Gabriel Reyes / Reaper x reader
Word count: 2.4k
Reading time: 6 mins
Authors note: holy moly did this take time to come out! I’m sorry that it took so long but, I do think it helped with the quality of my works. / edited to make it look prettier 🫶
Synopsis: A late night just as any other in your youth is brought back up after a familiar face makes a reappearance at your bar.
AO3 , Overwatch Masterlist
Your wrist had just started to hurt from cleaning a class, the old cloth in your hands worn from many uses on late nights just as this one.
The bar smelt of cleaning agents, and the beeswax you had buffed into each and every one of the leather seats only hours beforehand. Music played soft and low, lights remained dimmed low, guarding the atmosphere.
The bar itself had only a couple of patrons, such as a small party celebrating a birthday or milestone of some sort, a young couple sitting in a booth, and a couple of miscellaneous people in seemingly random spots. The sun had only just started to set on the venetian town, and just as traffic started to pick up, you spotted some interesting newcomers.
The first was a man with bronzed skin, short brown hair hidden by a hat, a bushy goatee with a matching pair of bushy brows, and two parallel facial scars that ran from his mid cheekbone to right before the bridge of his upturned, round nose. He looked weathered to say the least, his eyes bore bags and his jaw was almost tense for the entire night.
You greeted him as he sat down at the bar stool, placing himself between a wall and the end of the bar. He responded with a curt nod of acknowledgment and prattled off his order— a tall glass of whiskey. Though, he didn’t seem too keen on eye contact or conversation.
The next man was a young man with a black cowboy hat, no less than twenty years old, yet he already had a Marlboro red sticking out of the side of his mouth like it was candy won at a schoolyard.
Charm seeped out of him like molasses, and the first thing he said when he waltzed on over to the bar was, “ ‘nd what do I owe ya for yer unrequited attention?”
Getting a better look at the cowboy, you were able to discern his facial features. He had dark brown eyes, an arched nose with a flat head. His jawline was sharp but covered by mutton chops, and his lower lip was defined by a prominent soul patch.
“C’mon now, I know I don’t look that good.”
As any self respecting bartender does when southern-American charm gussied up in matching boots and hat flirts with you, his drinks suddenly had a bit more of a kick to them.
“Never thought that my guardian angel would have wings of whiskey, ‘nd a halo of cedar smoke, but by God, ain’t it fittin’.”
He winked at you, taking his drink gently in his own hands after you set it down at his table.
The next to walk in after the cowboy was a man covered in cybernetics, although the hoodie and sweatpants that he wore hid them well. He had black hair, his eyes were sharp like daggers, and you could tell by his body language that he was completely alert and possibly looking for a fight. He stayed put in a secluded booth, only kindly waving you over periodically throughout the night.
He’d only sometimes respond to your quiet questions, and those that he did respond to, he took extra time and care into his responses, often leaving pregnant pauses before answering.
What brought these three seemingly unknown people together was as the cowboy continued having drinks, he would wander off in the bar— often finding either random people, or as you could soon understand, his coworkers.
It started innocently enough, the man you quickly found the name of, Cassidy, started his trek over to the bar.
“Why don’t you look sour, Reyes? What didya find for yourself on the menu?”
The response Cassidy was given was said far too quietly for you to overhear, but what you could eavesdrop on was Cassidy’s response, “Christ, remove the stick up yer ass, ‘m tryin t’ have fun.”
After their little spat, you got to refill the man who you know knew the name of, Gabe’s— glass. He stated that the cowboy was a coworker of his, and described him as an annoying kid and alluded to a shadier past in which you didn’t push for anymore information on.
“He’s promising, misguided though— and correction isn’t something he takes easily to.”
“You talk about him like you used to be the same way.”
“Maybe you’re right, but if you are, then he’s gonna have more problems than me talking bad about him to the bartender later on in life.”
You shrugged in response, not readily having one available before shuffling off to check in on your other customers and backlogged orders.
