Reinhardt hears his squire yell, glances over to see her charging after a man that has flanked his blind side. He keeps his shield up and edges toward her slowly so that he can cover her when she returns. Two of the attackers have moved close to each other, making a tempting target. He drops the shield for a second to throw another fire strike, managing to take one of them out.
It is almost too easy.
Then he hears a strange sound. Flashing a glance back to Brigitte, his blood runs cold when he sees it: she, fallen to her knees. Surely, she will get back up? She sways, struggling to rise and then-
-she topples.
Brigitte!
He can't scream her name, doesn't want to attract any more attention to what has just happened. Still, he can see the change in the enemy; they have realized that there is a vulnerable target. The direction of the shots changes, the red beams of the laser sights no longer speckling his shield. He must save her!
There is only one option. He must make the thieves flee.
Reinhardt drops his shield, angling himself at the closest two shooters and fires up his rocket booster. With a roar he charges in, and they, not expecting it, try to scramble out of his path. His feet tearing up the earth, he hooks one with his hammer and crushes him across the ground. The other he hits with only a glancing blow that still manages to knock the man off his feet. The gun drops in the scuffle, and when the attacker tries to recover it he brings the hammer around.
It is looking increasingly likely that he will not be able to leave this place without killing at least one of them. There are moans, screams of pain, foreign mutterings from many of the individuals that lie broken on the ground. Some lie silent. He cannot check his strength against them, because these scavengers, these hyenas will sniff out weakness and press their advantage. Anger burns through him, fills him with energy. It races like fire through his veins. He wants to make them hurt. Bullets ping off of him, seeking the cracks in his armor.
They will not find any.
He sends more fire strikes, driving them back. They have retreated into the treeline, hiding behind black trunks to shoot at him. The enemy has gathered here, the rest of them that still stand. So, they think they are safe there?
Reinhardt leaps with a burst of fire from his armor, swinging the hammer in an overhead arc and firing its rockets to bring it down with devastating speed. It plows into the ground with a boom that reverberates through the clearing, digging deep into the earth. The force of it cracks the ground, shakes the trees wildly. He can hear surprised shouts as the men lose their footing. In a flash he is on the closest of them, bringing the hammer to bear.
Then, it is over.
Seeing him bringing down their companion, the rest of them flee into the forest. They are running full-tilt away from him, not looking back. He has done it!
He can't savor the victory. He must get back to Brigitte! He throws a few more fire strikes at their retreating forms to spur them on, then runs to his squire where she lays. It is too dark to see much, but he can see a black substance covering her face, matting her hair. He shakes her shoulder, calls her name. Her eyes flutter open in response but she gazes unfocused back up at him. She mouths something, but no words come out.
Some of the tension in him eases; she is alive . But they can't stay here, the thieves may yet return. There is no easy way to do this. She is not coherent enough to stand, so he heaves her over his shoulder along with his hammer. He finds the worn ATV path, fires up his booster and charges.
He cannot drive the ATV; his armor is too bulky to allow it. This is the best alternative to get them away quickly. It is dangerous though; it takes everything in him to follow the twists and turns of the dark path without charging right into a tree. The ground is so uneven that he has to constantly work to keep his toes up, lest his sabatonsdig in and trip him. Tree limbs batter at his shoulders and helmet; he tries to protect Brigitte from them as best he can though she is shifting in his grip, struggling and disoriented.
At last he clears the forest, erupting into the yard behind Andreas's house. Cutting off the boost, he stumbles to a halt and tries to decide what to lights are off; the man must be asleep. What is the best course of action? He needs to see how badly she is injured. He needs to get her help. Should he demand to be let in? Call an ambulance?
No. Even if he got her to a hospital, he could not explain this situation; there would be an investigation; questions he can't answer. In any case he trusts only one doctor to take care of her properly, but she is hundreds of miles away. He has fallen out of contact with Angela since Overwatch disbanded, but with the recall, there is a chance…
Reinhardt sits his squire down against the van and tells her not to move, hoping she can at least follow instructions. He reaches into the vehicle and fetches his comm. Unfortunately his armor-clad fingers are too large to work the buttons. Cursing, he strips out of his armor in record time, abandoning it in the back of the van in a pile. He taps the comm, calling Winston's line as he crouches by Brigitte.
As the line rings, he uses the light from the vehicle's interior to examine her.
Blood mats her hair, leaves a sticky trail across her face, clumps in the hollow of her right eye. Her face is swollen, her eyes fluttering slits. In the absence of any bandages he rips his shirt off and presses it to her head where he thinks the bleeding is coming from. Has she been shot?
