The war goes on.

[de-los-muertos]

Don’t start this now, Jack.

He isn’t blind to what his friend is attempting to do by standing there in the doorway. Others would likely think it’s just because he doesn’t have much time to linger around and chat, or even that he doesn’t feel right with going into the office and while Gabriel is sure the latter assumption is part of what holds him at bay, he knows what it is. Start the distancing now before it becomes a more solid thing.

He had done the very attempt himself weeks before a tough mission. Deep in his heart he had a feeling that he wasn’t going to walk away and if he wasn’t around to mourn the pain his friends would feel, the pain Jack would feel, would be lessened. There’s no death involved here, at least not from this decision made by the United Nations. Or so he hopes. This change in jobs just might have Jack deeper in the trenches than he’s ever been.

Jack wasn’t built like that. He was better on the front lines, lifting spirits. Looking upon him Gabriel can’t help but wonder…how do you raise spirits of one that is better suited for the job?

“Jack,” he breathes his name, sighs it, and lifts a hand to rub at his brow, feeling the mild tightness of what is sure to be a tension headache later on. There’s far too much running through his mind, far too many speculations and he’s unable to make sense of any of it. He just wants a clear moment where he can sit down and think but even he has to wonder what use that will do? A decision is made, taken out of his hands. One that has his best friend wanting to take several steps back.

“Don’t. You have all day to do that. Just…come inside, alright? Hell. Let’s go out for a few hours, raise some hell, blow up some shit to get rid of frustration. Anything but this.” He lifts a hand, jerking it over in his direction, then between them to cover the physical distance he’s afraid of becoming more.

They’ve been attached at the hip for years. Nothing like this should divide them…right?

[someheroesdie-blog]

He can see it in Gabriel's face. The knowledge of what's happening - of what Jack is trying to do, and apparently failing at. He'd hoped he could be subtle about distancing them from one another. Hoped he could convince himself and Gabriel that it was for the best and in an ideal world - Gabriel would have been none the wiser. Unfortunately Jack had never been that great at lying and he wore his heart on his sleeve - both terrible traits to have when one's best friend was Gabriel Reyes. Trying to pull one over on someone who knew him so well was the other problem here. Gabriel could take one look at him and know that something was wrong. Jack struggled with reciprocating the ability to sense when Gabriel was feeling a certain way. His partner played it close to the chest and Jack could certainly guess at his feelings better than other people, but he was never as perceptive as Gabriel was. There'd been plenty of moments when he'd wished otherwise and hoped to be as good a friend and ally to him as Gabriel was for Jack.

Looks like even to this day he was still struggling with that. As evidenced by his cowardly way out. His eyes snap up towards Gabriel for a split second when he says his name and his fingers curl more tightly into his biceps, crossed arms tensed with the strain of an approaching confrontation. This would be so much easier if Gabriel would let him leave so he could go wallow in his own pity party and eventually accept that the promotion was a good thing - even if it wasn't the one he'd wanted - the one that would keep him as second hand to Gabe.

All of the air is forced from his lungs in a low sigh, gaze dropping to the ground when Gabriel pleads with him to stop what he'd barely started. His fingertips go numb, and he feels a little lightheaded. He didn't stand a chance. Not when Gabriel looked at him like that and asked him to stay - to stop the chasm from forming any quicker than it would.

"Gabe..." Jack sighs again, this time a shorter more exasperated sound. Breaking up the closeness that had defined their friendship and partnership was a mercy killing in a way. Why couldn't Gabriel see that this would be better for them both if he started the process now? Better to adjust to the inevitable sooner rather than later, right? It doesn't escape Jack's notice that he is phrasing his own inner monologue as questions - trying to justify his actions. His pupils dart up to Gabriel and his arms unfold, shoulders deflating as the fight goes out of him. Conceding defeat, he steps into the office and finally lets the door slide shut behind him. He walks over and takes a seat on the desk beside him, staring at the space where he'd been standing. Their shoulders brush against one another and Jack resists the urge to wrap an arm around Gabriel. He settles for a gentle nudge.

"You're a terrible influence." Jack begins softly, "And by now I should know better." That and not be so susceptible to Gabe's whims. "I feel like I'm back at the SEP." He stares down at the clean floor. "I've no idea what to expect, probably won't know anyone and I'm not thrilled about feeling this way again."

[de-los-muertos]

     “Joy,” he says flatly, not enjoying the thought of being stuck in that particular color. He’s always gone between the two depending on what kind of mission he’s sent off to. After all, it’s difficult to be covert when one is sticking out like a neon blue thumb. Image will be important now, he supposes, especially if he’s going to be doing public relations. People tend to see the black clad and think ‘villain.’ This idle path of thoughts has him glancing over toward Jack with a poorly hidden frown, one that almost seems to chase the idea of smiling and laughing to get his way.