Soon thereafter, there was another order from Cassidy, then another one from Gabe.
The sound of spurs hitting the floor, making their way over to you pulled you back to existence. He continued with his now tipsy rambling and ever growing compliments, “I sure do hope I see one of these drinks when ‘m down at the gates of hell— but knowin’ you ain’t slowing down on the pours yet makes me think I still have a chance for the pearly gates.”
Cassidy seemed to, as his tab grew larger and larger, bounce around the entirety of the bar— he didn’t speak to everybody, but he sure knew what everyone was doing.
As you understood more about the personalities of the men beholden in your bar, you decided to ask Cassidy most of your questions, finding his tongue loosened by the wrench of your heavy pours.
You soon found out that him and his coworkers were in Venice for work, when pushed on if he claimed they were apart of some government contracting agency, and that if he spoke more about it that, “yer pretty ears’ll melt right off, it’s all borin’ legal mumbo-jumbo anyways. Nothin’ y’gotta worry ‘bout.”
Gabe on the other hand, had his shoulders drop and it was like a burden had been lifted off of him, even just for a moment. He began to have the beginnings of a smile.
…
The bar you had once worked for as a bartender had now become yours— and funnily enough, you still buffed in beeswax into the old leather seats, and you still shined the bar top until you could see your reflection staring back at you.
But, Venice had changed. You had changed.
Your hair now held gray, your skin held wrinkles, and your hands held the wisdom of a thousand nights of bartending— and the arthritis to show for it.
You were now old and weary, and it seemed like Venice had a personality of its own— namely, the constant push and pull for power that had come from a young woman who starred in the Colosseo.
There was now a statue of her in Rialto, and now your bar had more patrons, yes, but more trouble
…
It had been for the best that Gabriel Reyes left Talon, and better to leave Italy as soon as possible.
He knew exactly the bounty he had on his head, and knew he still had the self preservation that came from his line of work. Yes, his life was miserable, and he had left his family behind, but he still found the strength to live on.
Albeit, recklessly.
He stayed within the shadows of Venice, slowly working his way to Rialto. It would take time before Vendetta would take hold of Talons supply chains and that time was more valuable than gold.
He knew exactly how much time he had.
He had enough time for a drink.
It would be the last time he’d be in Venice, and he did remember a bar with various spirits, good atmosphere, and good staff.
He retraced his steps from the days before the Venice incident, stumbling upon a very familiar storefront.
It still exists, he thought, and it looked pretty much the same from almost twenty years ago.
…
You scratched at a notebook in your hands, taking inventory of every single bottle that you had hidden under the counter. A shipment had just come in, and so, back to arduous paperwork you went.
That was, until you heard the bell ring.
At first you shot up, and looked around for your apron until you stopped, allowing your muscle memory to fade. Your stomach sank, and the hair on your arms stood up.
The door was locked.
“I let myself in, hope you don’t mind.”
A gauntleted hand rested on your shoulder, and all you could see were steel talons resting on top of your shirt.
You didn’t respond immediately, only ripping away your gaze from the intruder's grip and staring forward.
“What can I help you with?”
The man’s grip on your shoulder loosened, and you took that as an opportunity to turn around.
What first got your attention was the large shotguns that sat on his belt, the hilt fat and heavy. He looked to be carrying all sorts of ammunition, and was clad in various black pieces of clothing.
The second thing that got your attention was the bone-white mask with skull iconography on his face— everything else was obscured by a hood.
The last thing that caught your attention was the heavy, metallic boots he wore.
Boots that you should’ve heard.
“I remember you had a particular type of whiskey the last time I was here.”
Despite your back breaking out in a cold sweat, you pressed on, trying to assert yourself so you didn’t see the shop robbed or worse.
“I’ve just gotten a shipment in, and we’ve held the same whiskeys for our bars lifetime.”
He said nothing in response, instead walking from behind the bar counter to a seat at the corner of the bar.
“Nobody will bother us, I made sure to lock the door.”
