Author's Note: Long time no see everyone. Apologies for the absence. Internet is ass here. Also been working, gearing up for college, the works. Why am I posting this so late. Because I can't sleep. I got in car crash today, my fault, I'll admit it. Damn near totaled my car, so yeah. Anyway guys, I haven't abandoned the story, just been busy and keeping priorities in line, which some people here seem to have trouble believing. Also I've gotten a few new followers over the past couple of months so I figure I better update this for them. Enjoy the new chapter guys. And pray (figuratively, I'm atheist so take that with a grain of salt :P) I can keep my shit together after today's wreck. -Draconian
Other Dreams
...
Draconian eventually dragged himself up from his stupor, shuffling his feet to Lena's room, the whiskey keeping him numb enough to speak what he needed.
He knocked politely, clearing his throat. Inside he heard Lena moving around, drawers closing, the sound of her ridiculous shoes on the metal flooring. She opened her door. "Oh thank God." She said, seeming relieved. "I was wondering if you'd come." She paced around the room nervously, fidgeting with the straps of her chronal accelerator and her bomber jacket.
Draconian took note of this, sitting in an ancient recliner almost as old as himself in his actual span of years. "Alright Lena. No Overwatch agent invites me in for casual conversation. I'm here for a purpose. Why?"
She sat in another similarly ancient recliner by the window, her brown eyes searching the orange. "Draconian. Something is wrong with you."
He was slightly taken aback by her bluntness but did not deny her statement. "Damn right there is." He said, looking out the window where the moon began its descending arc. He looked back at her, not really caring for her reaction. "Pardon me, Tracer, but if anyone's going to do this, shouldn't Angela? She's your de facto counselor."
Lena was taken aback by his use of her callsign. He had began to call the agents by their first name, and even smile and laugh before his disgrace and disownment from Overwatch. When he had returned, which had been increasingly rare and bordering non existent, the tradition had persisted. "That's not what I meant, Draconian." Said Lena. "I meant something is eating at you from the inside. I know you were never one to share, but I can tell."
Draconian fixed Lena with an austere glare. "And you would be the expert on the feelings of a nigh immortal, nigh invulnerable, half Dragon man?"
Lena's voice became similarly as cold as Draconian's attitude. "I'm only trying to help, Draconian. You don't have to be a bloody prick about it."
Draconian's gaze softened, the orange eyes becoming less like burnished copper and more like soft amber. "You are correct. My disposition is less than I would like it. You know of my disgrace Lena. And Liao. You know how I demonstrated knowledge of Overwatch's future. Of what I found in a Blackwatch raid. I might've come clean about my knowledge, but by then it was too little too late. For me. For Liao. For Overwatch. Not to mention my own feelings, and how life goes back home. It's been about two weeks there so far, yet so many years here already. I may not age Lena, but I feel wracked with insecurity, leaving my family and… her behind."
"But mostly her." Lena said. It was not a question.
Draconian nodded sagely. "Yes. My Dragons can take care of themselves, and she can too, but to be gone for so long… It tears at me Lena. I can do nothing about it. I can't speak to her, and nor dare I."
Lena was silent for a moment before talking again. "Draconian… I know you don't like to talk about it, but, if it'll help, what's her name?"
Draconian looked up, his hands running along the gold chain around his neck. He sighed wearily. "Zailin. Not her original name, but the one she came to be known by in her incarnations."
Lena nodded in understanding. "And what'd she look like?"
Draconian's eyes seemed to dim in their glow, as if the memory of her made him even more depressed. "Black hair, cut short, shorter than mine, sometimes put into a slick pattern or held back by a bandana of varying colors. Clear hazel eyes, a straight, bright amused smile."
Lena smiled. "See? Not so hard, right?"
Draconian did not immediately respond, drinking deeply of his decanter, and staring blankly in its amber depths. Lena sighed. This man was an oddity. "Draconian, I know you have to drink more for a greater effect, but it looks like you started even earlier than usual."
He shrugged, not seeming to care. "So? Good, I say. Not like I have much use. Besides, it takes less than it did before to speak properly. My body is adapting. Thus, if anything, I require less to drink than before."
Lena raised an eyebrow, silently shocked at his callousness of life. It reminded her of herself before the Void. Feckless youth with no regard to her own safety, her well being. The thoughts of those important to her. Draconian might have been held in a negative stigma in Overwatch, but he was still important.
