Gabriel Reyes isn't.
In a kind of way, he supposes it makes sense. It was his own damn fault and so here he was, steel beam through his stomach, burns across his body, tearing him into pieces. His throat is raw, the pain has almost faded because there is so much. He can't scream, because what good will it do? He's happy, he thinks, that he has lived this long without feeling this kind of pain. Oh god, the pain.
Dios Mio, he has never.. Blood and guts fall out of him like pennies out of a pouch and his only thought is why have I not died yet. Why. The choking air should have killed him by now, with the fiery searing heat of the metal around his broken form, his hair half burned off from the initial blast. He's seen greater men die from less.
What had they done that let him suffer like this? What had they done to them? Morrison.
Please let Morrison be dead.
Please let Overwatch have died. If there's nothing else, he wants this to mean something. Oh god, the pain. He's going insane, blood dripping from glass shards embedded in his legs. Broken bones. Escape routes closed off by fire. He can't crawl, either. His guns had been left behind, and they were the only option for getting out of this.
If he does survive, it's not going to be in a state he wants to live in.
So when he sees the god forsaken light coming, shining off the rubble, he screams.
No, please. Let me die. His vision swims, he twitches, and the wings of light reach him.
"Let me die." He asks. Pleads. Her staff, soot covered and chipped, comes to rest in front of him.
"Helden Sterben Nicht!"
Reaper is.
Chained. He opens what could be called eyes, peering through the hollow holes in his new face. How uncomfortable it is to be back in this skin again. The malice burns and he searches for a kill tool. As usual.
The room is barren. Steel, chrome, with a table and mirrored walls. He's chained to the chair. They rattle but do not give.
Ah, yes. The pain's back. Almost missed it.
Where..?
Click. The door opens. A beam of golden light slides against the floor, shifting until it hits him in his shadowed slumber. Gah.
A shadow passes in front of him and the door closes again. He blinks.
"Why, howdy."
Could it be? The ragged teen.. Now, man, who stood there was cocksure and grinning like a scoundrel, brim upturned and gait lopsided. He had no revolver. His now-adult face was ringed with a roguish beard and stubble, but there was something about his eyes that reminded Reyes of the brat he had known.
"Well, well, if it isn't… Clint Eastwood." Reaper's voice was nails on chalkboard. He reminded himself that he usually spoke in a whisper.
"We can call each other names all day, partner. Fact of the matter is that we got ya, dead to rights. And we got your pals, too. Smurfette ain't sayin much but the hacker ain't too good at resisting.. pressure."
"As I expected." His blood was boiling.
Mccree scratched his chin.
"You know, it took four of us to put you under. Four. When we tried to take the mask off, what we saw wasn't a pretty sight. What in tarnation happened to ya?"
Mccree turned around and faced away, his arms folded.
"Really, I've had a suspicion bout who you are. Were. Ain't that right, boss? Ex-boss."
Reaper had to pause. Mccree wasn't going according to plan.
"Do enlighten me, agent."
"You're the guy who trained me to kill. Your fightin' style.. It reminded me of somethin'. Someone. I mean, it wasn't too big a leap of logic or anythin', but I reckon guys who wear black and use two shotguns aint too common."
McCree bit on his cigar, turning around and placing his metal hand on the table.
"'specially after Angie said that one traitor Gabriel Reyes survived that devastating explosion back at base. Now, where would he go? Disturbed and full of malice, where would a traitor go? To the competition." McCree grinned.
"Well done, you connected the dots. We'll see about getting you a coloring book next, Peashooter."
McCree laughed.
"You know, I had a lotta respect for you, back then. What are you now, even? Wearin' a silly costume like some common varmint, goin' around, killing some folks? You used to be all about savin' lives. Teamwork. Hell, I'd even say.."
Jesse took a seat. Reyes met him, eye to eye.
"You were better at commanding' us than Morrison. Sure, he was optimistic, but you understood all of us better than he could. You knew that most of us had done some pretty shady things back in the day, and you let all that slide. I had a lotta respect for you."
"Thanks for the compliment. Of course, won't change anything when I fill you with bullets, but I'll remember this conversation."
McCree sighed and pulled out his cigarette, extinguishing the smoke with the cool metal of the table. "Just bein' honest. Honesty's a trait all too rare in these days."
He tilted the brim of his hat.
"We're thinkin' about just killing you and bein' done with it all."
"Please do. I'd really appreciate it."
"Ya know, it scares me that I don't think you're lying about that."
Reaper growls. Yes. He lets that annoying, itching, needling malaise of what was and is no longer seep into his soul. Aches in his legs, in his arms, in his throat. Dust unsettles.
"I'll make no secret that my existence hurts me. Wounds me. It's the kind of pain that makes me want to kill. Why do you think... I do what I do? Even now, it's an ever persistent reminder of what people have done to me.. in my life."
