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thebrighteye

3 years ago

Breaking [My Heart]: Act III Crushing

"There's nothing simple when it comes to you and I, Always something in this everchanging life" - Everchanging [Rise Against] Winston has issued the recall towards rebuilding Overwatch. Angela - formerly known as "Mercy" - is captured by Talon, who are searching for any information that can stop the rise before it begins.

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Trigger Warnings & General Statements This is the third part of a dark torture story. As such, there's going to be bad things happening - for the sake of not spoiling, I will not tag what, exactly will be appearing at any time. While I don't think any of the scenes are terribly graphic in nature, I do want to stress that the scenes are present and aren't for everyone. I did try to make the reactions and trauma realistic, following both real-world medicine / research and in-game universe canon (such as Angela's nanotechnology). There will be multiple POVs per chapter - two sets for both Angela and Reaper as well as a fifth from an additional character. Please, read at your own risk - and enjoy!

You can't fix your broken promise Our ties have come undone I will not be used to be battered and abused It's the reason why I choose to cut my losses - White Rabbit [Egypt Central]

Whenever they removed the shackles, Angela would collapse into a heap on the ground, legs too shaky and weak to suddenly accept the full burden of her weight. Depending on how healed they were, her wounds might burst open once more and spatter crimson drops along the concrete. Still, she would grit her teeth and force herself to sit up, to be strong in a way that she wasn’t. Then they would put food and water before her. If she ignored them, they would force it upon her. She had tried twice, in a vain attempt to take back some control of her life, but now she always quickly ate and drank what was before her. It was always too little, always left her hungry and wanting, but it was better than nothing. Once she finished, they would leave her to her own devices for a time; Angela would take this time to curl up in a corner of the room to try to rest. Sometimes, it was too much effort to stand, so she would crawl instead of walk. The small comfort of two sides being protected by the walls was worth the humiliation of crawling across the too-bright room. There, she would press as close to the two walls as her wounds allowed, clutching the torn shirt around her ragged body. Angela would bury her face into her knees, hugged as close as she could manage to her bruised chest, to try to block out the blinding lights so she could attempt to sleep. What little rest she was able to get was always disturbed by nightmares. Angela was used to nightmares – she had devoted her entire life to ridding herself of them, after all. She would fail a patient, and they would haunt her, so she would become better and create better tools to ensure that she wouldn’t fail another person in the same way. Before her capture, Angela rarely slept without nightmares. Occasionally she had managed to exhaust herself so completely that not even the horrific images could keep her away. Those nightmares were daydreams compared to the ones she now experienced. Even in her dreams, her interrogators hurt her, demanded from her. They ripped into her in a way they had not in her reality, in a way they would if she continued along this path of silence. Piece by piece, she would be taken apart until she woke, screaming with tears on her cheeks. Sometimes she would see Gabriel as he was before the fall, and then he twisted into the Reaper to rip into her, too, until there was nothing left. Those nightmares were the worst, leaving her trembling and weeping as she mourned his loss all over again. The time on the ground was always short-lived and never enough. Eventually, her captors would barge into the room, toss her shirt aside, and string her up in the chains once more. Sometimes the questions came immediately. Other times, they’d leave her hanging for what felt like an eternity before eventually coming to question her with their tools and her blood. Angela forced herself to accept the abuse and humiliation. She needed to suffer as silently as possible, because once she allowed herself to make noise – to speak – it would only become harder to maintain that vow. Angela was realistic. She knew that, eventually, she would break her silence and that they would force her to beg. She only hoped that she could hold out, keep the information from them until they broke her beyond all repair. Because there were still so, so many ways they could hurt her. So many ways they would hurt her, when her silence continued.

---

Time had lost all meaning, precisely as they had intended it to. Angela wasn’t sure if she was released from her bonds on a regular basis or if they kept it purposefully irregular to throw her off. She certainly knew the torture – no longer did she hide behind such gentle words as ‘interrogation’ – sessions came irregularly. On one occasion, the blood had barely dried before they had come in for another round. Angela had been released from her chains four times but had been tortured at least nine times – possibly more or less, because they blurred together after a while. Between the two intermittent events that now made up the sum of her life, the perpetual blindness, and exhaustion, she was completely unaware of how long she had been here. On the worst side of the spectrum, Angela thought she had been here for ten days. On the best, it could be as little as three – but she highly doubted that. However long it was, her friends had to have noticed she was missing by now, right? If nothing else, the medical camp in Cairo would have noted her absence. Eventually, they would have sent someone to check on her and discovered she was missing. Angela couldn’t help the desperate hope that someone – anyone – would find her, even as she knew that it would never happen. That hope had remained, flickering dimly in her heart as she hung from her chains. But she doubted the Reaper – Gabriel – would have been so careless as to leave behind a clue pointing towards Talon as her kidnappers. In fact, she wouldn’t put it past him to have laid false trails – he had been the Commander of Blackwatch for years, after all. Angela wasn’t sure if it was a relief that she hadn’t seen the man since their last, earthshaking encounter. She knew that, were he the one barking questions and splitting her flesh, she would break, and nothing would be able to put her back together. Whether he was her Gabriel or the Reaper didn’t matter, not for this. Just the thought was enough to make her nauseous, and she had to convulsively swallow to keep from vomiting up what little sustenance they had allowed her. He could tear her apart with a few well-placed words – and yet, he had been curiously absent. Angela wondered if, when they broke her spirit, they would break her mind, too. Certainly Gabriel – the Reaper – was capable of both, simultaneously crushing her heart while he was at it. They could save so much time by sending him into this room with her, but they had not. This, too, fed the weak spark of hope that sheltered inside her. She teetered between being glad for his absence and hoping that she might see him again. Angela knew that, should he appear again, it would only herald her end – in one way or another. All it had taken was two words to break her the last time; she wasn’t so sure, even strengthened with knowledge, that she wouldn’t shatter just upon seeing him. And yet, she still wished she could see him. How many times had she begged for one last time? Angela knew something of Gabriel was still within him. He had memories from before the fall, from before she had – apparently – turned him into the Reaper. Whether he would admit it or not, there was a part of him that still held her Gabriel; it was that part, no matter how infinitesimally small, that she wanted to see one more time. The door opened again, and she barely suppressed the shudder of fear. Angela blanked her face and shored up her defenses. Each time, it was just a little bit harder.

---

She knew time was not on her side. The longer she stayed imprisoned, the more likely she was to break – or die. Angela knew she couldn’t rely on a rescue, so she had to try to take matters into her own hands. It didn’t matter that she had no idea where she was or where an exit was. It didn’t matter that the beatings and the lack of nourishment had weakened her. It didn’t matter that, should she fail, it would become so much worse for her. It didn’t matter that her chance of success was probably a negative number. She had to try. For the ones she protected, for her pride, she could do no less. It had been difficult to piece together some semblance of a plan. It was hard to keep her thoughts focused, even after such a short time in their care. They were constantly hurting her, affecting her, whether they were in the room or not. The blinding lights gave her horrific headaches and made it nearly impossible to get any rest – she might be known for rarely sleeping, but she still needed it. They only gave her enough food and water to stay alive, and her body was already wasting away. Added to that was the stress of hanging from those despicable chains for hours on end and the drain from the nanites piecing her back together after each visit. And then there was the fear of failure, despite her resolve. She knew that it would get worse, whether or not she tried to escape. That didn’t make the decision any easier – but she had never been one to take the easy path if it was the wrong one. In this act – perhaps, hopefully, her final one – she could be no less. Angela would become Mercy one last time. She would charge into the battlefield, regardless of her safety and health, to protect those under her care. They may no longer be Overwatch, but she had sworn an oath forged in the fire of the ruins of the Zürich base and tempered with the blood of the fallen. No matter where they went, they were hers – until her death, or theirs. So she had planned, as quickly as she was able. The hardest part was the waiting. They had to let their guard down around her – as if that were a difficult feat to accomplish. Why would they think her a flight risk? She was a doctor, a pacifist, the healer; the thought of her being any kind of threat to anyone was laughable at best. Her captors already didn’t take her seriously; whenever Angela was chained, they left the door tauntingly unlocked. The only time she had ever heard it lock was when they left her sprawled on the floor. That would be the time to strike – when they dropped her from the chains, but before they left. Already they were only sending one guard in – it didn’t take two people to release her from the chains, after all. So, when the guard unceremoniously dropped her to the ground for the fifth time, she was – more or less – ready. Angela scooted away – just a little, in an effort to conserve what little energy she had – from the offerings that they laid before her, face turned up and away, watching the guard from the corner of her eye. It took him a moment to realize that she hadn’t fallen upon her food like she had the last two times – after the lesson of the first two meals, she hadn’t given them any excuse to hurt her more. The man made an annoyed sound; clearly, he had places to be, and she was hampering those plans. Angela watched as he stalked closer, let him snatch her hair into a tight grip that brought him within her meager reach. Her hands flew up to grab his, as he expected – it was a natural response that they had yet to beat out of her. What he hadn’t expected was for those hands to release and reach further. Angela had considered trying to strike, to hit, but realized she would never be able to put enough momentum or strength behind the action to be useful. Instead, her hands reached for his pelvic area, grateful that her guard was a man – was always a man. Before he could react to her surprising action, Angela had his genitals in her grip. Before he could yank her away, she twisted and pulled as savagely as she was able. He made a strangled noise and dropped like a rock to his knees. That brought his head – more or less – within her reach as well, as she had intended. Her head smashed into the bridge of his nose, fully incapacitating the man and temporarily stunning her as her headache flared to life once more. Angela was almost sure she had hit him correctly, that she hadn’t concussed herself, but she was in no place to diagnose herself. As quickly as she was able, Angela patted at his hips and pockets for whatever access key or card he had; while she had no idea where she was, she knew it had to be at least somewhat secure. She also knew it was only a matter of minutes before they raised the alarm, either from whoever was behind the cameras or the other guards realizing something was amiss. Before that point, she had to find a way out – whatever that way might be. Angela left her shirt behind; trying to clutch it to her body would only hamper her movements and take up precious time and energy. Instead, she staggered out of her cell, half-naked and barefoot with a black keycard in one hand. The other hand pressed against the wall, helping her stay upright as her legs trembled. Here was another part of her plan that had relied on luck: there weren’t any guards within sight of her door. She went right – as good a direction as any, especially since she couldn’t hear any signs of people. Angela was grateful that the nanites had managed to at least seal the gashes that streaked across her body; it would be utterly pointless if she left a trail of blood behind her. As she shuffled along, her eyes searched her surroundings for something, anything, that could help her. There was nothing. Of course, there would be nothing in the halls lined with torture chambers; if a prisoner escaped, as she had, they wouldn’t want them to be able to arm themselves. Once, Angela had to crouch low in the shadow of a counter – the only cover she had, but absolutely useless considering how her pale skin stood out. It was only because someone called the guard away, back down the path he’d come, that she had been spared. She had waited for a single, precious minute before somehow climbing back to her feet to press on. Angela managed to find a stairwell. There had been an elevator, somewhere along the hall behind her, which had been tempting – but taking that would have been foolish. Better to suffer through the stairs than be trapped inside the metal box, practically gift-wrapped for her captors. She had checked the markings on the wall, just inside the stairwell before mounting them: Floor B1. How ironic that her ‘home’ with Talon would match where she had practically lived in the Zürich base. Angela shoved the keycard between her teeth so she could cling to the railing with both hands before painstakingly climbing the single flight to the ground floor. This was the part where she was most likely to fail, and the thought made Angela shake even more than she already was. But she had already started; no matter what, she had to see it through. Angela cautiously pushed open the door and found the coast was clear. It was only after she stepped out, carefully ensuring the door closed with as little sound as possible, that a siren pierced the air. Angela highly doubted she was lucky enough that something – anything – else had caused that siren to go off. They were actively hunting her now, and here she was frozen in plain sight against one wall. Voices clamored down the hallway towards her, so she shuffled in the opposite direction. There was a door on her right – she pushed through it blindly, hoping to hide until the voices had passed her by. The door opened into an armory, very similar to the ones she had geared up in when Overwatch had still existed. Guns, ammo, and any other weapons-related supplies lined the walls and filled shelves. It was precisely the worst hiding place because she was almost certain those voices were heading this way – as if they needed a gun to catch her. It was also the worst because someone was already inside the room. Angela had barely registered the other person in the room, aside from that they were there, before she was turning towards the nearest gun rack. Whether she would use the gun on the other person or herself was anyone’s guess, but she knew her best chance at escape now relied on her getting one of those weapons. Her fingers just brushed the grip of a gun when rough hands grabbed both of her arms, yanking her away from the rack with contemptuous ease. Her captor ignored her frustrated cry and slammed her against one wall painfully, driving all breath out of her and making her head swim with pain. “Did you really think you could get away?” Angela went cold, and if it weren’t for the punishing grip on her arms, she would be on the floor. Of course she would have been caught by the one person she had most wanted to avoid – and, paradoxically, had most wanted to see. Everything she had considered saying to him when she saw him again flew out of her head as she peered up at his mask. There were so many things she should say. Something proud and defiant that showed she hadn’t been cowed or broken by her time in that horrible room – as if her escape attempt didn’t prove precisely that. Perhaps a demand, not a plea or beg, for her release. A threat, as useless as one would be, possibly. Something that showed she wasn’t afraid, even though she was absolutely petrified. “I’m so sorry, Gabriel.” She whispered instead. It should be censure and anger, but all she could manage was a heartfelt apology that was years too late to bridge the chasm between them. Limpid eyes tried to see past the mask to the man beneath, even while knowing it was impossible. Angela felt him stiffen, his grip turning painful as the claws on each finger dug savagely into her biceps and made her bleed. “I don’t blame you,” the words came tumbling out, unbidden, surprising them both. “I don’t blame you for hating me.” With what little she knew of how Gabriel had come to be the Reaper, she understood. It was similar to what had happened with Genji – it hadn’t been until recent years that he had come to terms with himself and forgiven her. Unlike Genji, she hadn’t been present in the aftermath of her bloody work on Gabriel – and now they all suffered for it. Before he could react, say something scathing to slap her back down and grind her heart beneath his heel, the door was tossed open carelessly as the guards she had been fleeing entered. They were chattering, amicable voices stuttering to a stop when they took in the sight before them: a demon and the broken angel within his grasp. The Reaper turned, forcing her to move as she dangled from his hands, and practically threw her at them as if he could no longer stand to touch her. A man caught her, hands just as rough and uncaring as the ones that had thrown her. “Take her back to her cell.” The Reaper commanded from the space behind her. He said something else, but there was a ringing in her ears that his voice could not break. Nausea rose and she screwed her eyes shut as she forced herself not to be sick all over the guard and herself. Gabriel had given her to them again. He had seen what they had done to her, how low she had fallen, and he had carelessly tossed her back to the wolves. As they hauled her limp body away, despair crashed over her. She had failed. Failed to get out, failed to end it all, failed. The hope that had been flickering in her heart stuttered – and died.

It wasn’t until he had ripped into the third person that he realized they were all young, blonde women. It was then that the Reaper had become furious with himself. He was the Reaper; people cowered in fear when he appeared, worried that those blood-soaked hands would dig into them next. He was the Reaper, and he had fled the Oasis base like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, running from the chained angel with those damned eyes that saw too much. Instead of watching the doctor get torn into pieces by the hands of others, he had come to hunt her likeness and was left desperately wanting. These replacements – for that was what they were, he’d come to realize – were nothing like the real thing. Wrapping his hand around their throats didn’t bring that same sense of power that holding Dr. Angela Ziegler in his grasp had evoked. The eyes he had clawed out weren’t the same expressive, knowing eyes that he was trying to escape. There was no fight or steely determination, merely whimpers and broken pleas for their lives. He’d been off-center ever since he had carried her limp form into that cell. She was the bitch that had cursed him to this half-life of misery and called it ‘love.’ She was the angel that he had, in another lifetime, sworn to protect against all harm. She was nothing. She was everything. With a snarl, the Reaper left Baghdad to return to the Oasis base. He would dump the guns and gear that he hadn’t even bothered to use before looking in on the doctor. He’d find out if she had broken during the days he was away, if she had given up anything besides the occasional pained whimper. The Reaper had just put his unused guns away when the siren went off. It was the call of an escaped prisoner, alerting everyone to search for their missing prey. Of all the things – of course she would run. Of course she wasn’t broken. Who had he been kidding? Stubborn to the core, of course that damned woman would somehow manage to break free of her chains and get away. He briefly considered grabbing his shotguns again but decided against it. The only weapon he needed for her was his claws. The door opened – of course, others would think they needed a weapon to capture an angel. Let the fools arm themselves; he would find her and rip the wings from her back, shatter the halo into a million pieces that not even she could piece back together. The Reaper turned, ready to stalk out and hunt her – only to discover that his prey had found him. Angela looked so small, so frail, standing half-naked in the doorway with one hand pressed to the wall. She looked thinner than she had been when he’d brought her in, but Gabriel couldn’t be sure. Bruises, ranging from fresh dark-purple black to almost healed yellow-green, coated her skin like a blanket. What little unmarred skin was left was pale – paler than her norm, which was really pale, considering she barely went out into the sun even before capture. There were strips of wounded flesh, barely scabbed over, cutting haphazard tracks across her stomach and breasts. When Angela turned, staggering in weakness and terror, he could see the tracks were worse on her back. The healing was more complete there, the nanites having focused on the significant bleeding that would have been present from all those stripes. It was a wonder she was on her feet at all, but Angela was nothing if not stubborn. Even though there was nearly an entire room between the two of them, the Reaper still reached her before she crossed the few feet that stood between her and the weapon she was desperately seeking. He yanked her back – yes, she had lost weight – and slammed her against the wall. Pain flashed across her face, and she gasped desperately for breath in shallow pants. “Did you really think you could get away?” He growled, glaring down at her from behind his mask. She felt fragile, like spun glass that would shatter if held too tightly. That was wrong. This woman, even after the abuse thrown at her, had broken free of her bonds in a desperate bid for freedom. That took strength, more like a steel wall than the glass she appeared to be. The woman sagged in his grip, leaving him to support her weight – trusting Gabriel to hold her up, as she had always trusted him, as she shouldn’t trust him. Her hands didn’t fly up to grasp at his arms; she didn’t struggle to try to get out of his grip – they both knew it would be futile. Instead, she stared up at him with those sad eyes. Damn her eyes; they should be terrified, angry – and still, they were sad. “I’m so sorry, Gabriel.” Her whisper was hoarse from disuse and dry from too little water. Did she think an apology would save her? That her apology, no matter how sincere, would change anything? The Reaper tightened his fingers on those fragile arms, digging the claws in deep until she bled, and pain erased the sorrow in the eyes that still peered up at him. Finally, finally, there was something in those eyes that he wanted to see. “I don’t blame you.” A pause, surprise coloring her face briefly, and then, “I don’t blame you for hating me.” Her absolution, her forgiveness, was so quiet that he could barely hear it. For a moment, all he could hear was the rush of his blood and her panting breaths. She didn’t blame him? Did she think he needed her forgiveness, that he wanted it? His mouth opened, a verbal lash ready to strike her where it would hurt the most, when the door opened. The Reaper snapped his mouth shut and turned, dragging the doctor with him. There stood a small group of Talon agents, who had been talking so casually that he knew they hadn’t been taking the search seriously. None of them were taking this doctor seriously; that was why she had escaped. That was why she hadn’t been broken. She was formidable in her own way, a quiet power that rarely made itself known, and they all had underestimated her. No more. He threw her body at the closest man, who barely managed to catch her before she hit the ground. Gabriel ignored her pale back and the tracks along it. Ignored the panting, desperate breaths and the way she hung limply in the guards’ arms. “Take her back to her cell.” The Reaper’s voice was a sharp command, filled with authority and censure. “See that she can’t get out.” The Reaper glanced across the group. “Make sure this doesn’t happen again.” He would have words with her interrogators, with the guards that were supposed to keep this from happening, with anyone who could be at fault.

They had left her to hang in silence for what seemed like an eternity after her failed escape attempt. Her mouth was dry – Angela hadn’t had a chance to eat or drink the offerings from her most recent release – and her mind was clouded. All she could see, over and over, were those last moments in the armory. The apology that had been waiting for far too long, that was branded so deep into her arms that she was certain it would scar. The forgiveness she offered, unbidden and undemanded – a last goodbye to the man she loved, despite his betraying her twice. The way he had tossed her aside as if she were nothing – how he had ordered her back to this with such indifference. Gabriel was gone, lost to her. What was left haunted her in the most horrific of ways. When the door opened to her cell, she wasn’t ready. She would never be ready. It would become worse, so much worse. The only way to stop it would be to break – and Angela would never betray her friends in such a way. She would die before she broke. There were no words spoken, no demands made. Just footsteps echoing around her as they took in her battered body and decided how to start. Then there were rough hands and a sharp blade at her left hip. Carelessly the blade drug down her leg, shearing through the cloth and, occasionally, her skin. The right leg followed, and then she hung there naked and helpless, blood dripping from her legs where they had broken skin. Her face burned with embarrassment, at this humiliating intimacy they forced upon her. Still, they made no demands; this was a punishment for her escape, not an information gathering session. Not yet, at any rate – Angela doubted they would leave without at least making a token attempt to get information. A rough hand pressed against her left heel and the front of her thigh, forcing her left leg straight. Before she could consider what they were doing, a foot slammed into her knee. The pain was so sudden and horrific that she didn’t have enough time to scream before she blacked out. It was a short-lived relief. They tossed cold water on her, pulling her back to consciousness in a series of sputters and gasps. Automatically, Angela shifted to rest her weight on both legs; her left leg gave out underneath her, and she made a low, pained noise as she nearly passed out again. As quickly as she could, she pulled all her weight into her arms and right leg, leaving her left to dangle uselessly. She shivered from the cold, her mind sluggishly trying to keep up with what was happening. Suddenly, her head was yanked back by the hair. “It seems we’ve been too gentle with you, princess.” The man rasped. He nudged her left leg with one of his feet, sending another wave of nauseating pain through her. A whine forced its way out of her throat and through her clenched teeth. “Didn’t know you liked it rough, but don’t you worry.” Wide-eyed, Angela tried to catch her breath and ride through the agony. He chuckled, a menacing sound, as he pressed his body against her back, free arm wrapping around her bare torso, just under her breasts. “We’ll take good care of you, you’ll see.” Her shivers were no longer fueled by the cold but instead terror of what was to come. She closed her eyes, wishing she were anywhere – truly anywhere – but here. Away from the pain that was a constant companion, away from the grief, away from everything that this room and her chains represented. All she knew was pain and stubborn silence, no matter what horrors they inflicted upon her. The man pulled away, releasing her hair and chest all at once. Angela sagged against her chains, desperately trying to keep weight off her injured leg. Her breathing was shallow, and her every thought was focused on silence while the cloud of pain threatened to overwhelm everything. It was then that the questions came. Demands that Angela couldn’t answer, because to reply would betray everything she stood for, everything she was. If she answered, everything she had suffered would be for nothing – so she stayed silent. The whip that crashed down upon her wasn’t the same as the one they used previously; this one had multiple, sharp ends that bit into her flesh and tore open the barely healed skin. Again and again, it crashed down. Their tools – the whips, their hands, the knives – were used everywhere. They gouged painful lines into her arms and legs while the whip made tracks along her stomach and back. Angela bit back the pained sounds that wanted to tear from her throat. She forced back the tears of pain and anguish, physical and mental, as they continued to abuse her body. Her shoulders and arms ached from supporting most of her weight, but she couldn’t help it as she staggered from every blow. Every motion was agony – from her raw wrists to her chest as she panted, and then further still to her left knee that was pulsing in time with her heartbeat. And the questions kept coming. It went on for hours – or at least, it felt like hours. At some point, her silence broke, whimpers tearing from her throat despite her best efforts. Tears streamed from her eyes, and still, they struck. If she passed out from the pain, they would throw more icy water over her until she returned to life with moans of protest. It was an eternity before they filed out. Angela hung limply from the chains, unable to make the effort to stand on her good leg – even if it would give some meager relief. Blood was oozing down her everything, dripping and pooling beneath her. Angela’s cheek was bruised, her lips bloody from where her teeth had caught the delicate skin inside her mouth. One eye was swollen and probably black – not that she could tell without a mirror. Her hair hung loosely in damp clumps around her bowed face, hiding the tears that she couldn’t hold back. Her body shivered with cold and shuddered in pain as she tried to find the resolve to stay strong.

