Sad Old Men.

Sad old men.

Cole: Hey... Weird question but... Do y'all consider me a friend?... Genji: Yeah! Lena: Totes! Fareeha: Of course! Reinhardt: YES! Brigitte: Affirmative! D.va: Sure! Zarya: We are indeed comrades! Baptiste: Yeah dude! Echo: Absolutely! Mei: Mhm! Winston: Why of course! Angela: Of course you're our friend Cole! But why do you ask? Is something wrong? Cole: *sighs* Gabe made a jab durin' our last encounter that I don't have any friends... Got me overthinkin'... *Suddenly everyone in the room looks ready to kill* D.va: Mr. Cassidy, I haven't known you long but I think you're an awesome guy and I'm happy to be on this awesome team with you! Even if you could be much better looking. Baptiste: Same here, even if you punched me in the face, you have a good heart, fighting by your side is an honor. Fareeha: Cole I practically grew up with you! You're more of a brother to me than anything! Zarya: Anyone who helps to protect the ones I love is a friend in my book! Cole: *smiles and tips his hat down to hide his tears* Thanks y'all, it really means a lot t' hear that... --- *Later, during a mission that is a fight against talon, almost everyone goes after Reaper* Moira: They're quite upset with you. What did you do? Gabe: *covered in bruises and cuts* I said Cassidy was friendless...

(Inspired by that rude ass interaction between cass and reaper!)

yamato week, day seven

characters: yamato and ken

summary: when ken and yamato are sent to méxico, ken doesn't expect to break down in the middle of the Mayan Temple. luckily (or not), yamato is there.

(a different take on the world tour arc, ken and yamato edition) ((also on ao3!))

The Mayan Temple air was stale, heavy with their breath and perspiration. It was well past Ken’s bedtime, but adrenaline invigorated his bloodstream.

Beside him, Yamato was staring at his cell phone, aggravation prickling on his brow. 

“Why aren’t they answering?” He nearly growled. Though he had tried to whisper, Yamato’s voice echoed off the Temple walls. 

Ken sucked in his breath, straining his ears for the sound of the guard’s footsteps. Rosa was too entranced in a staring match with Wormmon to translate for them if the group were to be interrogated. Once it became apparent that the guards hadn’t heard them, the tension in Ken’s shoulders melted. 

Yamato muttered a few obscenities under his breath. “I can’t tell if the others have arrived safely, finished their assignments, or are already home. How much time do we have?”

His cerulean eyes focused on Ken’s, so intense and narrow that beads of sweat began to roll down the younger boy’s neck.

Heart thrumming in his ears, Ken’s mouth ran dry. Those eyes, so commanding, so blue , froze him to the spot. He was hardly aware of Rosa pulling on his sleeve or Yamato’s questioning tilt of the head. 

In his mind’s eye, the Mayan hallway grew darker, elongating itself, the smell of sea salt and mildew nauseating him. Instead of Yamato, Takeru was standing in his way, blue eyes full of contempt and fury. His cheek was bleeding, Ken’s jaw on fire. What was happening? Where was Wormmon?

“Ken.” Loathing dripped from the single syllable, Takeru advancing on him slowly. “Ken?”

He tried to back up, to run away, but his elbows were pressed against the wall. Panicked breaths slipped from Ken’s lips, chest heaving. 

“Ichijouji?” Blonde hair moved even closer, a weird underlying note of tenderness making Ken’s palms sweat. 

Something tugged at his sleeve urgently, but the raven-haired boy couldn’t look away from those angry, blue eyes. 

A pair of clammy hands gripped at his shoulders, knuckles stained white. 

Ken’s vision blurred; when had he started crying?

Those hands pulled him in. Ken was far too weak to resist, instead succumbing to the strong pull of Takeru’s grasp.

“Ken, what’s the matter?” A deep voice asked. Pressed against this person’s chest, it became abundantly clear that this voice did not belong to Takeru.

“Yamato?” Ken’s voice cracked. 

