinkling of shattering porcelain made him flinch, and he looked at the door for several moments to see if he had been heard.
Nothing. Deadeye returned to his plan, glancing at the ground. There were a few big enough pieces that Deadeye could use to saw his hands from the ropes and, ignoring the thought warning him from falling over onto the broken cup and hurting himself, he lurched his chair over to the side.
When he hit the ground, pain shot up his arm. The blood and the tearing noises ensured that this suit was in fact ruined. He felt a few, almost powdery, pieces dig into the side of his head, and a couple scratches marred his face when he fell.
Deadeye clicked his tongue, irritated, and scooted the chair through the mess to grab one of the larger pieces in his hand.
He began sawing through the rope, the porcelain slipping through his hand a few times, scratching his hands and wrists. He eventually worked his way through, and immediately bent over to free his ankles from the chair legs.
He stood up, his vision blurring for a moment. He steadied himself on the wall, trying to shake the wooziness from his brain. After taking a moment to clear his head, he took a step forward, hearing a ripping noise under his foot. The note. Deadeye snatched it up, skimming through the opening lines of pleasantries to the main point:
Innovator would be really pleased if he would stay put.
“I’m sure.” He plucked out a piece of porcelain from his hair, wincing at the hot, pained, trickle joining the rest of his injuries. Great. He’d need Scout or Demoman to patch him up, assuming they even-
Right. He turned back to the letter, and would have continued to read from if at that moment, he hadn’t heard a noise from downstairs. He folded up the letter, tucking it into his pocket and, stumbling slightly over the mess, pulled the chair that was opposite of him over to the door. He propped it under the handle as he heard feet stomping up the stairs, then crossed over to the window quickly and hurled it open. He heard the door handle jingle and then a fist hit the door, frustrated.
“Innovator!” Came a yell from the other side of the door. Oh. It sounded like Scofflaw. The reminder in his head that Peccant Scofflaw was dead came through quickly, but he ignored it as the pounding got louder. Didn't seem very dead to him.
Scofflaw would get frustrated and break down the door soon. He tuned out the insistent pounding.
Deadeye eyed the ground below him. He could climb out the window, it was only perhaps two stories up, and he saw a simple way down that he could probably make. Probably. If he could focus enough on the handholds.
He looked at his hands, propped on the sill. All four of them. Six?
He tipped, almost falling out before catching himself clumsily on the sill. Frustrating.
Deadeye turned around, closing the window. He righted his chair and picked up a pastry from the mess all over the ground.
The moment he sat down, the door had a hole blown through it.
He picked a piece of cup from his suit, barely glancing up as the man who made the hole burst in. Scofflaw looked angry as hell, and shocked.
“Hello.” Deadeye said, gesturing to the ground. “Pastry?”
“No.” Scofflaw looked Deadeye up and down, the look of anger on his face slightly dimming as he grinned. Deadeye wasn’t a fan of the glint that came into the other leader’s eyes as he continued speaking. “You look like hell. Innovator?”
“I assumed.” Deadeye replied, shrugging. He tore a piece off of the pastry, and watched Scofflaw out of the corner of his eye. Scofflaws eyes scoured the mess on the floor-and obvious escape effort Deadeye had tried to perform-with an air of amusement.
Deadeye’s hands shook almost undiscernibly as he forced himself to eat the pastry slowly, as if he wasn’t worried about Scofflaw being here, or that he was injured and couldn’t see straight. He knew if Scofflaw attacked him right now, he would be dead in seconds. It was difficult enough to survive the Hero of Pulchritude on a normal day, at Deadeye’s full strength.
He was surprised when Scofflaw pulled the other toppled chair from the ground and sat directly across from him. He was staring right at Deadeye, expression excited. Deadeye didn’t like that. The things Scofflaw got excited about were rarely a good thing for anyone else.
“How long have you been locked up in this tower, princess?” Scofflaw asked. Deadeye bristled at the implication.
"I suspect a day, at the most,” He replied coldly.
“Oh?” Scofflaw's voice was shadowed with mirth. “Only one?”
Deadeye stared at him, putting his pastry down to his lap as smoothly as he could. Which wasn’t very smooth at the moment, all things considered. “You obviously want to say something. Get on with it.”
“You’ve been ‘missing’ aboooout, say, a year?” Scofflaw revealed with glee, air quotes and all.
Deadeye blinked. “That’s not possible.”
Scofflaw shook his head, ignoring Deadeye’s reply. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this. Of course Innovator would hole you away before shit hit the fan.”
Shit hit the fan? “What. What happened?”
Scofflaw inspected his hand with a huff. “Shouldn’t have punched that door, ah well. They really could have used your help. It may have made them last a few seconds longer.”
Deadeye felt a chill creep over him. He opened his mouth to reply, but snapped it shut again. The Meddlesome Company. Knowing Scofflaw, they were dead.
“What did you do?” He snapped.
Scofflaw chuckled. “I-”
Scofflaw cut off as Innovator burst into the room, looking pale and out of breath.
“S-Scoff. What are you d-doing here?” He asked. Innovator looked downright panicked. More so when he almost tripped over the discarded rope and porcelain on the floor.
“I have more right to be here than he does.” Scoff gestured at Deadeye, who snorted.
“You don’t even have the right to be alive.” Innovator shot him a look that screamed “be quiet Deadeye”.
“L-look. Can…I think we should t-take this outside.” Innovator said to Scofflaw.
“No.” Scofflaw put up a hand, leaning forward. “Tell me, Detective, why don’t I have the right to be alive? I’d say I’ve done damn well more than you have to earn my place.”
“Let’s change the subject.” Innovator tried to cut in again. Deadeye ignored him.
“You know very well why. You played dead. Very convincingly.”
Scofflaw quirked an eyebrow. “Changed my mind. Innovator and I should go talk. Now.” He nodded over at Deadeye as the two left and Innovator waved a hand at him, surrounding him with purple magic.
Deadeye thought the restraint was highly unnecessary, given as the moment the two left the room, he slumped down in his chair. The loss of blood combined with the lingering drugs finally overtook him.