---

Eventually, they had let her down, as they always did. Angela had dropped painfully onto her left leg with an agonized cry, the pain making her vision go grey and fuzzy. She gasped, one hand trying to reach for the knee as if grabbing for it would make anything better, before one of her guards – there were two this time – made a move for her. As quickly as she was able, she fell upon the rations before her with shaking hands. Though she had missed her last meal, the portion had not changed – not that she had honestly expected it to. Gone too quick, they soon left, leaving her alone with her misery. Angela didn’t drag herself to the corner – it would be too painful with her broken leg. She wasn’t even sure she had the energy to make it that far. Instead, she tried to make herself as comfortable as possible in the pool of congealing blood and icy water. As soon as the physical torture had ended, they had begun playing a grinding, static-filled noise that set her teeth on edge. Between the noise and the lights, it was nearly impossible to get any kind of rest – but her body was desperate. Unfortunately, her captors had other plans. Periodically, someone would come in and toss icy water over her form until she was shaking and wide awake. Each time, she expected to be strung up, but they just stomped back out and left her in a puddle. At least the water washed away most of the blood. She wasn’t sure how long she had been lying on the ground when she heard it. “Angela.” The familiar voice that she couldn’t quite place came from somewhere behind her, deeper inside the cell instead of near the door. It baffled her. She was almost certain no one was in the cell with her, that the men had left her alone again. Still, the curiosity had her bracing her torso up on her elbows to look over one shoulder. Nothing. But she had sworn she had heard someone whisper her name. Angela stared for a long moment before allowing herself to drop back down to the floor again, unwilling to expend the energy. More whispers came and went, voices scattered and selected at random from her memory. Sometimes it was Cassidy’s drawl, and other times it was a disapproving doctor from Cairo. Once, she heard what she thought was her grandmother, but it had been so long since she had heard her voice to know for sure. What they said varied. Sometimes it was just her name – Angela, Ange, Dr. Ziegler, Mercy. Other times it was full sentences and phrases. Some were lauding her strength, for lasting so long. Others criticized her for allowing herself to be put into this situation. A minority told her that she was going to break, and it would all be for nothing. They came to Angela at any and all times. They would tear her down with her tormentors and try to lift her spirits when she was sobbing brokenly from her chains. After the first few times, Angela had given up on searching for the speaker. Her heart couldn’t take any further defeat, couldn’t handle the crushing despair that she was alone, and that wouldn’t change. Sometimes she would twitch, glancing towards the murmur despite her resolve. A distant part of her knew that the voices meant nothing good for her. The majority was just grateful for the company – especially when the words were kind. It had been so long since she had experienced anything that wasn’t pain or agony. Angela found herself looking forward to the voices, to hearing them even if she couldn’t see them. Angela didn’t know how many times her captors had dropped her from the chains before she spotted a figure in one corner of the room. Cole, the rugged cowboy with his stupid hat and horrible belt bucket, leaning casually against one wall. A cigar was in one hand, and she could smell the pungent smoke of his terrible habit. And he was just standing there. Doing nothing but staring. She had blinked, trying to force back the tears of betrayal – and he was gone. No cowboy. No smoke. Her captor had snapped at her, bringing her back to reality and prompting her to choke down the meager offerings. When he was gone – when they were all gone, when she was alone – she stared at that corner. Angela knew she should be resting, but he had been here. She had seen him, had smelled the smoke. If she waited, if she watched, he had to come back. And he would, along with others, to offer her encouragement and kindness that she would never receive from her captors. Cole would appear in that corner, leaned up and chewing on his smelly cigar – but it was okay; she wouldn’t scold him for it because he was here and she wasn’t alone anymore. “Just hang in there, darlin’.” He urged her in that familiar southern drawl. “We’re lookin’ all over for ya.” Of course they were; how could she ever think they would abandon her? “Please, Cole,” Angela begged, desperate eyes staring up at him, “please hurry.” Sometimes it was Jack, blonde hair mussed over his big blue coat, sitting across from her. “You can do this, Angela,” he’d say, leaning forward intently. “You can’t fail them now.” Her head would bow, drowning under the weight of the responsibility that he had left her when he had died. “I can’t,” she’d whisper back. “It’s too much.” She had barely kept it together when she was just responsible for putting their bodies back together and reading the KIA reports. Angela was never meant to be their physical shield, too. “You can.” He’d insist. “If anyone can, it’s you.” She didn’t know how anyone could have such faith in her. Angela knew she was stubborn, knew she was being stubborn, but even she had a limit. Once, Ana had laid out on her back next to her, head tilted towards Angela with her small, gentle smile. Her eyes crinkled, dark hair fanned out around her as she ignored the puddle of water and blood around her. “You’ll be alright, ḥabībti.” Angela had closed her eyes, tears dripping down her cheeks. She could swear that she felt Ana’s hand stroke her hair soothingly but, when she opened her eyes, the woman was just looking at her warmly. Ana had stayed with her until they had dragged her back into the chains, murmuring kind words until there was nothing but pain. Sometimes they would remain when her captors came back to her, whispering encouragement. Despite the blinding white lights, Angela could still see them, and she was grateful for the kind faces in the sea of agony. Other times they would disappear, but she knew one of them would come back. The worst was Gabriel, her Gabriel. He had only appeared before her once. She had been curled up on the floor, shaking from the water they had just thrown on her to force her back to consciousness. It felt like it had been an eternity since she had slept – Angela was so tired. Her eyes, heavy and aching, opened – and there he was, half crouched before her. He wasn’t dressed as the Reaper. No, he looked the way he always did in her memories: scarred cheeks with a hint of stubble, a black beanie pulled over his close-shaven hair and tucked under the gray hood of his jacket. His warm brown eyes looked down at her with such love and anguish that it hurt. “You’re strong, cariño.” One of his hands reached down to touch her cheek gently, careful not to disturb the bruises and cuts there; his touch could have been red hot, and she still would have craved it, so desperate was she for affection and kindness. Her eyes stung with tears and exhaustion, but she refused to close her eyes – if she did that, he would be gone, she knew it. “You’re the strongest person I know.” This was her Gabriel, the man she had loved and mourned, who she had buried. His voice was smooth and rich instead of a harsh growl. “I-” Angela had nearly forgotten how to speak, how to do anything but whimper or scream. “I miss you.” The words were broken, so soft that she wasn’t sure she actually spoke them aloud. But he had smiled, a mirthless, sad expression that told her he had heard her regardless. “I know. Mi corazón, I’m so sorry.” Her eyes had closed then, unable to support themselves any longer. Angela jolted them open again, hoping against hope that he had stayed – but of course, he was gone. How could she expect anything less? He was the one that had put her here. She had curled in on herself, sobs shaking her broken body as grief and pain coursed through her again. It was only after, in a brief moment of lucidity, that Angela wondered if they hadn’t broken her already.

“What are you doing?” The voice, usually gentle but currently horrified, made his hands pause in their bloody work. Gabriel doesn’t turn to look at her, doesn’t look up from the man he is slowly taking apart – piece by piece because that’s what he does. He rips and tears, cuts and slashes, until the blood runs in rivers and the answers he seeks are whimpered out through bloody teeth. This is the thing that Overwatch had turned him into when they had sent him away to the shadows. It’s what they shaped him into when he became the Commander of Blackwatch. He had learned those horrible acts that must be committed to get what was necessary, whatever it takes, to protect innocents from terrorists. Robbery. Blackmail. Extortion. Assassination. Torture. He had hated it, once. Hated the monster he had needed to become to survive his new calling. But he was the Commander, and he could not be seen to be weak, to be incapable. He was a fast learner, and soon he was capable of all sorts of horrors that would make any agent of Overwatch blanch – that he had never thought himself capable of. He had learned to be hard and unfeeling, had learned to wall off his heart because there was no place for mercy here. Finally, Gabriel turned to look at the angel that stood in the doorway, one hand clutching the knob in a white-knuckled grasp. The other hovered uselessly over her mouth, as if to hide the stricken look. Her eyes – those eyes – were filled with horror as she took in the bloody tableau. Angela Ziegler, Mercy, had no place here in this room of pain. Gabriel turned and ushered her out of the room; this was not a conversation for a torture chamber. He wiped his bloody hands on his black pants – it was what they were there for, after all – and closed the door. “What are you doing here?” He demanded, ignoring her question. It was obvious what he had been doing to the shackled man. What wasn’t obvious was why she was here in the dark heart of Blackwatch. She was Overwatch, through and through, the light to his darkness. The only time she ever visited this base was to rush into the infirmary – which was nowhere near the interrogation rooms – and try to bring one of his agents back from the edge of death. She didn’t belong with him here in the shadows. “Looking for you, of course.” Angela reached up with one shaking hand to wipe at a streak of blood on his cheek. He knew it wasn’t the blood that bothered her – she was a doctor, for God’s sake – but how it had gotten there. “What-” the question died on her lips, changing to a different one. “Why are you doing this?” He laughed mirthlessly. “I told you, cariño.” Gabriel stepped away from her, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I told you that Blackwatch was ugly and dark. That it would change me. What did you expect?” Her faith in him was a gift, but not even she could protect him from the horrors found here. “This is what we do.” What he does. “I do not understand.” He rolled his eyes; of course she understood. She was the smartest person he knew – and he knew a lot of people. She was just refusing to accept the reality of his station, of their situation. It was surprising, really; it wasn’t often that she allowed her opinion of what should be to affect the reality of what actually was. But Angela had put him on some sort of pedestal – just as he had for her, he realized suddenly – and had ignored the horrors that surrounded him. She believed there was good in him, that he still deserved to stand up next to her in the light. She only allowed herself to see him as Gabriel, not as Blackwatch Commander Reyes. What she wanted, Gabriel couldn’t give. “I can’t change this, Angela.” He glared down at the ground because he didn’t want to glare at her, to see that look of horror on her face as she finally saw him. “I’m the Commander of Blackwatch. It’s my duty.” Gabriel knew that she understood duty – she was the one that had preached about it when he had been assigned this horrible position. “You are meant to protect people, liebling.” Her hands wrapped around his forearm, a gentle grip that he could easily break. “Come back with me; we will speak to Jack and fix this.” Gabriel scoffed; she had far too much faith in Jack, the brother neither of them had as children. Jack couldn’t fix this. The only way he could get out was to resign or to die. He wasn’t one for quitting. “This is who I am now, Angela.” He turned, pulling his arm out of her grip to face her fully. “You can’t change that, just like I can’t change you. I’m Commander Reyes, and you’re Mercy.” Angela crossed her arms, teeth worrying her lip. “This is who we are.” The silence between them was deafening as she stepped into him, her arms wrapping around his waist as she buried her face in his chest, heedless of the blood that still clung to him. He hesitated for a brief moment before wrapping his arms around her, pressing his face to her hair so he could let her scent wash away the gore and terror of the interrogation room. It was the sterile smell of a hospital mixed with sunshine and oranges that was wholly Angela. “Why does it have to be this way?” The words were small, sad. For all the ferocity in her heart, she was still far too gentle for this life they led. “I don’t know, mi corazón.” He sighed, one hand lifting to stroke her hair gently. “Our choices led us here, and our pride forces us to continue.” That was the best answer he could think of. “It’s who we are.” He would not be Gabriel Reyes if he had not also joined the soldier program, had not become a Commander. She would not be Angela Ziegler if she had not become a doctor ten years earlier than any of her peers, had not become Mercy. Silence again as she soaked in his answer, before she heaved a world-weary sigh. “I wish it wasn’t like this.” She pulled away, turned to walk up the hall that would lead her to the exit. Angela glanced back, just once. “I still love you, Gabriel.” Before he could answer in kind, before he could question her word choice, she was gone. Gone to her world of light and mercy, leaving him once more to the dark and agony. He opened the door to return to his work – and froze. Instead of the man he had left behind, Angela hung from the chains. Her skin was loose, and her eyes were hollow. What little flesh that wasn’t torn to shreds was an ugly purple. One leg was broken, and her wrists were raw. She looked at him with such sorrow, such agony. “Why does it have to be this way?” The words were disjointed, forced through a broken mouth and a throat raw from screaming. Suddenly, his body wasn’t his own. He was stalking forward towards the woman who still wasn’t quite broken after all the abuse she had suffered. There were gloves on his hands, tipped with claws, that he dug into her sides savagely until she cried out and bled. The sound was music to his ears – it nauseated him – it wasn’t enough, would never be enough. The Reaper turned to the tray of tools at his side. He used knives to part her once cream-colored skin. Pliers ripped nails and teeth from their homes. He flayed the skin from her back and burned the skin from the bottoms of her feet. Despite the continued torment, she refused to say anything else. All he earned was broken whimpers, shrill screams, and tears. When he finally turned to leave the room, unsatisfied despite all his efforts, she allowed herself to break her vow of silence once more. “I forgive you.” It was so quiet that he could barely hear it. His steps faltered briefly, but he continued out of the room. Before the door shut, faintly: “I still love you, Gabriel.”

---

The Reaper sat up in bed, sheets tangled around him, panting. One hand ran over his short hair, trying to chase away the remnants of what could only be a dream – nightmare? both? – fueled from the parts of him that were still Gabriel. With a frustrated growl, the Reaper rose from his bed. He wouldn’t get any sleep, not after that, so he may as well find something useful to do with his time.

“No? Nothin’ at all?” Cole let out a frustrated sigh. “Alrigh’, thanks anyway.” He disconnected and tossed the communicator into his hat on the table next to him. Another fruitless call that had ended in disappointment. He took another drag of his cigarette. He needed to remember to get another pack; he’d been blowing through them more quickly than usual since Angela’s disappearance. She would be so upset to know that she – or her absence, at least – was the reason he was smoking more heavily lately. Cole frowned; now why’d he have to go and think something so depressing like that? There was no way he could finish the cigarette after that thought, so he stubbed it out. He had spent the last two weeks calling anyone and everyone he knew to try and get any kind of lead on Angela’s whereabouts. Some of his contacts were dead, others in prison; the rest he’d had to do some searching – and was, in some cases, still searching – but he was barely making headway. Whoever had Angela either had it wrapped down tight or was so powerful that people were just afraid to talk, or perhaps both. However you went about it, it ended with the same result: nothing. Lena – Tracer to the rest of the world – had gone public on Angela’s behalf. From what he had been told, news agencies across the globe reported the story, and the UN had taken a special interest in the case. Of course they would: Angela had once been a symbol of peace, healing, and hope. While she wasn’t always happily greeted these days, she was still a notable figure. Her absence had people speculating all sorts of things. He had heard on the radio that there was a rumor of Angela having gotten pregnant and was trying to hide it. Cole had scoffed at the idea; Angela was incapable of hiding – or stopping – when there was work to be done. She would never let something so small as a scandal keep her from doing her duty. Other rumors stated that she was being held for ransom. Cole wished it were that simple. He’d turn himself in for the bounty on his head, if only to pay for her safe return. The darkest of all had her dead already, and they were only chasing a ghost. Cole had been in a foul mood after hearing that particular rumor. While he had been chasing up old contacts, the UN had created a public, international hotline for people to call in with information on Angela’s whereabouts. Most of the calls were useless, along the lines of ‘I saw a blonde woman once about a week ago.’ The rest, the more promising leads, were investigated with ruthless single-mindedness. They gave some to various agencies across the globe – Cole didn’t like the thought of Angela being in anyone’s care but theirs, Overwatch’s, but he was realistic enough to understand that they couldn’t be everywhere. He couldn’t help but think that if Overwatch hadn’t fallen, they could be. That this would never have happened in the first place because she would have been safe. They were certainly trying their best to do just that, however. The rallying cry had been answered by many prior agents, scattered around the globe. Reinhardt and his pupil – squire, he called her – Brigitte were in northern Europe; they sent any tips that led to that part of the world their way. Genji was in Nepal, and Fareeha was in Egypt. Lena held western Europe and Torbjörn was in the east. Cole was holding the Americas as best he could, with a few other agents who had answered when they had been called. Winston, working on rebuilding Overwatch so that they could have a proper team and headquarters to base themselves out of, had kept to the shadows. He was capable of multitasking, however, so he was helping to coordinate their efforts. Athena was doing her best to investigate through electronic means – but that was a big world and, while Athena was quite remarkable, it was a near-impossible task. Still, between the tips, Athena, and Cole’s contacts, they should have found some kind of lead. Something that at least pointed in her general direction, to give them some hope instead of crushing disappointment. Every tip they had received turned out to be false. Some were just ‘harmless’ pranks by stupid punks that didn’t realize how serious the situation was. Others had been people trying to con their way into receiving the reward Lena was offering towards Angela’s recovery. Cole was convinced that a few were from terrorist cells or similar groups trying to make trouble. Every day that passed, hope diminished. By this point, Angela had been in their hands – whoever they were – for almost three weeks. If they wanted money, they would have put a ransom demand out by now: either immediately, to one of the prior Overwatch agents, or shortly after the UN had started their hotline. If they wanted her dead, her body should have been discovered by now. That they had neither only reaffirmed Cole’s belief that she was being held captive somewhere. At the very best, she was being held by some gang leader or drug lord and was being forced to care for their injured. Such captivity would come with relative safety and comfort – once she was convinced to cooperate, that is. He was more realistic; if she were going to be taken for such a thing, she would have been taken long ago. No, he was sure that her kidnapping and Winston’s recall were linked. That put his focus primarily on Talon and Null Sector as the most likely culprits. Of all the terrorist groups, those two stood to gain the most should Overwatch stay dead. Others on his radar were Los Muertos and the Shimada Clan. He had already personally investigated the Deadlock Gang and was almost positive that they weren’t responsible. Still, that left four potential suspects. That was three too many. Cole wasn’t above trying to break into any of their bases to try and find a lead. He had been talked out of that – mostly because it was suicidal at best – but he still toyed with the thought in his darker moments. All they had was the hope that they could find Angela before it was too late – and that hope was steadily dying.

Let the streets run red with my revenge You can’t fake apologies for everything you do - Ghost Town [Egypt Central]

Tags :

overwatch fanfiction angela ziegler gabriel reyes mercykill fanfic Mercy! Reaper cole cassidy cassidy tw torture tw violence tw dark thoughts tw: dark themes tw suicidal thoughts tw hallucinations whump breaking my heart series

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thebrighteye

3 years ago

Breaking [My Heart]: Act IV Shattering

AO3 | FF.net | Works | Pandora Playlist

You feel them drinking in your pain to kill the memories So close your eyes and let it hurt The voice inside begins to stir Are you reminded of all you used to be - Lie to Me (Denial) [Red]

Angela wasn’t due to be worked on for another hour, but Gabriel still found himself on the opposite side of the glass, watching her. He had looked in on her progress intermittently - sometimes in person, other times by patching into the security cameras in her cell. It wasn’t the same as experiencing it live, but he had made his choice. Having given up the honor of taking her apart himself, he had other work to do that kept him busy. Paperwork - because of course he couldn’t escape paperwork, not even here - and planning for his latest op. He’d be leaving later today, so this would be his last chance to see her until he returned in about a week. Angela was curled up on the ground, directly under the manacles that she was so often attached to. She had stopped spending the energy to crawl to a corner, clearly too exhausted from everything she was experiencing to try and make an attempt. Instead, she was curled up as small as she could stand with her back to the glass. Her hands were pressed to her ears, trying to escape the grinding noise that they were pumping into the room, while her eyes were shut tight against the still-bright light of the room. Gabriel could almost see her misery rising off her body, nearly taste the agony that came off her in waves. Her body had been pushed to its limits since her escape attempt two weeks ago, and she still had managed to refuse to answer them. Even from where he stood, he could see her ribs and each individual knob of her spine. It was a little difficult, considering the split skin and black bruises that nearly hid her pasty white skin entirely and made her skin swell, but not impossible. He knew, from experience, that her eyes would be sunken and her skin would hang loosely where muscle had once been but hadn’t yet tightened. Along with the sound, they had lowered the temperature in the room. He could see her shiver intermittently as her body tried in vain to keep her warm. Even when they weren’t planning on a session, they would douse her with water semi-regularly to keep her both awake and miserable. Between the light, sound, freezing temperatures, and nightmares that woke her screaming, he doubted she got much sleep. Somehow, though, he was almost certain she had managed to fall asleep despite all that. Gabriel remembered having to practically carry the woman out of her labs, making her rest after an eighteen-hour day; now they were forcing her to stay awake for thirty or more hours at a time, perhaps broken up by a quick nap here or there before they dragged her back to consciousness. It wasn’t surprising that her body was shutting down as often as it was able, despite the hurdles thrown in its way. Still, knowing her the way he did - the way he had, rather - he hadn’t expected her to last this long, not since they had increased the intensity of her torture. After all that time, they had only managed to pry a few scattered, breathy pleas from her mouth: ‘stop’ and ‘please’ being her most common choices. Otherwise, the only sounds she made were those of pain: broken whimpers and shrill screams that were followed by silent sobs once they had finished a session. Angela had stopped being silent the first time they had broken her knee. The nanites in her body had healed it quickly enough that they had broken it once more six days ago; it surprised him that it healed at all, considering the rest of the trauma across her body. That was when she had started giving them her words, one strained plea at a time. It had also been when she had stopped holding back the tears of pain during her sessions. But, the further they progressed with Angela, the more often she got that far away, distant look that was so common among their prisoners as they got closer and closer to their breaking point. Sometimes they could pull Angela back down to Earth, to the agony that was her reality, with ice water - either splashed upon her naked, broken body or dumped down her mouth and nose, so she thought she was drowning - or with white-hot irons pressed to the sensitive skin of her feet or inner thighs. Other times they would be forced to stop in the middle of the session, toeing that fine line between forcing her to bend to their will and breaking her altogether. Angela would hang there, face slack as she escaped from the cell that contained her mortal form. Sometimes she wouldn’t come back for hours. But, eventually, her face would fill with pain and knowing, and that would be the signal to continue where they had left off. Gabriel had no idea how long he stood there, watching her spine rise and fall shakily with her shallow breaths, before Sombra cleared her throat to get his attention. The Reaper turned his head just enough to acknowledge her, but his eyes were only for the angel that was almost mortal. Nearly there, so close that the Reaper hated - hated - leaving and possibly missing it. “What?” The Reaper demanded finally, when it was obvious she wasn’t going to say anything. She could be so infuriating at times. He hadn’t called her, hadn’t asked for her presence; she had imposed on him, had initiated their interaction. He didn’t even know how long she had been standing in the room with him. Were it anyone but Sombra, that would concern him - but the hacker was exceptionally sneaky, especially with her cloaking technology. Even he had a hard time noticing her when she wanted to go unseen - and that was when he was actively searching. “Just looking in on the doctora.” The woman kept her distance, leaning against the wall by the door as her ultraviolet eyes - she wasn’t even trying to pretend that her eye color was natural today - took in the broken blonde in the other room. Gabriel made a disbelieving noise as he returned his attention to the woman he had come to see. Perhaps, when they were done, he would go in to speak to her, see if she would still offer forgiveness after all that she had experienced. “What?” Sombra asked, almost defensively. “You’re not the only one who’s watching her progress, Gabe.” His previous name, a taunt designed specifically to get a rise out of him. She was the only one who got away with it - mostly because, no matter what he had done to try and dissuade her, she just kept doing it. The Reaper could only hope that ignoring it would make her stop. At least she usually only said it in private. “I’m surprised you don’t just use your toys.” He grumbled in return. The Reaper knew why he didn’t use the cameras - they were far too impersonal for his tastes. It wasn’t enough, not really, standing in this room and watching instead of doing. His fingers itched to bury themselves inside her flesh, to bleed her himself. Unfortunately, now more than ever, Gabriel knew that he couldn’t do it and survive the experience. Silence fell between them as they watched Angela’s labored breathing. It stayed as her interrogators stomped into the room; not even that noise roused her from whatever slumber, or perhaps catatonia, she was in. They yanked her up off the ground impersonally, hooked her raw - and possibly scarred, he couldn’t tell under the bruising - wrists into the manacles. Once she was in place, they threw a bucket of water over her. It sent her gasping, sputtering, her body’s shivers doubling as it tried to fend off the chill. Her eyes were unseeing for so long that he thought they would have to get another bucket, or perhaps one of the irons - and then suddenly the blue became focused. The angel was with them again. “No.” The word was a broken, breathy sound, a prayer and a plea wrapped together as she tried desperately to stop what she knew was coming. They met her beg with a demand for answers, the questions unchanged from that first day she had hung from those chains. Still, she refused to answer. They shifted her broken leg, making her lose consciousness and forcing them to bring her screaming back to life with hot irons. They grabbed her breasts, between her legs, pressing against her in a violent threat that sent Angela gasping and heaving in pure terror and disgust at the implication. Her head was yanked back, cloth forced over her face, before ice water was dumped over and into her. They used the knives to split her flesh and carve uncaring lines into her skin before using pliers to rip out a nail or two. “It’s hard to remember that she’s a person,” Sombra murmured finally, after a particularly shrill scream, “when she’s on the other side of a screen.” Gabriel had forgotten she was standing there; Sombra had been so still and quiet. When he glanced towards the hacker, he could see that her usually warm skin was ashen. “If she doesn’t bend soon,” the Reaper rumbled in return, “she will break.” The man turned to look at Angela once more. Something akin to pity rose in him before he shook it off. “And if she breaks, well,” he didn’t know whether to sigh in disgust or relief, “she won’t be a person anymore.” Sombra sucked in a breath, probably sharper than she had intended considering the way she quickly turned away completely to hide her expression. Without a word, she stalked out of the room. The Reaper didn’t watch her go.