     His reaction to that wouldn’t have been any different, truly.

     “Yeah, I suppose so.” He nudges at his friend’s shoulder with his own, urging him to head into the office that is entirely too big for his liking. What in the world is he going to do with this? He doesn’t have many things. Maybe if he takes to filling space with plants like Angela does it might make it look less empty, and cold for that matter. 

     He wanders further into the room and sets the box down upon the desk which he studies with a disinterested eye. Who would have known he’d miss the surface worn by the rubbing of his palm or idle tapping of a pen’s end? This is too clean, too smooth and unmarred.

     “I don’t see the point of it, really. It’s not like I’m going to stop being out in the field as much as I have been.” This, after the crisis had ended, hasn’t been as much as it used to be. There are still problems cropping up with disgruntled Omnics that are late to the game but, over all, the horror they have witnessed feels as if it is possibly over. He truly hopes so. “Might as well make the best of it. Maybe I can make it feel…I don’t know. Homely?”

     Shrugging lightly he turns and hops up to sit upon the edge of the desk and hunch his back to rest his forearms against his thighs. “So they told you nothing at all about what you’ll be doing? Pretty much just mentioned you were promoted to Commander of the unit?” Pausing he lets a partial smile come to his lips, one that doesn’t quite reach the dark of his eyes. 

     “Sorry I keep gnawing on this bone. I know they’re probably making the best decision they can with this, I just don’t like the idea of us no longer working together, you know? Going to be tough if they have to stationed somewhere else.”

[someheroesdie-blog]

A rather undignified snort of laughter escapes from Jack’s lips when Gabriel expresses his apparent ‘joy’ at wearing blue. It always felt forced when Gabriel was seen wearing the Overwatch uniform – like he was only humoring someone by draping himself in the sky blue because he’d lost a bet. The nudging of his shoulder doesn’t entice Jack any further into the office. He stays glued to the spot, leaning in the doorframe with his arms folded and hips canted to one side.

To step into something like this would only make him wish for an office across from his friend, or at least within the same building. Jack doesn’t want to get his hopes up when they’ve already been confirmed as being crushed. So he stays where he belongs. Might as well adjust to the distance now he figures. Lessen the impact of the soon to be void between them. Jack watches Gabe move around the office and get used to the polished surfaces and gleaming desk. One eyebrow lifts in a skeptical expression as Gabriel insists he would still be doing the same things as before. Hunting down the few remaining rogue omnics and fighting with the soldiers.

He’s not about to tell him that it probably wouldn’t be like that anymore. Jack has a gut feeling about the new role that Gabriel’s been assigned and it doesn’t involve him being knee deep in mud and blood like he once had been.

That would stain the blue.

“Making this place homey would require you actually putting something on the walls Gabe.” Jack teases him, watching as he sits on his desk with all the casual air of someone who hadn’t yet become used to their new role of Strike Commander. Inwardly he rolls his eyes because of course the first thing he would decide to do is sit on the fancy desk rather than take a seat behind it.

He turns to face Gabriel from where he lingers between the hallway and his office – no longer leaning against the frame but standing square within it.

This is a conversation that should be had behind the closed door but there’s no one walking past and so Jack doesn’t move from where he’s stationed himself. “If they told me anything more I would have told you. I’m sure whatever I learn tomorrow will get passed along to you – if not by one of them then by me. Heck, Blackwatch might not even be a concern of yours. Micromanaging will probably be your new best friend.”

He shrugs his shoulders, waving off the apology. “It’s fine. They sort of took the control out of your hands,” a smirk follows, “something you absolutely love if I recall. Don’t let it eat at you though. Either way what’s done is done. I’ll get some information tomorrow but until then you’ve got a fancy office to break in.”

Jack knows it’s shallow of him, but he isn’t sure he can keep talking with Gabriel like nothing’s wrong. Keep up the charade so Gabriel doesn’t have more to worry about than he already does. “I’ll leave you to it. I’m going to go pack up some of my stuff just to be safe. Talk tomorrow?” He phrases it with as light an air as he possibly can, smiling at Gabriel. The tight feeling in his throat is back. Wholly unpleasant and reminiscent of when he had a knife to his throat at a bar fight in Madrid.

Only this knife was metaphorical rather than literal and probably not as life threatening as he thought it to be.