Draconian sat upwards in the chair, shaking off the tired slump he was in. "Can I go now Lena? My time is valuable and better spent than acting like an edgy teenager spilling his misguided feelings. I have people who hate me coming to this base soon, and considering Overwatch is still punishable by prosecution, I'm sure the base is being monitored at some level and you'll have to relocate lest federal agents show up to arrest you all."
Lena bit her lip. He was right. They couldn't stay here. Not after the assault on Winston and the Recall. "And where will you go, Draconian?" Asked Lena, genuinely curious.
His reply was swift and harsh in answer. "Where I go best. Away from you all." The orange eyes glittered coldly once more, distant and far staring.
Lena opened her mouth to say more, but Draconian rose swiftly, in the base's hallway unnaturally fast. She cursed under her breath. "Bloody bastard. I'm only trying to help you not be bloody knackers."
…
Draconian took his seat and pulled out his journal from within his jacket, writing something known only to him in a strange archaic hand that was not recognizable as being from any civilization.
"Athena, status report." He heard Winston say.
"Angela's flight has been delayed due to terrorist activities in Turkey. A suicide bombing a few blocks away from the airport has shut down all travel."
"Is she okay?"
"She assures me she is fine, though her flight is delayed by at least five hours."
"Who else?"
"Reinhardt is departing Berlin, along with Bridgette, and it seems likely Torbjörn will board his flight there to Spain. McCree is actually-"
She was interrupted by the light jangle of spurs and leather boots on metal flooring. "Howdy." Said a voice in a southern drawl that sounded straight out of a Clint Eastwood movie. In the doorway stood a lean but slightly muscled man in a red poncho and dusty cowboy hat, the glint of metal from a metallic arm barely visible. A Peacekeeper revolver, modified to shoot bullets of a far higher caliber than most guns with less recoil, sat visibly and comfortably in a holster on his right hip. His face was obscured in shadow, a cigarette glowing orange from a mouth framed in an unkempt, close cropped beard.
"Ah, Jesse." Said Winston, extending a hand. "You had a good journey I trust?"
"Don't know why they call it first class." He drawled. "That champagne don't exactly got spice to it like a good whiskey."
"That's probably why they don't have it, Jesse." Said Athena jokingly.
"Hmph. We got some of that stuff around? I feel an almighty thirst."
"I would assume we do. That is, if Draconian didn't help himself to it."
McCree blinked. "Draconian? Is he around?"
"Yes." Said Athena, sounding none too pleased.
"Unfortunately…" Whispered Winston under his breath, which Draconian only heard due to his sensitive hearing.
Draconian spoke up from across the room. "Perhaps if you saw more of the world than the rim of your hat, McCree." Chuckled Draconian.
McCree chuckled. Unlike most of Overwatch, he seemed to have no problem with Draconian, treating him more as a competitive drinking buddy. "Howdy, old timer. Been awhile since I seen you around these parts."
Draconian nodded, conjuring two glasses from thin air and pouring whiskey from his decanter into them. He slid one to McCree, who nodded gratefully. "It has indeed been a while, Jesse. I trust all has been well with you?"
"About as good as it gets for an outlaw like me. Stowing away on trains and rescuing pretty girls from bandits. Don't get no sheriff's badge at the end though. How about yourself?"
Draconian took a swig from his glass. "About as best as can be expected."
McCree frowned at Draconian. "Didn't know you took to drinking so easily. Guess the best isn't the best huh?"
He did not immediately say anything. "I still don't much like the taste, but the effect is… soothing, if nothing else."
McCree laughed again. "Draconian, if people drank whiskey for the taste you'd wouldn't have a sense of it. Nah, it's like a balm, y'know? Makes all the bad stuff go away for awhile."
Draconian raised an eyebrow in confusion. "A curious reason to create a drink. For the resolution of mental ailments. Effective, though, I'll give them that."
McCree nodded, taking another gulp of the fiery liquid. "Yep, just so. I reckon signing up with Overwatch again ain't the best idea, so I best not be in my right mind for it." He grinned in a lopsided, crooked way, smiling lazily. "So, what you and our little poster girl talk about?"
Draconian looked at McCree unblinkingly. "How did you know we talked?"
