A/N: October has finally arrived!

To get into the spooky spirit this year, I opened my inboxes across several sites (AO3, here, tumblr, etc) to Halloween/Autumn themed prompts from you folks, and you have certainly delivered! I have written up a few already, and I'll be working through more as the month progresses. Some of these one-shots will be longer and more in-depth than others as inspiration sees fit, so don't be surprised to see a chapter of 4k that is suddenly followed up by a 500 worder. A lot of these are wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am'ed out here, too, so you'll likely see some quick turnaround on a few. All inboxes are still open, so if you have more prompts, feel free to send them to me or leave them in the comments on this collection throughout the month!

We're kicking off the season with one of the prompts that absolutely melted my heart right off the bat here, courtesy of Psychromaniac:

Fareeha wants to have fun on Halloween, but there's not a lot in the way of celebratory Halloweeny stuff to do on base. So Ana has to improvise.

With that, let Octoberwatch begin!

It's a Thursday, and Ana is holding her daughter to her chest as she ignores the buzz of the phone in her pocket. It's been twenty minutes since she left and her voicemail is almost full.

It takes too long before she finally, finally makes it to the main road and stops. They hadn't followed her this far, and she knew they wanted to help, but (it's her child, and he's not here anymore to-) she didn't care. She couldn't care. There was nothing they could do, nothing they could say that could help her now. A gaggle of children bustles past her, and she watches them go, her face blank as they rush by. The sun had begun to set in earnest some time ago, and the little group tripping past her in their excitement are not the first batch of troublemakers she's seen sprinting down the sidewalks at this hour. There's a pile of cardboard boxes on one, a crude imitation of an omnic at play. The others, she can only guess.

Ana Amari holds her daughter closer as she shifts in her sleep against her shoulder, and she walks.

It's the last day of October, and Ana Amari takes the first steps into her new life, whether she's ready for it or not. They're steps in the wrong direction.

(She turns back a day later and is welcomed with open arms. His are not there. Her daughter had not left her own once.)

It's a Saturday, and she hasn't slept in at least two days. The pulled muscle in her shoulder still throbs, but the recruit she'd saved from a nasty fall in the field would no doubt claim it was worth the pain. They'd been low on biotics when they'd returned, and she'd willingly passed the chance up to save them for the kids who truly needed them. They'd lost more of their own than they'd taken down, those two days ago. The knowledge hurt more than the muscle ever would.

The couch cushions feel like heaven beneath her, but the pillow she's dropped over her eyes does little to block out the reason for her current lack of sleep. Granted, it was a reason she would never think to ignore.

"Mama, 'm sleep too."

Fareeha is four, and Zurich still has no idea what hit it. They'd known her all her life there, and she's single-handedly managed to charm the living hell out of almost all of them. Not a single veteran on base could say they hadn't been dropped into babysitting duty at some point in time, and not one of them could claim they hadn't enjoyed it, begrudgingly or otherwise. It took a village to raise a child, certainly. But it took a battalion the size of several international state-of-the-art peacekeeping facilities to raise an Amari.

Ana does not remove the pillow from her eyes, but lifts her pilfered blanket from her waist and pats the cushion beneath her back at her daughter's (demand) request. Fareeha had been with Wilhelm all morning in an attempt at giving her mother a chance to rest, but it didn't strike her as odd that she'd given the man the slip. Again. It had probably been during one of their frequent rounds of hide-and-seek. She'd have to remember to tell him to find a new game next time.

"Up you get," Ana murmurs wearily, ceding the battle before it even begins. There was no arguing with her daughter these days, and if she actually wants to sleep, then Ana isn't about to pass that opportunity up. There is a moment of scrabbling as Fareeha's tiny hands fight for a grip on the fabric, and then the telltale dip in the cushion that announces her success. A huff of air, and a gentle, warm weight settles in against Ana's side. The throw blanket drifts back down to cover her completely, and the giggle that it provokes is muffled as Ana buries her face in the hair on the top of her daughter's head. Even her flowery shampoo couldn't mask the smell of chocolate. Reihardt never could resist giving her the odd sweet here and there, but today, she'd let him get away with it.

It's October 31st, and Ana Amari wonders if it ever gets easier. It's not the first time.

(She stops wondering eventually. The answer has always been in front of her, and denial is not fit for a soldier.)

