Work Text:
The old, cobbled streets of Teufort were slick with mid-December slush; that kind of icky half-snow that served as nothing but an inconvenience for the residents. The ones that were left, at least. The city had been small when Erik had lived in the area, but since the issues with the Respawn machine, it had almost become a ghost town. And now that the Mann brothers were six feet under, money all buried with them, Erik wasn’t surprised when he drove all the way to the bar without seeing a single soul.
Erik had left Teufort when Respawn had collapsed, and his job with it, and he’d hoped to never see it again. But his brother, Fritz, had stayed behind, running a clinic out of the old Builder’s League while the company faded into nothingness. And now Erik had to pick up the pieces.
An old coworker was waiting for him in the bar; Doe lacked his usual helmet, but Erik would have recognized the former soldier anywhere, especially among only a handful of others. Erik disposed of his hat and coat and slid into the seat next to him, then watched Doe continue to fiddle with his whiskey without noticing him.
“Mr Doe,” Erik said quietly, deciding to lead with politeness.
Doe flinched violently, nearly dropping his glass with the force of his surprise, and his gaze flickered over Erik’s face, only briefly meeting his eyes before dropping back to the bar. “...Dr Ludwig,” he replied, gruffly. “I thought you were getting in later.”
Erik had never known Doe to be easily startled; clearly, he’d been more shaken by the events of a few weeks prior than he’d let on in his letters. “I sped a little bit,” he admitted with a shrug. “I wanted to stay ahead of the storm.”
“The storm,” Doe repeated, finally taking a sip of his drink. “Right.” He paused. “You should’ve waited,” he continued in a murmur. “Nobody wants to get stuck here under a foot of snow.”
“It’ll give me plenty of time to put Fritz’ affairs in order.” Erik shrugged again. “I don’t mind the cold, Mr Doe.”
Doe gave him an odd look, as if staring through him at something Erik couldn’t see. “It’s not the cold you should be worried about.”
“I’ve heard.” Erik glanced up, wanting to flag down a bartender, but they were nowhere to be found. “I didn’t just come all the way out here to gather my brother’s things, Doe. Your letters were vague, the reports even more so, and if you think—” He lowered his voice. “If you think for a second that I believe Fritz killed himself, you are a moron.”
Doe finished his drink and pressed his thumbs together. “It was a car accident,” he said hesitantly.
“Don’t lie to me, Mr Doe,” Erik snapped. “If it was a car accident, then why is BLU acting the same way they did when RED disbanded because of the first Respawn incident, hm? Why are all the files on my brother suddenly pulled from the system? Why are half the phone lines in this town cut? And if he was a murderer, as the newspaper claimed, then why, oh why did nobody arrest him at Archibald’s funeral?”
Doe shot an uneasy glance over his shoulder at the rest of the bar’s patrons. “I… don’t know what I can do,” he admitted. “I signed an agreement, if I want to stay with BLU—”
“Do you want to stay with BLU?” Erik demanded. “As far as I have heard, the rest of your team is dead, including the man who paid your salary. Why on Earth would you stay?”
Doe hesitated. His glass clinked against the edge of the bar as he played with it between his fingers. “I…” Then he pressed his lips together, not finishing the thought. “I hope you’re up for another drive. We’d better get there before the storm hits, if you want to see it.”
Erik didn’t bother asking what ‘it’ was. He fished his car keys out of his pocket and handed them to Doe. “Take me there,” he instructed.
Doe nodded, and they went out to the car together.
Doe was hollow-eyed as they turned onto the gravel road leading up to the old slaughterhouse. Erik had been there before, many years prior, back when the Conaghers still ran booming businesses in the area; he was expecting to find the building abandoned and run-down, but otherwise untouched. That was how the Conaghers liked to leave their things behind, like monuments to a better time.
Instead, he was greeted with hazard tape covering the old fence and a triple-padlocked gate—and behind it, the collapsed, misshapen husk of the Conaghers’ pride and joy. Erik got out of the car, unable to believe his eyes, and tugged on one of the padlocks. It held fast.
“There was a Respawn machine here,” Doe said, somberly, as he joined Erik by the gate. “You remember it. But they didn’t shut it down. And the Conagher twins—the BLU ones—were still using the damn thing. Kidnapped Archibald, and your brother’s friend Jeremy, I think. The details aren’t important. But this is where Fritz died, Erik. And… a lot of others.”
