Work Text:
It was unclear who woke up first but both of them weren't happy with the situation.
By the time Jacket regained consciousness, he saw that he was in a different room from the one he remembered. He woke up on a moth eaten couch with glaring white fluorescent light. The paint was peeling from the walls and there was a glass coffee table with a single radio on it.
He pulled his right hand and that's when he noticed the cold bite of metal on his wrist. He looked to his right.
He registered the person he was cuffed to before he even noticed the handcuffs.
Next to him was a young man, taller than he was with long green bangs that clung to his face. He was wearing a pink puffer jacket - he knew that jacket. He knew that face. In his dreams he swore that face was dead, he swore he remembered that face on the floor bloody and still.
'You.' He growled.
The biker from Phone Hom.
He was supposed to be dead.
Jacket got onto his feet, wrenching at the cuffs and trying to pull away. The biker stumbled forward but dug his feet on the ground to stop himself from falling. Before he had time to orientate himself, Jacket stepped forward and grabbed at the front of his shirt, snarling.
'What are you doing here?'
'What are y-' He paused, and his eyes widened, 'It's you.'
He was SUPPOSED to be dead!
He shoved him against the back of the couch, fist raised, his eyes burning with anger. The Biker was scrabbling to remove his grip, cursing as he could see that Jacket was going to kill him.
'Ksssht! Goooooooood morning, boys!'
They both froze, the biker roughly shoving Jacket away as he turned to the sound of the voice. Jacket did the same; he recognised the voice and suddenly it all came flooding back: the empty house on 24th Street, the traps, the person with a hyena mask.
'Oh! Have I caught you all at a bad time? Don't worry, I'll let you get back to that soon enough. But first, I’m sure you’re both wondering why you’re here.'
‘Mmmmm not really. You’re from 50 Blessings right?’ The biker glanced at Jacket briefly, ‘the both of you.’
Jacket wanted to say he wasn’t; it’s been three months since he had heard that name again. He had been done with it the same day he had killed Richter.
They’ve been very unhappy with your behaviour lately. Killing without orders? Ignoring our phone calls? 'You've both been very naughty boys, haven't you?'
'I don't know what you're talking about.'
The voice snapped then, and suddenly the room was filled with a loud shrill screech, 'YOU! YOU'VE RUINED EVERYTHING!'
Jacket glanced at Biker, he shrugged, ‘You can hire more janitors.’
There was an indignant huff. 'You almost don’t deserve this but-'
There was a click as a flap on the bottom of the door opened up and a hacksaw came sliding into the room.
'-A present. I’m sure you’ll both share it.'
Jacket made the lunge for the saw first, but he forgot how fast the biker was. Standing together this close, the biker made use of the handcuffs to pull himself forward - not to the saw, but to Jacket. Too focused on getting the weapon, Jacket didn't register what had happened until he felt the whole weight of a full grown man ram into his side and knock the wind out of his lungs.
He fell onto his side with a heavy thud, the biker keeping him straddled between his thighs as Jacket wrestled to get him off. Up close, he saw the way the biker's eyes flit to the hacksaw and he was prepared for the moment he tried to jump away from him, slamming his fist into his chest as he was about to push himself off.
The biker doubled over and Jacket flipped them over to lay several punches to his head. He didn’t need the aw he thought as he reached out to place his hands around his throat.
With all the strength he could muster, the biker bucked upwards. Stars burst across Jacket’s vision as both their heads collided into an unexpected headbutt. He swayed and fell back and he felt hands claw at his wrists and push him down.
He snarled, writhing under the biker’s grasp, trying to get some purchase on him but he was pushing his entire weight against him. His face dripping with blood, his one visible eye glaring at him wide-eyed and burning.
‘Fuck you!’ Snapped Jacket, 'If you hadn't messed everything up, if you had done your job like you were supposed to-!'
'You want to blame me too?' The biker grabbed his wrists and glared at him, 'Then maybe you should have checked that I was dead.'
He couldn't stop himself from flinching; that was a mistake. In that one second, the biker pushed his wrists backwards and kneed him deep in his gut.
Jacket choked and curled up against the impact. This time the biker didn’t try to run, he didn’t try to reach for the saw, instead he sat on top of Jacket and punched him over and over again and he didn’t stop until his knuckles were bruised and wet with both of their blood.
'You fight dirty.'
The biker smiled, 'So do you.’ He walked over to the other side of the table and picked up the hacksaw, pulling the handcuff across the table, ‘I'm gonna slice your fucking arm off.'
Jacket could have moved but he didn’t, he was battered and he didn’t want to waste what may be his last few seconds of energy. His heart racing, mustering as much breath as he could, as much energy to wait. He followed the biker’s movements as he lifted the blade and bit his bottom lip as he felt the serrated teeth pierce his skin. He didn’t flinch, he wouldn’t jerk away until he knew what he was looking for. A sign. An opportunity. He knew where the biker's attention would be and waited for the moment his gaze turned to the saw. That was when Jacket struck.
He reached over the desk and smashed his head forward onto the table, over the hacksaw and onto the edge of the handcuffs, so hard that the glass cracked.
In the biker’s daze, Jacket pried the hacksaw from his grasp and sat up, blood dripping down the metal of the handcuffs.
'You should've stayed dead the first time.'