"You all never did treat me like I deserved. Like I was truly… helping, the way I knew I was. I was always the villain."
He laughed.
"If I was always the villain.. Let me be the villain."
McCree scoffed, gritting his teeth and narrowing his eyes.
"There ain't no reasoning that allows a man to hurt innocents. The Reyes who taught me about the duty we have to the world would have known that. But turnin' coats like that must've changed ya."
"That Reyes is dead. You're alive. There's a problem there."
McCree stayed silent.
"So… Where did you go?" Jesse asks.
"To Hell."
And then, McCree looked away. For a while, there was a pregnant pause in the air, only the heavy breathing of the wraith and the sizzle of the cigarette offering any sound. In the hallway, there was an undercurrent of muffled conversation.
"Mercy's gonna come in and check on you. See what.. This all is."
Reaper shook. Something dark occupied the spot where Reaper was chained, wisps of midnight smoke trickling out of his prison, colder than death. The chains rattled, and McCree, for a second, widened his eyes and reached for his belt and the spot where Peacekeeper usually rested.
Finally, a rasp.
"If, even for a moment, that woman lets her guard down, no matter how many sedatives and restraints you put on me…"
His eyes glowed with malice.
"I'm going to reach around her neck and tear her throat out."
McCree narrowed his eyes yet again, and tipped his hat.
"I'll keep that in mind, scum."
And then he left.
"Kid, you'd better make sure your aim isn't the only thing you pay attention to in the battlefield."
Jesse darted his head to his left. He damn near jumped out of his skin. Reyes perched on the bench, eying the teenager. Simple combat gear and his typical black jacket.
And, in a second, Reyes had his hand around Jesse's throat. Hard glove, kevlar enforced, constricted his throat, strong fingers entrapping his neck. For a second, he choked. And then just as quickly, the pressure slipped back into the air, and Gabriel stood, eye to eye with the younger man. Jesse coughed, sweat dripping down his temple.
"Keep an eye on your surroundings."
"You would be dead in any other situation. You're lucky I was on your side." Jesse glared at him.
Gabriel shrugged, taking a few steps back.
"Sorry, kid. But some lessons are best learnt the hard way."
"Alrighty, then." McCree shrugged. Gabriel raised one dark eyebrow. His beard twitched, with a shadow of a smile. He looked straight through Jesse, and the boy shifted uncomfortable on his boots.
"Not too bad a shot, though." He directed those eyes to ten meters in front of him, at the end of the room, where the ringed disks stood tall, save for the pierced spots along their centers where lead bullets marked the perfect accuracy of the six-shooter. "I'm decent."
"No, you're incredibly accurate. More than Morrison. More than me. More than Amari, probably. You have some skill with that gun." Mccree's face heated up slightly.
"Thank you. Sir."
"But that'd only work at range, isn't that right? What if someone with, say, dual shotguns, got up in your face and shot into your body repeatedly?"
"I'd aim for their face, sir."
"At that point, kid, it'd probably be too late."
Reyes tapped his temple with his finger. "Remember, strategy above firepower. You can shoot, but how can you get a clear shot at someone who is in melee range?"
McCree twitched. Was this a test?
"I could… stun them?"
Gabriel grinned slightly, his eyes trailing down to Jesse.
"You got the right idea, McCree. Ana might be able to help you with that."
"I'll talk to her, sir."
"You will, indeed, recruit."
McCree reclined over the counter, teeth sunk into a crispy apple. The sour juices trickled down his chin and he idly wiped them off with his poncho. The kitchen was loaded with snacks and foods of all varieties, courtesy of two over-affectionate women. The surfaces were crystal clean, streak marks of soap and dish cloth dotting each one. The granite underneath cracked occasionally, and Jesse traced along one such crack with his finger.
"Really." Gruff.
"Yeah."
"So. He's back."
"Ain't that a surprise." McCree tossed the apple into the trash can on the far wall, where it made a soft thud.
Morrison darted his eyes to the noise, before easing his muscles. Leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, visor abandoned, his eyes drifting to the ceiling. Scars disturbed the commander's classic, golden, handsomeness. His face had long hardened, his lips set in a stony scowl. That cursed jacket hid blood streaked bandages, the jacket itself cracked and torn, but, day after day, fight after fight, still carrying its weight. The immense burden on the Soldier's shoulders had eased. Taciturn had become thoughtful, and grim had turned serious. Day by day, Jack Morrison was reincarnating.
"He should have stayed dead. I'll make him wish he had."
Light, feminine footsteps. "You are like little children." White jacket, blonde hair parted in the middle. Tied up. "Where is my coffee." She raised her arms.
"Angela, you remember what he did."
"Coffee." Imperious.
McCree grumbled.
"What?! You haven't made it yet? You boys are hopeless!" The edge of her lips rose, and her bright, wide eyes held far more mischief that you could think capable of a delicate little swiss doctor. "And mind your manners, Jesse."
