I am dedicating this story and my OC to the victims of the shooting at Orlando's LGBTQ+ Pulse Nightclub, with deep regret that there were no heroes like 76 or Solarix to stop this tragedy. Please remember that you can be a hero, now matter how small [ex. Alejandra], and that the world really needs you to be one. Start by supporting the LGBTQ+, Latinx, and muslim communities online and IRL.
Rated for canon-typical violence and language.
Disclaimer: Blizzard owns Overwatch and all associated characters.
Warnings: blood, dissociation, references to the Pulse Night Club shooting
Chapter 3: Safe House
Alejandra listened carefully, to 76 and Señore Vix, but also to her surroundings—she was nervous about Los Muertos. This was primarily their neighborhood, and she had the feeling that even though the arrival of the police would be bad, the arrival of Los Muertos would be worse. She sat on one edge of the pile of rubble surrounding Señor 76, swinging her feet back and forth just a little. With Vix kneeling next to him, there was no room for her to get closer.
"Can I help?" Alejandra asked when it looked like Vix was getting down to business. "I could hold it,"—she pointed at the troublesome iron spar— "make sure it doesn't fall."
Señore Vix shook their head. "No. It's about to become extremely hot. Don't touch it at all. Stay where you are."
Instead Alejandra moved to the other edge, above Señor 76, and, pursuing a hunch, pulled off Vix's shirt and dangled it in front of 76. "Here. Put this on your head."
Vix clucked in approval. "Sharp girl you are, Ale." When 76 started protesting Vix poked him in the chest and told him not to be an idiot. Alejandra was beginning to like Señore Vix. They were very reasonable, for an adult. And they were helping her take care of Señor 76.
Alejandra had not yet seen an up-close demonstration of Vix's abilities. She watched with fascination as they squeezed behind the iron spar above 76 and braced a shoulder against the concrete block behind him, finally gripping spar carefully with both hands. Their hands began to blur and Alejandra realized the air around them was growing hot like a mirage. The the iron underneath them started glowing red.
"Get ready to move, this thing is gonna be heavy."
The iron took a little while to heat, but soon enough Alejandra heard Señor 76 hissing in pain. She could smell leather burning, and also something else she'd never encountered before—his skin, she realized. She suddenly felt a little sick.
The iron continue to lighten in color, until suddenly Vix changed their grip and bent it away from 76, immediately wobbling as the spar's weight fell on them. "Move, move, move!" they gritted out rapidly.
76 rolled away and backed up the side of the pile of debris. Vix dropped the spar and plopped down next to him. They were both breathing heavily. 76 wordlessly pulled off Vix's shirt and offered it back them. They wiped their face with it first before shrugging it back on, wincing as it slid down their back. Alejandra's knees began to prickle as she was reminded of the bleeding, dirty scrapes running from them down her shins. She was lucky, it occurred to her, to have gotten off so easily.
"Thank you both. For saving me," she said, a touch shyly.
Both their gazes snapped to her, almost as if they'd temporarily forgotten about her. Vix gave her a strained smile, but it was 76's reaction Alejandra was on tenterhooks for.
"What's your name, kid?"
"Alejandra Durante Bonaventura," she said proudly. With a glance at Señore Vix, she added: "Pronombres de ella." She waited expectantly.
Vix suddenly stiffened. "Sirens incoming. We need to move." They glanced at Señor 76. "Tell me your safe house is closer than Plaza Salida del Sol." Alejandra recognized the name of a neighborhood in the Omnic district, probably the only place in the city where a person with Omnic implants like Señore Vix could get a room. It was across town. Having been to the place 76 was renting in Barrio Bajo, she knew it was even farther.
76 shook his head. "Get ready for a long walk."
As they both got their feet, Alejandra had an idea. She scrambled down from the edge of the pile and grabbed Señor 76's arm. "Wait! Señores, you can come to my safe house. I live in this barrio; I know all of the secret places. And I can bring you things you need, and help you avoid Los Muertos."
"You have a safe house?" Vix asked.
Alejandra but her lip. She did have one. It was occupied, but she did. "Sí."
"More like a club house…" growled Señor 76.