His chest was broad, shirt growing dark with Ken’s stray tears. Ken could hear Yamato’s steady heartbeat in his chest, calm and even and steady. 

A low rumble echoed in his ears, but the younger boy couldn’t focus on the words. Wormmon’s small body wedged between the pair, his antennas tucked neatly beneath Ken’s chin.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed, body trembling in Yamato’s grip. 

“No, don’t apologize.” His voice was firm.  “Everyone gets overwhelmed. I promise we will be out of the Temple in no time.” Yamato rubbed his arm absent-mindedly against the cotton of Ken’s shirt, desperately trying to calm his whimpers. 

For a moment, the only sound in the Temple’s walkway was the echo of irregular breathing, a soft hum of encouraging words too low to be discernible. 

Rosa watched on, concern etched across her small brow. Slowly, Ken’s sobs quieted. His shoulders stilled, a small breath of relief slipping from Yamato’s lips.

“Ken,” Yamato ventured, voice soft, “What’s the matter?”

His question shook Ken from his momentary stupor.

Though his arms were still trembling, the younger boy managed not to drop his Digimon partner, instead pulling Wormmon closer. A few deep, steadying breaths grounded Ken. 

Yamato’s gaze never left his face, but it no longer felt as oppressive. Yamato wasn’t angry; Yamato wasn’t Takeru . 

“Has anyone ever told you,” Ken began, voice shaking, “That you look just like your brother?”

The question hung in the air for a moment. Rosa feigned interest in a whispered conversation with her own partner, as if she hadn’t even noticed Ken’s breakdown just a moment before.

A singular eyebrow rose in question, Yamato’s  silence unnerving Ken further. Wormmon looked up from his perch in Ken’s hold, a small smile of reassurance urging him to continue. Ken hugged him tighter, doing his best to gather his courage. 

“It’s your eyes, really. While you both share blue eyes, Takeru’s hold a lot of resentment . Even if he's smiling or laughing, his eyes always have an edge .”

The ground shook, interrupting his train of thought. Deep within the maze of the Temple, a low grumble reverberating through the floor. 

Wormmon squirmed, slipping onto the floor. “Ken-chan, I’ll go with Rosa and see what that noise was. Stay here and finish your talk.” His tone was unusually serious, but before Ken could object, his partner was gone, running through the hallways with Rosa and her partner. 

Yamato must have read the fear on his face, his fist lightly bumping with Ken’s shoulder.

“They’ll be fine for a moment. Not to pressure you, but the sooner you finish your thoughts, the sooner we can help them.” Yamato was steadfast in his confidence, Gabumon at ease beside him. Casually leaning against the crumbling Temple walls, the rockstar looked almost at ease amidst the chaos. 

Strands of dark hair obscured Ken’s eyes, his bottom lips caught between his teeth. 

Swallowing the lump in his throat, the younger boy felt the words slipping from his lips, falling clumsily into the tense silence. 

“When Takeru punched me, I deserved it.” Ken anxiously glanced at the older boy, preparing to be punched in the gut. If Yamato was anything like Taichi, then disrespecting his younger sibling would be motive for war. When it became apparent that Yamato wasn’t going to attack him, Ken continued.

 “I deserved worse . As the Kaiser,” his voice broke, “I hurt him, Yamato. At the height of our battle, I knew that the others would be too strong, I knew that I would need a defensive trump card. So, I created Kimeramon .”

It was difficult to ignore the way Yamato twitched, or the tension that clenched his jaw together. 

Ken persisted, the sounds of a miniscule battle urging him to force the words from his throat. “It was awful, Yamato. Takeru was so, so mad, taunting me and mocking me. I hit him. I hit him with my riding crop, straight across the face. His cheek bled . Blood trickled down his cheek; when he punched me, his blood splattered on my hands.” 

Stingmon’s attack rumbled against the walls. They didn’t have much time left. 

Tears continued to trickle down his cheeks, the salt water stinging his chapped lips. “Yamato, his blood is on my hands . His eyes will never stop being angry.” 