You nodded, grabbing a clean glass before getting straight to work. An ice cube sat in a stout glass as you shook two dashes of angostura bitters, before you inserted your bar spoon to make the whiskey flow smoother into the glass.
You take some time to peel the skin off of a lemon, before adding it as garnish on the side.
“Here you go, sir.”
You watched in both shock and horror as your masked intruder lifted the mask up just enough for the glass to meet his lips. What was under the mask was desaturated skin covered in scars, a semi-kept beard, and the top of a flat nose.
You felt a sudden overwhelming feeling of Déjà vu.
“It’s even better than I remembered.”
He smiled, shooting the glass across the bar to you.
“I’d like another.”
…
He knew he didn’t have much time, and that Vendetta’s first edict would be of his head.
But, he also knew that she’d be naïve to assume any former members of Talon would stay in Italy for her regime.
And he wanted to numb the pain that O’Dorian so kindly gave him.
But you, the barkeep that stayed in the same place for twenty years was what made Gabriel curious.
You had gotten older, but so had he. You donned a few gray hairs while he had many.
He took a sip of his drink,
You pour just as heavy, and it was exactly what he needed to null the pain from a day spent running away from the same mistakes over, and over again.
“You stayed, how come?”
He watched closely as your face twisted with many microexpressions, before landing on one he was far too familiar with:
Duty, honor.
“I was left with the bar. Worked my way up.”
He swished the whiskey around in his mouth, the corners of his lips turned downwards.
“Seemed like you wanted to go places in life last time I spoke with you.”
“I don’t recall speaking with you—“
“Never said I looked the same.” He said with an underlying smugness.
“Then, what did you look like?”
“I came in with a cowboy and a ninja.”
Oh, that makes sense.
You do vaguely remember the night which he speaks, and the descriptions of the men almost escape you.
But, you remember because within days, they were all over the news.
Television, newspaper, any type of screen in the world was playing the news on Blackwatch and the man at the head of it all,
Gabriel Reyes.
“The man— the cowboy who said I made drinks well. You sat at the end of the bar, and you ordered a whiskey. I heard from the cowboy that your name was Gabe.”
Reaper doesn’t respond, instead he takes another sip.
“We spoke about him, something about him being like you—?”
“You don’t need to prove anything to me.”
“Then why are you here?” You queried, your shoulders square in an attempt to regain what little control you could have.
“The drinks are good,”
“Good enough to stop you from getting caught by Bartalotti’s daughter?”
“For a bartender, you’re awfully keen on sobering people up.”
You could now see the start of a scowl; the same one he held that night when talking about the cowboy.
“We all have our idiosyncrasies.”
Silence once more won the room, and you two stayed on opposite sides of the bar sitting in it.
Gabe broke it first.
“You’d never tell anyone. You know how to keep a secret.”
“But that isn’t a certainty.”
“It’ll protect the bar.”
You spun an ice-cube around in an empty glass, waiting for him to finish his drink; and to make him another.
“You’re correct, it would.” You replied.
“Then it seems we have an understanding.”
…
He was exactly where he once started, albeit in a better mood.
But, he was still hiding away from society in the shadows: just as he’d always been.
“Gabe, I thought you knew better than to leave your number with someone within Vendetta’s grasp.”
There was no sound of a translocator, no soft pitter-patter of footsteps, and no need to turn around to face his annoying ex-colleague.
“Sombra.” He hissed, jaw set in irritation just at the sound of her voice.
“You should be nicer to me now that we’re not coworkers anymore, y’know— despite the large wolf in the room.”
“And you should stick your nose in someone else’s business now that I’m free to retaliate.”
“Jeez, just playing Gabrielito. But you know I’m right.”
“They aren’t stupid.”
“No, but you are…”
He thought about reacting to her needless poking and prodding, thought about turning straight around and telling her exactly how he felt about her stalking.
But it wasn’t worth it, not in Rialto.
“Shut it.”
“Fine, only because you need to leave Italy, not go chum up to some random barkeep.”