Her body was numb. Angela wasn’t sure what the exact cause was. It could be the cold, from the chilled room and the freezing water; it might be the blood loss, from the wounds that were still weeping as her nanites struggled to heal her. Maybe her mind was putting up a wall, trying to protect her from what it could. Perhaps it was the shock, finally, blessedly settling in. That meant her end was, hopefully, nearing. It couldn’t come soon enough. Angela opened her eyes, fully expecting to be blinded by the ever-present lights. Though they kept her from being able to see her assailants, they hadn’t stopped her from seeing her friends. Despite the pain the lights brought, she couldn’t help herself; it was the only solace she had. To her surprise, Angela found herself sprawled out on the cold concrete. She was so distant, so numb, that she hadn’t even realized she wasn’t hanging from the chains. Instead, she was lying in a puddle of water, tinted red with her blood. Angela knew the water was at least cold - probably freezing - but she couldn’t feel it. She should be in agony, but, laying there in the puddle - motionless except for her faint breaths - she felt nothing. It should concern her, but it was such bliss that the implications didn’t matter anymore. Angela didn’t know how she got there. No, that wasn’t right. Angela knew exactly how she got there; the process was the same every single time. She didn’t remember getting there. The last thing she remembered was a barked question about Cassidy - where was he, where would he go - and her bitter, pitiful no. She didn’t remember the pain that had come next, that she knew had come next because her refusal always came with pain. Angela didn’t remember any other questions or being dropped from these chains to land heavily and painfully on the cool concrete. This wasn’t the first time she had lost time, but it was the first time she had started in one place and ended in another. Usually, she would be in the middle of a cry of pain or listening to a question she wouldn’t answer - then suddenly the men were gone, and she was all alone. It wouldn’t be long before they realized she was awake and came stomping back in, ready to resume her agony. It was hard to bring herself to care about the memory loss when she compared it to the memories she was already trying to hide from. Why would she want to remember anything else when she had already endured so much? Her eyes swept the room, as was her habit now, searching for a friendly face. Instead, she found the Reaper. His arms crossed as he gazed down at where she lay on the cool ground, heedless of the water and blood he stood in. Her eyes widened and she tried to scramble back, causing a scream of pain to erupt from her throat. In her terror, Angela had forgotten - she had been so numb - that her body was broken. The movement destroyed the thin barrier her mind had erected between her consciousness and the agony, and now everything was screaming just like she was. Angela didn’t know how long it took to come back down, to push the agony down to something tolerable. Once she was coherent, she took precious, agonizing moments to shift and rearrange herself into a position that provided minimal pain. It was impossible to find a position that didn’t hurt. Then, her eyes scanned the room - what parts she could see, anyway - for Jack or Ana or anyone to help her. Her eyes found the Reaper again, still glowering a few feet away, the entire reason she had moved in the first place. How had she allowed herself to be distracted from the man, the monster, that had put her in here? “Gab-” Angela couldn’t help herself from starting the name, but she managed to bite it off. She cowered back, whimpering as the movement sent a fresh wave of pain through her. Her shoulders hunched and her head ducked down low, waiting for him to strike her for the misstep. The last two times had ended poorly for her; how could she expect this one to end any better, especially considering how much worse it had become since the last time she had seen him? Silence. He terrified Angela; her body was so tense that it was shaking. This was the Reaper, not Gabriel - he had told her that, sometime in her painful, foggy past. He had punished her the last time she had made the mistake; how could it be any different now, when her torture was much worse than before? When he had been the one that had put her in this position in the first place? She tried to listen for any movement, any sign at all that he was approaching. Angela knew it was a futile effort - the grinding noise they were playing made it impossible to hear how her captors moved around her, finding the best place to strike. “You’ve seen better days.” Angela would have scoffed, had she the energy or the breath. Of course she had seen better days; not even when she had been rescued from a collapsed building had Angela been this hurt - but she’d had armor, then. Now, she was nothing but naked flesh and bones, a ghost of the woman she had once been. “What, nothing to say today?” He taunted, sounding no closer than he had before. Hesitantly, Angela raised her head a little, just enough that she could see the gleaming white of his mask. He was no longer standing - at some point he had crouched, bracing his forearms against his knees; it was a familiar position, one Gabriel had adopted countless times. Gabriel - the Reaper, she corrected herself fiercely - had been the only one she had spoken to until now. He was the only one who had received more than one-word denials and pleas. He hadn’t asked for information in the two previous encounters - he hadn’t asked for anything at all. Because of that, she had blindly offered herself to him, allowing him inside her walls like she always did and giving him the forgiveness he hadn’t even demanded. Like her, he was too proud to ask for such things. “Wh-” She cleared her throat and tried again. “What is there to say?” It came out rough and weak, not nearly as defiant as she wished it to be. The only defiance she had left was her prayer for silence, repeated in her mind with a fierce devotion that could put any priest to shame as they beat and bled her. It had been a challenge, but Angela found she would do much worse for her friends. Her friends, who sometimes visited her but would never save her. They would keep her company as she died in this room, one inch at a time. Their whispered kindnesses and gentle touches were still Heaven compared to the Hell she lived in, and she reveled in their presence. Her eyes swept the room again, but she was still alone. “Ah, not so forgiving anymore, are we?” Angela’s eyes snapped back to his mask, reminded once more of his presence. Then, his words registered, and she shuddered at the reminder of their last encounter when he had viciously returned her forgiveness before casually returning her to this cage that was her death sentence. Angela knew she shouldn’t play into his game. She should keep her mouth shut, refuse to make a sound that wasn’t forced out of her with their tools. The Reaper was just chipping at her walls, trying to make her break and betray everyone she loved, just as he had so long ago. He knew the secret paths that let him get behind her walls because he had been the one to create them. He was the only one who had gotten close, had seen all of her - the good and the bad. Gabriel was her deadly weakness, here in this place of blood. Angela hated that Gabriel was still her weakness, the chink in her armor, even after all this time - after everything he had done. She hated that she still loved him, that her love made it possible to look past his transgressions - all of them. “I have always forgiven Gabriel.” Angela corrected, voice raspy and breathless. She wanted to hate Gabriel, should hate him. He had done so much to ruin her life. Gabriel had destroyed her home and the life he’d gifted her. He had killed her friends and family along with hundreds of people who had been hers – theirs - to protect. He had ripped away everything that had been hers and shattered it into tiny pieces. And yet, she still couldn’t bring herself to hate him. She had spent far too many years loving and forgiving him to stop now. It was one of her many faults, but never had it been one of her regrets - not even after discovering what she had turned him into. She had forgiven him for the destruction of Zürich - her home and her life - long before she had discovered he was alive. Angela knew it was irrational, that if it had been anyone else, she would have held onto the grudge until her last breath, but it was Gabriel. She had been willing to follow him to the gates of Hell itself - what was forgiveness compared to that? She had done so much worse for him, after all. “I will always forgive Gabriel.” Long ago, before Overwatch had fallen, she had chosen Gabriel - and everything that it meant. He was Blackwatch, the shadowy partner to Overwatch that committed horrible acts that Angela could never condone. But to choose Gabriel was to accept that he was the one who ordered those atrocities - sometimes took part and stained his hands red. Somehow, she had accepted him - and forgiven him. Love had made it so easy. That love had stuck with her all these years, long after she had moved past the destruction and betrayal. It was with her even now, broken and bloody on the ground. Angela had believed she had moved on from him, from all of them, but she had always been good at lying to herself. She had just avoided the feeling, burying it deep under her work until she was numb and could forget. Forget the grief. Forget the love. Forget everything. The only time Angela had allowed herself to feel, to remember, was when she stood before his grave with a bundle of flowers that always seemed so inadequate. Then she would be back to work. Her emotions were bottled back again, hidden alongside the parts that were Angela so that she was only Dr. Ziegler. She worked sixteen-hour days minimum, even on holidays, doing her best to work until she crawled into bed with exhaustion. Angela did anything she could to keep from remembering how her world had collapsed around the one man who, even now, held her heart within an iron cage. The man that she had forgiven for everything. Angela had even forgiven him for her original capture and those first days in this chamber, when she had thought it was Gabriel that had put her there. She had hurt him, as he had hurt her. But, unlike her, he had been unable to move past that anger, and it had festered for all these years into hatred. She could forgive him for giving in to that darker, human emotion - despite the pain she had experienced. “But you,” her voice caught in her throat, thick with emotion, “you aren’t him anymore, are you?” Angela’s head bowed again, stringy hair falling around her face as she tried to collect herself. Her Gabriel was dead, and in his place was the monster that had sent her into this room. The Reaper had been the one to throw her back into this horrible room, had ordered her torture to become so much worse. Gabriel could have never ordered such agony for her. He could not have come to her afterward and gloated as he was doing now. He was the Reaper, not Gabriel. While she could always forgive Gabriel, she would never forgive the Reaper. The Reaper had been the one that had thrown her into this horrific room. The Reaper had been the one to take over Gabriel’s body and memories, had become the psychopath that crouched before her. He could never earn her forgiveness. Once more in control of her emotions, Angela lifted her head again. Her eyes caught the bone-white of his mask before scanning the room. She could never go more than a few minutes without glancing around the room, searching to see if one of her friends had appeared. A flash of gold over the Reaper’s black shoulder signaled that Jack had returned to her. His blue coat was a stark contrast to the black and grey that made up this room. He gave the Reaper a withering look before he turned to Angela, face rearranging to something more sympathetic. She couldn’t look away, not even for the lover-turned-monster that was barely five feet away. She greedily drank in Jacks’ presence, his kindness, like a flower soaks up sunshine. “Don’t give in, Angela.” She couldn’t tell if he was ordering her or begging her. Was he speaking as her Commander or her brother? “You know it isn’t him.” Angela knew it, she did. She had learned that lesson the hard way, through blood and pain, but she had learned. “Gabriel is dead. Don’t let this monster trick you.” Angela wouldn’t fall for the same trick twice. She had let her guard down, had thought that there was some hope after he called her mi corazón, but that hope was a terrible lie. Angela would never allow herself to trust the monster before her. But it was hard. It was hard knowing that, under the mask, it was Gabriel’s body. Somewhere, underneath the murderous Reaper, were Gabriel’s memories. He was so very close and yet terribly far away. A sharp shake sent a wave of agony through her. The worst was her broken knee, scraping against the ground where she had settled it. She choked on a pained whine, eyes closing as she tried to ride the waves that were now so horribly familiar. Eventually, her watery eyes opened and glanced quickly to where Jack had been - but he was gone. Her attention slid back to the Reaper when his claws tightened on her arms, terrified that he might shake her again. The Reaper was kneeling in the water before her, heedless of the liquid that was soaking into his clothes. The skull mask was so close to her that she could feel his breath on her face, hot against her freezing skin. His clawed hands were wrapped around her arms in the exact place he had buried her forgiveness in that armory. She wasn’t sure when, exactly, he had gotten so close - how had she missed his movement? “Are you still with me?” The growled phrase was a knife in her heart. When her nightmares became too much, when she was lost in her memories, Gabriel would pull her back down to Earth with those words. She hated that they were being used to bring her back to this place. Still. “I - I am.” The broken words were familiar, well-rehearsed - and wrong for this place. “For now.” The assurance, which used to be a gentle reminder of her mortality, was now bitter and desperate. Hopeful, even, for the sweet embrace of death and the relief it would bring to her. His claws bit into her skin, angry at the reminder of his past life - the script that he had started, this man who swore he wasn’t Gabriel. She had merely followed his lead and finished the scene. Angela had known she shouldn’t, that she should deviate and say anything else - or better yet, say nothing at all - but she couldn’t help herself. He wasn’t Gabriel, and yet he was. She knew she should fight, should struggle, try to escape the grip he had on his arms - but even at her best she could never have escaped his hold. Even if she had, where would she go? Her knee was broken, incapable of holding her weight for any amount of time. It was impossible to crawl away to safety. Instead, she let the Reaper hold her trembling body upright, hands limp at her sides. “How did it come to this, liebling?” She whispered, voice breaking, before allowing her head to fall forward and press against the hovering mask. Angela knew the question, the action, would only bring pain - but she found it hard to care. Her entire life was pain; what was a little more? The Reaper stiffened, probably in surprise at her audacity, and his claws dug in as his fists clenched. A heartbeat passed, and then another. Now it was her turn to be surprised - she hadn’t expected him to allow her to remain pressed against him so intimately. It was only a few moments - far too long yet never enough - before he shoved her away, releasing her arms so she collapsed on her back. As she tried to recover from the shock, the Reaper rose and stalked out of the room. Angela refused to allow herself to foster hope. It would only lead to more heartbreak in the end.

Gabriel had gone into that too bright room with its grating noise and lowered the doctor from her chains - far more gently than she usually was, though she wasn’t conscious to appreciate it. Then he had waited, leaning against one wall, for the woman to come back from wherever she had escaped to. He knew it was foolish to wait, since she could be gone for hours at a time, but he had hoped that she would return before he had to leave. His patience had been rewarded less than an hour later, when the doctor began to stir. Gabriel had moved forward eagerly until he was only a few feet from Angela. Her face had clouded with confusion - but, curiously, no pain - until her eyes had found him. Then there was nothing but fear that turned into pure agony as she tried to get away from him. Gabriel had thought she would escape then, that she’d disappear before he’d even said anything. Her screams had petered off relatively quickly, but coherency didn’t return for several long minutes. It was even longer before she was looking around again; the surprise that had turned to frustration made Gabriel realize she had forgotten his presence in the face of her blinding pain. The Reaper wasn’t sure if that was concerning or not. She should be more aware, more afraid, even in the throes of agony. She hadn’t even registered him as a threat until her eyes had landed on him. Was it that her subconscious didn’t think he was a threat to her, and therefore could be ignored? Was she too close to breaking, to becoming nothing but a hollow shell that had once housed the power that was Dr. Angela Ziegler? “Gab-” Angela had cut herself off so quickly he was surprised she didn’t bite the tip of her tongue off. She had cringed back then, making herself smaller – he hadn’t thought such a feat was possible – with a small, pained sound. There should have been anger at his old name on her lips, a reminder of everything she had stolen from him. There should have been pleasure – exultation, even – at the sight of her trembling before him, terrified of what he would do next. Instead, the Reaper felt empty, devoid of anything that would have satisfied him in this moment. That made him furious. How dare this victory be nothing. This was the whole point. This was the moment he had been waiting for years. They had come full circle, the two of them. Once, it had been his turn to beg for death. Now it was hers. He should feel something that would make all these years of suffering worth it. It was supposed to make him feel better. There was supposed to be a release, the bottled-up hatred being satisfied with her ruined body. The Reaper wanted to push forward and string the doctor back up. He wanted to dig in his claws and make her choke on the pain until he felt something. Surely that was what was missing: he hadn’t personally broken her, and so the satisfaction - the victory - was out of his reach Gabriel had other ideas. There was no pleasure in seeing Angela like this. He had thought it would help, as the Reaper had - but all he felt was pity for the shaking and whimpering woman. Or was it guilt? He was the one who had put her in this room, had condemned her to this terrible fate. He couldn’t bring himself to move closer to the blonde for fear that she would panic and hurt herself again. Instead, he crouched down so that, if she looked up, it would be easier for her to see him. After a few moments, it was apparent that Angela wasn’t going to be the one to speak first. It was his turn to be on the receiving end of the silent treatment that she had offered everyone else. He didn’t blame her; they were enemies here in this room, regardless of what pity Gabriel might feel “You’ve seen better days.” He could see the woman she had once been, even now. Her skin was unblemished - ethereal, perfect - and clean of any blood and gore. Golden hair shone in the light of her wings, which spread wide behind her as she looked up at him with her usual kindness from beneath her halo. Then he blinked, and the broken woman reappeared. That perfect skin was now slashed and bruised, pulled tight over her bones into sharp edges. She trembled in a puddle of freezing water and her own fluids. Her hair was no longer lustrous but stringy with oil. The glowing wings were broken, her halo gone. It was wrong. Angela was supposed to be tall and proud, not this debased creature. “What, nothing to say today?” Gabriel wasn’t above goading her to get her to speak. He wanted to refuse to leave until she talked to him, but he knew that would be impossible. He had to leave soon, while she had the patience of a God and the stubbornness of a thousand bulls. It had worked, though. Angela had looked up at him cautiously, obviously worried about further pain. Her sunken eyes had regarded him with a mixture of fear, anger, and sorrow - but the fear was by far the strongest of the three. Still, she had swallowed and responded with her damaged voice. “Wh-What is there to say?” Of course. Why would she speak to him, the lover-turned-enemy that had condemned her to this existence of terror and pain? Why had he even come in here in the first place? Right. The Reaper had wanted to gloat, to throw her forgiveness back into her face. He had wanted to revel in the agony before they left the Oasis base. Now, standing in the room, they had discovered that it was impossible. There was nothing but hollow pity and seeds of doubt. But the Reaper had to try and get what he had come for, anyway. “Ah, not so forgiving anymore, are we?” Her eyes had been wandering, obviously searching for something instead of focusing on the threat in the room, but they snapped back as soon as he spoke. A shudder rolled through her before she stiffened and steeled herself. “I have always forgiven Gabriel.” While her voice was weak, her eyes were steely with resolution. It was a truth that Gabriel had always accepted but never understood. How could she forgive him for anything that he had done as the Blackwatch Commander? She knew the horrors he had perpetuated - especially now after experiencing it firsthand - and she was still offering absolution for his part. It absolutely rocked Gabriel. “I will always forgive Gabriel.” The blonde had continued, as firmly as her broken throat would allow. The Reaper couldn’t believe her. He had utterly destroyed whatever faith she had held for Gabriel; the Reaper had seen the defeat when the guards had dragged her away. It was impossible for her to still have hope after everything she had been through. “But you,” the words stumbled, breaking as her blue eyes became sad again, “you aren’t him anymore, are you?” There it was. Gabriel, the man she remembered, was forgiven - but the Reaper, the monster he had become, was not. It should give him relief, that forgiveness. After everything Angela had gone through - and would continue to go through - she could still find compassion and gentleness in her heart. She could find the kinder emotions that should have been destroyed after so long in this cage. Guilt washed over him. She was teetering at the edge; all it would take was one calculated shove to send her spiraling. Her head bowed again, trying to hide the emotion they both knew she felt. Angela’s spine and shoulders were pronounced as she panted, trying to pull herself together. Would it be a kindness to find the words that would break her, to shatter her in such a way that Angela would never return? Was it selfish to try and keep her here in the battered body that would only face more abuse? Should he just kill her now and guarantee her torment would end? Before he could decide, Angela composed herself. Gabriel watched as her head lifted, and her eyes raised to take him in. Then, her eyes slid away and became unfocused and glassy as her mind escaped once more. He didn’t have any of the tools that were normally used to bring her down - and Gabriel doubted he could use them even if they were here. The Reaper was disgusted at Gabriel’s weakness. “Angela!” Gabriel called, nearly a shout. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t have any effect on the woman. He rose and crossed the distance quickly, trying to figure out how to pull her back down. He’d always been able to bring her out of her memories when they became too much, but he wasn’t sure he could bring her back when reality was too much. “Angela, cariño, come back.” He crooned as he kneeled before her, not even wincing as the icy water soaked his pants. Angela’s breathing had evened, and her body had relaxed enough that she was almost falling over. Gabriel grabbed her arms, steadying and straightening her, but her eyes remained unfocused. He took a steadying breath and then shook her in a violent, whole-body movement. Gabriel knew it would be excruciating for her, should it bring her back - but it was the only recourse he had besides laying her down and walking away. He wasn’t ready to walk away from her. Angela whined, a pitiful keening noise, as she came back to life in his arms. Her eyes fluttered shut as she trembled from the pain. A minute later, Angela realized she was making the pained noise and completely suppressed it, prideful even in her pain. It wasn’t long after that her eyes opened, not even noticing the tears that escaped, and darted towards the corner that had enraptured her. He would not let her go so easily. Gabriel tightened his hands, ready to pull her down again, but her eyes flew back to his mask before he could do anything. “Are you still with me?” The words escaped him before he could stop them. This was an all too familiar scenario from a time long destroyed by his hands. He had no right to use that phrase - it was too intimate for the enemies that they were supposed to be, for the monster he was supposed to be. And yet, he couldn’t help but search her face as he always had, looking for the tells that would reveal her deepest truths. “I - I am.” Angela stumbled over the words, the response just as ingrained in her as his question was in him. “For now.” There was a plea in the final phrase, one that had never existed before this room. Until this room, ‘for now’ was the assurance that she was with him in the moment - but never promising the future. Angela was always careful with her promises, with her words. Actions may speak louder than words - but she intended for her words to match her actions as often as possible; always, if she had her way, but even she wasn’t perfect. Angela never wanted anyone to doubt her for any reason - and so she measured her words carefully to ensure she didn’t offer something she couldn’t give. Not even for him would she break that habit. Even back then, she had been too realistic - too cynical - to believe that they would have a happy ending. Now, her ‘for now’ was a hope for an end. She had lost hope for any other form of escape; they all knew no one would find her before it was too late. It was unsurprising, considering the pain she was suffering - and they both knew this could only end one way. She just wanted the ending to come now. Gabriel’s hands clenched, forgetting that his fingers were tipped with claws, at the thought of her death. He didn’t want her dead - had never wanted her dead, not even in his worst fantasies. That had always been the Reapers desire, not Gabriel’s. It had never mattered before as it did now, when he had no control over the outcome. “How did it come to this, liebling?” The words were so quiet that, had he not been so close to her, he would never have been able to hear them. Then she went limp in his grasp, allowing herself to press against him with such familiarity that the Reaper stiffened in rage, claws now digging deep enough to draw blood. Gabriel and the Reaper fought over the decision of what to do with Angela, who hadn’t moved despite the danger he knew she was aware of. After a few moments, the Reaper won and shoved the woman back in disgust. He was on his feet and rushing for the door before there could be any further debate over his - their - actions.