Vix rolled their eyes. "Move, Jack. We don't have a lot of options."
Alejandra grinned and took the lead. The three of them managed to limp away from the warehouse just in time. From less than a half mile away sirens rang loudly; people in the surrounding building were starting to wake up, or arrive at their workplaces. Both of los Protectores were tiring quickly: the morning's events and injuries seemed to be rapidly catching up with them. Lucky they had her, Alejandra thought.
Alejandra led them through a corkscrew path of thin alleys, unused buildings and empty yards. She took extra care to avoid main thoroughfares, knowing that while she could blend into a crowd her two bloodied and frankly dangerous looking companions could not. She hurried, very aware that she had to be back home before her Mamí woke to open the bakery. She had very little time to spare by the time she knocked at a little wooden door three blocks away from her home.
She didn't hear a reply, assumed the occupant was in the cellar, and barged in, dragging 76 behind her the sleeve of his jacket. "Ion! Amigo!" she called. "You won't believe what happened. I need you to take care of a few friends of mine for—Ay, Carajo!"
Alejandra jerked to a stop and clapped her hand over her mouth. She didn't know what was worse: that her Mamí was here, standing with hands on her hips and a storm in her eyes in the center of the room, or that she had just heard Ale swear.
Alma was burning with second-hand embarrassment. Vix could feel it and tell it was derived from an old memory, but they weren't sure what it was for until Alma explained, with a bit of humor. Apparently madres latinas haven't changed much since I was little. Look at her foot tapping! Ale's fucked.
And that's amusing?
You wouldn't understand.
Vix filed that away in their "Alma Is Weird" category [which was distinctly different from their "Humans Are Weird" one] and returned their attention to inspecting Ale's so-called safe house. It was a tiny windowless room, with a ladder in the corner descending to the floor below. The place was lit by a partially broken EternaLamp duct-taped to one of the walls. It obviously a storage room of some sort: old furniture and dusty appliances were piled along the walls, and crates of dry food goods and spare parts were piled closer to the center. If there was really a living space, it had to be in the lower level, down the ladder.
Ale and her mother were arguing in the center of the room. Ale alternated between wincing, pleading and arguing; her mother looked very serious and tapped her foot rapidly. She also sent suspicious glanced to both Jack and themselves, who both hovered near the door. Jack, who had closed the door behind them, no doubt due to a well-developed sense of paranoia. He looked very displeased with the situation. Vix could tell that Jack's presence and condition was causing Alma no little stress, but they were confident she was no longer panicking.
The most important detail of the room, in Vix's opinion, was the person perched on the ladder, peeking apprehensively into the room at the argument between mother and daughter. They were an Omnic, a later model developed after Vix went to space. They were round and reasonably sleek, but definitely had seen a lot of unnecessary wear and tear lately. The kind of wear and tear, Vix thought a touch grimly, that one received from being tripped, kicked and hit.
Vix gestured hello, using one of the more standard non-verbal Omnic languages that allowed Omnics to communicate privately around humans. Consisting mainly of small, tight gestures and subtle motions, with rhythm and number playing a large role, the language was slightly difficult using Alma's clumsy fingers, but Vix had modified it with successful results before. The trick was that most Omnics did not expect a "human" to start talking to them that way.
Taps with two fingers on the side of their thigh. Hello, friend.
The Omnic noticed immediately and replied promptly, but with a little suspicion. Who are you? How do you know Language Protocol 497G3?
Vix indicated their answer, including a motion that injected a touch of what humans called sass. Well, Little Beta, I was around when they were developing it. Designation Vix, sub-designation they. I am sharing hardware space with a human, designation Alma Charo Alvarez, sub-designation she. Do not be alarmed. It is a highly unorthodox arrangement, I know, but also very rewarding. Can I ask your designation?
The Omnic evidently had a cheeky streak, because they answered with similar sarcasm. My designation is Ion, sub-designation she. Tell me, Most Ancient and Wise Analog Vix, how does one get oneself into such a situation?