"You got the look Draconian." Said McCree, looking back with a very sober, very soulful light in his eyes. "I know Miss Oxton got here before me. Hell, she's probably been practicing coming back to Overwatch. And not to be rude, but you can be read fairly easily with a bit of practice. You talked with someone. You're less tense than ya usually are, and you're drinking away here when ya don't normally drink. Considering Winston and Athena don't have a mind to listen to ya I figure you talked with Lena."
Draconian looked down and sighed in defeat. McCree was as sharp and precise as his aim with that Peacekeeper. "We talked of… the past, McCree. Old things. Things you don't want to hear about."
"Your Dragons? The family, as ya call them?"
He nodded. "Them. People of the past."
"Such as?"
"That is a subject for another time, McCree." His voice was soft, but the meaning was clear. He would talk of nothing right now.
"Just trying to help, Draconian. I know ya don't like to talk and ya got your own lone wolf thing going, but not all of us want ya gone."
"No, just most."
"Can't argue with ya there."
The two sat in a mutual silence of understanding, drinking quietly with their thoughts in their glasses. Draconian was content to stay like that, letting the world disappear with each wave of amber, but his attention was brought back to reality.
"Athena, any new agents joining the call?" He heard Winston say.
"Yes, though my projections have overestimated the amount. Few are joining us, and likely for good reason."
"Hold on." McCree said. "Y'all are hiring new agents on top of bringing the old ones back?"
"That's right." Said Athena. "We've sent out anonymous invites to a few people of eclectic personalities."
"Such as…?"
Winston shrugged. "Gamers. Musicians. Even monks, in the form of Genji's teacher, who is apparently traveling with him."
"I thought he died." Said McCree. "Something or another Mondatta."
"Close, but no cigar McCree." Said Athena. "Tekhartha Mondatta was assassinated for his role in the dogmatic preaching of the Iris and how it applied to both human and Omnic. Genji's teacher, Zenyatta Mondatta, believes differently. He believes that the interaction between human and Omnic is more simple. That those with circuits are like those of blood. They both have a soul. He helped Genji recover from his augmentations and rejection of them."
"So let me get this straight." McCree swirled the whiskey in his glass around. "You called on gamers? DJs? Priests?"
"Essentially yes." Confirmed Winston.
"They are public figures. If they join… they may ease the federal backlash."
Draconian, silent but aware that these people were destined to join, saw a flaw in their logic. "Forgive me if I'm wrong Winston, but wasn't Overwatch brought down due to public discontent?"
Winston glared at him. "Yes. But we are hoping these people joining will bring the public to our side."
"And if they don't?"
"I… uh… We…"
"Don't have a plan for them being put under federal persecution and public outrage?"
Winston snarled. "This is rich coming from you Draconian, being directly responsible for Liao."
Draconian took a drink, standing up unsteadily. "Say that again Winston."
"I said, how ironic considering you essentially killed our public relations official."
Draconian took another drink, throwing the glass to the side. In the next instant he had moved across the room, his arm around Winston's thick neck and the gorilla lumbering around erratically with him on his back. Despite his small frame, even for a human, he clung on easily, Winston's yellow eyes bulging in shock and anger. Athena was shouting, McCree watching uneasily from the table. Lena rushed into the room, screaming at them. "Knock it off! Both of you, knock it off!"
Winston growled, reaching up and throwing Draconian off him. He landed in a roll, springing up with his bare fists up in a tense brawling position.
Winston stalked forward, beating his fists against his armored chest. He swung at Draconian, diving to the right, and kicking him off balance. He swung his arm around Winston again, locking him in a chokehold.
Suddenly a feeling of pain and panic and fear seized Draconian, his body jerking backward as if he'd stuck a fork in an electrical socket. Winston straightened calmly, his eyes suddenly all too placid compared to the rage he'd been in a second ago.
"Genji, I was under the impression the people you'd have me join were peaceful." The voice was calm and soothing, reminiscent of streams over rocks and leaves whispering against each other. It was also amused, a faint hint of laughter coloring a voice that sounded with a warm metallic tone.
Genji Shimada walked in, his expression unreadable through his faceplate. "I was under the same impression as well, Master." He scanned the writhing form of Draconian and passive Winston, who regarded them calmly.
Behind Genji floated an Omnic, his legs clothed in threadbare pants with a red sash around them, his posture relaxed and calming. "I sense tension with the past from these two." He turned to Draconian, who had a small orb hovering over him in a dark purple light. He then regarded Winston, who had a similar orb glowing with a bright white light, and then back to Draconian. "And pain, great pain, in this one." He held out his hands, drawing back both orbs, Winston blinking and Draconian groaning slightly.