---

The target was high profile, which was why Talon had decided that he, Widowmaker, and Sombra would form the strike team. Their only support was the pilot flying them from Oasis, Iraq to St. Petersburg, Russia. Widowmaker was methodically taking her sniper rifle apart to polish it before she would put it all back together again, as was her routine. She had barely glanced up when he had stormed onto the plane; he wasn’t sure if it was because she didn’t care or if she didn’t want to get involved. It was always hard to tell with her. Sombra had completely ignored him. The Reaper didn’t know if it was because of the callous words said in the observation room or if it was because she was distracted with whatever - or whoever - it was she was currently researching - hacking - on her holoscreens. She had started with three, but now there were seven; her eyes darted among them as she typed and slashed her fingers across them. He had leaned back and tried to sleep, as he usually did, but all he could think about was her. Damn that woman. The Reaper hated the effect that Angela had on them. Oh, he loved the rage he had felt at the sight of her, the pleasure her pain had brought him - but that, apparently, had diminishing returns. The Reaper still hated her, loathed her for what she had done to him. But no longer did he enjoy her torment as he had in those first days. He knew that she hadn’t experienced nearly enough to atone for what she had done, but what was the point if there was no pleasure in it? Her blood, her screams, her pleas - over time, it had become nothing to him. No, it had become worse than nothing. The bleeding heart that was Gabriel was spreading, infecting him. What was once a passive observer was now an active participant once more, as it had been in the beginning. The Reaper had won then, when Gabriel had grown tired and could no longer tolerate the blood necessary to soothe his agony. Now, because of her, the balance was shifting once more. They had agreed when she had first been captured: Angela deserved pain after the years of agony she had forced upon him. More quickly than the Reaper, however, Gabriel had lost his taste for the torture of the blonde angel - had lost his hatred altogether, considering the pity and guilt he felt over her pain. It was unsurprising, really; the Reaper really should have known better. He had let his greed blind him. It hadn’t been an accident that the Reaper had avoided cities - entire countries, if possible - that Angela lived in. Media was harder to avoid, but it was made easier by the fact that she had done her best to stay out of the news whenever possible. Blood and death strengthened the Reaper. He had been born in the destruction of the Zürich base, forced into life by that caged angel they had left behind in Oasis base. He had taken in the pain and the rage, the blood and the death, and had come roaring into being. As their existence began to revolve around those things that Gabriel had once stood against, the Reaper became stronger. But Angela changed that - had always changed that. For years, all he had been was merciless rage and endless hunger, his bloodlust leaving innumerable bodies in his wake. The Reaper had fostered a deep rage for the woman that had created him. Not even the parts that were Gabriel, the parts that loved the blonde doctor, had been able to temper that fury. He had fantasized about all the ways to take apart Angela, to make her regret ever bringing him back. To make her beg for death, just as Gabriel had in the moments before the Reaper had been born. It would have been - had been - so easy to capture her; her friends - ‘protectors’ - were nowhere to be seen, and her personal defenses were laughable at best. He would have reveled in her agony and painted the walls red with her blood. He could have shown the world what happens when you create a monster. But he didn’t. Couldn’t. He had gone to find her nearly a year after the destruction. The Reaper wanted to tear out her throat, to destroy the light that had dragged him back from death. Until they had laid eyes on the blonde, Gabriel had been an apathetic partner. Upon seeing her, however, Gabriel had dug his heels in. While the Reaper knew Gabriel had felt hatred towards the doctor in the abstract, he knew that he also harbored love. She had ignored his pleas for death and left him to live in agony, and still, he wanted her - but the Reaper knew it was more than that. Even if he didn’t love her, that woman was the embodiment of Gabriel’s past life: of Overwatch and the defense of the innocent. As Mercy, with those glowing wings, she had become a symbol for the organization. The sight of her was a reminder of everything he had been, everything he should be. It was enough to drown his hatred in the guilt and blood of the innocents they had killed to stay alive. She was their corazón, their heart. For as long as she lived, so would the parts that were Gabriel. The Reaper knew that he could rid himself of Gabriel by slaying the woman. It would be a stronger blow if it were at their hands, but the Reaper was confident that just her death would be enough. Despite the strength she displayed in her cage, he knew that she was fragile - now more than ever. She would be a quick, easy kill for a murderer like him. But, all those years ago, the Reaper had let her - and Gabriel - live. He had avoided her, erased her from their life as much as possible. It was a decision that he should have questioned, yet never did. Was Gabriel, deep in their shared mind and soul, protecting her from him? Was the Reaper protecting her from himself? Was he afraid to be alone in his head, to have nothing to temper his bloodlust and rage? Did he want to keep those gentler parts that were wholly Gabriel? And if he did, what did that mean for them now that Angela was captured?

They had done just about everything imaginable to her body. At least, she thought they had. They could probably dream up a thousand more horrors to inflict upon her. Angela was never an expert in torture, even if she was an expert on the human body. She knew in excruciating detail how to put someone back together - and exactly how they were taking her apart. Still, they hadn’t gotten her to tell them anything. A few times, she had snarled, snapping and telling them exactly where they could put their questions in a variety of languages. More recently, though, they had gotten the proud, cold Dr. Angela Ziegler to beg brokenly for them to stop - and then to please, please end it. Honestly, she didn’t know why they continued to come to her for information on Overwatch. The medical research made sense - she was one of the leading scientists, after all - but surely they could find another source on Overwatch. God. Had she really wished this upon someone else? No one should experience what she had in this room. Every moment they spent with her meant that was one moment less that was being spent searching for an alternative information source. Even if the pain was horrible - and it was - and even if it was tearing her apart in every way imaginable, she should never wish this on someone else. And yet she had. Oh, how she wanted out of this room. Angela knew there was only one way for her to leave - in a body bag - but it was how she reached it that mattered. Would that last victory be hers or theirs? Would she take their information to the grave, or would they manage to pry it out of her? She was determined to win this final war. This was all she was good for anymore, after all - all she had ever been good for. It had been her duty to serve in the field, taking bullets in her Valkyrie suit so that the agents under her care would be safe and putting them back together when she failed. It had been her responsibility to guide Overwatch in its final hours, to protect what had remained from public - and political - scrutiny. It was her honor to bleed for them now. Angela was the last shield Overwatch - the true Overwatch, her Overwatch - had left. And she wanted someone else to take the burden? How could she try to pass this off to someone else? What if it wasn’t one of her agents - who were important to her, who she had mourned when the KIA reports crossed her desk - but one of her family? What if they put those irons to Lena? What if they strung up Cassidy, whipped him raw like she was? Gabriel - Reaper - knew exactly how to break her; what if he was out there, right now, hunting one of them? What would she do if they brought someone else into this bloody room? Could she sit by and watch them abuse someone else? What kind of person would that make her if she could? Could she refuse to answer, knowing they would take her denials out on someone else? If to give in was to save someone else - not her, never her, she was going to die here - in exchange for betraying everyone else under her protection? What kind of person would that make her if she couldn’t? Angela could only pray that she died before she ever had to make that impossible decision.

Jack had been in Mexico, looking into the criminal group Los Muertos, when news of Angela’s capture had been broadcast across the world over three weeks ago. He hadn’t even considered ignoring the call to arms; Angela had done too much for him - for the world - to leave missing. From what he had gathered, there were no actual suspects. Jack believed, considering the recall from Winston - that he had not planned to answer - that it was one of the terrorist organizations that Overwatch had stood against years ago. Angela would make for a great hostage to use against the rising organization, after all. Since he was already in the backyard of one of the terrorist groups, he had decided to continue his efforts against the Mexican gang. He had been picking off gang members for the past few weeks, working his way through the ranks to gather information. After his ‘research,’ Jack was nearly positive that this gang wasn’t holding Angela - and he was going to confirm it tonight. He headed towards a major operative base for Los Muertos, the address kindly provided by one of their members the night before. However, he wasn’t the only one that had this idea. Jack arrived to find Cole Cassidy in the middle of a firefight. Ten gangsters pinned down the cowboy and, while Cassidy was impressive in a fight, even he was struggling against those odds. Jack gritted his teeth; he hadn’t wanted to make contact with Overwatch like this - but he couldn’t just leave Cassidy to his fate. The old soldier dropped his visor into place and pulled out his helix rifle. He had the element of surprise, shooting from a side alley with a dumpster for cover. Jack had clipped two of them before they returned fire. The cowboy had turned slightly, eyes wide under his hat, but had accepted his help. There wasn’t time for questions when the bullets were flying, after all. Between his rifle and Cassidy’s Peacekeeper, the gangsters were soon retreating with their wounded. Of the ten that had been in their group, they had killed three. Cassidy looked around - and the blood and the bodies - and kicked at a nearby bottle. “Damn it!” Jack wondered if the cowboy had stumbled upon this location by accident and had been looking to get information from the gangsters. Cassidy turned, Peacekeeper still in hand, to regard Jack. “‘preciate th’ help,” he drawled. There was a hard wariness in his eyes, a look Jack was well familiar with. Cassidy had regarded everyone with that look when he had first come into Overwatch. Jack had thought Overwatch had cured him of it, but it seemed he was mistaken. “It’s no problem.” Jack rested the rifle over one shoulder casually, watching him just as warily through his visor. He had no intention of attacking the cowboy - they were on the same side, after all - but until he put away Peacekeeper, Jack was unwilling to part with his gun. Then again, Jack didn’t know anyone that could draw their weapon faster than Cassidy. Perhaps he should keep his rifle in hand the entire time. “Now, why’s a guy like you creepin’ round these parts?” Jack wasn’t surprised that Cassidy recognized him - or, at least, recognized the person wanted by the media. Soldier: 76 had a bounty that was slowly creeping to be as high as Cassidy’s. The soldier considered the man before him. He could make some excuse and come back on a different night, avoid the discovery altogether. But after the fight here in the alleyway - plus his systematic attacks against the gang - Los Muertos would be on high alert. Maybe teaming up, at least for the night, wasn’t the worst idea. “Probably the same reason you are.” Jack rumbled, letting his rifle drop from his shoulder to hang limply at his side. Cassidy scoffed. “Ya don’ know th’ first thing ‘bout me.” The soldier’s mouth twisted into a wry grin under the mask. If only he knew. “I know enough,” Jack responded grimly. “You’re looking for Dr. Ziegler.” Cassidy’s hand tightened on Peacekeeper, his free hand hovering near his waist where Jack knew he kept his flashbangs. “An’ jus’ what would you know ‘bout her?” If the cowboy had looked dangerous before, now he was downright murderous. It was an effort to keep from lifting his rifle defensively; with how on edge Cassidy was, Jack was sure he’d shoot first and worry about the question later. “She helped me, a long time ago.” It was more than that, of course - but he couldn’t tell Cassidy any of it without revealing who he really was. “I owe her. Trying to find her is the least I could do.” “Right.” Cassidy made a disbelieving noise. “Outta th’ goodness of your heart, o’course.” Jack had forgotten how cynical Cassidy was - how cynical they all were. It was impossible to be an optimist, a dreamer that expected the best of the world, when all you ever saw was the worst. “I said I owe her,” Jack growled back. “She’s important to a lot of people.” Cassidy made that noise again, and Jack rolled his eyes. He understood the reluctance, but there was no time for this. Jack cut his free hand through the air. “Look: there’s an operations base near here; it’s where I was going when I found you.” Jack extended the information as a peace offering, a white flag he hoped Cassidy would take. “It’s the only place left that Los Muertos could hide her.” “And I’m jus’ s’pposed t’trust you.” It wasn’t a question. “You don’t have to do anything.” Jack corrected, turning away from the cowboy and his still threatening Peacekeeper. He was confident that Cassidy wouldn’t shoot him in the back, not with that bait dangling before him. “Come or don’t, but I’m going.” Jack had made it about halfway down the alley before he heard a sigh and the clink of spurs as Cassidy followed him.

---

As Jack had expected, Angela wasn’t being held by Los Muertos - but it always paid to be certain. Now, Cassidy was tailing him doggedly through the alleyways, trying to figure out who he was - besides the notorious Soldier: 76 - and why he’d want to help Angela. “Don’t you have anything better to do?” The old soldier had growled, finally stopping behind a defunct restaurant. Now that he had accomplished his task here in Dorado, Jack was planning to leave the city. He was planning to head towards the Middle East; there was a bounty hunter he wanted to investigate and, if the information Jack had was correct, there should be a Talon base somewhere in the area that he could tear apart in the search for Angela. Despite his respect for Cassidy’s abilities, Jack had no interest in teaming up with him in the long term. He was an old soldier, bouncing from one war to the next. Cassidy was still young - even if he had been forced to grow up far too fast. There was no place for the cowboy at his side, not anymore. “Naw, not at th’ moment.” The cowboy drawled lazily, not at all phased by Jack’s tone. When he’d glanced back, he found Cassidy regarding him with hard brown eyes and one hand on his holstered Peacekeeper. Just because they’d forged a temporary truce hadn’t made them allies, after all - at least, not to Cassidy. “Why does it matter?” Jack finally growled. “You should take any help you can get.” After all, Angela had been missing for nearly a month. They shouldn’t be looking a gift horse in the mouth. “An’ what happens when ya find her?” Cassidy demanded. “Gonna ransom her yourself? Try t’ get rid o’ your bounty?” Jack couldn’t care less about the - well deserved - bounty on his head. The only difficulty it gave him was travel - but, considering the world believed him to be dead, travel had already been difficult. “I’m not doing this for money.” The soldier returned; his old self would have been offended at the idea. This new self was more pragmatic - it would be a good idea that any other criminal would jump upon. “Yeah. You’re doin’ it ‘cause you’re such an upstandin’ citizen an’ all.” Cassidy deadpanned back. He shifted his weight, his cybernetic left-hand hooking into one of his belt loops - his right was still on his gun. “Gimmie one good reason I shouldn’ put a bullet in ya.” Jack rolled his eyes behind his visor. "Because we’re on the same side.” Cole did not look convinced in the slightest; Jack wasn’t sure why he’d thought those words would work. “I told you: I owe her. She saved my life.” Cole still wasn’t budging, so Jack elaborated on that thought. “She took a bullet that was meant for me - and then patched me up as if it were nothing.” The edges of Cole’s lips twitched, as if he wanted to smile at the reminder of how Angela had been - was. “That sounds like the Ange I know.” Cole conceded. “Never could take care o’ herself when there was someone else needin’ her help.” He sighed, hand sliding off Peacekeeper. “Fine. Fine. How’re we gonna know if ya find her?” “Trust me: you’ll know.” Jack turned and walked away. This time, Cole let him.

In this life there's no surrender There's nothing left for us to do Find the strength to see this through - Soldiers [Otherwise]

Tags :

overwatch fanfiction angela ziegler gabriel reyes mercykill fanfic Mercy! Reaper jack morrison soldier 76 cole cassidy cassidy tw torture tw violence tw dark thoughts tw: dark themes tw suicidal thoughts tw hallucinations whump breaking my heart series

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thebrighteye

3 years ago

Connection

As time began to blur Like a startling sign That fate had finally found me And your voice was all I heard - New Divide [Linkin Park] Soulmate AU Prompt 7 | Fandom: Overwatch (Pre-Fall) | Angela / Cassidy

AO3 | FF.net | Works

"I do not see why I have to be here," Angela grumbled, even as she continued jotting notes down on her clipboard. "I could have sent any of my medical staff." They'd pulled her away from her research to watch the intake of prisoners, recently captured by Blackwatch Commander Reyes. "You could have," Ana agreed from her right. Angela glanced towards her for a moment before turning her gaze back to the room before her. They - Jack, Ana, and herself - stood behind a one-way mirror, while Commander Reyes sat on the other side as he spoke to the prisoners. For the most part, she had tuned out their words - all she saw was the various injuries that she was now responsible for. "This capture is… different. It's confidential." Jack added - as if the presence of Blackwatch hadn't made that obvious. "You were the best choice." Angela had known that, too; it didn't make her any happier. She'd been busy. "I know," she said with a sigh as the prisoner on the other side of the glass rose. He was the fifth they'd watched. "How many more are there?" If they had told her earlier, she had long since forgotten. "Maybe three or four," Ana assured her as the next one - a woman, this time - shuffled in. "Gabriel's going pretty quickly; he doesn't seem to be very impressed." Angela turned to look at her friend with a questioning look. "This is how some of the Blackwatch agents are recruited, Angela," Ana explained gently. "Seriously?" She'd worked with some Blackwatch agents; while she'd never felt unsafe in their presence, they definitely were different from Overwatch agents. This was probably why. "They can't get, you know, normal people?" "'Normal' people don't generally join Blackwatch, Angela," Jack replied dryly. "They've already got the skills we need; all that's left is their temperament. Gabe's good at sizing people up." Angela turned back to the mirror. The woman was already rising again and she hadn't taken any notes. Quickly, she jotted down a few words before the prisoner disappeared from sight. "I suppose you are right," Angela agreed, once she finished her notes. "It's just…" Angela struggled to find the right words. "It's not what you're used to," Jack finished. "This isn't how Overwatch does things." She nodded as the next man entered and sat in the empty chair. As the prisoner leaned back, Commander Reyes began speaking - the same questions he'd asked all the others. Angela let his words slip past her as she looked over the ragged man for any injuries. From what she could tell - between her eyes and the reports she'd read - he didn't seem to be hurt. "I ain't talkin'," the man replied, and Angela tensed. Her eyes flew up to the mans' face, as if that would help her better understand. She'd always known this would happen, but she'd never expected it to be like this. Shortly after she had turned eighteen, Angela had known his voice as well as she knew her own. She just hadn't expected him to be a criminal. But - he couldn't be that bad, not if he was hers. Fate wouldn't be that cruel, would it? "Work with me," Commander Reyes replied, his voice taking on the familiar croon that it had with the last six prisoners. "Right now, you're facing a death sentence. If you give me something - anything - I might be able to work something out." "You might kill me, but at least it'll be quick - th' Gang'll drag it out slow-like." The man insisted; Angela got the sense that, had he not been chained, he'd have crossed his arms. "Angela?" Ana asked, noting the doctors' distress. "What's wrong?" She had hoped that she had been mistaken, that maybe she had misheard, but she hadn't. Angela took a shaky breath and released the death grip on her clipboard. Commander Reyes was finishing his interview. Angela had never met this man before, but she couldn't help but want to keep him alive. The thought of him dying made her chest hurt and it was unbearable. He was hers. Her eyes were wide and her breathing ragged as the man - her soulmate - rose. If he went out that door, it would be over before it ever began; he would die. Before she could stop herself, Angela darted forward to press a small button on the wall. "Tell him what he wants to know." The words were strangled, forced through a too-tight throat, but she had to say them. "Please." Jack yanked her away from the microphone then, disengaging it before she could say anything else. "What the hell are you doing?" Jack demanded. She ignored the way his fingers dug into her shoulders as she leaned around him to look through the mirror once more. Commander Reyes was glaring at the mirror - she knew he, too, would reprimand her after he was done - but the prisoner was staring at it with confusion and wonder, just like she was. "Angela! " Jack shook her slightly, pulling her attention back to him. "What were you thinking?" He snapped, once he realized he had her attention once more. "I—" Angela swallowed, trying to bring moisture back to her suddenly dry throat. She was an infinitely private person, but she had to explain herself, had to try - even if it made her uncomfortable. "He's my soulmate, Jack," Angela whispered. Jack tensed, his head whipping around to look at the prisoner again. "Are you certain, Angela?" Ana's voice broke the tense silence. "He's…" Ana was kind enough not to enumerate all the horrible things Angela was already thinking. Angela nodded jerkily, her gaze already moving back to the prisoner - her soulmate. He was still standing, halfway between the chair and the door. "Well?" Commander Reyes demanded, trying to take control of the room once more. "What's it going to be?" After another long, considering moment, the prisoner sat back down in the chair. "Ask away, then." Angela sagged in Jack's grip as relief coursed through her. He was going to cooperate. He would live. She hadn't made a fool of herself for no reason. "I have to go," she gasped out after a moment. Angela needed to get away from it all - from her friends concerned gazes and that damning voice that had changed everything and nothing. She had done what she could here; she didn't have to watch this interrogation that she had provoked.