They swapped stories for a second and a half, speaking at a normal speed for Omnics—but Alma could neither keep up nor manage to concentrate on the human conversation in the room. Can you two hold off until we figure out if I'm going to be able get bandages and a hot bath sometime before next year? she asked.
Vix shared a few more taps and twitches with Ion before allowing Alma to concentrate on the magnificent scolding Ale was getting from her mother.
"…You think I am getting old and stupid, hija? Is that it? You nearly fall asleep working the bakery counter every day; your clothes are torn and filthy all the time. You thought I wouldn't notice? Or wonder where you met an Omnic on this side of town and why you begged me to rent her the emergency shelter and let her work at la panadería?"
How long has this girl been following after Jack?
"I'm sorry, Mamí—"
"Cállate! I am not finished. You lied to me, Alejandra." Señora Durante heaved a sigh that appeared to be half a sob. She put a hand on each of Ale's shoulders. "I was so worried about you. You know this neighborhood. Being out at night is dangerous enough, but hanging around Los Muertos… How was I supposed to know you were not becoming one of their new cavaleras? What if you didn't come home one morning?" She pulled Ale into a fierce embrace. "What if you didn't come home, cariña? You're all I have left."
"Mamí, I had los Protectores to save me. They're real. Just like you always said."
Vix had no idea what expression to make in response to the look they got from Ale's mother. It was partly hostile, full suspicious, shrewd, guarded, grateful and concerned all at the same time. It was also giving Vix the feeling that Alma's wary respect for madres latinas was not so unfounded as they thought.
Let me take over.
Vix surrendered control with relief. Alma took a deep breath, recalling the long-abandoned behavioral patterns of her youth. She summoned a very penitent look. "Señora, we can leave if you like. We are both very sorry"—they glanced at Jack, who was radiating unfriendliness and standing with arms crossed, rigidly pretending that some wound or other had not reopened and begun dripping blood onto the rough floor— "for endangering Alejandra, and for intruding, but we ran into some trouble that Ale was kind enough to help us out of"—that was stretching the truth a little, but Alma wanted to help the girl—"and she offered us a place to recover. As you can see, we are in need of some medical attention."
Señora Durante's stern look did not change. "And I suppose two vigilantes like you are hesitant to show up at the city ER. I've seen you both on the Most Wanted list."
Alma bit her lip. It was fair of her to distrust them. Still, she hadn't called the police yet. "Truthfully, Señora, when it comes to hospitals, I'm less afraid of prison than I am of being allowed to bleed out because of these." Alma brushed a hand along the visible portion of her cybernetic implants. It was perfectly true, and might buy them some pity.
When no answer was forthcoming, Alma glanced at Jack. He met her eye. "The world's no place for heroes anymore, Sunstroke," he murmured.
She blinked in surprise. What had happened to Jack Morrison?
"That's not true. And it's Solarix now. And you and I are going to talk."
Señora Durante snapped her fingers, catching their attention. "And we will talk also, after you two stop bleeding all over my house. Ion, will you please take Ale home? Mi hija, if you set foot out of your room before I return you will need more than los Protectores to save you. Vete."
Nine months down the fucking drain.
Versalos would go into hiding after having his warehouse blown up. 76 wouldn't be able to question him about Los Muertos' suppliers, so that was another potential Talon lead lost. Furthermore, the gang itself would be on edge now, watching for him. The explosion would be blamed on him and depending on how long the panic it caused took to blow over he could be set back for months.
On a more personally frustrating level, 76 had lost his pulse-rifle, his tactical visor and his safe house. He couldn't possibly go back to it knowing the foolish girl was following him around. The girl, of course was yet another complication, as was Sunstroke—ah, Solarix. They had both seen his face, heard him without the visor's voice distorter. Solarix at least had drawn the obvious conclusion about his identity. 76 had been avoiding former Overwatch members religiously, and now one had dropped right into his way. They'd changed, obviously, so he couldn't predict what they'd do with the information.
And to top it all off, he was more seriously injured than he had been in a long time, and he was feeling it. It'd be days before he could start scoping for a new safe house. He certainly wasn't saying her for any longer than necessary.