Ken’s words muddied the air between them. Without Wormmon, his arms wrapped around himself, sobs wracking his frail frame. Shame burned at the edge of his stomach.

Yamato’s stony expression gazed at him through his tears.

Above the noise of the growing battle, approaching footsteps spurred the boys into action. Without a word, Yamato and Ken ran, Gabumon leading them towards the others.

Together, they flew through the corridors, following the sound of Stingmon’s voice. Even as the guards closed in, Yamato was fearless. 

“¡Detente ahí!” one of the men yelled. Though he could hear his heart pounding in his ears, Ken was sure that it had stopped beating. With a tug, Yamato pulled him into a small alcove, their forms pressed too close for comfort. Gabumon stood in front of them, fur standing on edge. 

“Ken,” Yamato managed, the sounds of the guards growing closer, “Whatever happened between you and Takeru is in the past.” It was too dark for Ken to discern the look on Yamato’s face. He opened his mouth to apologize, but a hand squeezed his wrist, cutting him off. 

“If it helps, there are bigger things to focus on. Let’s figure out a way out of this Temple first, then I’ll help you sort through the bigger stuff. “

Once the coast was clear, he flashed Ken a quick smile, radiant despite the circumstances.  The anxiety that had knotted itself in the pit of Ken’s stomach began to unravel. Before he could thank Yamato, the ground rumbled once more. From somewhere deep within the Temple, Rosa screamed. 

Digivice in hand, the pair took off, footsteps echoing down the hall.

Sombra: *going through old Overwatch files* ohhh this is Gabes old number~? I wonder what secrets he’s got tied to this baby *taps it into her system and pauses seeing hundreds of missed calls and voicemails from the same number* OooOohohoooo it’s the old mans number! What’s he- *goes quiet seeing the dates beside each call, the last one being only a day before reapers first attempt to kill 76* … *taps it and hits play*

76: “hey Gabriel, it’s me again… just calling to hear your voice again… to say I’m sorry… I miss you so much…”

Sombra: Ouch… poor guy… *taps another one*

76: happy birthday Gabe… youd be 57 this year right? Just wanted to hear you again, I’m opening one for you tonight…

Sombra: *tearing up, quietly looks at the very first missed call* … *taps it and hits play*

76: *voice especially horse and gravelly as if he’d been crying and inhaling smoke* Gabe! Gabe please answer! Please answer me- I know you’re not dead! Please pick up- *cough!! cough!!* please Gabriel-

Ana: *in the background* Jack we have to go!

76: no I’m not leaving him here! I’m not- Gabriel I’m sorry! I’m so sorr- *beep, beep, beep*

Sombra: *quietly drops the screen and dials 76’s number*

76: Sombra? What do you wa-

Sombra: *literally weeping* W-WERE GETTING DRINKS IN AN HOUR AND IM GONNA G-GIVE YOU A HUG OLD MAN!!

76: are you drunk right now?!

The twenty-second of December

If Moira replied to Angelas Christmas card

Moira’s Christmas card is portraying a night sky speckled with stars and adorned with the words “Merry Christmas” in golden letters. The writing is neat and readable.  

Dear Angela,

To say I was surprised upon reading your letter would be an understatement. But it does not follow that the surprise is unwelcome. I was very touched by your words and have read them many times. Perhaps I have also had one too many, but I found I needed courage to write this.

Now that you so bravely admit it, I can do the same. You have often been in my thoughts. Far too often I find myself wondering what you are doing. Are you working? What are you working on? I hope you do not mean to leave science behind, now that you have joined with Overwatch, that would be a great loss. For all of us.

I do indeed plan on working Christmas eve. I am however worried Sombra does not intend to let me work. I fear I might have to join in their festivities. 

No. The thought of meeting you in battle is not a pleasant one. I do not cherish it. So perhaps we could meet somewhere else? Perhaps some agreement could be reached. If you wish we could discuss it over a bottle of wine. Perhaps at New Years eve? I have no other engagements that day. 

I wish you a pleasant Christmas and I dare hope to hear from you again.

Yours,

Moira