[anitrateme]

[decdeye-a-blog1]

                 GOIN’ BACK TO CALI, STYLIN’, PROFILIN’.

ind. gabriel reyes                                                                                 ♚ rules as imagined by jekyde                                                                         ♚ art

[someheroesdie-blog]

|| Blog on hiatus. ||

[overwatch-arts]

【★ OW / 昔日戰友 ★】★Rhea★

[laur-rants]

Give this poor man his visor back.

[holy-mist-deactivated20160925]

He clicks his tongue, tilting his head while staring at the weapon the man held, then looking back at his face, noticing the strange gadget he wore on his eye.

“Not an automatic weapon…” -he lifts it for the other to notice the sharp, covered in blood blades sticking out of the upper jaw- “Requires the swing and strenght…” 

He then noticed: he could be a new killer? He didn’t think it could be possible, as he did look quite… human, to be one of them. But only killers were allowed to carry weapons in the woods. 

“What is… your purpose here in the sacred mist?” -he asked, after wondering how to word his question for a while-.

[someheroesdie-blog]

The other person is taller than Jack expected. Between the two of them he's fairly certain he is the stronger though - this guy looks like a strong breeze could knock him over, but looks could be deceiving and - was that a SKULL?

His eyes widen a fraction of an inch when he realizes what the weapon is that he holds and Jack adjusts his grip accordingly on his rifle.

"I doubt you could carry this." A lift of the rifle for emphasis. The weight of the rifle combined with his ammunition made it difficult for anyone but an enhanced soldier to carry it, if not outright impossible, but the other man was unsettling to the point where he didn't want to test that theory with him.

Purpose?

"I was looking for a lost unit." Until he too become separated from the rescue squad. Jack narrows his eyes, wondering on the word  choice made by him. "Why is it sacred?" He sounds suspicious, and rightly so. Now that he had noticed it - their surroundings were seeped in fog and there was the slightest whispering in the back of his mind.

[holy-mist-deactivated20160925]

@someheroesdie

“Guns… are not allowed in the yard” 

He walked towards the man, trying to look menacing as he flicked the club with his fingers, letting it be seen it was real bone.

“All our works here are… hand made. Guns are not appreciated” 

[someheroesdie-blog]

He couldn’t recall how he had gotten here. Something had happened – a mission in the woods of .  .  . Jack’s mind was strangely blank after that.

The readout on his visor was as blank as his mind.

                       A    V O I C E.

Jack spins around, pulse rifle lifted. He takes a cautious step back.

“Bold words from someone carrying a weapon of their own.”

[someheroesdie-blog]

wingcdmedic

No, she answers his questions silently. No, he wouldn’t. Which only adds salt to the injury. Notonly had he concealed his identity openly in front of them, told baldfaced lies in order to protect it, but he had done things that Jack wouldn’t have approved of. That he would have condemned, even. Law, truth and order are there to be upheld for a reason—where once they would have been his shield, they were now a weapon turned against him, putting a price on his head and branding him as the opposite of everything Jack Morrison had once stood for.

         “Then why? Why do all that?” Still bracing herself, she turns around to look at him—only this time she’s aware that he can’t see the tear-streaked face, can’t see the exhaustion and hurt written all over her face, and she’s glad for it. It feels as if she’s been fighting a losing battle over the past six years, even if the revelation had only come now.

           “Is it worth it? All those years—on the run, alone, friends and loved ones forsaken; is all that worth it?” Her voice, however, gives her away, clues him in where his sight fails to do so. But she finds that she cares less about what he thinks about her—has she ever mattered anyway? Clearly not, if he had deemed her—no, this isn’t just about her, it involves all of them who had called themselves his friends—unimportant enough to let them know that they no longer had any reason to grieve.

            It would seem that the only reason he’d care to think about his friends would be when his cause and his identity were at risk. She glances away; the notion of it nauseates her. The more they converse, the more she’s convinced that he was right; Jack is well and truly dead and gone—andyet, the face of the man in the bed, blank, distant eyes looking through her as if she didn’t exist is his. His voice is grittier, rougher, but it still has the same cadence, the same weight.

             Perhaps if she hadn’t been so emotionally distraught, she’d be able to isolate the problem, diagnose and formulate a solution for it.

             “No,” she admits, lowering her head. “I tried to—I didn’t think it was right. You were trying so hard to stop me from taking your mask off that I figured…” Her instinct had been correct, it seems. “I’d wait until you were ready. That right belongs to you, and you alone. I made my staff swear to secrecy—and as far as anyone’s concerned, they’re not allowed to see you because you’re under quarantine for intensive care.” Her chuckle is a bitter one. “Look at what you made me do, Jack. You made me lie to the people I care about—for you.”