76 fumed silently at the situation as he patched himself up with the supplies provided by Señora Durante. He had refused coldly to let her look him over, and unlike some medics 76 knew—*cough*Mercy*cough*—she was more than willing to let rude patients take care of themselves. She was working on Solarix's back now, with a skill that was too efficient to be untrained. The woman's safe house, too, was actually rather impressive. The room they had entered was mostly a decoy storage space; after Alejandra and the Omnic left, she'd led them down the ladder into a neat, well-stocked panic room, the kind built all over during the Omnic crisis: lead-lined and sound-proofed walls, a noisy generator, water tank and a compact computer station. All of it was very old, but it was obvious it still worked. 76 wondered if Señora Durante had been involved in the crisis, but then decided she was too young. He resolved to keep an eye on her.
Solarix—were they Alma right now?—was groaning rather theatrically while chatting away with Señora Durante as the woman worked on cleaning out the wounds on her back. "…and so we looked through the records Vishkar had on Los Muertos and I thought I'd head up here and see if I could help. I found one of their major warehouses. If you catch the news today you'll probably see it. I blew it up. The only problem is that one of my old friends"—they nodded at 76 "happened to be there, too, and Alejandra had followed him."
"What were you doing, Señor? You've been here a lot longer, if the news is anything to go by."
Unlike Solarix, 76 was not about to spill all of his secrets to this woman. "Hunting." He ignored the sharp look Solarix gave him. "I don't why your daughter started following me."
"Ale thinks you are one of los Protectores. From the war."
"He is," Solarix said at the same time 76 said: "I'm not."
Solarix was going to be a problem, then. "Not anymore," he said without a touch of remorse.
"Jack…"
The tone of concern in their voice set him off suddenly. "Stop calling me that!"
Solarix jerked away from him, only slightly, but enough for him to catch the movement. "What else would I call you? That's your name. What happened to you?"
He gave them a withering look. If he could convince Solarix now that Jack Morrison was long gone, maybe they would let him be. "I died."
There was a moment of silence as Señora Durante finished dressing Solarix's wounds. "They call him Soldado 76. En las noticias. Un terrorista." She packed up the first aid kit and walked over to the ladder, stopping to look back at them with one hand on the rung in front of her. "Don't eat the food upstairs. It's inventory for la panadería. I'll bring you something to eat later. You're not allowed to kill anyone while you're staying here."
"I would never," Solarix said immediately.
Señora Durante did not look at them. She stared solemnly at 76. He met her gaze impassively.
"He would."
I'm tired, Vix. We're both tired. We haven't slept in eight days and I'm still on my period. You can talk with Ion tomorrow. Please.
Vix had spent an hour gossiping in Omnic sign with Ion about the city, Ale and Señora Durante, and various technological topics that tended to go the rounds among chatting Omnics. They'd been translating some of it in real time for Alma, but most of it—particularly how Ale and Ion had met—they would have to relate to her later. Ion had been rescued from a trio of Los Muertos thugs by Alejandra the same night Alejandra was rescued by Jack—Soldier 76. Ale had helped Ion to this safe house, introduced her to her mother, and gotten her a job. It was a touching story.
Yawning, Vix relinquished control to Alma, who was better, being human, at getting their body to go to sleep. The two of them didn't need sleep as often as a normal human might [because Alma and Vix could each separately sleep/recharge while the other was awake] but they needed some [because their physical body needed the benefits of sleep, as well]. Alma nodded at Ion and apologized good-naturedly for stealing Vix away. Ion bid them both goodbye and departed the safe house for work at la panadería, promising to be back with dinner from Señora Durante.
Alma glanced at the mattress in one corner of the room, where 76 reclined against the wall, eyes shut but body too tense to be sleeping. She debated the advantages of sleeping in the one chair, or on the floor, or upstairs even. None of the options would net her and Vix any sleep, not even kicking 76 off the mattress and sleeping there.
The root of the problem was that Ale and Vix could not sleep if they had even the slightest drowsy suspicion that they were alone. They'd each spent too long in horrific versions of isolation; not even practicing unity was enough to overcome the panic they felt upon waking up alone. It hadn't been a problem before they left Zenyatta's tutelage; he'd always been near them. Afterward, they learned to find Tekartha temples, group shelters or new friends with whom to get an occasional night's sleep. Once they'd paid a rather baffled escort to sit in bed with them all night.