"Hello? Reinhardt?" Winston's bleary voice comes through the comm, startling him.
"Winston!" He has never been so glad to hear that voice. "Brigitte has been hurt. I need assistance!"
"I-what?" The scientist is startled by the urgency of his tone and the subject of conversation. "She's hurt? Wh-How?"
"I will explain it all later!" It would take too long to explain now anyway. "I think she has been shot. Can you send help?"
"I, uh, I think so? I mean-" Reinhardt can almost hear the moment Winston's brain clicks into gear. "Yes, I can. Where are you?" The knight gives the address, though he cannot give the exact coordinates. In the background there is the rapid-fire click of keys. "I'll have Athena pinpoint your location. Give me a minute and I'll see what I can do." With that, the other end of the comm goes silent.
Reinhardt clips the comm to his shirt and waits. With his hand now free, he presses two fingers to Brigitte's throat, feeling for her pulse. Does her heart always beat that quickly? Is her skin usually that cool? He can feel damp warmth through the shirt he has pressed to her head.
"Reinhar'?" Brigitte slurs up at him, drifting into awareness. "Whass goin' on?" Her brow knits in confusion. "R'you naked?"
He ignores her confusion, and aborts her movements when she tries to reach up toward her head. "Relax, Shildlein . Tell me what hurts."
"Head." She rasps, eyes fluttering closed again. "M'thirsty."
He doesn't want to remove the pressure from her head, but there is bottled water in the van within easy reach. He fetches it and trickles it slowly into her mouth. Much of it spills down her lips, into her armor. He changes his approach, tipping her chin up slightly and giving it by capfuls instead. It works, and she is able to swallow some. "Good girl." He encourages.
The comm crackles to life.
"Reinhardt? Athena has a lock on your position. Is there open ground near you?" Winston asks. In the background the smooth, feminine voice of the computer program murmurs something he cannot hear. The knight thinks: yes, there is; the road leading to Andreas's house has a field opposite to it. He tells the scientist this, who then queries "Could you move to it? We'll track your location there. I'm setting up a team to come pick you guys up. Athena is trying Dr. Ziegler's line now."
"Affirmative, we will head there immediately!" Buoyed with fresh determination now that he has been given a course of action, Reinhardt lifts Brigitte into the passenger's side of the van. He cannot drive and keep the pressure on her head, so he opts for the next best thing; he ties his shirt tightly around her head, knotting it under her chin like a bonnet. Then he clambers into the driver's seat, sliding it back as far as it will go.
It has been awhile since he has been behind the wheel. Brigitte has taken to driving them everywhere; she does not trust his depth perception. Now there is no other option. He flicks on the lights and surges down the long driveway, taking turns perhaps a little too quickly. In a few minutes they are there at the junction in the road, overlooking the field.
"I am here!" He barks into the comm, awaiting his next order.
"Okay, we've got your coordinates. The team will be en-route to you in fifteen minutes." Winston replies, still typing furiously. "Hang tight Reinhardt, they should be there within an hour and a half."
They. Who is they? He asks, and the scientist pauses in his clattering. "I've sent Tracer and a new recruit, Lúcio Correia dos Santos. Goes by Lúcio. Mercy is gathering her things together and then she'll be meeting you here at the Watchpoint." So, they're being taken to Gibraltar. It makes sense, as it is currently the only active Overwatch base. Still, it's an awfully long way. He can't afford to be choosy about it though.
"Thank you, Winston." He answers and hangs up his comm. He turns on the overhead lights so he watch Brigitte again, but she flinches as they come on.
"Hurts." She croaks, and he dims one of the lights to give her some relief. She looks bad . Now he can see clearly the blood encrusting her face, swelling distorting her cheek. There is a shine of wetness on her forehead where fresh blood still oozes, and he pulls another shirt from his bag to pack onto it. There is so much blood.
Brigitte drifts in and out of consciousness, mumbling incoherently at times. Reinhardt has never felt more powerless; he can do nothing for her. He has no medicine to give, and nothing beyond the most rudimentary of medical kits. Tightness suffuses his chest, dark fear like a hand pressing down on his heart. You were not there when she needed you.
Eventually she stops responding to him, even when he calls her name, touches her face. He leaves the driver's seat and hangs through the passenger door over her, fingers pressed to her neck. He feels the strong pulse of her heart fluttering there, hears the whistle of air through her dry lips. She is still alive. She is strong, she will be okay.
Still, he counts every breath.