The reasoning behind why he had become what he had wasn’t something he would burden Angela with. Jack Morrison couldn’t survive if he wanted to find justice for himself, for Overwatch and for Gabriel. His jaw locks, teeth grinding against one another as he stares blindly ahead. There was blood on Overwatch’s hands. The group had been poisoned from the inside and even Jack Morrison had turned against his allies when given a tune to dance to. To get to the rotten core he had to hunt people down and go through databases that were locked up.

Soldier 76 was able to do that. He had the skillset necessary to infiltrate and the detached lone ethic that prevented him from forming bonds that would end up ruining him. The same mistakes weren’t going to be made a second time and 76 had to do this for himself. Angela and the others were never made aware of the things Gabriel had tried to warn Jack about. The secrets died with them when the explosion happened – conveniently hinted to have involved the feuding commanders.

Leaving Gabriel’s body behind had been the second worst mistake of his life – of Jack’s life.

Her voice and the questions she ask crack the surface of a stoic expression. There’s a flicker of something when his gaze drops low and shoulders seem to shrink. Jack Morrison wasn’t the type to survive alone – no. He worked best within a team. 76 adapted to the isolation. “It was for the best.” It would be worth it when he found all of the people who had been responsible for their downfall. For killing Gabriel and ruining Jack Morrison.

“This isn’t a fight that belongs to anyone but myself.” Along with Gabe but he was long dead. Someone had to shoulder the weight of seeking justice and it might as well be him. For a moment he falters, “I didn’t deserve help after what happened.” It’s a momentary lapse when he thinks about himself as Jack – one that doesn’t linger for long.

When she reassures him that nobody was made aware of his identity he sighs in relief. “Doctor patient confidentiality?” A mirthless chuckle follows, one that is echoed by Angela’s own when she says that she lied for him. His expression hardens. “Then maybe you’re getting the idea of why I have avoided all of you.” Because everything he touched was as poisoned as he himself was. No amount of disassociation could shake the deep-set hatred Jack Morrison had for himself. For being so ignorant and blind to what was happening. It was fitting he lost his sight – he hadn’t used it when he had it.

Angela lying for him would only be the first step of many things she would do that would cause her to further hate Soldier 76. It was a slippery slope that he intended to guide her away from as soon as possible.

“Where are my things?” He would leave.

Now.

[someheroesdie-blog]

Jack is right. He knows Jack is right, but that does very little to ease his mind. The fact that he’s starting to feel like his hands are tied irritates him to no end. He knows damn well that Jack deserves to be second in command. If it wasn’t for the fact that he’d already been leading for many years now, he might say that Jack should have been promoted to commander. No, not might. He would definitely say that. Would he be happy about it? Maybe after the initial feeling of being slighted he would. Jack is his friend, after all.

“Blue might be fitting for you, but not for me. Red maybe, black definitely, but yeah.. no blue.” He tries to change the conversation to something else, but it’s still there lingering in the back of his mind like a nagging ache. Like a cancer that threatens to spread and consume, lurking about the folds of his mind until he keeps wondering, and questioning, and challenging. For now he’s going to remain quiet as Jack has no fault in his assumptions. They’ve both just received their promotions. There’s no need to rock the boat.

An occurrence neither of them should be concerned about. Why should they be afraid to stand up for something?

The vague smile that had begun to form settled back into a grim thinning of his lips and when Jack speaks, he doesn’t notice at first until he allows the voice to pierce the thick of his thoughts. It’s a light in that fog, leading him toward safer shores. At least for a little while.

“I hope so. There never seem to be enough dessert and with my appetite? I can eat ten of those little jell-o cups and stuff have room for more.” Shifting the box he motions toward the upper portion of the building, namely to the jutting office that allows him to over look the whole lower floor. Coming to the escalator, he shifts the box to tuck it under his arm and sets a hand against the railing as he steps upon the newly formed stair.

“If not, I might have to demand something like that. Along with pizza nights and baseball teams. You know, ridiculous things to see how far they’ll let me run with it.”

He lightly elbows Gabriel when he doesn’t respond to his attempts at reassuring the man. “C’mon Strike Commander it will be fine.” Even if neither of them wanted this result they would adapt and adjust to it accordingly so. That was something they were good at. His mind wanders to how they worked together out in the field and how often they had played off of one’s strength or weakness to come out of insane odds where others no doubt would have gotten hurt or worse. The brass must have noticed it and the credit was given where it was due – Reyes was the commander and it was under his orders they managed to escape odds thought otherwise inescapable.

Talk of the uniform color is safe. It’s casual but only with an overhanging sense of dread on account of what it might mean. “I think you’re stuck with the blue.” Jack laughs because blue definitely wasn’t Gabriel’s color but there was no way they would be changing the color scheme of Overwatch. It was iconic at this point. “Better get used to it.” Jack slips his hands into the pockets of his pants.