Erik stared at Doe. He was almost afraid to ask. “How many, exactly?”
“The Conagher twins killed Jeremy. Then Fritz killed ‘em both for that, I think.” Erik was aghast; not only was Doe’s voice even, but he was counting on his fingers. “We—I met Tavish, Mundy, Misha, ‘n’ the Pyro in there. All of ‘em died. The… and Archibald was killed. And Fritz. The Detective and I made it out.”
“And now the Detective is dead as well,” Erik murmured. “You poor man.” He looked back at the ruined building and paused. “But I’m afraid that I just don’t follow. If my brother died here on Halloween night, then how did he kill the Detective at Archibald’s funeral?”
“You know how the Respawn works,” Doe said, slowly. “Fritz was a corpse. Maybe his body didn’t stay dead, but this is where everything Fritz Ludwig died.”
“Strangely poetic, for you, Mr Doe.”
“We’re talking about your dead brother, and you’re complimenting me on sounding poetic? Get your damn priorities straight.” Doe stuffed his hands in his pockets, and when he exhaled, Erik could see his breath in the air. “They found the crashed car without anybody inside. Couldn’t track him. No idea where he’s gone now.”
“Was the Respawn machine at least destroyed?” Erik asked.
Doe gestured at the collapsed building. “I haven’t gone in to check,” he admitted, “and I’m not going to. It’s buried under a pile of rubble, at least—if you were a zombie trying to get out of there, you’d have a real tough time.” There was something about his tone that was off; it took Erik a moment to put his finger on it.
“Ah. I see what it is, now.”
“What?” Doe levelled a glare at him.
“Why you’re still here,” Erik supplemented. “You’re hoping that the Detective is going to come crawling out of that ‘pile of rubble’.” He made quotes with his fingers, referencing Doe’s use of the words.
“We’re going back to town.” Doe turned and stormed back to the car, a barely-disguised dark cloud following behind him, and Erik knew he had hit the nail on the head.
“As you wish.”
Erik visited Fritz’ clinic in the morning; it was no longer classified or under investigation in relation to Fritz’ alleged crimes, but it seemed that nobody had bothered to clean up the bloodstains. A shiver ran down his spine as he looked up at the jagged red letters on the wall— CONAGHER SLAUGHTERHOUSE, it read, and Erik knew it must have been what had driven his brother to his death.
And Doe had confirmed that Fritz was a murderer—of the Conagher brothers and the Detective, at least. Erik had been expecting Fritz’ crimes to have been entirely fabricated, but it seemed they were actually worse than the reports had claimed.
Erik sat down in Fritz’ chair, looking around at the few boxes he’d packed up, and his eyes found the bloody scrawl again. It must have been his mind playing tricks on him, but the longer he looked at it, the more it seemed like Fritz’ handwriting.
At random, Erik pulled open a drawer to distract himself, and blinked as a blue bottle rolled into sight. He plucked it out and read the label—it was diazepam, which Erik was familiar with, but the brand, Emesis, was new to him. It was empty, so Erik couldn’t inspect the pills, and he wondered why they were in Fritz’ desk instead of with the other medications that he would give to patients.
Unless Fritz had been taking it himself.
Erik placed the empty bottle on Fritz’ desk and contemplated it for a minute. Why Fritz would have been taking diazepam, he had no idea, and it certainly had nothing to do with what had happened on Halloween. Diazepam was basically harmless, even if you had some of the side effects.
When Erik got up, he gave one last look around the room, wondering if he was doing the right thing. If Doe was correct, then Fritz was still alive out there, somewhere—if Respawn-addled life could even be called that. But he was legally dead, and he wouldn’t be back treating patients any time soon, so Erik figured he was in the clear.
He piled two of the boxes into his arms and took them out to the car; the clinic was beginning to give him the creeps, and he didn’t want to stick around any longer than he had to. Luckily, he knew an extra pair of hands sitting around in the bar with nothing to do—and with any luck, Doe would spill a little bit more about what had happened at the slaughterhouse that night.
The revving of an engine outside his motel woke Erik up in the middle of the night, annoyed and bleary-eyed. When he threw on a coat and went to the door, he found Doe pacing on the other side, looking agitated.
“Ludwig.” No ‘Doctor’, no ‘hello’, just simply ‘Ludwig’ was all he started with. “Come with me. Now.”