---

Instead of the expected reprimands - from either Jack or Commander Reyes - she got Cole Cassidy. Despite all her arguments against it, the man sat on one of her infirmary beds. Though he was her soulmate, Angela wasn't sure if she had even wanted to see him again - he was a criminal, whose crimes were, apparently, bad enough to warrant a death sentence. And yet there he sat. Neither had said a word yet. He was eying her warily, as if she were going to attack him with a scalpel. Angela didn't think he knew who she was, which was why she hadn't broken the silence yet. Unfortunately, she couldn't exactly run a physical without speaking. "Your name is Cole Cassidy?" Angela asked, trying to keep her voice neutral and failing spectacularly. His brown eyes snapped up to hers, widening in shock; as she'd thought, no one had told her who she was. "It's you?" Angela nodded sharply; if she hadn't been holding a clipboard, she'd have crossed her arms. "Well then," he drawled thoughtfully, "'s a pleasure, then." Angela sighed. "Is Cole Cassidy your name?" Angela repeated, sticking to the script she knew. She didn't know how to do this - whatever this was. "Yes, that's my name," Cole replied after a moment, before smirking up at her, "but you, darlin', can call me whatever you like." Angela turned her attention to the chart in her hand, as if she didn't have the entire thing memorized, to escape his eerily knowing gaze. "And what should I call you, then?" He probed. "You got a name, or should I just keep callin' you 'darlin''?" Her eyes snapped back up to his laughing ones; he was teasing her, and she wasn't certain how she felt about that. "I am Dr. Angela Ziegler," she replied after a moment. "And you are my patient, Agent Cassidy." Angela knew they were soulmates, but she couldn't help but try to hold him at arms length. She didn't let people close to her - and he was a criminal. "Whatever the lady says," Cole said, hands held up in surrender. Even though he'd been captured and interrogated, he was now free of his chains. To spare his life, Commander Reyes had recruited him - though Angela wasn't sure if it was because Cole would be a good agent or if it was because Jack had asked him to on her behalf. Thus, the physical. Angela began running through the questions on her list. She was trying to build a medical history on him from scratch - and he wasn't much help. "Didn' have much to do with doctors - no offense, meant," he told her when she had asked about his previous caregiver. It had been a long shot, but it would have helped. Angela sighed and nodded before continuing along to his family history. "I couldn' tell ya," Cole replied. "I don' know who m' dad is, and mom died when was I young." He said the words flippantly, but his hunched shoulders and darting eyes - which had, until this point, fixed her with a bright, teasing gaze - told a different story. "I am sorry," Angela murmured as she jotted down her notes. "I lost my parents when I was young, too." She paused there, fingers tightening on her pen; she never spoke about her parents. If anyone knew, it was because they had read her personnel file. Awkwardly, Angela cleared her throat as she quickly changed the subject. "Do you drink?" Angela asked, hovering over the last few questions. Then, it would be on to the more physical aspect of this examination - and she wasn't sure how she'd deal with it, not when it was him. "Sure," he replied after a moment, his easy drawl back in place. Angela found that interesting, despite herself. She wondered if this was something common he did, hiding himself away as she did, or if it was just a response to the hard topic. "Whiskey, if I get a choice," Cole continued, eyes lifting to hers again. "What about you, doc?" He was teasing her again; she frowned. "I do not often have time to drink," Angela replied finally; this wasn't her physical, but she still felt compelled to answer - as if they were getting to know each other, rather than him being evaluated for field work. Her heart clenched at the reminder; she was prepping her soulmate for battle - and death. Angela had saved him from a death sentence, but that didn't mean he still wouldn't die. She didn't know if she could bear that eventuality. "Darlin'?" His voice pulled her out of her thoughts as she looked up. He was leaning forward, eyes intense in a way that made her shiver. "You alright?" Angela forced herself to nod, because she wasn't willing to voice her fears - not to this man she didn't know, soulmate or not. "I apologize; I was just… lost in thought." Angela demurred once she could trust her voice to remain steady. "Where were we?" She asked, eyes skimming the page before pausing on the next question. "Ah, here we are. Do you smoke?" Her eyes lifted back up to look at him. "Yes." Angela must have made a face because he continued. "What? D'ya got a problem with smokin', doc?" She glanced up to find him fiddling idly with the edge of his shirt. "Smoking is terrible for your health - not to mention those around you." Angela replied coolly after a moment. She didn't tell him that she found the habit disgusting; it felt too much like a personal attack. "I see," Cole nodded slightly. Angela quickly changed the topic to the final question - illegal drugs. Not that it went any better. "That what you think of me, then?" Cole asked lowly. "I've done some stuff, so I must do drugs, too?" Angela rocked back, clipboard held between them as if it would be any kind of protection - as if she needed protection from him. "It is just a question," Angela hurried to assure him. "We ask everyone; it isn't about you or your… history." She looked down to mark 'no' next to the question before looking up to meet his eyes once more. "I did not mean to upset you," she murmured. "I am sorry." After a long moment, Cole nodded. "I don' do anythin' like that, doc. Smokin' might be bad, but — that stuff is way worse." Angela nodded in agreement; if she had to pick, she'd rather he be a smoker, too. With a sigh, she rose from her stool to grab a small tray of instruments. Now she had to get up close with him. "What's all that for, then?" Cole asked as she settled it on the bed next to him. Despite his criminal background, she wasn't worried that he would hurt her; if she had been, she'd never have allowed herself to be left alone with him. "I have to examine you," Angela explained briefly. That brought the smirk back to his face as he spread his arms in an obvious invitation. "By all means, doc - examine away." Angela rolled her eyes and grabbed a penlight, stepping to the side slightly. "Please hold still," she asked as he turned to watch her, "I am trying to look at your ears." Angela had performed countless physicals, but she had never been more aware of how short the distance between them was as she leaned in close enough to do her work. Things were quiet between them until she moved to his other side. "I never expected t' meet you, ya know?" He said quietly. Angela hesitated before leaning in again. "Why is that?" She asked, curious despite herself. Angela had always expected to meet her soulmate; to her, it had only been a matter of time. Though she was all too aware of how fleeting time was, she'd never sought him out. She had been confident that their paths would cross, eventually. "Life wasn' easy, darlin'; I didn' even expect to make it past twenty, t' tell the truth." Angela glanced at his face sharply, but his eyes were fixed on his hands. "You were nothin' but a fairytale t' me." He shrugged as if it didn't matter - but she knew it did. She'd seen it on his face. Angela finished her exam in silence before leaning back to make some notes. "Look up, please; I need to check your eyes." When he tilted his head back, his brown eyes meeting her blue ones, she lifted the penlight again. "I always believed I would meet you," Angela told him softly. "I just…" She trailed off as she switched eyes. "Didn' expect it to be someone like me," he finished dryly. Angela's lips twisted into a wry smile. "Well, yes," she agreed - because he was right. She was a prestigious doctor, and he was a gangster. Angela would never have pegged her soulmate to be someone like him. "I ain't all bad," Cole assured her, once she'd finished her next set of notes. "If I had thought you were," Angela replied, cool eyes meeting his bright ones, "I never would have spoken to you." She didn't know if that was exactly true - all Angela had known was that his voice was the one that had filled her head for the last four years. She hadn't known his crimes - hadn't even stayed to listen to them - but she had known that couldn't let him die. Still, she wasn't going to tell him that. Angela made her way through the next exams, fielding whatever questions he threw her way. None were too personal, too revealing - such as her favorite color, which was green - so she allowed them if it made the exam run smoothly. "Alright," Angela turned away, tray of instruments in hand. "I am going to step out for a moment so that you can change into a hospital gown." Before she had set the tray down, she heard him shifting on the table and the distinct sound of clothing rustling. "You were supp—" The words died on her lips as she watched him shrug off his shirt. "What happened to you?" Fresh black and blue bruises dotted his ribs and stomach, which made little sense. Any injury he had should have been at least a day or two old. "Well, the others got wind that I'd talked," Cole said with a shrug that had to be painful, even if he didn't show it. "They weren't too pleased about it." He had been beaten while in their custody, under their - her - protection. "Why didn't you say anything?" Angela gripped the edge of the counter to steady herself. They were just bruises; he wasn't dying. It was nothing like her near-panic in the observation room when his death had hung over her, but it still made her far more uncomfortable than she was used to. Angela hated the lack of control. "It's just some bruises," Cole replied carelessly, and she could tell he truly meant them. "I've dealt with worse." Angela clenched her jaw before turning away to try to compose herself. She'd been revolutionizing medicine while he had been suffering. Angela knew it was stupid to feel bad about it - they hadn't even known one another - but she did. "Hey," his voice was too close, and then his hand touched her shoulder. Angela tensed to keep herself from leaning into it. "It's alright, darlin'," Cole soothed gently. "You don' have to get all worked up on my account." She shrugged off his hand before turning to face him fully, her cool mask firmly in place once more. "And how would you feel," Angela replied quietly, "if it were me covered in bruises?" Now it was his turn to tense, hands balling into fists briefly, before he relaxed again. Then, he was smirking down at her - because of course he was taller than her, even with her heels. "And here I thought you didn' care," Cole murmured. One of his hands lifted as if to touch her and she sidestepped out of his reach. She couldn't bear his touch again, not while she was feeling so raw. "It is my job to care," Angela replied, but she wasn't fooling him - or herself. She straightened her coat to give her hands something to do. "I am going to step out now." Angela fixed him with a look. "Please wait until I have left to finish changing. I will bring back something for your bruises." Before he could say anything, she grabbed the blood samples she had taken and practically rushed the door. It was ten minutes before she returned to the room containing Cole, healing stream in hand. Cole was lounged out on the bed on one side, but as she walked in, he pushed himself upright again. The gown looked absolutely ridiculous on him - but then again, they weren't really flattering on anyone. "Thought you'd gone and forgotten me," he said by way of greeting. Angela raised one eyebrow as she crossed the room; as if she could ever forget him. "I did not mean to take so long," Angela apologized. She had only meant to be gone for a minute or two, but a nurse had waylaid her on the way back. "One of my staff needed assistance." Now it was his turn to raise an eyebrow. "You have staff?" Angela shifted uncomfortably, feeling oddly ashamed despite the fact that she had earned her position here. But, standing before Cole - a man to whom life had not been kind - it seemed wrong. "I am the Director of Medicine for Overwatch," Angela explained after a moment. "So, yes, I have staff." Hundreds, really, but now probably wasn't the best time to get into that. She drew closer to him so that she could begin healing his bruises. "The Director?" Angela really wished he'd stop using that tone. "I know you can' be that much older than I am," he continued once she'd nodded. "An' I'll admit, I don' know much about a lot of things, but aren't you - ya know - a little young?" Angela worried her at her lip. "I…" She didn't know how to explain without sounding like she was bragging. "I do not know how much you know about me," Angela finally said with a sigh. "I completed my PhD and was a full doctor by the time I was nineteen." She ignored his surprised look and continued. "I was the surgical director for my hospital when I invented this," she lifted the healing stream slightly, "at twenty-one. That was when Overwatch recruited me." "So," Cole said once she finished. "You're some kinda genius, then." Angela nodded. "In the medical field, at least," she explained. "I am not… very good at many other things." Like dealing with him. Angela shifted uncomfortably again - but she was a doctor and he was her patient so she could do this. "I need to see your chest again, please." Angela could feel the heat on her cheeks, as if she weren't a medical professional. "All ya ever gotta do is ask, darlin'," he said as he shifted the gown to bare his bruised flesh again. She bit her lip and focused on the tool in her hand instead of Cole's posturing. "What does it do?" Cole asked as she engaged it, bathing him in yellow light. Instead of explaining - and probably boring him to tears, because she could talk about it for hours - she simply settled for: "Just watch." Slowly, his skin shifted from the mottled black-and-blue of bruising to a healthy tan that matched the rest of his skin. Angela circled him, eying the work critically while ignoring Cole's gaze. "Does anything hurt?" Angela asked when she switched it off and moved back to the counter. She already knew the answer, but it filled the silence as she set the tool aside and grabbed a pair of gloves. "No," he said after a moment. "I feel good as new." She glanced back to see him gazing down at his skin in amazement. Before he could look up and catch her staring, she looked away again. "I appreciate it, darlin'. Really." He sounded so sincere and it upset her all over again; this was nothing to her - an everyday task, almost - and yet it was something to him. "You are welcome." Angela said finally, turning back with gloves in place. "But, I would ask that you try not to make a habit of this." She moved closer. "I'll try t'take better care of myself." He agreed, before looking at the gloves. "Are those really necessary? Y'know, considerin' everything." If it didn't pertain to her, she might have found the way they both danced around their relationship - that they were soulmates - funny. Neither had used the word, even though they were both firmly aware of the fact. "Yes," Angela replied firmly. Normally, these next few tests were done with the patient fully covered with the gown, but his bruises had skipped them ahead a little. "Please lay down on your back," she asked. She expected him to make another quip, but he just gave her an amused look as he lay back. "Let me know if anything hurts," Angela ordered before reaching out to press lightly - and then with increasing pressure on his sides, her eyes fixed on his face to spot any sign of discomfort. Satisfied, her hands slid closer together to press on his abdomen. "Good," she said, withdrawing to make her notes. "You can sit up now." Her eyes flicked over his ski appraisingly. "How did you get that scar?" She asked, gesturing towards his chest. "Oh, that?" Cole asked after glancing down at it. "I, uh, might've got caught cheatin' at cards." He explained sheepishly. "They didn' take too kindly to that; one of 'em got me good with his knife." Angela sighed. "Cheating at cards?" It was her turn to echo his words. "Hey now, it's only cheatin' if ya get caught." Cole defended indignantly. "Besides, they could afford to lose a little." Angela shook her head and walked around the table to look at his back. "I'm going to press on your back, now." She told him, setting the chart down at his hip. It didn't take long to finish those checks and then she was standing before him again, shifting nervously. "You, uhm," she cleared her throat, "you may wish to have another doctor perform the next examinations." Angela told him. "And why's that?" He asked, reminding Angela that he'd probably never had a physical - at least, not a proper one - before. "Because the next examinations are of your genitals and prostate," she explained awkwardly. He looked at her for a moment before chuckling. "I ain't got any problems with you examinin' me, darlin'," he told her. Cole's eyes ran over her once, taking in her discomfort. "But if you do, I won' mind someone else." Angela couldn't smother her surprise quickly enough for him to miss it. "What?" He demanded. "Yeah, I might make some jokes an' all, but I don' want you t' do anything ya ain't alright with." Cole frowned at her, crossing his arms. "I ain't like that." Shame swept through her. "I'm sorry," Angela whispered, eyes dropping to the floor. She's almost certain she's apologized more to him than she had anyone else - and she'd spoken to him for less than an hour. "I am usually better than this." Normally she wasn't so off balance. Cole sighed. "Just forget about it," he told her. She nodded, even though she knew she wouldn't. "How're we doin' this?" Angela sighed. "Let's just get this over with." She said. It was expected of her and it was necessary. He was quietly cooperative during the extremely personal examinations, which made it that much easier. It wasn't until she stepped back and pulled the gloves off that he spoke again. "I gotta admit, darlin': that wasn' the way I expected my first time naked with you to go." Angela glared at him over her shoulder, ignoring her red cheeks, and he laughed. At least he had kept that quip to himself until after she was done. "There is a bathroom there," Angela pointed, ignoring his previous words completely. "Inside, there is a specimen cup on the counter. Please fill it with urine and then redress." Then they would be done, and he would be Blackwatch. She kept her back to him as he slid off the bed and made his way to the bathroom, but she couldn't help but look at him once his back was to her. Angela wasn't sure what she was going to do. It didn't take long before he was done and the sample was on the counter next to his chart. "That's it, then?" Cole asked heavily, and Angela knew he wasn't just talking about the medical exam. But she didn't know what to say, didn't know how to be this person. "The exam is done," she told him instead, because she knew that they were far from over. "Once the lab results come back, you'll be an official Blackwatch agent." The words weighed heavily on her heart. "Does Overwatch and Blackwatch work together often?" Angela shook her head slightly, understanding the question for what it really was. "Blackwatch provides the information that Overwatch acts on, so we rarely go on missions together - though it does happen, from time to time." Angela hesitated, but continued. "Sometimes, Blackwatch leans on our medical division - especially in emergencies." She had personally operated on at least a dozen Blackwatch agents in the past year alone. "Occasionally, we have Blackwatch agents in the base, but I don't keep track of when they're here or why." Angela shrugged. She didn't concern herself with much that existed above her infirmary, though she was keenly aware that that was going to change. "I see." Angela nodded, giving him a tight smile. "I won't take up any more of your time, then." On that note, he turned to leave. Angelas' hand snapped out and grabbed his arm, surprising them both. "Please, Cole," Angela said quietly, looking at anything but him as her fingers tightened briefly, "stay safe." His hand closed over hers, squeezing gently. "Don't you worry, Angela," he assured her. "This ain't the last you've seen of me." Her lips twitched in a slight smile, and then he was gone.

Connection | Recovery

Surprise! I ship McMercy too. I'm planning to add to this, similar to the Angel's Ransom series [but with less torture probably], so for any that ship these two there's more to come. Seriously, I have like 15+ documents of random stories and prompts that have just captured me. I write what my brain lets me, so I give them to you as my muse allows. I hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoy writing them. Thanks to @ausforsoulmates for putting together such a great prompt list; I'll probably pull more from it because apparently this is where I am now.

Tags :

overwatch fanfiction angela ziegler cole cassidy mercy x cassidy soulmates fanfic soulmate soulmate au au prompt writing prompt prompt post Mercy! cassidy

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thebrighteye

3 years ago

Breaking [My Heart]: Act VI Yielding

“There's nothing simple when it comes to you and I, Always something in this everchanging life” - Everchanging [Rise Against] Winston has issued the recall towards rebuilding Overwatch. Angela - formerly known as “Mercy” - is captured by Talon, who are searching for any information that can stop the rise before it begins.

AO3 | FF.net | Works | Pandora Playlist

Trigger Warnings & General Statements This is a dark torture story. As such, there's going to be bad things happening - for the sake of not spoiling, I will not tag what, exactly will be appearing at any time. While I don't think any of the scenes are terribly graphic in nature, I do want to stress that the scenes are present and aren't for everyone. I did try to make the reactions and trauma realistic, following both real-world medicine / research and in-game universe canon (such as Angela's nanotechnology). There will be multiple POVs per chapter - two sets for both Angela and Reaper as well as a fifth from an additional character. Please, read at your own risk - and enjoy!

Here’s my chance for a new beginning I saved the best for a better ending And in the end I’ll make it up to you, you’ll see You’ll get the very best of me - One Day Too Late [Skillet]

He’d watched Baptiste go with some trepidation. What if he called Talon and told them where they were? Sure, they hadn’t been greeted by a strike team when he’d walked through the door, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be one sent now. But the only choices had been to send Baptiste out for the necessary supplies or go himself - and he was hesitant to leave Angela without protection, especially with someone he didn’t trust. He barely trusted Sombra, because he knew that she had her own agenda. Each person she had used to get them here was just another person that could sell them out. There were too many moving pieces that left her vulnerable. There were plenty of people - on both sides of the fence - that would love to get their hands on Angela as she was now. With that in mind, he set about securing the apartment as best as possible. He pulled the curtains closed - and then, for good measure, pinned them into place with some needles pilfered from Baptiste’s bag. It wouldn’t help against infrared sights like Widowmaker had, but it couldn’t hurt. Gabriel wanted to move the bed away from the window, make shooting Angela even more of an impossibility, but it just wasn’t possible. Perhaps he and Baptiste would be able to manage it once she was more aware. He pulled up a chair, placing it between Angela and the window so that - should there be a shot - he or Baptiste would, hopefully, take the bullet for her. Because of the angle it sat at, it was impossible to see into the next room when seated; he didn’t like that, either, but there was only so much he could do. After moving quickly through the rest of the small apartment, tugging the curtains closed as he had in the bedroom and hiding away various sharp objects, he returned into the bedroom and gently closed the door behind him. He stalked around the bed to settle on the chair, pulling out one of his shotguns and laying it on the nightstand - as far from Angela as he could - for easier access. Then he had nothing left to do but wait. He wasn’t sure what, exactly, would come first: Baptiste’s return or Angela’s awakening.

---

Angela had fallen into an uneasy sleep about fifteen minutes ago, going from lazy stillness to nervous twitching. Gabriel had called out to her softly, but she hadn’t reacted to his voice or her name. He watched her as she shifted and breathed shakily, clearly having another of her terrible dreams. Angela was no stranger to bad dreams - he had woken her from, or had been woken by, those dreams once upon a time - so he wasn’t sure if waking her would be the right call. She needed the rest - meager as it was - so Gabriel decided to leave her alone. If she started crying or screaming, he could wake her then. Two knocks at the front door had him pushing to his feet. He was standing in the bedroom doorway, shotgun in hand, as the front door opened. He kept the gun at his side - it was probably Baptiste because what kind of strike team knocked? - as he tugged the bedroom door shut behind him. Indeed, it was Baptiste; the Haitian man raised his hands slightly as if to show he wasn’t a threat. Baptiste opened his mouth, but then seemed to think better of it; instead, he turned to go into the kitchen and put away whatever it was that he had bought. Gabriel planned to watch him - as if he hadn’t left Baptiste unsupervised while he was out getting supplies - but he heard Angela make a small noise of fear. He turned away from the medic to reenter the bedroom. “Angela?” Gabriel kept his voice soft; he wasn’t sure if she was still asleep or reacting to her new surroundings. Her body tensed at his voice; she was awake, then. Gabriel was grateful for the quiet return. Talking her down from the nightmares was more challenging when he probably was her nightmare. “It’s alright, Angela,” he murmured as she opened her eyes and stopped pretending that she was sleeping. Warily, she scanned the room. “You’re safe.” Gabriel could see the doubt in her eyes and couldn’t blame her; what reason had he given her to trust him? None. He’d betrayed her at every turn - how could she believe that he was telling the truth now? Her eyes hardened as she stared at his right hand; he’d forgotten that he was holding a gun. “It’s not - I’m not going to shoot you, Angela.” Gabriel knew Angela and her moods better than anyone, and not even he could determine what flashed across her face. He could, however, tell what it wasn’t: relief. In the short time he had left Talon base for that failed mission in Russia, she had lost her fire. He had watched the recording of her ‘execution’; he’d seen the relief at the threat of the gun and the sheer despair when it was a lie. It was what kept him from setting the gun anywhere within her reach. Gabriel wasn’t sure if she’d use it against him or herself - or both. He’d gamble with his life, but he was done gambling with hers. Instead, he holstered it. He watched her face carefully, but Angela was no longer looking at him. She was looking around, searching the walls for whatever it was that helped her mind escape and generally doing anything to keep her eyes from landing on his form. He could tell, though, by the rigid way she held herself and the tightness in her eyes, that Angela was very aware of him. She would react to any movement, no matter how small. Baptiste knocked on the door frame, drawing Angela’s panicked attention as the medic paused just outside the room. He saw the recognition that changed to pain - betrayal - in her eyes as she took in the Haitian man, and then she was walled away again as she turned away to stare at the ceiling. Gabriel hadn’t realized Angela would know the man Sombra had sent. That new knowledge had him stalking across the room, forcing himself to ignore the way she flinched away and turn his back on her for a brief moment. “She knows you?” He whispered furiously, angling himself again so that he could watch her. Now that she was free, unbound, he worried about what she might do to herself. “We worked together once, about a year ago,” Baptiste replied, leaning against the door with his arms crossed as he kept his eyes fixed on him; Gabriel could understand his wariness. The Reaper was the biggest threat in the room. “Why?” The flippant tone made Gabriel want to throttle him. “Why?” Was he an idiot? “Look at her,” he ordered, one hand flying up to point in Angela’s direction. The woman flinched away - she was watching them, even when she didn’t appear to be. Baptiste frowned as he took in the broken woman again; her whole body radiated tension as she pointedly stared at the ceiling. When she thought they weren’t looking, she was stealing glances from her peripherals. Angela was still tense, trembling intermittently from the intensity, fists balled tightly; Gabriel doubted she even realized she was clenching them. “She doesn’t believe that any of this is real.” Every time she flinched and looked at him with those wounded eyes, he was reminded of it. He was the Reaper - Talon - and was not to be - could not be - trusted. Gabriel doubted she would believe it even if Cole Cassidy were to stroll in here right now and carry her away to whatever safe haven Overwatch had built. “She thinks you’re working with Talon.” It might be a misunderstanding, but right now, any misstep would further injure her. He was seething inside; she was hurt again after he had sworn she wouldn’t be. Baptiste sighed, deflating. He hadn’t been able to see what Angela was like when she was coherent - or, at least, whatever passed for coherency for her these days. “You need to get her help.” His cheerful attitude was gone, his face grave as he turned back to Gabriel. “Not this half-assed shit: real help.” Gabriel ground his teeth; what did this man think he was doing? It wasn’t like he had a lot of time - or many options. “I’m working on it.” The response was tight. If he could, he would just take her in to see a doctor. Gabriel wasn’t sure when it would ever be safe enough for her to be seen in such a manner, now that Talon had gotten its hooks in her. He wasn’t sure if she’d ever feel safe enough to leave whatever Watchpoint he’d end up delivering her to. Baptiste turned away without speaking. Gabriel wasn’t sure what he was going for, but he wasn’t going to leave Angela alone to find out. Instead, Gabriel strode back around the bed to sit in the chair at her side and pretended that she didn’t try to scoot away from him once he settled. Pretended he hadn’t heard the low, pained noise she had made when the movement hurt something - probably her knee. Pretended that she wasn’t tearing his heart out with every look and flinch.

---

Gabriel wished that he could call Sombra; that would make contacting Overwatch so much easier. Instead, he had to try and hunt them down the old fashioned way. That wasn’t - usually - a problem, but he usually didn’t have a half-dead doctor he was trying to hide. Normally he wasn’t on the run from Talon, either. If Overwatch had stayed at Watchpoint: Gibraltar, his life would have been easier - but then Talon’s task would have been, too. Now he was left trying to figure out what Watchpoint Winston might have chosen. He doubted they had moved too far, so he was pretty sure they were still somewhere in the European continent. That was still a good number of Watchpoints to look into - and all of them were on a completely different continent from him. Gabriel had briefly entertained the thought that they might create a new base, one that no one - not the UN, not the various enemies of Overwatch - knew about, but he had tossed the idea aside. The creation of a new base would take up time and resources that they just didn’t have now, especially once he considered how active many former members - like Reinhardt and Tracer - were in the search for Angela. There was the tip line that Tracer had spouted on behalf of the UN, but he was hesitant to use such a public method to reach out. There was no guarantee he would get someone he trusted to appear - and Gabriel wasn’t giving Angela to anyone he didn’t trust. Not even to Winston, though he knew Angela trusted the monkey and that she would be perfectly safe in his care. Gabriel didn’t trust it - never had and, at this point, never would - no matter how much Angela did. It had been hard enough to leave Angela in Baptiste’s care. Sombra had assured him that Baptiste only had Angela’s best interests at heart - had, in fact, tried to warn Angela that Talon was coming for her, though she had left out the part where they knew each other - but that didn’t mean Gabriel trusted him. Still, perhaps Angela would recover better without Gabriel - the Reaper - looming over her bedside. Hopefully, Angela would move past what appeared to be a betrayal by yet another person from her past. Hopefully, their shared history was positive enough to let her trust Baptiste in a way she no longer could trust Gabriel. He hated that he had broken that trust. He couldn’t change the past, though. He couldn’t take back the hateful things he did or said; all he could do now was try to make it better. That was why he was prowling in the dark, forgotten areas of the city. Even the precious “City of Harmony” couldn’t avoid crime; it was part of human nature. Instead, they pretended those places didn’t exist because they didn’t fit in the picture-perfect world they had created. Oh, the Reaper was sure that authorities tried to flush out these hot spots, but they would keep popping up. Eventually, they would give up, instead settling for knowing where the crime would be instead of trying to smother it, just like every other city in the world. Gabriel was hoping to find one of his contacts from his Blackwatch days. This contact was a shared one between many agents; Gabriel was sure that Cassidy had been one of the agents who used this particular man. If Cassidy was searching for Angela - and Gabriel knew he would be, even if he couldn’t be public about it - he’d have tapped any and all sources for help. Even if it were a tool he’d thought he’d thrown away long ago when he had left Blackwatch. Gabriel wouldn’t pass a message - no, that was too dangerous - but he might be able to get a location on the cowboy. All that would be left after that was contact and delivery; then Angela could, hopefully, be left in some semblance of peace.