They’re both dancing around the awkward situation. Neither is doing a great job of avoiding the elephant in the room – the one they’d already acknowledged and were now trying to avoid so much as glancing at out of their peripheral.

It feels like there’s a lump in his throat. One he tries to swallow past but it stays stuck right there.

“You should definitely check on it. Bet you could sneak a few extras without anyone being able to say anything.” He smiles, the expression much like before doesn’t reach his eyes but he tries to be casual – tries to be his usual self so Gabriel doesn’t have anything to justify him making waves out of what happened. The less ammo he has to use the better. Jack didn’t want him potentially throwing away something he had earned through blood, sweat, and hard work.

He steps onto the escalator one step behind Reyes and looks at the office that would be Reyes. It makes him wonder where his own will be – where he’d be operating out of if not the main Overwatch base. How distinct would Blackwatch be from the other branch?

“So long as I get to play left field then count me in.” His lips twitch slightly. “I’m fairly sure that if you ask nicely then take them off guard with a smile and laugh that they’d let you get away with just about anything.” The unexpected chuckle that sometimes came from Reyes could make Jack agree to whatever he’d just suggested. Why not try and see if it would work on the higher ups?

At the top of the escalator he takes the lead so he can get the door into the new office for him. It’s clean and spacious without anything crowding the space. Jack gives a low whistle but doesn’t step in further beyond the doorframe.

“Nice digs.”

[someheroesdie-blog]

It feels like an eternity since he had last walked around these quiet halls even if only days have passed. Now and then he returns here, to Overwatch, to the bunker within its depths for reasons he’s uncertain. Even during moments where there’s little to remember of his past self he drifts around here, soaking up details that leave him confused and frustrated. 

He was upon the border of this dissociation of self when Jack blipped into existence. The sight of his face had drug him back in a most vicious manner. It was by the grace of God that he didn’t tear the younger man apart. It couldn’t be said that he wasn’t close to doing so. The dried blood on his claws proved that much.

“I don’t know,” he answers with honesty. He can avoid this place if he wants to. The world is big enough and he has methods of travel that would keep him far away from it and yet at least once a year he finds himself coming back here. Maybe he expects to find something different. Some kind of understanding as to why everything occurred.

Maybe he just hopes it’s all a bad dream he wants to wake up from.

He continues deeper into the bunker, casting intermittent shadows upon the walls and floor as they pass through. The flare holds strong, providing just enough light to be comfortable on the eyes. Without any electricity to work with there’s only the flares and LED lanterns to work with. If he can manage to find the latter, anyway. The masked visage turns toward the line of lockers along one wall, then the footlockers resting near the cots. Choosing one, he approaches the lockers and opens one then the next until he finds what he’s searching for.

“It’s been…Five? Six years? Longer, perhaps. I lose track of time.” That’s putting it mildly. Losing minutes is one thing. Hours or even days? Completely another. Setting the flare upon a foot locker, letting it burn itself down, he flips the switch upon the lantern and washes the room in pale, blue-white light. He hangs this upon a support pole in the middle of the room and drifts off toward the door.

“Lie down. I’ll be back,” he says over his shoulder before continuing on into the dark. He doesn’t need a lamp, not when he can see clearly and knows this place as if he’d created it himself. He might not have, but he definitely had a hand in it.

That isn’t an acceptable answer – not to Jack who wants to fix this somehow. How can he do that if Gabriel doesn’t know? He’s not going to try and drag answers out of Gabriel though because he very well might not know and if he has no idea then trying to aggravate him into saying something wouldn’t be doing either of them any favors. Jack felt like at any moment Gabriel would vanish on him – turn to smoke and not return. He could survive on his own and figure something out until he reached the others of Overwatch but he didn’t want to.

It was bad enough seeing the divide that was forming between them in the past. Apparently the future was far bleaker than he would have guessed it being.

He collapses onto one of the cots, doubling forward so his chest brushed the top of his thighs. The rolling nausea from before had made a return and he had no desire to dry heave until his injuries reopened. Jack closes his eyes, focuses entirely on keeping whatever was left in his stomach there where it belonged. The lantern provides enough light for him to see more of what the room had once been. Oh. Jack hadn’t ever been here but he knew of it.

“Will you?” The question is asked to himself, mumbled beneath his breath as he tilts his head and opens his eyes just in time to see the dark line of Gabriel’s shoulders vanishing into the shadows. After a minute of slow, deliberate breaths he feels good enough to move again. He rolls over onto his side and curls up on the cot so that the worst of his injury isn’t pressing into the thin mattress. The position isn’t comfortable enough for him to sleep in so he turns over onto his back and closes his eyes.