It's a Wednesday, and Ana hasn't laughed this hard since Liao lost Gabriel's bet their first year as higher officers and had to cross his eyes for the entirety of their meeting with the board of directors. Her daughter, her beautiful, strong little girl, does not seem to appreciate the reaction.

"Don't be mean!" She shouts, the scandalized tone doing little to stop Ana's laughter. But the choice of word is enough, and she forces herself to quiet down. A mother first, an audience second-

"I'm sorry," she says, careful to sound earnest, "but you must admit it has some…flaws."

Fareeha would shift uncomfortably if she could. But the mess of papers and choppy fabric she's cacooned herself in don't allow for much more movement than the amount of shuffling it took to get her here. The pop-up base of operations her mother had been stationed in was in California this time, and she barely knew their temporary lodgings well enough to struggle her way down the hall to plant herself firmly in front of Ana in the living room, eyes pleading for help.

"I know," she practically whines. Ana has to fight not to snicker again.

Fareeha is six, and while her mummy costume was excellent in theory, the practice was not so well executed. Ana had warned her to wait for her help, but if there was one thing Fareeha wasn't, it was patient. Ana hasn't quite lost her smile, and she sets the holo screen aside as she stands, twirling a finger in the air to get Fareeha to spin on the spot.

"It's not fixing itself. Turn around."

It's the day before Halloween, and Ana's work is not getting done anytime soon.

(It's the third and last time Fareeha has ever gone trick-or-treating on the streets. The pop-up base is all but blown off of the map within the next four months. The airstrike occurs three weeks after they'd been re-stationed to Colorado.)

It landed on a Monday that year, and Fareeha Amari was having a very, very bad day.

She knew not to expect anything by now. This wasn't the first time she'd been on base for a holiday, after all. And sure, there were the few odd decorations here and there, but this wasn't exactly the kind of holiday that had everyone dropping everything to spend time celebrating. She would approach this just as she had last year: as a mature, rational grown-up.

That didn't stop her from feeling somewhat bitter about it all the same.

But if there was one thing her mother was good at, it was detecting just that.

Ana had only just entered their shared living quarters, but she had already zeroed in on where Fareeha was waiting, staring over the back of the couch at the door. Her captain's hat paused midair as she went to hang it on its hook by the door, her eyebrow climbing as she stared right back at what little she could see of Fareeha's face over the cushion. She was dressed in her full regalia again, clearly coming from an early, early meeting of some import. It wasn't unusual for her to have meetings before Fareeha could even think to wake up now. Decisions had to be made, she guessed. Anything that required her to put on The coat seemed to be a matter of life or death these days.

The hat found its way to its hook, and Ana began to shrug out of the coat as Fareeha settled further down on the couch, her arms crossed over the top and her chin buried between them.

"What's wrong?" It's not much of a question from Ana, but there's a casualness to it that has never let Fareeha get away without answering truthfuly. That didn't stop her from trying all the same.

"Nothi-"

"Oh, no."

Ana emphasized the no as much as she physically could as she made her way to the couch, and she didn't give Fareeha a chance to try speaking again. As it was, Fareeha barely had time to scramble out of the way as Ana draped an arm dramatically over her own forehead and marked a steady descent onto the couch cushions.

"My own daughter, attempting a mood. I may never recover-"

Fareeha didn't so much as giggle as Ana flopped down beside her. Her mother was looking at her upside down now, but she seemed to notice the lack of reaction even from the odd angle, as she sat up on her elbows a second later, the crease between her brows appearing.

"Katkoota?"

The nickname did little. Fareeha simply sat back against the armrest, her arms wrapping around a pillow as she rested her chin atop it.

"It's the end of October again."

Ana sat up in full then, slowly turning to pull her legs up beneath her as she met her daughter's eye.

"It is," she said quietly, her arm coming to rest atop the back of the couch. She already knew the insinuation Fareeha was making. This was not the first time this conversation had been had, after all. "But before you say anything more, I've found us some pumpkins for tonight. Luis offered to cook the seeds after cleaning them for us." She paused, gauging Fareeha's face. "Is that alright?"

It wasn't much. But it's what she could do. The fact of the matter was that war did not stop for something as simple as a holdiay. What a different world they might have lived in had that been the case. Ana still had responsibilities, Halloween or not. If they needed to have The Conversation each year over, she would.