“Where are we going?” Erik asked, closing the door behind him without a second thought.
“Back to the slaughterhouse,” Doe said. “I have to… it’s just… what you said, I can’t leave it there. We have to go make sure that damn thing is never used again.”
“I hope you have shovels,” commented Erik, getting into Doe’s car.
“Two,” Doe replied as he slid into the driver’s seat. “And there’s a enough C-4 in the back to blow that thing to kingdom come.”
“Guns?” Erik asked.
“Glovebox,” Doe answered.
Erik popped the compartment and found a single, beaten revolver with an engraving that had been scuffed to illegibility. “Just this?” he questioned, holding it up.
“It’s a good gun.” Doe shrugged. “And the last time I brought a bigger weapon, I destroyed our ride home.”
“Best not do that this time.”
They reached the slaughterhouse in record time, and as Erik leaned over to remind Doe that the gate was still locked up, Doe suddenly gunned it and slammed the car directly through the fence, landing them on the other side with a gaping hole behind them.
“Mein Gott,” Erik muttered, but Doe had already exited the car, and Erik hurried to join him. He pocketed the gun and was passed a shovel, which he hoisted over his shoulder. Then they turned towards the remains of the building.
Doe ran ahead of him—he seemed to know exactly where to find the Respawn machine among the rubble, and Erik just followed after, with one hand around the gun in his pocket. The clearest entrance was still half-buried, but they dug it out, and Doe pulled the door open, breaking through layers of rust and grime with a loud creak.
Underground, it seemed that most of the facility was intact, which spoke to the Respawn machine having not been destroyed after all. Erik clicked on a flashlight as they wandered down the dark halls, and he swung the beam around to study the details of this old, decrepit building.
“Down here.” Doe’s voice echoed eerily, and Erik suddenly remembered that this was a murder scene. He wasn’t one to be easily frightened, but he also didn’t want to become the slaughterhouse’s final victim.
The Respawn machine was battered and rusted, with its doors pried open awkwardly, but it was still there. A shiver ran down Erik’s spine at the sight of it, and he could sense Doe’s hesitance to go any closer. But they both pushed forward, and as they approached the end of the hall—
“Doe,” a voice rasped, and a figure lurched out of the shadow of the door. Erik drew the gun instantly and pointed it at the man’s head, but he didn’t pull the trigger. Not yet.
Because though he was sickly pale and bony, skin stretched over his face as if it didn’t quite fit right, Erik recognized the visage of the deceased Detective.
“You,” Doe replied, gravelly. “We’re destroying the machine. Get out of here.”
The Detective’s lips curled cruelly, and he looked directly at Erik. “You’re Fritz’ brother,” he identified.
“How do you know that?”
“You don’t look like the corpse that shot me,” the Detective answered evenly. “And if you don’t mind, I’m not interested in being killed by both Ludwigs.”
Erik slowly lowered the gun.
“You shouldn’t linger,” the Detective told them. “Give me the explosives, I’ll rig them.” He extended his hand.
Doe hesitated, glanced at Erik, and then gave the Detective the bag of C-4. “We opened one of the exits,” he told him. “Meet us at the gate.” Then he led Erik out as quickly as he could.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Erik hissed, as they were leaving. “You know that man. You know how he is.”
“Yeah,” Doe replied. “That’s exactly why I’m trusting him.”
They left the shovels by the entrance; Erik’s shoulder was aching, and something was screaming at him to get out faster. And just as they reached the car, it seemed his sense had been right—the slaughterhouse exploded, instantly engulfed in a burst of flames that poured light and smoke into the night sky.
Doe gripped the hood of the car. “He…”
The Detective cleared his throat, suddenly emerging from the corner of Erik’s vision. “You really didn’t think I’d blow it up while I was inside, did you?” he questioned. “I am not in a hurry to die again, believe me.” Then he extended a hand to Erik. “Now, may I have my gun back, Doctor?” he requested.
“Your gun?” Erik looked down at the revolver, then glanced at Doe. Doe nodded. “I see. Just don’t turn it on me, Detective.”
The Detective took the revolver and opened the door to the back seat. “Don’t get between me and your brother,” he said, “and I won’t have to.”
Doe dropped Erik off at his motel as the sun began to creep over the horizon, and without another word, he left town, Detective in tow. And Erik never saw him again.