One skill he had picked up was the ability to fall asleep quickly and to fall asleep anywhere. It was doubly effective when his body needed to rest up and heal. He reassured himself that Gabriel was around – or whatever was left of Gabriel and that the man while different was still the same in some ways.

The important ones.

He hadn’t killed him so he wouldn’t.

Jack repeats it over and over in his mind until he drifts off to sleep with one hand over his side and his other arm tossed across his face to cover his eyes with the crook of his elbow.  

[someheroesdie-blog]

Character Name Playlist

 Oh lord here we go  Tagged by: @kindredbond

J ack of All Trades A ll I Want C ritical Mistakes K arma’s Payment M iss Missing You O verjoyed R ace Against Myself R ain I t comes back to you S taying Up O ut of Breath N icotine

tagging:  @de-los-muertos , @drcpthebeat , @twelveshxrp , @dog-of-war, @wingcdmedic , @ripxtire , and anyone else who wants to. ;)

[someheroesdie-blog]

the-war-goes-on

The other man wasn’t entirely wrong. He had rejoined for his own purposes, to track down Reaper, to finally find out what all went wrong in the past. Overwatch was the side and Reaper was the main course on his plate of life. But, he did help out the organization, he ran missions, he created training drills, he was of good use to Overwatch still.

“Rest easy Soldier,” he hummed gently as he cleaned the man up, trying his best not to make a mess everywhere. The tissue was saturated red by the time it was tossed to the ground to be forgotten about for a little while, this was far more important than throwing it away.

His knees felt week as they gave out from under him, grabbing the small bedside table in a feeble attempt at grounding himself, tears gently pricking at the corners of his eyes.

“You had nothing to do with it,” he said, hands wiping away the tears as they slowly slid down his cheeks.

“We all have regrets kid,” he said, despite the fact that Jack was already out. “And I’m suffering through every moment of the ones I’ve made over the years.”

His words fall on deaf ears – Jack is as good as dead to the world with how heavy he sleeps. Only his eyelids twitch slightly when 76 wipes at the blood and his chest lifts in tiny increments as he drifts deeper and deeper into a much needed rest.

When he dreams it’s of bright flashes of light and foggy figures he can’t make out the features of. The closer he gets the more indistinct they appear and by the time he reaches them they’re gone altogether. The scene repeats itself over and over until he stops trying to reach them and he’s left alone in the bright room that he can’t see any walls or markings to. After a while he closes his eyes against the harsh light, and the next time he opens them it’s to an unfamiliar room and a stomach that clenches painfully from how empty it is.

Unbeknownst to him he’s been out for nearly two days. Now and then he’d wake up, conscious enough to swallow a few mouthfuls of water but beyond that he slept. The skip through time had apparently done a number on his body and mind.

Jack groans. One hand reaching up to his head and running through his hair.

Reality comes to him in bursts of memories and a glance around the room confirms that it isn’t a nightmare. He’s in the future and his future self is nowhere to be seen. Maybe that’s for the best. Jack swings his legs over the side, moving slow to sit up. When the room doesn’t spin precariously he stands up and makes his way for the door.

He could find the kitchen on his own – he might fall on his way to the kitchen but he wasn’t going to wait around for 76.

Jack’s not sure he can face him.

[the-war-goes-on-deactivated2017]

“We had no choice,” he admitted. “The Petras Act of 2042 banned all Overwatch Activity, we had no choice but to go into hiding, all of us,” he admitted softly. 

“I am still doing good, I save lives, I take down terrorists left and right, yes, I do it in the dark and from the shadows, but, I am doing what I possibly can,” he confirmed. 

Yes, the word wasn’t exactly a good one, he wasn’t legal authority in any means, in the past, he kind of was, but now, he was just a civilian trying to do what’s right. 

The Soldier allowed his jacket to be grabbed, allowed the other to get into his personal space. He was honestly waiting for a punch to be driven into his gut, a kick to his side, knuckles against his cheek or nose. 

“It is better this way, my name was completely tarnished. I am positive the police were going to come after me,” he added, he was never sure, but, it was better just to play dead for a while longer. 

Arms quickly looped under Jack’s grabbing him the best he could.

Strong arms grabbed the other man, careful of the blood that was dripping from his nose, carrying him bridal style. He was originally going to hoist the other over his shoulder, but, he didn’t feel like leaving a trail of Jack Morrison DNA behind him. 

Large boots carried him back to his room, door opening automatically. Jack was set on the bed gently, grabbing some tissues from the bathroom and cleaning him up a bit. 