But this time, there was no conversation to be had. This time, Fareeha set the pillow aside and stood with a forced grin.

"Ok."

Ana said nothing as she watched her daughter head back towards her room. She knew that tone. She couldn't call her back now. She'd already put on her grown-up face, and she wouldn't respond anyhow. But just as she'd resigned herself, her daughter paused at the door, turning with some hesitation. Whether she wanted to speak or not, she blurted whatever was on her mind before she could stop herself.

"Iwasgonnamakethejetthisyear."

And with that, she ducked back inside of her room.

Ana's eyes remained on her door for some time after that. She had a meeting in the next half hour, and after that a string of sessions on the hour, every hour until long past the afternoon. Training to oversee, boards to be convinced, a budget appraisal plan to be rewritten-

She'd barely have time to herself before she'd be able to return home late that evening.

Ok, Fareeha had said.

Ana stared down at the cushion for several long heartbeats in silence. Her eyes found Fareeha's door again a moment later.

No.

No, it most certainly was not.

Ana's hat was on her head before she'd made it back out the door. If she was going to do this, she was going to do this right.

Commander Gabriel Reyes was an expert at conveying exactly what he was feeling in a single look. It only helped to have such a skill as a leader, and it was a trait most of the team was lucky to have. But none had managed to master the art quite so much as Gabriel. You're out of line. Get your ass back to the group. Tread carefully. They know, get out.

Or, in this instance, what in all everloving hell.

"Ana," he said, the disbelief already plain in his voice. She didn't let him continue the thought before she held up a hand, her own expression stern.

"Do not. You heard it right the first time," she replied evenly, refusing to budge an inch. "You're the only person I know capable of making it happen."

He just continued to look at her, the creases on his forehead multiplying as the seconds ticked by. It was clear he was busy, if the mess of cadets scattered across the field meant anything. He'd been overseeing combat training for most of the morning. As it was, Ana was two minutes from being elate to her next engagement by even tracking him down here. But the fact he'd even entertained this conversation this far gave her a spark of hope.

"A fighter jet," he said, virtually nothing in his voice giving away his thoughts.

"Yes." The pause she took was long, but Gabriel always knew when she had more to say, and he was silent as he waited. She missed that about him in the field sometimes. They hadn't had a run together as a full team in months. "She hasn't had a Halloween in years. I'm not about to rob her of her childhood simply because she is stuck wherever I happen to be. And if I am not capable of providing something so simple, I… I can't do that to her."

His expression did not change.

She almost expects him to turn back to his work. To get that odd glint in his eye that had been appearing more and more frequently as the board encroached further on Overwatch's personal territory. To question her daughter, even, despite the fact he'd never once done it before-

But then, he blinks.

And his hand pulls up the holo screen he'd had open from his tablet when she'd entered, a short request for paint from whomever had it available already in the process of being typed up.

"Pick a color."

"And what makes ye think I'd have any here, hm?"

The sparks from Torbjörn's project abruptly ceased when Ana placed herself directly in his line of sight, her arms crossed. His blast shield kept his expression hidden, but she knew he'd recognized that she meant business. He'd be glaring right about now; of that, she was certain. There were two rules in his workshop: stay out unless I ask, and if I ask, that's just as damn well.

But she's got an alarm buzzing in her pocket from a public appearance that she's cutting incredibly close to now, and this was supposed to take a grand total of five minutes. The appearance wasn't for another three, and she could make it across the base at a sprint in two if she needed to.

She was doing just fine.

"You have four children of your own," she replies. "I know you do."

"Sure, sure I do, but not here. What good'd it do to keep it here? Do y'see the little buggers running around? Try the mess hall, they might have a piece or two left after the rookies got in to it last week." He's diverting the question again, and she pins him with a look. He'd never been an easy nut to crack, but even as he went back to welding, seemingly done with the conversation, she dropped her ace in the hole.

"It's for Fareeha."

The sparks stop once again, but he doesn't raise the blast shield. He doesn't even move, his head still tilted down to the mangled mess of metal at his fingertips.

Ana returns to her office two hours and one slightly frazzled public appearance later to find a nondescript brown bag full to the brim with sweets.

And in four… three… two… one-

"If we've covered everything, then, I am happy to adjurn this meeting. Keep up the good work."