Her eyes opened to blinding white lights. She became aware of her arms, straining at the shoulders from where she sagged against the chains that held her up; they shook with relief when she managed to brace her right leg on the slippery floor. Angela was dripping wet; they had just thrown the icy water over her, shocking her awake. Angela had known she would be back here. An escape had been too good to be true; Gabriel was dead and the Reaper had tricked her in such a vile way. Fingers dug into her cheeks painfully, forcing her head backward until her neck ached. “Didn’t I tell you, princess?” The Speaker was right in front of her, just out of sight due to the lights as he sneered. “We won’t let you go that easily.” He laughed, finding pleasure in her despair. Before he stopped, the strap with its many sharp edges cleaved into her back, tearing her back away one jagged gash at a time. Angela bit down on her lip, swallowing down a scream, as it all began again. She had to hold out and survive the pain and the overwhelming tide of despair. Questions. Pain. Silence. Drowning. Screaming. It felt like they had her for hours, the questions echoing and repeating around her as they hurt her. She hadn’t been able to keep back her sounds of pain, starting as whimpers and ending with throat-burning screams. It had to end soon, right? They always stopped, always gave her a short respite to recover and gather the ragged bits of herself back together. Shaking. She was shaking, a different voice calling over the Speaker. Angela blinked in confusion; no one but the Speaker talked to her during these sessions. When her eyes opened again, the blinding light and chains were gone. She was no longer hanging from chains but lying on something soft. Angela flinched back from the familiar man hovering over her, concerned as he looked down at her. Angela didn’t know how to handle such gentle emotions any longer - she didn’t believe in them enough to trust them after everything she had been through - so Angela turned her head slightly so she could stare at a wall instead. It wasn’t the same white wall she had become accustomed to. It was a beige color, textured instead of smooth concrete. “Dr. Ziegler?” Baptiste’s voice was hesitant as he removed his hand from her shoulder slowly; Angela hadn’t even realized he was touching her until the hand was removed - and wasn’t that foolish? He’d been shaking her, so of course he was touching her. She kept her eyes away from his form and instead swept them across the room, searching as she always did. Her friends had returned on the day of her ‘escape’ when the Reaper had been cleaning her body with painful gentleness. Angela vaguely remembered Baptiste. They had worked together some time ago, and he had seemed like a good man. But that he was here, in this room with her, meant that he couldn’t be trusted. This was a trap, a trick to get her to let her guard down and betray her friends - her true friends, not this one-time ally from some far off place and time. “Dr. Ziegler?” The man asked again. Angela glanced up towards him, body tensed and ready for the pain that had become expected. Her wary eyes met his concerned ones for a brief moment before glancing away again. Angela refused to speak because she knew that if she did, she might never stop. Instead, she looked around her new prison. It was a bedroom, she realized finally. She couldn’t see much from her prone position, but there were doorways and a small table - nightstand - next to the bed she laid in. The softness was alien and almost unbearable after so many days - weeks? Months? - sleeping on cold concrete or suspended by chains. “You may not remember me, doctor,” Baptiste’s voice was cheery, not at all deterred by her silence. Angela couldn’t tell if it was forced or real. “We worked together in Venezuela a year or so ago. My name is Baptiste.” He paused there, giving her time to respond if she so chose - which she did not. Once it was obvious she was planning to remain silent, Baptiste continued. “You’ve been sleeping a while, Dr. Ziegler. I’m sure you’re hungry.” At the reminder, her stomach suddenly made itself very known. Yes, she was hungry - not that she would admit it aloud. “If you’ll just wait right here, I’ll get that fixed right up. Sound good?” As if she were in any position to leave this bed. After another long moment of silence, Baptiste nodded once and left the room. Angela pressed her arms down against the mattress in an attempt to sit upright. Her body’s weakness and the pliable mattress made the attempt impossible. She wasn’t sure what she had expected; she had barely been capable of pushing herself off the hardened concrete to eat the last time they had fed her. When she finally lay still again, she was panting and shaking from the exertion. She had jostled her knee, which was now throbbing and pulsing in reprimand for her movements. But, Angela had discovered that she wasn’t restrained - except, of course, by her weak body. Her trembling hands explored the bed, marveling at the soft cloth and smooth sheets, before sliding to her body. There was some cloth covering her - a brief glance down showed some sort of green fabric. Angela marveled at that, too. It had been a long time since she had been clothed, since her naked body hadn’t been on display for everyone to see. Her fingers were playing with one of the buttons when Baptiste walked back in with a small tray. He placed the tray on a second table to her right, one that she hadn’t noticed when she was avoiding looking at him. “Now, unless you want to wear your food, you’re going to have to be sitting up.” Angela frowned; she had already tried that, which meant he would have to touch her again. As he reached out, Angela tensed. When his hands grabbed her with a careful, practiced touch, she began shaking, forcing him to pause. “It’s alright, doctor,” he soothed as he began lifting her despite her tension. “Just bear with me a little bit.” Angela stared past Baptiste towards the ceiling - and then the wall, once he had maneuvered her upright. “There we go!” Baptiste released her slowly, as if she would fall over without his support. Angela was leaning heavily against the pillows that he had propped behind her, so she was in no danger of falling. Once he was satisfied, he settled in a chair pulled up close to her bedside and grabbed a bowl from the tray he had brought in. “Now, I know, this isn’t exactly how you want to do this,” Baptiste said, scooping some broth up with a spoon and holding it up towards her face. “In a few days, you’ll be strong enough to do it yourself.” Angela didn’t want to eat, despite her hunger and weakness. Eating would prolong her existence and keep her in their clutches that much longer. But she knew what the consequences of not eating would be. Rough hands forcing her mouth open until her jaws creaked, food stuffed down her throat until she thought she would suffocate as she swallowed and swallowed to try and breathe. No, she didn’t want that. Resigned, she ate the broth he offered. The warmth soothed her throat - which she hadn’t even realized was sore - and pooled in her stomach comfortably. It tasted bitter, though; despite herself, she recoiled and glanced up at him in horror. What was in that liquid? Something to help calm her, to make her more pliable for their questions? He looked surprised, before realization crossed his face. “You probably can taste the supplements I added,” Baptiste explained hurriedly. “It’s nothing bad; just some extra protein and vitamins to help you recover.” He muttered something about the taste under his breath, but it was low enough that she didn’t catch all of it. “Seriously, look,” Baptiste ate a spoonful of the broth himself, as if to prove its safety; Angela knew that one spoonful was nothing compared to an entire bowl, but what could she do? Resigned, she went through the motions of eating as he fed her slowly - far slower than she was used to. Each time, the bitterness struck her and her anxiety spiked – but she couldn’t tell what the drug was doing to her. Perhaps he had been telling the truth, though Angela highly doubted it. Baptiste chattered brightly at her as she ate, but she wasn’t listening. Refused to listen, because Angela recognized it for the trap that it was. They had tried to break her with pain and death, but they had failed. Now, they were trying to break her with kindness and gentle hands. Angela wouldn’t allow that to happen; she had been through far too much to fail now. He was trying to befriend her, to get behind her walls to crack her open and reveal her secrets. Only one person had ever been capable of doing that - and he was dead, even though his body still roamed the Earth. Angela was surprised he wasn’t here, looming in a corner or hovering over her, trying to convince her that he was still Gabriel and not the Reaper. He’d sat with her the last time she’d woken, but, unlike Baptiste, he had barely spoken to her. He’d just sat there, brooding while she pretended he didn’t exist. She had found Ana then, perched on the dresser that was barely in her line of sight. Angela had let Ana soothe her until she could fall into an uneasy sleep - which Baptiste had helpfully woken her from. “Alright, all done.” Baptiste finally declared, setting the spoon and bowl back onto the tray. Angela’s hunger wasn’t satisfied, but that wasn’t unusual. Just like pain, hunger had become a constant companion to her these days. “Now.” Angela glanced towards him briefly - he was leaning forward slightly, looking a little uncomfortable. “Do you mind if I check your wounds and change your bandages?” She stiffened, eyes darting away to sweep the room again. No one was here - at least, not now. Perhaps they would arrive soon. “You’ve got some bad cuts there, doctor.” Baptiste continued carefully, when it was clear she wasn’t going to speak - or give any kind of permission at all. At least he was keeping his hands to himself while he was trying to convince her. “I just want to make sure they don’t get infected.” Infection was the least of her worries; in fact, if she were lucky - which she didn’t seem to be - an infection would kill her. Baptiste sighed. “Alright. It can wait a little while - but we have to check them soon.” Angela was surprised at the capitulation. She had expected him to press the matter - but that wasn’t how this worked, she realized. They wanted her comfortable, and forcing her into doing something wouldn’t meet that goal. That was why they’d brought in a familiar face to care for her, after all. They wanted her to let her guard down so that they could wean the information they wanted from her. He offered her the water, which she drank just as mechanically as she had the broth. Then, he chattered at her again, apparently unable to stand the silence. Angela tuned him out to the best of her ability as she looked around the room again. Still no one - not her friends nor the Reaper. Angela supposed the latter was a small mercy.

---

After each meal, Baptiste asked for her permission to look at her wounds. Finally, after her fourth meal – oatmeal, this time – he had pressed the matter. “I know it’s uncomfortable, Doctor,” Baptiste had said, carefully trying to pull the blanket away from her tight grip, “but your injuries need tending.” As a doctor, she knew that he was right. As a person, she didn’t care. It had taken him the better part of fifteen minutes to persuade her to let him pull away the blanket. He didn’t attempt to reach for her dress, not yet; instead, he turned his attention to her legs. Aside from the squares of gauze taped carefully to her skin, Angela’s legs were bare. Her eyes immediately fell on her knee, still a terrible purple-black and swollen even after – well, she didn’t actually know how long it had been since the Reaper had pulled her down from the chains. Baptiste noticed her attention and pulled out something. “I’ve got a brace for that,” he offered, holding up the object. “I wasn’t sure if I should put it on, considering the other wounds.” The brace would wrap and hold her knee in place, but it would also press against the half-healed burns and gashes still present. If she weren’t the patient, Angela would have put the brace on; the knee would continue to be damaged for as long as it was left free and unsupported. But, she was the patient – and she desperately wanted to die. Angela wouldn’t give him any advice towards her care, not even in this small thing that would only give her more comfort. If she broke her silence, she would be tempted again – and then they would have her. Instead, she ignored his unspoken question and let her gaze wander to the left, away from the man and his expectant gaze. Angela heard him sigh and set the brace down. She ignored the careful fingers that pulled the tape from her skin. Ignored the cool spread of ointment and the gentle, painful press where he held the gauze in place as he secured it. Once her legs were done, she tensed. Though Angela wanted to die – and, therefore, did not want medical attention – she especially didn’t want to be naked again. The dress was the only protection she had, besides her silence. It was flimsy and frail, but it was hers. Still, he persisted until the dress was unbuttoned and her bandages were bared. Angela glanced down at herself briefly – her broken skin was hidden from her by layers of gauze – before her gaze found the wall again. As Baptiste cut the gauze away, her attention was drawn towards the door; it had been left open by the man when he’d brought in her meal. Low voices, barely loud enough for Angela to hear, trickled into the room. “–ch longer—going to take?” Angela went cold. She had known that this was too good to be true. She had been trembling under Baptiste’s touch, but now she was shaking in pure fear. Until the day she died – which, hopefully, would be very soon – Angela would recognize the Speaker’s voice. “You—a month,” the Reaper growled back quietly. “Doctor?” Baptiste’s concerned voice drowned out whatever else the Reaper said to the Speaker. She couldn’t look away from the door, couldn’t stop straining to hear the words that would condemn her. She was panting heavily, eyes wide with terror as she cowered back from the door, even though it brought her closer to Baptiste. “–ot gonna–” The Speaker said, but Baptiste spoke over them again. “What is it?” He rose from his seat, the movement momentarily distracting Angela from the door and the monsters in the other room. Baptiste left everything as it was – gauze and tools laid about, her bandages partially cut away – as he grabbed a gun; she hadn’t noticed it since it had been propped up against the far side of the nightstand. Competent hands lifted the weapon as he stalked around the bed to investigate the other room. Angela wasn’t fooled; he was in on this charade. He was just acting for her benefit, to cover up the fact that this was a trick. She doubted that she was expected to hear the voices; they had been quiet and Baptiste had been distracting her with the stress of a bandage change. Her ears still strained to hear the words, but she couldn’t make any out. She could hear the voices of the Speaker and the Reaper, but their words were no longer intelligible between the roaring in her ears and their volume. Baptiste glanced into the other room cautiously before carefully exiting to ‘look’ more thoroughly. Angela looked away again; she couldn’t hear the words and she didn’t want to watch him come back in with his lies. Angela’s eyes cut across the bed towards the right side of the room – where Baptiste had just been sitting – and paused, fixated on the sheets next to her leg. He had left all of his supplies scattered around, including the bandage scissors he had been using to remove the gauze around her chest. Angela reached out for the tool with shaking fingers that steadied once she had it in hand. Relief chased away her terror, but she knew that she didn’t have a lot of time before Baptiste returned. Angela barely hesitated – she would not go back to the Speaker, to his chains and the pain. She knew that she would have to cut deep; that if she didn’t, either her nanites or Baptiste would put her back together more quickly than she could bleed out. With a steadying breath, she pressed the sharp edge of the scissors against her left forearm near her elbow before dragging down towards her wrist. It stung, but it was nothing compared to the pain she had experienced – and the pain she was trying to avoid. Switching the blade to her left hand was more of a challenge; everything was suddenly more messy, now that her blood was flowing freely. She should have used her left hand first; it was her least dominant that was now slick with blood and shaking again. “There’s nothing ou—Doctor!“ Baptiste stepped through the door as she was dragging a line through her right arm; he was across the room and yanking the scissors from her grip before she could get more than halfway down her right forearm. Swearing up a storm, he used one hand to clamp down on her left arm in an attempt to stop as much of the blood flow as possible, as his other scrambled to grab some of the loose gauze. Angela tried to struggle out from under his grip; the blood that was absolutely everywhere helped in that regard, and she managed to free her arm for a short moment – then he was upon her again. “Stay still,” Baptiste shouted, but she ignored the order and just squirmed more. Angela was surprised he didn’t call for help from the other room – or that someone didn’t rush in to try to help him. Angela knew there were at least two men out there; one was the Reaper, who could come in without ‘surprising’ her, because she’d seen him here before. In response to her squirming and attempts to escape his grasp, Baptiste moved until he was over her on the bed, pinning her down with his body weight as he focused on her arms. The positioning made her nauseous with terror, her body going cold – but perhaps that was from the blood loss. “No,” Angela whimpered plaintively as he began winding the gauze around her left forearm tightly – too tight, the medical professional in her noted but, right now, she doubted he cared. Angela twisted, trying to throw him off balance or drag herself out from underneath him. She was too weak for it to be more than a slight annoyance, and he ignored her struggles as he wrapped the gauze haphazardly around her arm. As she knew all too well, it didn’t have to look pretty to get the job done. Angela panted, terrified; though she knew it was pointless, she continued to try and escape – even as he tied off the bandage on her left arm. Already, she could see the faint pink tint staining the white gauze, but she knew that this was merely a stopgap; he had to slow her bleeding before he could properly stitch her back up. She knew she wasn’t weak enough, hadn’t bled enough, to die – but she was too weak to stop him. Tears welled; Baptiste had won. She wouldn’t get another chance – she had been lucky to get this chance. Angela was going to go back to that room, the room she desperately wanted to avoid. Her right arm went faster than the left, considering the gash was smaller than the other. He tied that off, too, before glancing around the room. Angela knew he was looking for his medical kit, which was just out of reach of the bed – on purpose, so that Angela couldn’t get her hands on anything like the bandage scissors he’d carelessly left on the bed. That forced him to leave the bed, leaving her free to writhe away and try to rip the bandages off. She had nearly thrown herself off the left side of the bed when his hand clamped down on her right arm and dragged her back. The action also pulled her hand away from the bandages, though she had managed to loosen the knot he’d quickly tied. As he turned back to his kit for a moment, her fingers lifted to yank at the knot again and began unwinding the bandages. She had nearly gotten all of them off when he clamped down on her again – this time, not to stop her actions, but to hold her still so he could inject her with something. “I’m sorry, Doctor.” His voice was distant and fuzzy as he yanked her right hand away and began undoing all her work as quickly as possible. “You left me no choice.” Her head was swimming, and she couldn’t focus – what had he given her? Hopefully, he’d given her too much, considering her malnutrition, wounds, and blood loss; if he did, she’d never wake up. Her eyes fluttered closed as he turned away once more, her arms securely wrapped in the protective gauze.

Gabriel froze when he walked into the bedroom, taking in the bloody tableau. The blankets were thrown on the floor carelessly, and sheets were stained with red. Small droplets of blood had splattered on the headboard as well as the carpet close to the bed. Angela’s arms, which had been bare when he left this morning, were now wrapped heavily with gauze. A noise pulled Gabriel’s attention away from Angela to look over at the medic. He was setting down his weapon – an impressive looking assault rifle that had, apparently, been modified for healing, though he hadn’t used any of it in this room – against the nightstand. Then, he leaned back in the chair, looking exhausted; through the whole thing, Baptiste never took his eyes off of the doctor. “What happened?” Gabriel demanded, snarling. He knew he should keep his voice down – or at least moderate it to be less vicious – for Angela’s sake, but it was hard when faced with this. “She got my scissors,” Baptiste admitted, not a single trace of his typical humor. Gabriel turned his gaze back to Angela, horrified; she was breathing steadily and – for all appearances – seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Angela didn’t sleep peacefully – not even when she was so exhausted that she forgot her nightmares in the morning. Gabriel knew that she always twitched and shifted, murmuring softly or crying out; the bedding would often be twisted when they woke, and it wasn’t from any fun nighttime activity. No, her sleeping this way was unnatural, especially after her torture from the last month. “How did you let that happen?” Gabriel growled, forcing himself to remain in the doorway. If he moved closer, he would probably rip out Baptiste’s throat – and he still needed the medic. “I managed to convince – I think, or maybe she gave up? Anyways, – her to let me change her bandages. I did her legs and was just beginning to remove the gauze around her torso when she made this quiet noise.” Baptiste paused there, appearing to be at a loss for words; Gabriel forced himself to look at the medic, because to continue looking at the bandages was infuriating him. “It made my hair stand on end, man; I couldn’t help but look up.” He rubbed at his arms absently. “She’s so amped, you know? Nervous. Always looking around, always noticing things even if she wasn’t looking.” Gabriel did know; she was hypervigilant. It wasn’t unexpected, considering everything she’d been through. “So, when I saw her staring at the door, looking so scared, I thought maybe she’d heard something I didn’t.” Baptiste gestured at his rifle. “I went to investigate, make sure we weren’t under attack. I didn’t find anyone, so I came back to finish up with her.” Baptiste took a heavy breath. “I wasn’t gone for more than two minutes, I swear.” A lot could happen in two minutes, as both men were aware. “I came back and she was cutting at one of her arms; I took the scissors away and tried to stop the bleeding.” Baptiste looked nauseous as he finally lifted his gaze from the doctor to look at the Reaper. “She fought me hard; I’ve never seen anyone so desperate to die.” His voice was bleak, face ashen. “I had to pin her down to get the first set of gauze on.” Gabriel was unsurprised at Angela’s determination, even though it saddened him. He’d seen it in the armory weeks ago, when she’d gone for the gun. That determination – despair – had only increased since then. “She nearly ripped the bandages off again before I sedated her,” Baptiste sighed. “I don’t know if the dosage was too much, considering everything. She’s been down for a few hours.” That explained the peaceful breathing, then. “I told you,” Gabriel rumbled into the silence. “I told you she thought this was a trick. I warned you that she was suicidal.” He had trusted this man with her safety – and that trust had been betrayed. The Reaper wanted to paint the walls red with Baptiste’s blood, but he couldn’t. Gabriel needed Baptiste’s medical experience, even though he’d nearly allowed Angela to die on his watch. Besides, if the Reaper decorated the room with Baptiste’s insides, Angela would be even more terrified than she already was. “Get out,” Gabriel ordered, stepping further into the room so that Baptiste could comply. He needed a few hours without seeing the medic, a few hours to watch Angela breathe and assure himself that – despite yet another injury under his care – she was alive. A few hours to berate himself for being so careless. Baptiste scrambled to his feet, somehow managing to carry a tray laden with a bowl and his gun as he made for the door. Gabriel noticed that Baptiste kept as much distance as possible between the two of them as he moved. “Call me if you need anything,” Baptiste told him quietly as he strode through the door. Gabriel stalked over to close it, barely keeping himself from slamming it. Then he made his way around the bed to take the seat Baptiste had vacated to watch Angela breathe.

---

“Hello?” Gabriel was surprised that Cassidy didn’t sound more defensive – but, then again, he’d probably scattered his contact information as widely as possible to try and find Angela. It was likely the cowboy had received several calls from unknown numbers in the past month. “Is this Cole Cassidy?” Gabriel asked, though he already knew the answer. Over familiarity at this early stage would make the man far more defensive than Angela had time for. Gabriel’s eyes darted to the woman, who was still sleeping peacefully on the bloodstained sheets. He’d sent Baptiste out for new bedding - apparently, this apartment didn’t have any. Gabriel hadn’t wanted to call Cassidy tonight – he had planned to call tomorrow when he was able to slip away from the apartment and have the conversation where Angela couldn’t possibly overhear. However, her suicide attempt required things to move even faster. Even though Gabriel wasn’t in the mood to be speaking to anyone at the moment, it was necessary for Angela’s safety – so he would force himself to remain civil for a phone conversation. “Who’s askin’?” There was the defensive note; perhaps he hadn’t given his name out with his number. That would be a wise decision, considering the incredibly high bounty Cassidy still had on his head. Gabriel couldn’t give him his name – either name – at this point, however. To tell him he was the Reaper would destroy any possibility of a somewhat peaceful delivery of Angela. To tell him he was Gabriel Reyes, his presumed-dead and traitorous ex-Commander, wouldn’t go over any better. “I’m the person who’s rescued Dr. Ziegler,” he growled instead, voice quiet in deference to the sleeping blonde. Once they had hashed everything out – like where Cassidy could come to get her – he could give the cowboy his name. Cassidy inhaled sharply. “You’ve got her?” He repeated, doubtful. “Lemme talk to her.” Gabriel looked at the doctor again. Even if she were conscious, he couldn’t have let her speak to Cassidy. She would scream about it being a trap, to stay away – and, while he didn’t believe for a second that Cassidy would listen to her warning, it would make things far more complicated than necessary. “She’s sleeping right now,” Gabriel said instead. “I can send you a picture if you’d like.” He’d have to find a blanket that didn’t have bloodstains to cover up the mess, but he could make that happen. “Right. B’cause those can’t be faked or anythin’,” Cassidy drawled, ever the cynic. Still, Gabriel could hear the faint note of hope in his voice; Gabriel doubted they’d had any good leads on finding Angela. If they had known Talon had her, there would have been a lot more violence reported in the news. “Look,” Gabriel growled, his temper too frayed to properly deal with Cassidy’s caution. Still, he had to find the words to convince the cowboy that this wasn’t a prank or a trap. “Talon is chasing us. I don’t know how long we have until they find us.” That was the complete truth. He was already considering moving them out of Numbani; he had used his outfit and reputation to bully Cassidy’s number out of the criminals here, which would eventually find its way to Talon’s ears. “You got her away from Talon?” Gabriel rolled his eyes; seriously, he could tone down the incredulity. “Is this 76?” Gabriel wasn’t surprised that Jack was out looking for Angela. She was important to him – to them both – despite everything that had happened in the past. He was surprised that Jack had contacted Overwatch, regardless of what name he had given them. “No, this isn’t 76,” he admitted; lying about it would come out wherever they met, which would only lead to further hostilities. “How’d ya get this number?” Incredulity melted into harsh suspicion, which was more along the lines of what Gabriel had expected. “Why’d ya call me instead of the tip line?” All fair questions. “You spread the word underground that you’ve been looking for information on the doctor,” Gabriel told him; he’d barely had to mention the cowboy’s name to learn that. It was almost a joke among the gangsters – a notorious criminal with an enormous bounty was searching for the doctor? There’d been some talk about trapping the cowboy, luring him in so that they could get the prize; they’d even offered to split the money with him if he helped. Considering Gabriel needed Cassidy to remain a free man, he’d declined. “An’ ya didn’ call the tip line? I ain’t got the money for the reward they’re offerin’.” The reward was pretty substantial – nowhere near the amount of Cassidy’s bounty, but still a significant amount nonetheless. “I don’t want the money,” Gabriel growled, “I just want her safe.” Even if she trusted him – wasn’t broken in a way he couldn’t fix – Angela couldn’t stay with him. Talon was coming, and he was just one man. Gabriel couldn’t protect her in the way she needed if she remained. He’d kill her enemies from the shadows before they reached her, instead. “She trusts you,” he added. Gabriel paused, and then, “I trust you.” “You tru—who is this?” Cassidy thundered. Gabriel didn’t think the cowboy believed he had Angela; without being allowed to speak and Cassidy not accepting a photograph, it would be hard to convince the cynical cowboy. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Gabriel was stalling; the Reaper was disgusted with his cowardice. Just say it and get it over with. “Try me,” the cowboy’s voice was hard. “You know me by two different names,” Gabriel started, because he’d have to give both names before the conversation was over. The first name would be the one that proved his honesty. The second name would, hopefully, keep him from being shot on sight. “I’m Gabriel Reyes.” Cassidy made a disbelieving noise. “Reyes is dead.” The words were a snarl, almost as if he were trying to convince himself. “And if he weren’t, I’d kill him myself.” Well. Cassidy hadn’t hung up yet, at least. “You call her Ange,” he said quietly. “She stayed with you for two nights straight when you lost your arm.” She had cried, too – but he was pretty sure the cowboy didn’t know that fact; the Angela from that time hadn’t been one for showing ‘weak’ emotions in public. Gabriel searched his memory for something that wouldn’t have been – relatively – widely known throughout the two organizations. Gabriel didn’t like to think of his time with the organizations he destroyed - didn’t like to remember the happiness he had tossed aside - so it took him a moment to find something to tell Cassidy. “One mission in Finland, you and I stayed up too late and drank too much tequila, which allowed our mark - Korhonen or Koskinen or some kind of nen, I don’t remember - to get away.” It had been stupid – they had been stupid – but it was something only they knew; Gabriel hadn’t even told Angela the real reason why he’d been delayed in coming home. Cassidy inhaled sharply, but Gabriel ignored it and continued. “Took three days to find him again, but we found him and brought him in.” “Th’hell you doin’ with Ange, Reyes?” Despite the anger, Gabriel was relieved; Cassidy believed him. “You shouldn’ even be alive, not after what you’ve done.” He couldn’t blame Cassidy for his ire – Gabriel deserved it and far more. “I told you: I rescued her.” Gabriel tactfully left out the part where he had been the one to kidnap her in the first place. That could come out later – when he wasn’t around to get shot, even if he deserved it. “She needs help that I can’t give her; they worked her over, and it isn’t pretty.” Angela shifted a little, drawing his attention. The sedative must be wearing off, finally. Hopefully, she would stay asleep until he finished this call – and there wasn’t a screaming nightmare to deal with. “They—she—shit!“ Gabriel didn’t believe that Cassidy thought Angela had been safe this whole time. Cassidy knew, better than most, what she had probably faced during her captivity. Still, the abstract was always more comfortable to handle than the reality; Gabriel had learned that the hard way – and the lesson had cost Angela far too much. “Angela will be better off in your – in Overwatch’s – care. I need to get her to you, now.” Gabriel explained quietly once the silence had dragged just a little too long. “I know you’re pissed at me, but don’t take it out on her.” The silence dragged on again as Cassidy wrestled with himself; Gabriel hoped he wouldn’t take too long, else Angela would awaken and he’d have to deal with her instead of the cowboy. “Damn you, Reyes,” Cassidy snarled after a moment. “Fine. I’ll get a ride; where’s the drop?” Gabriel gave him coordinates of an empty field a few miles outside of Numbani. It was utterly devoid of cover, which would hopefully prove that he – at least – wasn’t trying to trap the cowboy. “Tomorrow, then?” “Tomorrow,” Gabriel confirmed gravely as Angela began to murmur softly. Tomorrow, he would say goodbye again, this time for good. Tomorrow, he would never see her again – not even from a distance, because he doubted she would ever leave whatever base Cassidy took her to. “You said ya had two names, Reyes. What’s th’second one?” Gabriel tensed; he knew it had to come out – if Cassidy came to a field and the Reaper had Angela, they’d shoot first and ask questions later. He didn’t want to risk her taking another bullet for him. “The Reaper.” Gabriel disconnected before he could hear Cassidy’s response.