“I know it’s hard,” he said gently, mask tossed onto his desk. “But the future isn’t a good place,” he was unsure if he was speaking to the other, or to himself directly. 

He did intend on coming out as being alive in the future sometime, some whack-job conspiracy theorist probably has pieced it together by now. 

[someheroesdie-blog]

"You always have a choice. There's always something that can be done. Something that isn't hiding behind a mask and committing crimes. You're doing this for yourself." Of course that isn't all there is to it and part of Jack is willfully ignoring the logic in what Soldier 76 has said, but he can't stand to look at his face - his own face. It's mocking him and he hates that he's become something he swore he never would.

He hates that Overwatch broke apart and let the world down and he hates how he was the one who let it happen. There was plenty more hate for him to spit out through clenched teeth but the sudden lightheaded spell combined with what tasted like pennies in his mouth stop him short. Jack swallows a mouthful of blood, leaning heavily against Soldier 76 as he tries to regain his balance and strength.

It doesn't happen. He's feeling woozy, like he just ran miles and miles without any water in the blazing sun. Jack doesn't even notice he's being carried instead of walking. Not for a few minutes at least and when it does occur to him he only manages to blearily gaze up at 76, half lidded eyes taking in the scars and age marks.

The bed is a godsend. Jack's body loses what little tension was left as soon as he hits the mattress and his eyes shut fully. Blood has left a trail down his upper lip and is pooling in the dip of his chin by the time 76 returns with a tissue to wipe at it. Crimson stains his skin but he's paler than usual which makes it look worse than it is.

"No thanks to me." He responds, voice cracked and tired. It's the last thing he says - and one he surely won't remember having ever said - before he falls asleep.

[someheroesdie-blog]

@the-war-goes-on

“You didn’t need to know,” he immediately threw words back. “You knowing about the future, the information you now hold, you’re definitely going to change this, change everything that’s here in the present. When you go back, who knows what will happen to us here now,” he said, grumbling a bit.

76 stiffened at the brazen contact, glancing down at his boots, shifting a bit from side to side.

“You’re not dead, not yet. You’re in this timeline, just, by a different name now,” he admitted, turning on heel to glance at the other. “You don’t die in the blast, in fact, you make it out almost completely unscathed, few gashes and scrapes here and there, but, you’re able to walk away from it in one piece.”

Reaper wasn’t lucky enough to have it that way.

“And Overwatch wasn’t your fault, it was slowly falling apart at the seams, Blackwatch too. I didn’t notice it at the time, and certainly, you haven’t either,” he pointed out, placing a hand on the others shoulder.

“You life, Reyes lives too, everyone lives. I promise, everyone, Jesse, Reinhardt, Torbjorn, Tracer, Mercy, you, and Reyes, are all still alive walking this planet as we speak. You have my word on that Soldier, I promise. Everyone’s changed, yes, but, time does that to people.”

“You rejoin Overwatch in the end, currently, Jack Morrison is an Overwatch agent, just not by that name any longer,” he said, gloved hands shifting, a bit hesitant, as he flicked the locking mechanisms that held the faceplate in place as he tugged it away, revealing bright blue eyes.

“You go by Soldier 76 in the future, a vigilante that takes Talon down from the shadows, as well as gangs and terrorist organizations,” he said, running a hand over his hair, cowlick still sticking straight up in the back. “30-something years have passed and I still can’t fix my hair,” he chuckled, wide grin on his face.

“I’m here so it has to be for some purpose. If not knowing then what?” Jack isn’t about to back down on this one. He may be tired but he’s as stubborn as ever. “And you’re damned right I’m going to.” He would try at least. Although there would be nothing he could actually do to change the future – if it were possible he wouldn’t be here, talking to Soldier 76 and arguing about impossibilities. Even if he wanted to believe they were within his grasp.

He leans into the wall, his back to 76 as he finally, finally starts to talk to him. His face is blank, a neutral canvas while the other man talks about how he hadn’t actually died in Switzerland amidst the rubble. So that reporter was right about him not dying. He turns around and faces 76 fully, his gaze steely and lips set in a frown. He makes a noise in the back of his throat, not believing him for one second about Overwatch. He was Strike Commander – he should have done more. Something else to try and save it.

His brows lower when 76 takes the mask off and reveals a familiar face. It’s his own, but clearly different. Age and scars do that he supposes. He wants to reach out and trace the nasty looking one that bisects his face, but he holds back, keeps his arms folded and his stance strong. Jack wants to be taken in by that grin – almost is.

