Chapter Text
The gun pressed harder against Jack’s temple, forcing him to crook his neck. He couldn’t see his attacker, but he knew that voice anywhere. It was all too familiar. He’d heard it a thousand times or more on purloined recordings, television broadcasts, described .
“ Reaper .” Jack hissed. He knew sooner or later that Talon was bound to catch up to him, but he never imagined that they’d sic one of their most proficient men on him. He was always a pain in the ass, but he never thought he’d be the one to get under the most renown terrorist group’s skin.
“ Mmmm. You’re observant, aren’t you? What do you have there, hm?” Every word that poured from Reaper’s mouth almost sent bile shooting up Jack’s throat. His voice wasn’t the problem, so much that it was the man behind it. Standing next to Morrison was the Reaper. The man who took down entire villages, cities, companies, political figures. He was a goddamn force to be reckoned with and Jack was unfortunate enough to be the one at the end of the gun barrel.
Reaper growled, stomping the ground with his weighted boot. A metal claw pointed towards the gap between the wall and dresser, where the knife had been stashed. Jack cautiously reached for the box, sliding it out into view. The gun at his temple dropped and Reaper knelt down to pick the box up, setting it up on the dresser. Jack unbent his neck, turning to look at the assailant. He had a shotgun in his left hand, lazily pointing it in Jack’s direction to ensure his cooperation, and his right hand was resting on the lid to the box.
“What do you want from me?” Jack spoke out, his voice a bit shakier than he would’ve liked it to be.
“Who did this belong to?” Reaper asked, tracing the top of the box with his clawed finger. He practically ignored that Jack had even said anything.
“A friend. Please don’t - don’t ruin it.” Jack felt pathetic, asking his attacker not to tarnish one of the very few things Jack had left of his lover.
“A friend?” The man stepped towards Jack and squatted down beside him, his white pointed skull mask staring holes into Jack’s soul. “What does the name ‘ Gabriel ’ mean to you? Or ‘ Reyes,’ perhaps?”
Without skipping a beat, Jack shook his head and laughed. “Absolutely nothing. Is that why you’re here? To, what, interrogate me? See if I have any dirt on someone for you?” He scoffed, glaring Reaper down. “I thought you were Talon’s baddest of the bad, so why are you here fucking with an old drunken has-been?”
A fist swung out and struck Jack in the face. Stars blurred his vision for a moment, just enough time for Reaper to move closer and get in his face, grabbing a fistful of Jack’s hair to keep him looking straight.
“I’m going to ask one more time,” Reaper leaned in close to Jack’s ear, “What does that name mean to you?” Jack shivered, goosebumps prickling along his skin. As sick as it was, he kind of liked hearing that demonic tone against his ear. It sounded familiar, but not like it used to. It felt different now, like he’d heard it a million times before, cooing at him and calling his name.
“It doesn’t mean anything to me. You’re wasting your time.” At this point Jack seemed to be trying to convince himself that the name didn’t mean anything to him, that he didn’t spend countless nights whispering it in the dark when his lover was out on a mission, that he didn’t still whisper it through his drunken haze on those cold and crushing nights when it seemed like the only thing keeping him from tipping over the edge and ending his existence was that one word, that one name; Gabriel.
Reaper clicked his tongue from somewhere behind the mask. He released Jack from his grip and stood up, beginning to pace in front of him. “How about Jett?” All color left Jack’s face and he clenched his jaw, trying to keep his poker face from faltering. Reaper paused and looked him over, a chuckle breaking through the silence between them. “I know you have some relation to both of them, Jack, so do me a favor and just tell me the truth.
A defeated sigh left Jack. He wasn’t going to relinquish any information of his dead lover over to a terrorist, but he couldn’t let Jett get hurt because of a past that didn’t concern him.
“Reyes-” Jack stopped, thinking through his words carefully before proceeding. “Reyes is dead, and has been for a long time now,” The words clung to the air, refusing to dissipate. “He died back when Overwatch fell to its knees both literally and figuratively.” His eyes fell to the floor, his expression drained of any emotion.
Reaper made a sound of disgust, seemingly unhappy with the answer Jack gave. He lifted Jack up by the front of his shirt and brought him to eye level, hissing. The old soldier gripped at his forearms and dug his fingers in, trying to break free of his grasp. Viscous smoke wafted from Reaper’s mask, snaking through the air towards Jack. It wriggled into his mouth and nose. He began to panic, kicking and scratching at the other man.
His motions ceased.
His vision blacked, but he still felt conscious somehow. Am I dead? He thought to himself. He ached for some reason, like a crushing weight was on top of him. Like a ton of rubble and debris. Like when Overwatch HQ fell on me.
A familiar smell invaded his nose all of a sudden.
Whiskey, Curve cologne, cigarettes, and - blood? The scent filled his senses and stroked at the walls of his lungs, nostalgia teased at his brain and he began to cry. Gabriel. “Morrison.” His mouth opened on its own volition. Gabriel. “Morrison.” Each time he tried to speak his lover’s name within his mind it just came out as his own. Gabriel! “Morrison!” It wasn’t until then that Jack recognized the voice that was meant to be his. That very voice he thought to be lost to time fell from his own mouth.
Gabriel? “Morrison?” His voice sounded so broken, so hoarse, so drained. The inside of his mouth felt dry and he swallowed thickly, the taste of iron rushed down his parched throat. Where the fuck am I? “Morrison? Reinhardt?”
Jack was shaken to his core. Somehow he was reliving Gabriel’s experience - reliving his death.
The thought made Jack feel sick to his stomach, but he couldn’t vomit, he couldn’t so much as gag. He had to sit and watch and listen to Gabriel slowly die, completely useless to help. He wanted so badly to help, to single-handedly lift the building off of Reyes, but he couldn’t do a goddamn thing. He was nothing more than a useless voice inside of a dying man’s head. Reaper was a fucking monster for making him listen to this, to feel it and listen to it.
It felt like ages Jack spent in the dark, listening to the broken, ragged breath of his partner, until eventually he heard something else:
Footsteps. “H-hello?” Gabriel’s voice called out, desperation seeping into it. No answer. From somewhere to the left they could hear rubble being moved, the idle chatter of people talking on the comms, and more footsteps. Hope filled the both of them, giving them the strength to call out with more vigor. “Hello! I’m- I’m here!”
Gabriel called out until his throat became raw and it was a chore just to breathe. No one came for him, no one called out for him.
“Reyes,” Gabriel perked up at his own name, calling out once more just to be met with a devastating blow to his ambition. “No, he’s not here. We looked everywhere. No sign of Morrison, either. Taking the survivors to the hospital ASAP. Moving out.”
They lied . They didn’t look for him, they didn’t even try.
Anger welled up inside of Gabriel’s chest and he began to sob, trapped and helpless underneath a mess that he caused. He didn’t even care if he died, he just wanted them to make an effort for Jack, to rescue him. Through everything, he never wanted to lose Morrison, let alone be the cause of his demise.
“Morrison, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for things to get so bad. Please be okay, for me. ”