The sigh of relief that swept the room of officers was silent, but the sheer release of tension it brought was enough to be felt twice over by everyone in the room. Jack hadn't sounded this tired in years, but his praise had been genuine. They'd all been grinding down to the gears for months now, following leads and scraping together funds from donors' pockets that had incredibly sensitive expiration dates unless they produced more results. Their PR had begun to circle the drain as of late, and try as they might, they couldn't seem to pull it back. Damage control was not a job Ana would have ever liked to have had, let alone now. Unfortunately for Jack, that job landed squarely on his shoulders.

The others had begun to shuffle to their feet, gathering the supplies they'd brought to the table nearly four hours prior. They'd covered a lot of ground in that time, but it didn't nullify the fact that they'd been there for four hours already.

Ana was exhausted. She hadn't stopped running since seven that morning, and by her watch, she wouldn't stop for another few hours. But Gabriel had caught her eye on his way in to the meeting (ten minutes later than the last time, which made him a whopping thirty minutes late this time), and he'd simply nodded. It's done.

It was worth the fatigue. Every damn inch of it.

And it wasn't over yet.

Before the others could make it to the door, she stood, her hands laying gently on the table in front of her as she rose her voice to be heard over the bustle.

"If I may-"

Every eye in the room turned her way then, the split second of dread in some impossible to miss. She couldn't say she blamed them. The absolute agony that was being let out of a meeting only to have to be called back in a minute later to cover something forgotten was somethng she wouldn't wish on any soul. But for now, she extended a hand, palm down in reassurance.

"It's not business, so please, don't concern yourselves. But I do have somewhat of a… let's say a favor to ask of you all this evening."

"Fareeha," Ana called from the kitchen, "I need you to do me a little favor."

Fareeha looked up from the half-butchered pumpkin she'd been carving away at on the floor for the better part of the hour. Ana had brought it back earlier alongside the seasoned bag of seeds courtesy of Sergeant Luis, and Fareeha had settled in for a long, cramped attempt at carving. It hadn't been the most succesful, but she'd be lying if she said she hadn't been enjoying it. A holiday spent sulking was wasted, after all, and she'd learned to take what she could get.

Ana had started on the soup not long ago now, and the smell of the sizzling meat in the pot was enough to make Fareeha's mouth water. It was a special recipe, one her mother only made on special occasions. At the announcement that they would be cooking in that evening, she'd been a bit surprised. Ana's face had been worn when she'd returned from her work day, and although she'd changed into a festive, orange sweater, she still stood stiffly, as if her mind had not left her work behind. But the telltale smell of the soup made Fareeha's heart lift a bit all the same, and she sat up on her knees, brushing her palms across her legs.

"Mama?"

Ana didn't look away from the pot, carefully measuring ingredients as she worked her magic. "We're out of cumin, and I don't trust the canteen to give theirs up. Would you go bother Gabriel for his, please?"

Fareeha had already stood before she'd finished speaking, her shoes slipping on as she reached for the door.

"Anything else?"

"That man will demand it back with a ransom if we ask for more. Best be safe and keep our requests to one."

Gabriel's room was not far, per say, but the walk was by no means a short one. The hallway was lined with doors of other ranking officers, and she never went without bumping into someone who wanted to greet her. By the time she reached his door, she could feel her stomach rumbling. The thought of the stew brewing back the way she'd come had gotten its fangs deep into her appetite, and no amount of exchanged pleasantries was helping that.

He answered on the third knock. He didn't appear surprised to see her, but Fareeha wasn't concerned. She didn't visit as often as she used to now, but he was still well accustomed to her gracing his door now and again. He gave her a short once over, a lopsided frown on his face.

"Ree."

She nodded, expression as serious as she could make it. If she didn't know Gabriel these last few months, she'd have said the corner of his mouth twitched a bit at the sight. He crossed his arms as he spoke again.

"Dinner?"

"Mhmm."

"What's she need for this one."

Fareeha extended her hand. "The usual, please."

He waved her inside as he made his way to his own kitchenette. His quarters did not feel quite as small as Fareeha and Ana's shared rooms, but their kitchen was by no means as well equipped as his. It was common knowledge that if you needed something to cook with, you asked Gabriel first. If you were on good terms with him, of course. Otherwise, his supplies were practically sacred.

The little bottle of spices dropped neatly into her hand, and she'd already turned to take her leave with a thank you on her lips when he planted a hand on her shoulder, turning her on the spot.