“You turned your back on everything you believe in.” The UN, sanctions, doing what was right as opposed to what one wanted. “A vigilante.” He bites the word out. How could he have changed so much and so little? Jack steps forward, crowding into 76’s space and grabs onto his jacket. His fingers curl into the synthetic material, knuckles whitening. He didn’t know what to feel. Disappointed? Angry? Relief? Maybe it would have been better if he had died in that blast.

His teeth grind against one another. “You wear a mask and don’t even use your own name.” No doubt because he knows Jack Morrison wouldn’t do what Soldier 76 did. Was it shame? Jack felt shameful. He opens his mouth to chastise him further but his grip goes slack and he slumps forward, red dripping from his nose.

[the-war-goes-on-deactivated2017]

“You will never guess who I am, I am very confident in that,” he laughed a bit, voice deep inside his mask. They were the same height, roughly same build, but, that was just a coincidence. He still had that stupid cowlick though, Gabe always used to tease him about it as he would stand in front of the mirror, trying every gel possible on the market to get it to stay down, but, it never did. 

He had known that Lena would be running around the place, she was fast, but, she wasn’t exactly invisible to the naked eye, and his visor picked up on her location wherever she blinked off to. He should have seen her coming, distracted by the other man in front of him. He had it coming, for allowing himself to become out of focus. It could have been an enemy. 

“Stay,” he said, pointing at the bed before heading down the hallway, immediately heading towards Winston’s lab, Tracer already sitting up on a desk, kicking her legs back and forth as she folded her arms in front of her chronal accelerator, obviously unhappy about not being able to chat with Jack.

“No, don’t even think about it,” he huffed as she glanced away, blowing some hair out of her eyes as Winston tried to come up with ideas on how to get Jack back to his own timeline. He had faith that the scientist would be able to come up with something, he was a genius, after all. If there was anyone that would be able to figure this out, it would be Winston. 

“Agent 76, we have a minor breach,” Athena said, images popping up on his visor, security footage on the side of Jack wandering the halls before accessing a terminal. A miniature map popped up of the layout, telling him exactly which room the other man was currently inside of. 

“Fuck,” he grit his teeth, turning on heel. This wasn’t good, not at all. Then again, he should have seen this coming, this is him, after all. he wouldn’t have stayed still. 

“Keep thinking, I’ll be back,” he insisted, heading towards the terminal that Jack was currently using, leaving it all in their hands. It wouldn’t take him too long, even if he had to tackle Jack, he had faith that he himself would come out on top, he had learned a lot since he was Strike Commander.

“What part of ‘stay’ do you not understand? Or did coming to a new time fry your brain?” He huffed, approaching the other. “Athena, turn it off,” he said.

“Of course, Agent 76,” the voice sounded, the holonet flickering off, the Overwatch logo resting in its place as a desktop. 

“The fuck is the matter with you? Do I need to tie you up Soldier?” He really didn’t want it to have to come to that.

“How much did you see?” He demanded, obviously not pleased in the slightest amount at all.

[someheroesdie-blog]

He had managed to see enough headlines to give him an idea of what happened in the future – of what to expect. Grim about covered it he supposed. Jack grit his teeth, muscle clenching across his jawline while bright blue eyes skimmed the article about Zürich. He heard footsteps and associated them quickly with the combat boots worn by Soldier 76. Lena was much lighter on her feet and the telltale click-clack of Angela’s heels were always a dead giveaway for the doctor. He wasn’t sure who else was in the base and truthfully he was surprised it took this long for the old man to show up.

“I don’t mind taking orders, just not inclined to take them from you.” Jack says, eyes narrowing as he recalled the article by Olympia Shaw. The allegations and assumptions. He wasn’t sure which outcome was worse. Him being dead or him being .  .  .

Jack turns around before the AI can lock him out of the terminal, arms folded as he glares at the masked man. He doesn’t answer any of his questions. Not the one about what was wrong with him – a few things came to mind honestly – nor the one about being tied up and especially not the question pertaining to what he had seen. Rather he unfolds his arms and sighs, feeling exhausted but refusing to rest – not yet.

“You weren’t going to give me anything useful as far as information goes so I took matters into my own hands.” Jack wasn’t at his best but he figures he could hold his own against 76. His stance loosens somewhat, either out of a perceived safety or resignation it is difficult to tell but he’s not going to put up a fight about this.

“You could have told me I died.” Jack walks towards him, shoulder hitting his as he steps past and starts backtracking towards 76’s room. There wouldn’t be any more snooping for the day. Now that the other man knew Jack wouldn’t be content to sit and twiddle his thumbs for the unforeseen amount of time it took to get him back. He paused, leaning against the wall for support while eyeing the ground. “Or that I let Overwatch fall to pieces.” Either would have been good information to have. Jack grinds his teeth, irritation making him short tempered.