"Angela, even you can't possibly think that Reyes deserves mercy."
"Deserves me? Hush, none of you deserve me." Jack rolled his eyes in a positively Hana-like fashion. Angela giggled. "You know what I mean, Ziegler. Not to mention he made a pretty explicit death threat to you."
"Reyes, Reaper, whatever he goes by now, is still the same man at heart. And he made one Holle of a mean omelette. Plus, his threat? I've heard worse from scarier men."
"Angie, darlin', he's killed dozens of people. There's no tellin' what he could do if he got free."
Angela took a moment, but agreed. "Yes, he has. But which of us hasn't? Apart from me, of course."
"I doubt Song has killed too many people." Soldier argues. "And half of all our active agents, really."
Jesse interrupts.
"I think we're all missin' the point a bit. Fact of the matter is, Reyes ain't who is in that room right now. We're lookin' at a whole new kind of beast. And whatever he's gone and done can't be judged on account of some good ol' fashioned nostalgia."
Angela was handed her coffee, and thanked Jesse graciously. Jesse blushed slightly and tipped his hat.
Taking a sip. "Evil or not, Gabe or not, I have a duty to my patient." Her eyes flicked upwards, and widened. "MM, I love your coffee. If you ever actually get around to making it, that is."
She put the mug down.
"Jesse, I want you to stay with me during Reaper's checkup. And keep your shooter on you."
"Ain't that against protoco-" Jesse started.
Angela nudged Jack, who shrugged idly. "Not having a weapon in there would be the dangerous option. I give you permission."
"But, why not inst-"
Angela gave him a deadpan glance. "Jesse, I know you hate wearing the hospital scrubs. So I'm just going to tell you, right now, that you do not need to."
"Oh. Right, then." McCree breathed out. Angela shook her head.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some preparation to do."
When the patient awoke, his chair had changed. He groaned.
"I have.. Never. Ever. seen anything like this."
He'd recognize that soft lilt anywhere, and that accent…
His eyes shot open and his eyes bulged, looking for that woman. And there she was, clad in medical scrubs, twinkling back at him from behind a bright light burning directly into his retinas. He groaned.
"Looks like he woke up, Angie."
"Of course he did. Gabriel, how nice it is of you to join us. The doctor is in."
He opened his mouth. Well, tried. His jaw was not cooperative.
"Sorry, Liebling, but you've got more anesthetics in your body than I actually had in my clinic at the time. I'm guessing that you are not be able to move, no? Better safe than sorry, I alvays say."
"So, what's his deal, Angie?"
"Please refrain from asking me questions at this time."
McCree deflated. "Sorry."
"I'm just kidding. Vell, the first thing I can identify is that… I have no idea what is going on."
"Oh."
"Not exactly. I'll explain."
"You don't have to, darlin'."
"Nonsense, how vill you learn anything?" And so Reaper saw McCree lean over to look at.. Whatever they were looking at. He, himself, was drifting on a piece of wood in a drastic ocean, tumultuous waves threatening to overturn his raft at any time. Pure rage kept him conscious. How dare-
"Wow, he has a small pecker."
Mercy laughed out loud. "You are so childish! Do not worry, Gabriel, your modesty is preserved. Jesse is just making his jokes as usual."
"Wasn't a joke." McCree muttered.
She then touched his hand. He felt it through the veil.
"See zis discoloration? This is dead cell matter, Jesse. But look, when I-"
"Oh my sweet Jesus, I didn't need to see that."
"But, see, it grows back? Truly remarkable. Of course, I have seen cell regeneration before, many times. But not… quite like this.."
"Yeah, it looks like what happens when you use your staff on a wound or summat."
"Caduceus technology. I think I vill have to consider, very carefully, what has happened to poor Gabriel and how to treat him. But, for the time being, I can whip up something that should calm him down."
Her form disappeared past the light, and McCree didn't move.
"Small world, eh? She wouldn't let us get rid of ya. Here's a compromise, though. She's gonna fix ya."
She returned, hand wrapped around a syringe. Could have been anything, but he guessed it was a syringe.
"There we go. Thank modern medicine for the fastest synthetic manufacturing in history. Small miracles here and there should do just fine. And I'll just…"
"So, what's that do, doc?"
"Essentially, it stops his body from killing itself. Well, slows."
"Ah."
"That wood make him feel less pain after the anesthesia wears off, but he would be able to move as well. In essence, he'll be more cooperative to whatever you boys want to do to him later on. Don't torture him, though. Please."
"Understood. Thank you, darlin'."
Mercy smiled, audibly.
"Still waiting for a thanks from the patient!"
'Thank You.' His brain whispered.
"Die." He rasped, his tongue half frozen but still able to shape that word he loved so much. Mercy rolled her eyes but McCree scowled.
"I'll put him under for a bit longer, I think."
And so he fell asleep once again.