"Slow down," he muttered gruffly. "Got something else you need to take her."

She blinked up at the large box he scooted away from his table, but obediently stretched out her arms all the same, balancing the package neatly. It was lighter than it looked, and she leaned around it to look up at him curiously.

"What is it?"

"Nosey."

It had been meant to be a reprimand, but the gentleness with which he steered her out the door negated it entirely. She'd made it a few feet into the hall before he called her back one last time.

The candy bar he placed on top of the box before tapping it twice and turning back inside was entirely unexpected.

"Happy Halloween, kid."

Huh.

Alright, then.

She had to kick lightly at the door for her mother to open it when she finally made it back down the hall, the box blocking her way. Ana peered down and around it at her when she answered the knock, seemingly unsurprised at the package.

"Cumin?"

"Uh huh. A lot of it," Fareeha joked, jiggling the box meaningfuly. Ana humored her with a twist of her lips as she plucked the box from her arms and placed it on the couch, taking the small bottle of spices back to their rightful place at the counter. Fareeha turned the mysterious package, itching to open it herself.

"What's inside?"

Ana looked up at the question, but turned back to the stove. "Open it and find out for me, would you?" If she was trying to sound casual, she was failing miserably. But Fareeha didn't need to be told twice. The box was open before her mother had finished speaking.

And Fareeha stared.

Blue.

There was so much blue, and if she was seeing what she thought she was seeing, it was her size-

Gently, more gently than she'd ever held anything in her life, she lifted the helmet, the light material (some sort of styrofoam? It was foam, surely, but it was painted so beautifully-) hardly any weight in her hands. It was a visor, the pointed beak of it remniscient of a-

Ana glanced up from her pot, the scent of seasoned vegetables and spiced broth warming Fareeha from the inside out for entirely different reasons now. She had changed when Fareeha had last run out, loose sweats joining her festive sweater, and she appeared more relaxed now than she had been the entire day. When she saw Fareeha holding the costume, she blinked.

Her mother had a horrible poker face.

"Huh," she said, the nonchalance terribly fake, "what's that?"

Fareeha grinned slowly, slipping the helmet over her head without a word. It dropped on easily, a perfect fit to her features, and she ran her hands over the smooth material with a feather-light touch.

"Thank you, mama," she said quietly.

"What for?"

Ana kept her face carefully blank as Fareeha struggled into the rest of the jet-suit, but the attempt at ignorance didn't keep the grin on Fareeha's face from growing beneath the helmet. She didn't get a chance to speak again before Ana continued.

"Hm. An interesting outfit," she said, leaning against the counter. "Best be leaving it on, seems like a long process to take it back off. But I do need some things from Liao and Wilhelm down the hall and around the corner, and it might require a basket. You'll want to knock on a few doors along the way, they might have been visiting others after the meeting tonight-"

And suddenly, there was a small, gauntlet-encased hand extended to her.

"Come with me?"

There was dinner on the stove and the oven was on, but it's said with such heartfelt happiness that Ana is tapping the spoon into the sink before she's even fully processed the words.

The soup is turned down to simmer, and Ana set the dishtowel from her shoulder on the counter as she brushed the heat from her hands on her pants. She crossed her arms, scrutinizing her daughter closely in that way that Fareeha pretended to hate but had always secretly adored.

"Well, if you insist," Ana said slowly. "Just for a few errands."

"I do," Fareeha persisted, holding her hand higher.

Her mother's wrapped around it not a second later. Ana scooped up a small bucket beneath the counter as she slipped her shoes on, batting the candy bar from Gabriel off of the couch and into the container as they passed the open box. Fareeha gave her a long, smug look from beneath her visor.

"Knew it."

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."

The second they're out the door, Ana stooped low, sweeping her daughter easily up and onto her shoulders. Fareeha laughed, the little woah of surprise it had elicited lost in the noise. Her heels bumped lightly against Ana's arms with each step, but she didn't seem to care.

"I can walk!"

"Fighter jets don't walk."

"Oh. Oh, right-"

"And you don't want to get lost."

"This is almost home. And jets don't get lost."

"Some do."

"No, they don't. See, Mr. Lindholm told me they have these navigational systems that the military-"

"Katkoota."

"Mm?"

"The door isn't going to knock on itself, you know."

Side note: katkoota is an arabic term of endearment meaning "little chick."