The only person here now was 76.
You want to just wait until tonight and ask Ion? Vix asked.
Alma was too tired to modulate her frustration and instead let it splash all over Vix. No! This is all wrong. I would totally trust Jack Morrison. He wouldn't laugh, or leave in the middle of the night. If you had known him, you would have, too…
I know. I remember what he did for you. But… do we trust Soldier 76?
Alma sighed. No, no they did not. But she remembered Zenyatta telling them once that sometimes people needed to be trusted first in order to become trustworthy. Anyways, she'd be damned if she let Soldier 76 bury Jack Morrison without a fight.
Alma stomped over to the supply shelf, grabbed a a knit blanket, wrapped it around her and threw herself onto the mattress next to 76.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Sleeping. Move the fuck over."
He started to shift, get up. Alma tossed an arm over his legs.
"Don't go. …I can't sleep alone. Just stay where you are and ignore me."
Alma heard a few grumbled expletives. After a moment, he settled down again. She fell asleep.
Alejandra lay in her bed and stared at the poster she'd tacked to her ceiling. It was faded, with crumpled and torn edges. The faces could barely be made out, and the 'c' in Los Protectores had been obliterated by some sort of stain. There were other pictures littering the walls and ceiling of Ale's small bedroom above la panadería. There was a printout of the local wanted poster for Soldado 76 by the door. She had a movie poster from a documentary from los Estados Unidos about the Omnic Crisis, which Ale had never seen, but which featured Los Protectores heavily, on the opposite wall. Over her dresser she had used push pins to secure newspaper clippings: sightings of Soldado 76, headlines condemning or approving the work of vigilantes across the globe, articles about those disasters that no heroes had arrived to prevent. The newest one was a massive shooting at a queer club in Florida.
It was wrong, Alejandra knew, and unkind as well, to hide things from her mother—to sneak out at night and watch Señor 76, trying to learn from him. It was wrong to lie about it. It might even, considering the night's events, be wrong to distract Señor 76 from his dangerous business by trailing after him.
Not to mention dangerous.
Ale gazed at the posters and clippings, waiting for her Mamí to return and make her promise never to do anything dangerous again. Alejandra knew that it was dangerous, that she didn't know what she was doing, that she couldn't hope to ever have the fantastic abilities of Señor 76 and Señore Vix to help her…
We are Honor. We are Compassion. We are Determination. We are los Protectores.
"Look at this thing, Ale. Give it what it deserves."
53 Dead, Over 50 Wounded at Pulse Night Club…
"Come on! It's just a bucket of bolts."
…and Alejandra also knew that the world still needed heroes.
Notes: Don't forget to review! Also, this fic is unbetaed, so feel free to be helpful and point out typos and inconsistencies, esp. w/pronouns!
Alejandra's name [my headcanon] is packed with symbolism: Durante means 'stubborn' and Bonaventura means 'good fortune'. Alejandra, obviously, means 'leader'. She's a hero in the making… Alma's name has some bilingual bonus as well: her first name means 'soul' and Charo is a corruption of the word 'caro' for 'beloved'.
Spanish Translations:
Pronombres de ella: she pronouns
Plaza Salida del Sol: Sunrise Plaza
Barrio Bajo: Low Town [ie. the "projects"]
Barrio: neighborhood
Señores: gender-neutral plural honorific like "sirs" but with no exact English translation
Sí: Yes
Amigo: buddy
Carajo: oh fuck [Kind of an iffy translation, depending on area, but definitely not something you want to say in front of your mother. Ale probably heard it from Los Muertos.]
Madres latinas: latina mothers
Hija: daughter
La panadería: bakery
Cállate!: Be quiet!
Cavaleras: skulls [in this case, the nickname for Los Muertos thugs… Skullheads?]
Cariña: darling
Señora: Ma'am
Vete: Get going
Mi hija: my daughter
Soldado 76: Soldier 76
En las noticias: in the news
Un terrorista: a terrorist