Angela jolted into sudden wakefulness when a hand closed on her shoulder. Wild-eyed, she turned to find the mask of the Reaper. “Easy, cariño. You’re alright.” Angela shivered and looked away; she knew that he meant the words to be comforting – that was the goal here, after all – but all it did was make her sad. He was pretending to be the man she had loved – still loved, if she was honest with herself. It was cruel, especially when she so badly wanted it to be true. Angela knew it was foolish, that hope which had flickered to life when he had pulled her down from the chains and carried her from that room of pain. But she had heard him with the Speaker. She had heard his betrayal, knew that it had all been a lie. It was that knowledge that gave her the strength to remain silent, to not engage with this shadow of a man. After a long moment, the Reaper sighed and released her shoulder. Despite herself, Angela glanced his way to see that he had leaned back in the chair to give her some space. “I’ve found Cassidy.” Angela froze, choking on a breath as her entire body seized with panic. No, this wasn’t supposed to happen. Talon wasn’t supposed to find any of them; she was supposed to protect them and keep them safe. It was all that was left, all she was good for – and even in that, she had failed. If they brought one of them here – she couldn’t even consider it. It would absolutely destroy her. Angela was barely holding it together now, after they had killed the parts of her that were strong – that were Dr. Ziegler, Mercy. Angela wouldn’t survive if they brought someone else in to torture in her stead. “Breathe, Angela.” Suddenly, the Reaper was in her face, fingers – not claws, she realized – gripping her shoulders as he tried to pull her back down. “No one is going to hurt him, cariño; everything is alright. Breathe.” Angela managed to suck in an unsteady breath, and he nodded encouragingly. “Yes, just like that.” Her body was still so tense that it hurt, but at least she wasn’t going to pass out. After a few breaths, the Reaper released her and leaned back again. “I won’t hurt him. No one will hurt him.” The Reaper repeated. “I’m taking you to him so that he can get you the help you need.” Angela would have scoffed, but she maintained her silence by biting her lip. ‘Help.’ As if he hadn’t been the one to put her in this position, to condemn her to be battered and broken. As if this ‘rescue’ was real. She had heard him. He didn’t want to get her help – he wanted to get her broken. They would capture Cassidy by using her as bait. They would put him before her, and then it would be his pain or her words. Would he understand if she – somehow – kept her silence? Would he forgive her? Would she forgive herself? “I know I’ve given you no reason to trust me, Angela.” The Reaper leaned forward again, and she tried to shift to put some distance between his familiar body and her own. “But please, mi corazón, please try to believe me.” Angela had never heard Gabriel beg before; that the first time would be now, when he was the Reaper and her enemy, was disconcerting. “Just hold on for one more day,” his mask dropped to regard her bandaged arms meaningfully before rising again. “If not for me or yourself, then for the others. You know what your death would do to them.” Angela shuddered, squeezing her eyes shut. “You know they want you to live.” Of course her friends wanted her to live – but they hadn’t found her. She had been abandoned in that prison – this prison – and no one had saved her. Cool fingers touched her hand cautiously, but she remained still and kept her eyes closed. Angela waited for the touch to turn into a painful grip, to dig in and to hurt. But they just curled around her fingers, holding her hand in what Angela thought might be an attempt at comfort. It was so familiar that it hurt. Despite the pain, despite the knowledge that it was wrong, Angela couldn’t force herself to pull away. She was too stubborn, though, to let her fingers tighten around his own. Instead, her hand remained limp in his grasp as she turned her gaze towards the ceiling and away from the Reaper’s mask to try to hide her conflicting emotions. Then, he ruined it. “I’m sorry, Angela.” She stiffened and would have pulled away, but his hands – both of them, now – trapped her own in a firm grip. Were she stronger, she probably could have wrenched away, but she had wasted all her strength earlier with Baptiste. “You were the one I was never supposed to hurt, who I had sworn to protect.” His voice was solemn, as if confessing – but it wasn’t a confession when the monster before her hadn’t been the one to make those oaths. It was a lie, tailored carefully to maximize the pain when they stopped pretending again. He seemed earnest, though; Angela hadn’t realized what a good actor he was. Had Gabriel acted like this when they had been together all those years ago, or was this a new skill that the Reaper had picked up along the way? Angela prayed it was the latter, because the former was far too painful to consider. “I ruined everything. I know you hate me.” Angela glanced over to find his head bowed over their clasped hands. “I know you can never trust me and that nothing I can do or say will be enough to make up for what I’ve done.” He took in a harsh breath, made louder by the mask he wore. “I don’t expect you to ever forgive me, but for everything I’ve done: I’m sorry.” The Reaper released her hand then, pulling away to rest against the back of the chair and give her space once more. A small, hopeful – traitorous – part of her heart wanted to reach out and reclaim his hand with her own, to believe his apology was real and that he was Gabriel. Fortunately, her time in that freezing room of chains and blood had hardened her, even this weak self that was merely Angela. It was what allowed her to look away again and lay her hand back down on the stained sheets. It was what gave her the strength to remain silent and to keep herself from crying – though what, exactly, she would be crying over eluded her.

---

She opened her eyes to find she was in a new place - again. The last thing she remembered was the Reaper lifting her off the bloody sheets so Baptiste could strip the bed. She had let her eyes drift to the open door - something she usually couldn’t see from the bed; Jack had been there, leaning against the doorframe to watch her with heavy eyes. She had fallen asleep as he whispered warnings of betrayal and heartbreak. He had urged her to be strong because this would take everything she had - and then some. Angela glanced around her new surroundings, trying to be surreptitious but sure she was failing. It appeared she was in a car again; if it was the same one that the Reaper had stuffed her in the first time, she wasn’t sure. He sat to her left, behind the wheel as he had the last time. Her dress was no longer green; at some point, probably when they had changed the sheets, they had put a blue dress on her. It took her a moment to realize that the vehicle wasn’t moving. They were idling with a large expanse of grass before them. Angela wasn’t sure if they were on the side of a road or not, since she wasn’t craning her neck to look behind or to the left. “It’s almost over, Angela,” the Reaper murmured once she had stilled in her seat. Angela stiffened at the reminder that she would have a companion in her captivity in less than an hour. Maybe more than one - despite all his knowledge, she didn’t think Cole knew how to pilot any form of aircraft. “After today, you’ll never see me – or Talon – again.” He promised her, once the silence between them became heavy and strained. “You’ll be safe.” She didn’t believe him, of course; Angela knew she was destined to die in a Talon interrogation cell. She kept her eyes fixed on the grass outside, searching for the troops that she knew were waiting out there somewhere. “Look,” the Reaper rumbled sometime later, one clawed hand lifting and drawing her attention away. Unable to help herself, she looked in the direction he indicated. “There they are.” Her eyes found a dark spot on the horizon: an air carrier, heading their way. Angela wished there was something - anything - she could do to stop what was to come. She didn’t have the strength to protect them, and that crushed her just as badly as the blows across Cole’s body would. “Shh, cariño,” the Reaper soothed. Angela immediately bit off the small, pitiful sounds she had been making, but it was impossible to stop her tears. She turned her head away, attempting to hide her face from his sight as she grieved. It wasn’t long before the roar of the carrier filled the air. Angela couldn’t help but watch in horror, tears streaking her cheeks, as it drew closer. The car rocking drew her attention away; she hadn’t heard him open the door, but now the Reaper was stalking around the front of the vehicle to open her door. “It’s time, Angela.” The words were practically a shout so he could be heard over the carrier. She trembled as he leaned in to unbuckle her; then, she was up in his arms and pressed against his chest once more. Her left leg - knee still shattered, as far as she could tell - only complained slightly. Angela looked at it, curious; it appeared there were at least two, maybe three, braces around the knee - it forced her leg to remain straight, even without any support from below. As he turned them, the carrier touched down. He kept them next to the vehicle until the cargo doors opened. The turbines continued to roar - Angela would have been surprised if they had stopped them, considering that this was a trap - as a familiar figure began making his way cautiously towards them. Behind him on the ramp loomed two other people - a familiar large man and a less familiar woman. When the Reaper started walking, Angela began shaking enough that her teeth chattered; this was bad, this was bad, this was bad. Any minute now, Talon forces would appear and throw the cowboy to the ground. His hat would tumble off and be left, forgotten, in the grass as he was dragged into hell with her. The Reaper tightened his grip on her, his mask tilting down to consider her briefly, but if he said anything, it was lost to the roar of the carrier. Instead, she got to watch in horror as Cole Cassidy – he was real this time, right? – drew closer. One hand was resting defensively on Peacekeeper, his sharp eyes darting around as he searched for the trap they both knew existed. She wanted to scream at him to run, but she knew her disused voice would never reach him over the roaring. The space between them narrowed until, suddenly, they were only five feet apart.

Cole drummed his fingers impatiently against his seat. He never thought he’d be sitting in an Overwatch carrier again, but he never thought Angela would be kidnapped – tortured – either. Across from him sat Reinhardt, who was leaning forward against his giant hammer with his head bowed. His enormous armor nearly hid the smaller woman at his side – Brigitte, Torbjörn’s daughter. Lena was piloting the air carrier. She had managed to pick up the three of them and was now flying them to Numbani, but they were cutting it rather close. It was only the four of them; if this turned out to be a trap, the odds were heavily out of their favor. Cynical as he was, Cole expected one. Reyes and Angela had history; that much was true. Reyes had sworn to protect Angela - they all had, in their own ways - but Cole knew that personal honor meant very little to his previous Commander. Besides, it had been five years; that was a long time, and Reyes had been staining his hands with Overwatch blood in that time. No, this was a trap and Angela was the bait. It was too perfect: she was being ‘rescued’ by the Reaper - who just happened to be Gabriel Reyes of all people? The rush for a next-day meeting, for fear of being ‘caught’? No. There was no way in hell that this was anything but a trap. “We’re on the final approach,” Lena called back. “Scanners are only picking up two people – that’s got to be them.” Cole knew there were ways to hide from scanners, so that information wasn’t as comforting as he’d like. “Alrigh’ then. Let’s put ‘er down an’ get Ange back.” Cole was impatient to get this done – one way or another. He turned towards the two across from him. “You two need t’ stay back on th’ cargo ramp. Watch my back and come down swingin’ if things go sideways.” “I do not like this.” Reinhardt boomed as the carrier began to descend. “We should go with you; it is too dangerous.” Cole understood where the warrior was coming from; his job was always to protect those around him, and this was no different. Still, that didn’t change the fact that a show of force would probably end badly. “Trust me on this one,” Jessie replied, shaking his head. “We don’ wanna risk Ange.” He doubted that Reyes had lied about Angela’s health. Cole didn’t want Angela in any more danger than necessary. It was undoubtedly a trap, so having backup was more necessary than a show of force. Besides, if Reyes really was trying to protect Angela, like he had in the past, it would be far too dangerous for them to antagonize him with a heavy presence. “Then I should go!” Reinhardt insisted, one hand raising to slap his chest plate loudly. “My armor will protect me - and the doctor - if it is a trap; you would be killed!” That was a valid point – past the cargo ramp, he doubted that there would be no cover. Still, Cole shook his head again. “He called me. It’s gotta be me.” This was either a convoluted trap to capture him, or it was a genuine request for help. Knowing Reyes as he did, Cole knew that he had to walk off that ramp alone. The carrier landed with a gentle jolt; as soon as it was steady, both men were on their feet with Brigitte not far behind. Reinhardt towered over Cole in a way that would be intimidating if Cole didn’t know the German man. “You’ve gotta wait on the ramp; stay put unless things turn sour.” Reinhardt’s shoulders slumped as he sighed. Cole took that to be agreement, so he gestured towards the cargo hold. “If things do go bad, jus’ make sure y’get Ange. She’s the priority.” He allowed Reinhardt to precede him down the ramp, his giant blue shield erupting to life from his arm. Cole paused behind the warrior to allow his eyes to adjust. Once he could see clearly, he quickly found the Reaper standing in front of a car about two hundred feet away. In his arms was a bundle of blue cloth that had Angela’s head at the top. She looked thin and fragile – words he had never used to describe her except for that period directly after the fall. Cole met Angela’s terrified eyes briefly; based on her stark terror, she believed this was a trick. Cole forced himself to look away, fingers tightening on Peacekeeper as he searched for the trap. Cautiously, Cole pushed past Reinhardt’s barrier, as he and the Reaper approached each other. Even when they were within grabbing distance, Cole kept his hand tight on his weapon. From this point forward, he would be at his most vulnerable; once he took Angela into his arms, he’d find it hard to defend himself - or his precious cargo. While Reinhardt and Brigitte were nearby, it was still a long distance for them to travel. “It’s just me,” the Reaper shouted over the turbines, voice gravely as he closed the final few steps between them. This close, Cole could see her hollow cheeks and how hard she was trembling; it hurt his heart to see how damaged Angela – normally their pillar of strength – was. They had thought she was safe, and they had been wrong. “We both know I ain’t trustin’ you,” the cowboy returned gruffly. If it weren’t for Angela, he’d have shot the Reaper when he’d stepped off the ramp. He released his gun reluctantly so he could reach out for the doctor. Carefully, with a gentleness that proved that this was Reyes, the hooded figure lowered her into Cole’s arms. “Watch her knee,” Reyes rasped, as if Cole couldn’t see the straps and splints wrapped around it. The woman was lighter than she should be and shaking so hard Cole thought she might just come apart. “I gotcha, darlin’,” he assured her, though his eyes stayed firmly on Reyes. “There’s a list in one of her pockets,” Reyes shouted with a vague hand gesture towards Angela. “Everything that’s happened to her is written there.” Cole nodded once in acknowledgment. Though he wanted to look down at the small woman in his arms, reassure her that everything would be alright, he kept his eyes on the Reaper. “If I see you again, I’ll put a bullet in you.” It was another promise, one that he would be more than happy to keep. If he were able, he’d shoot him now and be done with it - but he had his hands full. “I deserve it,” Reyes agreed with a shrug, “but not for the reasons you think.” Cole felt Angela stiffen; clearly, there was something there. Hopefully, it was on the list Reyes mentioned. He’d hate to have to ask Angela about it after everything she’d been through. Reyes stepped backward, clearly done with their interaction. Cole took a step back too – and paused when one final question popped into his head. “Why’d you save her?” He shouted. Reyes stopped, head tilting as he considered Cole and his question. “Why did she save me?” Reyes called back. With that, Reyes turned his back entirely and walked away, confident that Cole would prioritize Angela over shooting him. It was hard to reconcile the image of the Reaper with the man Cole had once known. But it was obvious some part of Reyes was still alive; after all, the Reaper would never have allowed Cole – or any of the other remnants of Overwatch behind him – to leave unscathed. Still, Cole refused to turn his back to the clearing, even though it made his return trip much harder. However, before he had made it halfway back, Reinhardt had stomped forward to cover his retreat with his shield. Around that time, Reyes reached his vehicle; instead of climbing inside, he had turned to watch as Cole carried Angela away. The entire time Angela was a silent, shaking mass in his arms. “Thought I told you t’ wait on th’ ramp,” he grumbled as he turned his back on the clearing, trusting Reinhardt to protect them. Cole could feel Reyes’ eyes on his back as they moved further and further away. He didn’t look back at the monster from his past; the angel in his arms held all of his attention. “You are both too important to lose,” Reinhardt retorted. Cole shook his head before closing the remaining distance to the carrier. “Everythin’ alright, then?” Lena called from the pilot’s chair. Already she was flipping the switches that would get them into the air, even with the carrier door still closing. “We’ve got her,” Cole answered; he couldn’t say it was alright because the trembling woman in his arms clearly wasn’t. But, they had her back – and that was something, wasn’t it? They could call in people, and then she would be better. They could fix this. They would fix this. She deserved no less.

---

“This is normal?” Lena’s voice rose, practically to a shout. “Keep your voice down,” Cole growled with a meaningful glance towards Angela; Lena looked away guiltily, gnawing on one lip nervously. He knew he shouldn’t snap because it really didn’t matter how loudly they spoke. Angela had become unresponsive shortly after they had flown away from the clearing in Numbani. Even now, hours later in Watchpoint: Warsaw, she was still staring vacantly. “Yes, this,” he gestured towards Angela, “is normal.” Cole hadn’t needed Reyes’ list to tell him that this could happen. While he hadn’t dirtied his hands with torture – ‘interrogation’ – he’d seen the aftermath. “‘s a defense mechanism; she can’ be hurt if she ain’ here.” Considering what Angela had been through, he wasn’t surprised that she was protecting herself in the only way she had left. “But, she’s with us,” Lena protested, voice markedly quieter than previously. “We’re not gonna hurt her.” Cole shook his head, smiling mirthlessly. He wished he could have the same optimistic outlook, but life had been far kinder to Lena than it had been to him - or Angela. “You and I,” his hand shifted, pointing at first her then himself, “we know that. But Ange?” He looked over at the broken doctor sadly. “She doesn’ know it. Doesn’ believe it.” Cole sighed, one hand raking through his hair in absent frustration before fixing his hat. “It’ll be a long while before she recovers.” If she recovered, but Cole wasn’t willing to voice that aloud. Cole had read the list that Reyes had scrawled out, which detailed all the atrocities that Angela had been subjected to. Some were rather obvious - her malnutrition showed in her hollow cheeks and sunken eyes, the shattered knee in the various braces. Others were easy to see, if one knew where to look - the suicide attempt in the bandages on her arms, the scar at her lip proving her stubborn defiance. The worst, however, were the invisible wounds. Reyes had written a small paragraph instead of a bulleted list at the very bottom of the note. “I was the one who kidnapped her from Cairo and put her in chains. I’m the one that captured her after she managed to escape, and put scars into her arms and her heart when I put her back. I was the one that gave the order to escalate her torture, that made her into this. Angela knows who I am and how I have betrayed her. I don’t know if there is anything left of her to save after what’s been done to her - what I’ve done to her - but I know that you’ll protect her like I should have. -R” It had taken everything in him to keep from crumpling the letter or tearing it into pieces; despite his absolute rage at what was revealed, Cole knew that the doctor - who still hadn’t arrived - would need the information within it. He hadn’t told anyone else of its existence; they didn’t need to know the particulars of what she had gone through - hell, he didn’t need to know it either. But he had read it anyway. “Hey, Cassidy?” Lena’s voice was soft, almost tremulous. He glanced towards the younger woman, who was wringing her hands and fidgeting; even now, she was unable to keep still. “She’s gonna be alright, isn’t she? We weren’t, you know, too late?” Cassidy didn’t know how to answer that question. He could be honest or he could be optimistic, but he couldn’t be both. Cole was saved from answering by Angela as she shifted and gasped softly. Before Lena could do anything, Cole’s hand flew out and clamped down hard on her wrist. That she jerked against his grasp told him he had been right to grab her; Lena turned to look at him, mouth opening either in protest or in question, and he shook his head sharply. Once he was sure Lena wasn’t going to leap out of her seat, Cole released her and fully turned his attention to the blonde. He wasn’t sure if Angela had been looking around or not - his gaze had been on Lena during those first moments instead of Angela - but now she was staring at the two of them. Usually, he couldn’t read her emotions or thoughts on her face, but Angela’s terror was obvious even to him. “You’re safe, Ange,” Cole assured her after the silence between them had grown too long. He could practically feel Lena’s explosive energy next to him, but somehow the British woman managed to keep her seat. Angela’s wary eyes darted from him to Lena and back again. “Is - Is this -” Angela’s voice was hesitant and rough from abuse. “Are you - real?” Her voice broke then; the pure desolation made his heart ache for her. “We’re real, darlin’,” Cole assured her. In the silence, he nudged Lena’s leg with one booted foot. “Wha- oh, yeah! It’s all real, love.” Lena’s voice was chipper and bright, with barely a note of hesitation to betray her worry. “You’re with Overwatch.” Angela flinched then; Cole gritted his teeth as he forced himself not to imagine what had conditioned such a reaction in her - and found it impossible, considering the note he’d read. Lena glanced towards Cole, clearly unsure of how to act in the face of Angela’s fear. “Ange.” Cole leaned forward a little, bridging that small gap between them. He was gratified to see she didn’t react negatively to the movement; instead, she looked up towards his intense face with the barest hint of hope. “If you don’ wanna be with Overwatch,” he forced himself to ignore her wince, “you jus’ say the word an’ it’s done.” Lena made a small sound of protest, but he spoke before she could say anything. “I’ll take you anywhere you wanna go, darlin’. Whatever you want.” Cole knew that Overwatch was, probably, the safest place for Angela to be while she recovered - if she could recover. He knew that any decision she made now would be impaired by her trauma. Still, he would fight everyone - Winston, Lena, the UN - to take her wherever it was she’d feel safe. Angela’s eyes darted around; Cole wasn’t sure if she was looking for something in particular or if this was curiosity. He watched as her hands fisted and twisted her blankets, waiting for her to say something - anything. “I -” She pressed back into the pillow, glancing to the side and worrying at her scarred lip. “I don’t want to go back.” Her voice, barely audible, was small and sad. Cole wasn’t sure if she was referring to Overwatch or Talon, but, in the long run, it didn’t really matter to him; whatever happened next, Cole would make sure that Angela was safe and happy. “You won’t.” Lena piped up before Cole could assure the doctor. Obviously, she had interpreted Angela’s statement to be about Talon, but Cole wasn’t completely convinced. “We won’t let them take you, Dr. Ziegler, I promise. We’ll keep you safe.” Angela’s face crumpled then; she turned her head away quickly, but not before Cole saw the tears there. Were they from relief, at being safe from her tormentors? Or was it from grief, at the reminder that they should have kept her safe - and hadn’t? Slowly, cautiously, Cole reached out to touch one of her clenched hands. Angela jumped, recoiling from his hand as if it burned. Her head turned, wild eyes wide and bright, as she stared down at his fingers as if she’d never seen them before - like she hadn’t put him back together countless times. He pulled back slightly, giving her space while remaining close enough for her to reach out if she wanted. “We - I - failed you, Angela,” Cole said, voice low. “It won’t happen again. I swear it.” He could see the hope and despair - the disbelief and desperation - that was roiling within her as she continued to stare at his hand. After what felt like an eternity, Angela’s hand rose. Trembling, she reached out towards him - before flinching back and away again. Cole didn’t move, didn’t react in any way; Lena gasped, a small sound that seemed to roar in the small space. Angela reached out again, but this time she didn’t recoil. He remained unmoving as she touched his fingers tentatively, afraid that anything would scare her off again. When her hand curled around his in a weak grasp, head bowed as she trembled and shook, he allowed himself to gently tighten his fingers around hers. Maybe there was hope for her, after all.