Draconian drew himself up, his face beaded in sweat and orange eyes rapidly turning purple. He was breathing raggedly, Winston regarding him with loathing and McCree and Lena with anxiety.
"Draconian, are you okay?" Genji reached out with his arm.
Draconian flinched, ducking away, disappearing from one spot of the room to the next, Zenyatta and Genji watching in silence.
….
The Dreams were terrible. Ever breaking upon his mind like waves of agony, fear, hopelessness, pain. Always from the past. Some from the future. He remembered the ones from the future, but never thought of them until the time came to pass, like prophetic visions.
The first was a car crash. In his youth, true youth, when he numbered in the double digits of age, he was driving. Carefree, calm, happy, but driving for reasons he couldn't remember. He took a left turn…
A flash of white, his car turned two hundred seventy degrees, the sound of splintering metal and crumpling plastic and hissing gas. Fear exploded across him, his glasses flying off his face as he faced mortality. No one was hurt. But the accident forced into him true fear and hopelessness, lying in a wreck of metal with his eyes turned into a thousand yard stare.
The second was her. Zailin. Blood. He'd seen so much of it before, at this point. So why was hers so damaging to him? Hazel eyes so full of life. Extinguished. Holding her body while the world collapsed around him and the Dragons pulled him from the core of destruction. Loss. Oh loss. Zailin, he sighed. My fault for this.
The third was Liao, proud on the stage with Overwatch at its peak. She smiled. Draconian smiled. Every Overwatch member at the time smiled. Torbjorn laughed and danced merrily, Reinhardt singing merry jests, Jack and Gabe enlightening the children of the famous and diplomatic with stories of war meant to be inspiring, Ana sipping fine red wine. Lena was zipping around in her suit, the chronal accelerator s bright blue jewel, Genji impassive and silent. Angela and McCree laughing at some joke. All of Overwatch was here. All was well, and for a moment, Draconian let himself believe Fate may have given them all a free pass.
So, he wondered later, why was there red staining the center of Liao's chest, right at her diaphragm?
It was only later he called Overwatch together, telling each and every member of the dossier he had found in the Talon base. And his decision to keep it to himself. And so it was Draconian was disowned. He left the base, a cold grey rain falling about him, and his visits became less and less.
The Dreams became more and more frequent, plaguing him. Twisted metal, hazel eyes, silver dress, crimson crimson crimson crimson… Haven't I seen enough crimson…?
I only wanted the Dragons…
I knew the price, but not its consequence…
Imagine yourself in a Frozen Forest…
Or was it a glade…?
Mountains, maybe…?
Something with rain…
Maybe dark…
Away from the pain...
"...aaAAAAIIIIIIIIIN AGGGHHH!"
Draconian threw himself from the bed, unaware that he been unconscious, whether through sleep, or self imposed. Cold sweat beaded his forehead, but his body burned with fever. In desperation he began to loosen his clothes, his cape fluttering to the ground, its ever present illusion fading, the many bars of light casting rainbow shadows over his face. He tore off the jacket, his white button up shirt loosening the top button and rolling up the sleeves.
He staggered out of the room, panting hard like a dog, his breathing shaky and ragged. "Oh God, oh God…" He murmured, his body cold and hot at the same time. He fumbled for the bathroom door, flipping on the light and sticking his head under the sink. Cold water rushed over him soothingly, matting his long brown hair and shoulders. He let the water run, sinking down wearily and pressing his head to the cupboard underneath the sink.
He lay there for an indeterminate amount of time, breathing hard, the Dreams tearing at him, goosebumps dotting his arms, slumped over and eyes closed.
He jerked awake when he heard the door open, Lena standing there in shock in grey sweats and a pajama shirt with a picture of a cat on it. "Draconian?"
He smiled weakly, setting his head against the sink again. "Hello, Lena."
"Draconian, what happened?"
He chuckled grimly, laughing slightly, then leaned over the toilet, dry heaving despite his body's augmented immunity.
Lena leaned over him, his gold eyes bleak and faint with emotion. "Is Angela here yet?" He asked.
She nodded.
"Good. Grab her, and I'll explain my condition to you and her," With that, Draconian slumped over on the floor, passing out.