You led me here, Then I watched you disappear. You left this emptiness inside And I can't turn back time - Never Be the Same [Red]

This is, unfortunately, the end of Breaking [My Heart]. I do intend to continue this story in a second installment, but I haven't quite got it put together yet. I know what I want it to look like (mostly), but apparently writing requires you to actually write, annoyingly enough. Writing has become a challenge (again, ugh) due to real life getting in the way (again). I've been stressing about the business I own (US Tax preparation) while working as a manger at my mothers' trampoline park. Long hours have left me with little time to do pretty much anything that isn't eating or sleeping, and when I do try to write I just can't seem to get the words out. I hate that I have my unfinished work (Forged) that I just can't seem to close plus the recovery arc for Breaking [My Heart]. They're mostly outlined but, like I said earlier, writing requires writing and I can't seem to get the scenes out of my head and onto paper. I do have a few pieces that are written for my one-shot sets, The Healer, which I'll post sporadically (and, which will, hopefully bridge the gap until I can properly write again). I appreciate all of you that read my work and leave comments; truly, every time I see the notification I get super excited and I love that you feel strongly enough about my writing to tell me about it. I hope that I continue to produce work that you can enjoy! Feel free to reach out to me here. Until next time, stay happy and healthy!

Tags :

overwatch fanfiction angela ziegler gabriel reyes mercykill fanfic Mercy! Reaper cole cassidy cassidy lena oxton lena tracer tw torture tw violence tw dark thoughts tw: dark themes tw suicidal thoughts tw: suicide attempt tw hallucinations whump breaking my heart series

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thebrighteye

3 years ago

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I’m afraid I’m gonna die down here I can’t save, I can’t save myself Get me out, get me out of Hell I’m suffocating waiting for you - Out of Hell [Skillet] Summer of Whump 10: Trapped | Fandom: Overwatch (Pre-Fall) | Angela / Gabriel TW: Injury, Child Death

AO3 | FF.net | Works

Angela woke to pain and screaming. Blearily, she tried to figure out what was happening. Something was screaming, a discordant, high pitched noise that made her head pound and stab with pain. Then there was a man yelling, possibly words, but she couldn’t quite focus on the sound to determine what he was saying over the wailing. There was a weight, just shy of painful in places, all over and around her body. Her whole body hurt, and for some reason that struck her as wrong. She shouldn’t hurt. Angela tried to move her arms, to push herself up so she could properly look at the children – why were there children? She didn’t have children – and found she was unable to. Angela was trapped under rubble, braced on arms and knees. She was surrounded, physically incapable of moving. There was pain – why was there pain? And then – why would pain be surprising? While her body was frozen, tightly cocooned by the debris surrounding her, she found her head could move, but only a little. The debris around her made it difficult to do anything, and when she did move her head, it sent spikes of pain and waves of dizziness through her. The feeling was temporary but disconcerting all the same. Steeling herself, Angela shifted her head so she could look around at the claustrophobic space. A faint glow from above her provided enough illumination to see the blood splattered and oozing around her. It made sense that there would be blood, considering how horrible she was feeling. With some straining, she could just peer down at the children that were underneath her. There was a red faced, wailing toddler and a silent baby in a bag. That the baby was silent wasn’t right, but she wasn’t sure why at this moment. Maybe if everything would just be quiet, she could get her thoughts in order. The most pressing of the noise was the child, whose shrieks were only worsening the pain in her head. Angela tried to smile down at the toddler, but her mouth didn’t feel right. She probed at the inside of her mouth and found it swollen; that would make her task all that more difficult. “It – It’s alright.” Angela murmured brokenly down to the girl. She wasn’t sure if it was intelligible through the swelling, but the tone was right at least. “Doc!” The man was back, his voice a shout in her ear. She winced at the sudden noise. “Ya with me, doc?” Angela wasn’t sure how to answer that question, so she settled for an affirmative noise. She smiled down at the child, trying to get her to stop crying - to get the noise to stop. “We’re lookin’ for ya right now, don’t you worry. We’ll have you out fast as lightnin’, you’ll see.” She hoped that meant quickly, because she had a sinking feeling that time was not on her side in this hole. “Wha–” Angela coughed, wincing at the flare of pain the action sent through her. “What happened?” There was a moment of silence on the other side, and Angela wasn’t sure if it was out of surprise or if it was because the man was trying to figure out how to explain her situation. She took that time to coo down at the child, ignoring the rasp of her throat as she tried to soothe the girl. Something must have worked, because the toddlers’ cries slowed before stopping altogether. “You were up in a buildin’, lookin’ for people. It came down, and you were inside o’ it.” Right. Italy. It was coming back, slowly. Leaving Zürich the day before, climbing through buildings, operating through the night. “Must’ve hit your head pretty bad there, doc.” It would explain the headache she was nursing and how off she was feeling. “It’s bad.” Angela agreed. It took her a few tries to get the words out coherently; something must have hit her face when she fell – no, landed. Nothing had hit her when she was falling. She closed her eyes and tried to remember what had happened. The man tried to speak, but she silenced him with a noise; she needed to gather herself before she could give him anything. She just had to think for a minute.

---

Angela blinked. There were people above her. She could hear voices, swearing and yelling at each other in various languages. What– Right. Italy. Collapsed building. They were working on getting her out; if she could just hold on, it would be alright. “Cas – Cassidy?” She coughed out, forgetting that her mouth was swollen and words were hard to form. It didn’t matter if the name was understandable or not, though; her voice had gained her instant attention from the cowboy. “Welcome back, doc.” There was relief in his voice. “Ya with me this time?” What an odd turn of phrase. “Yes?” Angela managed to make the word a question; talking was hard enough as it was. If she could avoid the extra effort of elaborating, she was going to. “Y’been in and out for a while.” That wasn’t a terribly good sign, even if it was an expected one. She had fallen eight stories. Cassidy continued when it was obvious that she wasn’t going to say anything. “Lieutenants’ here, helpin’ us dig. Captain sent us a guy t’fix ya, a Rem-somethin’?” Remington. Good. There was no one else she could think of that had more experience at triage care than he was. If anyone could get her extracted, it would be him. “How’s it lookin’ down there?” Now that he had mentioned it, there was quite a bit of blood shining in the glow of her wings. Angela had noticed it before, but now it had more meaning. Some was dripping from her chin, while more had oozed from the rubble pinning her left arm. Angela craned her neck down, as much as she was able anyway, to see if there was any problems she might be able to spot. She couldn’t see much of her body, but there was blood there, between the children’s feet and where she knew her knees were. The suit was doing an excellent job of keeping her coherent, even if she was still dazed, but it did nothing to help her determine where or to what extent she was hurt. The pain was deep, throbbing and stabbing. It was like – Angela’s eyes widened briefly before she blew out a shuddering breath. It was like Venezuela, right before Gabriel had stripped her suit from her. Not quite the same, but bad enough to terrify her. At least in Venezuela she was easily accessible – once the shooters were down, of course. Here, it could be hours before she was fully freed. “That bad, huh?” It was either the prolonged silence or he had heard her ragged breathing as she tried to keep herself from hyperventilating. Passing out would do her absolutely no good and would not change the situation. “Y – Yes.” Angela tried not to sound panicked, but she was buried in rubble and, quite probably, actively dying. There was nothing any of them could do until they could get her body freed and allow Remington to do what he did best. “It’ll be okay. We can see bits of ya, so it won’ be much longer, alright?” Angela’s lips twitched slightly in humor; how kind of him to try to console her. Then again, he was rather trapped in listening to her – maybe he just didn’t want to listen to her break down. Not that she particularly wanted to break down; there were far too many people above. Even now, with her body shattered and blood splattered, she stubbornly was trying to keep face.

---

Remington hadn’t been able to do much triage on her, trapped as she was, but he had brought a surprise: Ana had told him to locate and bring her healing stream along. Once he was able, he had used the tool on her head. While the tool wouldn’t be helpful for many of her wounds – it wasn’t powerful enough, for one thing – it at least gave her a clear head and made her capable of communicating clearly. They were still excavating her legs under Remington’s watchful eyes. Angela wasn’t sure how long they had been digging, but it felt like an eternity. The toddler below her had fallen asleep at some point, and not even the noise above had woken her. Worried, Angela had reached out to check that she was breathing. As far as she could tell – which wasn’t very – the toddler was fine, just asleep. Now that her head was healed, Angela was deciding whether to call home or not. It felt selfish – was selfish – to pull them away from their considerable duties to be given information they could, mostly, see with their own eyes. But trapped here, watching her blood slowly ooze closer to the child beneath her, she wasn’t certain she would survive. Angela knew that a persons’ will could play a part in their survival, and no one was more stubborn than she was – but no amount of will could counter blood loss. Finally, she allowed herself to fish the communicator out of the pouch – hoping it wasn’t broken. It was selfish, this was selfish, but she settled the communicator on the ground before her anyway. Angela hesitated over Gabriel’s name, but eventually passed him. As much as she wanted, needed, to talk to him, she could not afford it. He could shatter what little control she had left, and right now she could not give in. Instead, she selected Ana’s name. “Captain Amari.” Angela’s lips quirked up briefly with faint humor. One of these days they – to include her if, no when, she got out of this – would check the communicator before answering, instead of just providing their name and rank. “Ana.” Nothing in the world could have kept the exhaustion from her voice; Angela hoped that it masked the undercurrent of fear. Normally, with Jack and Ana, she would try to avoid allowing her emotions to seep into her voice – no need to let them think she was completely unprofessional, considering her relationship with Gabriel. But this time, she would allow it – mostly because she didn’t have a choice. “Angela!” There was a mixture of worry, joy, and relief in the snipers’ voice. Then, a brief commotion in the background – she could hear Jack and Gabriel, though she couldn’t make out what was being said. “How b–” The voices were growing louder, but she still couldn’t determine what was being said. “You may speak with her when I am finished.” Ana’s voice was muffled, as if she had covered the communicator, but nothing could hide the sharpness of her words; the men quieted down as Ana turned her attention back to the doctor. “I’m sorry about that, Angela. How bad is it?” Unsurprising that Ana would skip asking if she had been found; with the number of cameras at her disposal she wouldn’t be surprised if Ana could tell her exactly how much debris had been removed and how much remained. Instead, she had cut to the heart of the matter: survival. “Terrible.” What a small, insignificant word to describe it. “Lost a lot… of blood.” Angela wasn’t sure if it was a significant amount, considering she had no idea if her legs had been damaged, or a whole host of other information. There was a strangled sound from the background – she was pretty sure that was Gabriel. Apparently, Ana had put her on speaker. Angela wasn’t sure how she felt about that, but it was too late now. “It is not – not critical. Yet.” As ever, she was trying to soothe others, even when she could be dying. “It hurts.” She added, almost as an afterthought. “I know, dear.” Ana soothed gently, and Angela realized her voice was much weaker than she had intended it to be. “Do you have your staff?” Angela glanced down to where she had tried to shelter the tool. The parts that she had managed to cover were fine, but she wasn’t sure how bad the damage was. “Yes, but… it is probably broken.” Angela forced down the spike of anxiety. While the loss of the staff was a tragedy, both for herself and any others she could have applied it to, it could be fixed. Ana clicked her tongue sympathetically, and Angela could imagine the sniper shaking her head. “Remington will take good care of you. He has your healing stream, and from what I recall he is one of your favorite medics.” Angela was grateful that she had decided to send one of her most experienced combat medics on this relief. She didn’t know what to say in the silence – she had made her report, which had been the only unselfish task she had been able to think of to justify a call. “You will come home.” Ana ordered firmly into the void, realizing the doctor wasn’t going to speak. Home. If only she hadn’t left, she wouldn’t be in this mess. She should have just gone back to bed and let someone else do the work for once. But the exact reason she had gone was what had made her who she was. It was her duty to care for others, whatever the cost. Staying home when she could make a difference was not who she was – even if the good she had done here could not outweigh the good she had yet to do. It was catch twenty-two between her conscience and what she saw as her duty, in which either choice would cause her to win – and lose. “I – I don’t–” know if I will make it. The words died in her throat, choked by a sob that she had tried to swallow. “I just–” want to go home. Angela drew in a deep, ragged breath – she could not give in to the emotion. It could hover around her, but she could not let it loose. That had to wait until she was safe, until she was home – oh, she wanted to go home. Until then, she had to be Dr. Ziegler – because in her world there was no place for emotions. “Breathe, Angela.” Her eyes darted up towards the communicator, as if she could see him. “You’re gonna be okay. Just breathe for me.” Angela was surprised at how calm he sounded, when she knew he was just as terrified as she was. He had never taken her injuries well, and she had expected this to be no different. Perhaps because he couldn’t actually see her – there was no way the cameras could see her in this hole – made the difference. Angela didn’t know what to say, so she closed her eyes and tried to breathe, to collect herself, like he had asked. She didn’t know if she could say anything, not here and now. Gabriel was the only one she allowed to see her at her worst – and if he was here, now, she might break in front of everyone. He was a huge comfort to her, but he was also a liability to the control she was barely clinging to. “Are you still with me?” He asked, and she had a sudden memory of the two of them on her couch as she relived Venezuela. How appropriate, considering her body felt just as battered as it had back then. It was an image she doubted Gabriel would appreciate, so she’d keep that to herself. “For now.” Angela replied hoarsely, as truthful as she could be in this situation. Who knew how long that would last? Gabriel made a strangled sound before going silent. She could imagine him running his hands over his face, the top of his head, trying to compose himself in the face of her injuries – and him, stuck miles away with no way to help. Maybe he wasn’t holding it together as well as she had thought. She didn’t know how to make this better – couldn’t make this better. She was trapped, miles and miles away from home, and she hurt. Even if she wanted to be some form of comfort, Angela couldn’t find the words. “Gabriel, I – I have to go.” Calling had been a mistake, a selfish action that had resulted in nothing but more pain. She had enough pain for three people – or, rather, she would, if she weren’t wearing the Valkyrie suit. “Angela, don–” He tried to stop her, but her trembling fingers had already made their way to the communicator to end the conversation. Before she could stop herself, to give into temptation, she turned it off. Angela was in no position to be answering questions from anyone and she knew Gabriel would call her back immediately on his own communicator. Then she scrubbed angrily at her face, wiping away the proof of her terror and smudging blood across her cheek and chin.

---

She could have cried with relief when they removed the last bits from her back and head. Considering how much time she had lost, going in and out of consciousness, she had no idea how long it had taken. Her legs, wings, and left arm were still trapped but the pressure had been reduced. She was able to relax her muscles from the position she’d locked herself in – but only a little, considering the children beneath her. Angela realized that, with the release in pressure, she could move her right arm; when she had pulled the toddler closer it had managed to be sheltered by the wings. Unfortunate that her left arm, flung out haphazardly to keep her upright, did not share the same fate. She shifted her weight to the left and onto the wings so that she could lift her right arm. Angela frowned at the blood that began dripping down her arm, but there was nothing she could do about the gash in her bicep or scratches along the arm right now. She wouldn’t have made the effort if it weren’t for the children below her. Angela had noticed something odd when she had first awoken. Dimly, she knew what she had seen – but she had to be certain. Carefully she shifted and gently stroked the infants’ cheek – noting absently that one of her fingers was broken. Though she had known what to expect, it did nothing to change the horror she felt when her fingers met cool flesh. Angela knew the child had been alive on the eighth floor, so it had been under her care that it had died. That it would not have survived the fall without her was of no comfort at all; she should have done better. Angela had landed so hard she would have bruises, at the very least, on her knees and had been thrown forward violently enough to break fingers. The child hanging at her stomach would have hit the ground with considerable force, with nothing but a flimsy bag to protect it – which was no protection at all. “What’s wrong?” Cassidy asked urgently. She must have made some distressed noise without realizing. “I–” What could she say? Words could not convey the despair she felt in this moment – and even if they could, she would not say them here. She had killed an infant. Could it get worse than that? Angela cleared her throat uncomfortably, but it still took two tries before she could say anything. “Nothing.” The word was notably unsteady. “Doc.” It was surprising how much reproach he could stuff into the three letters. Still, Angela was nothing if not stubborn. If she could avoid it, she would hide her despair from everyone. This was a sin blacker – redder – than the ones she had carried previously. This infant would join all the ones she had failed previously. “Don’t.” The word was so soft she wasn’t sure the microphone picked it up. Don’t push. Don’t ask. Don’t try to make her talk about it. Don’t break her more than she already was. She was far too vulnerable to be pressed on such a subject, with her blood spilled across the rocks and her heart slashed to ribbons for the child she had failed. Even now Angela was scrambling to push the ragged pieces of herself down and away to that place she could deal with later. It was hard to keep it locked away – emotions and thoughts that could not be afforded kept slipping out of that deep place in her soul – but it was necessary. “I am fine.” She had to work to enunciate the words clearly enough for him to understand. Although there was nothing reassuring about her tone, he stopped pressing anyway. With one hand – that had a broken middle finger – it was rather difficult, but she managed to fasten the bag around the infant shut – if only so she would stop staring at the poor child. Its eyes had been closed, but she could feel the accusatory glare even through the cloth. The toddler was easier, in that she was still alive, and harder because she was awake and uncooperative with her probing. Angela knew the child would need to be thoroughly examined – the landing had to have damaged her in some way. Aside from a few scratches and some bruising where smaller chunks of debris had slipped past her wings to strike the girl, there was nothing serious that she could see. Children were, usually, resilient and could bounce back from a lot, but she was doubtful the girl would come away completely unscathed. It was a tragedy that the same could not be said for the girls’ sibling.

So this set is literally why it took me so long to get Chapter 17 done; my brain just would not release the idea of “she should fall and get extra hurt”. Unfortunately, her recovery time (for bones and such) just didn’t work well with my plans - and that doesn’t even begin to cover the damage to her hands and how bad that would actually be. Still, I think it’s pretty great so I didn’t want to scrap it - now here we are. Of course, I’m a few days late (story of my life) - but better late than never

Tags :

summer of whump overwatch fanfiction angela ziegler gabriel reyes mercykill summer of whump day 10 cole cassidy cassidy tw // injury tw death // tw: child death

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thebrighteye

3 years ago

Recovery

Please don’t get me wrong Because I’ll never let this go But I can’t find the words to tell you I don’t want to be alone -Never Let This Go [Paramore] Soulmate AU Prompt 7 | Fandom: Overwatch (Pre-Fall) | Angela / McCree

AO3 | FF.net | Works

Keep reading

Tags :

overwatch fanfiction angela ziegler cole cassidy mercy x cassidy soulmates fanfic soulmate soulmate au Mercy! cassidy fluff tw // injury tw shooting tw death

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thebrighteye

2 years ago

UPDATED!

Okay, I finally got Cole’s name updated in all of my fics here on Tumblr [... at least I’m pretty sure I did]. I still need to update AO3 and FF.net [slow going, but it’s gonna get done].

I have absolutely no idea what the new tag for mercy x cassidy is, so that’s the tag I’m using for them right now. If anyone knows the new tag, I am all ears!

Tags :

angela ziegler cole cassidy Mercy! cassidy mercy x cassidy what is the tag??? update

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vestathenervous

1 year ago

Cassidy

Tags :

cassidy fnaf fnaf spoilers fnaf movie fnaf theory golden freddy fredbear fnaf headcanons tw creepy face if he's not cassidy then oops fnaf kids

135 notes View Post

somedeadbeatloz3r69

4 months ago

mfs be like "it's okay, don't cry" then put on the ending of lis2 ep3

Tags :

silly autism life is strange lis2 sean finn mcnamara Finn Cassidy lis2 lis2 daniel

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girlfailurefelix

3 months ago

Happy FNaF 10th Anniversary 🎉🎉

Drawing without movement and small personal speech below ↓

Since I was little I always had hyperfixations on a lot of video games, but none of them marked me as much as Fnaf did. I've been in the fandom since Fnaf 2 came out and throughout this time I've created many beautiful memories thanks to this franchise (you can tell I cried watching the movie lol).

I literally can't imagine a childhood without Fnaf.

Thank you Scott.

Tags :

gregory vanessa afton glamrock freddy glamrock chica roxanne wolf montgomery gator Bonnie Freddy fazbear Chica Foxy Cassidy william afton video games videos five nights at freddy's

635 notes View Post

basicbicthkey

3 years ago

Before and After [as children, then older]

I tried, I can now say I officially suck at drawing chibis

Tags :

fnaf fnaf sl cassidy elizabeth afton charlie emily susie

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1cehunter

1 month ago

Might have been done before but silly tag game. Who is prev's blorbo?

Tags :

cassidy

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reylistic-enigma

1 year ago

Blood warning for the drawing below

I drew my friends Oc Cassidy based on a *certain moment* that happened and It took me around 8hrs 24mins to complete the whole thing. Not my proudest moment

Tags :

art ocs friend's oc horns mmm lighting there is blood in the drawing silly lighting cassidy ReylisticArt

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gjubbaworks

4 months ago

Immovable Tomb

Tags :

crying child cassidy golden freddy fredbear fnaf five nights at freddy's art

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jjazzycatss

4 months ago

normalize asking 'who gave it to you?' after complimenting someone's name

Tags :

guess who literally just steals names from characters or finds cool names i have like 1000000000 names imagine if i listed them all Azariel cassidy Theodore michael jackson hee hee jack ashton charlie star erm i forgor them all but you get the gist edit is it gyst? gist? im rereading this and im confused now

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astarsposts

2 years ago

Es interesante ver cómo cambia la vida de Cass y su autoestima a medida que superamos las emociones que conforman sus sueños 🌸

Es Interesante Ver Cmo Cambia La Vida De Cass Y Su Autoestima A Medida Que Superamos Las Emociones Que

Tags :

DreamScaper cassidy games astar

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castielhellerlove

4 months ago

this is the only vampire I love

Well, Ive Known A Few Tulips In My Time. And A Handful Of Daisys, And A Single Rose.

Well, I’ve known a few Tulips in my time. And a handful of Daisys, and a single Rose.

Tags :

cassidy preacher

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mondains-pigeons

8 years ago

Cassidy <3 I love Preacher! Watch it !

Tags :

preacher Cassidy fanart vampire Joseph Gilgun

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imky4

1 month ago

CHANCES AU...

Yes.

The proyect has already started :)

COMING SOON..

Tags :

fnaf au FnaF CHANCES AU FnaF CHANCES CHANCES AU fnaf michael afton michael afton fnaf elizabeth afton cassidy fnaf cassidy five nights at freddy's aftons afton family

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imky4

1 month ago

FNAF AU :

CHANCES

SEASON I : "The chasing..."

By : KY4

(NOTE : The title and season number will change upon completing each of them.)

PLOT

Our out-of-date Aftons reunite again for a new beginning! Although it won't be a piece of cake. This cluster must put up with each other to reach an agreement, even if they think they won't.

They will have to go through a long chase and they will have to hide, fight and pretend to get what they long for...

We also have an official playlist of it! Probably it'll have updates!

Don't forget to subscribe my Channel!

SEE YA! ;)

Tags :

fnaf fnaf au FnaF CHANCES AU FnaF CHANCES CHANCES AU chances five nights at freddy's michael afton fnaf michael afton elizabeth afton cc afton crying child william afton fnaf cassidy cassidy henry emily aftons afton family art draw digiral art photography fanfic

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