Tw Hallucinations - Tumblr Posts

Ch. 3 Week 1 end

Scythe’s view

Me and brother were by the dumpsters ever since the Gator and Lunar betrayed us. We had a cabin, but the little humans burned it down.

Brother had just come back from a hunt, “It’s not a lot..”

I look down at the raccoon he had gotten… when had we become so weak?

Eclipse’s view

When that idiot drunk that liquid, I was out of there. I ended up in an animatronic… one I hadn’t seen before. Looking around it looked like I was in Fazbears basement… great. I looked around for a mirror, finding a cracked one, I wa- wobble over to it.

Looking at what I can see, it looked like an Eclipse model, but with cracked rays, the paint was chipping away. The fucking eyes were gone! Instead it just looked like a black abyss with a white dot, the camera probably.

I’d have to get out of this blasted place before anyone finds me.

Sun’s view

It was becoming the end of the week, Moony wasn’t worried about the changes in me as much as I was, well mostly because they so far have been harmless, but still!

My head had been silent of Eclipse, which I was glad since I had these new voices in my head.

“We’re going to have a meeting with Ruin Eclipse.” Moon suddenly announces.

“Wait what? Why? How come I haven’t heard of this?” I ask looking up from the table where I had been drawing.

“Well because we need to talk to the lunatic about some stuff. You don’t need to worry about it.”

I was pissed! He didn’t tell me anything! I wanted to yell at him.. but suddenly the frustration faded away, replaced with happiness.

“Ok, when are we leaving?” I ask, curious when we should leave.

“Right now! Let’s go!” He grabs me by the arm as we leave.

We end up at a part of the woods.

I look at Moony as we stop, “This is the place.”

He continues to walk till I heard a little beep. What was shrubbery and trees was now an opening to a bunker! I look in awe as we walk in. I was slightly offended Moony didn’t tell me if this, but he’s showing me now so-

‘How long would it have taken for him to show this to me if Ruin wasn’t around? What has he been hidden from me? Can I even trust him anymore?’

These thoughts enter my mind, but I ignore them as we continue to walk, when we get to this room, we walk in.

“Eclipse! Come out!” Moony yells.

“Never call me that-!” We hear a glitchy yell as he walks in from whatever they were doing behind the door they came from.

“Let’s get started-“ Moony continues to talk, but I can’t hear him, my mind became static, the voices being louder.. and louder… and louder!

Everything blacked out.

“Un… Sun… SUN!” I get up slowly, realizing Moony was shaking me like a rag doll.

I look over to Ruin and he was on the floor, still looking broken… but something was wrong, I looked closer and there, right in his left cheek, was a claw mark.

“I am so sorry about this, we will continue this later.” Even if he didn’t say it, I knew he was implying “without Sun.”

He pulls me out of the bunker as he locks the rooms door so Ruin couldn’t escape.

When we were out of the bunker, Moony slapped me, then glares at me with eyes redder than normal as he yells as me, “YOU IDIOT! WHAT WHERE YOU THINKING-?!”

Moon continues to yell and lecture me, as I blanked out on him, head filling up with static as the voices came back again. My rays shrink as I saw the man again… though it wasn’t a man… it was a shadowy figure, with a creepy smile, more appeared out of the shadows as they creep towards me.

I could barely hear anything, but I slightly caught Moon saying, “ARE YOU EVEN PAYING ATTENTION?! You really are a useless brother.”

Back|Next

At night he calls me the Willful Child

TW// Phycological horror/manipulation, psychosis, inpatient Long Journal Entry

In order to move on, I need to grieve the lost years of my life and find a way to win the years to come. I think there is still time for me to undo the damage that has been done. I may not like doctors and nurses for what they did to me, but I have to put it aside and submit to the system again. It has gotten out of hand with this thing… I’m writing this to hopefully heal from the past and put these experiences behind me, even with him.

To put this into perspective, I want to briefly mention the bouts of psychosis I have dealt with in the past. This way it’s clear that the thing I talk about later is a result of my mind deteriorating and nothing more.

It began with auditory hallucinations. Nothing big. I would be working and suddenly ‘someone’ would ‘scream’ in my ear. It was always one or two words, but so loud that I’d jump and look for the source. I don’t remember most of the words but they were always derogatory. Sometimes it would yell my name right into my ear like I was in trouble. A few times it was a very loud ‘Bang!’

This gradually evolved into things like hearing TV static in the other room, people talking just out of sight, firecrackers off in the distance… but these were all things I could easily disprove to myself by investigating the sound.

It got more serious as I aged. More delusions began to pop up. I ‘knew’ someone was in the corner of the room. I’d turn to check. No one. I’d get back to work, but feel something was there. Turn to check. Nothing. It never felt malicious only that I was being observed, that’s why I didn’t think it was a big deal, before my diagnosis.

There are more but I don’t know about their relevance. I was convinced I was being assaulted in my sleep, that there were demons in me, bugs were under my skin… There were shadow people following me and sometimes I’d talk out loud to try and get them to go away… A lot of my delusions and hallucinations are too traumatic to bring up. I’ll cry if I linger on those memories too much.

The only positive thing I did have growing up, and still now, is an overactive imagination. As a child, I delved into maladaptive daydreaming. Without getting into the trauma that occurred, I was completely isolated and left unattended most days. The imaginary worlds I created were all I had and so I welcomed anything my mind would provide to me as entertainment. While ‘daydreaming’ and dissociating separated my reality from the abuse, it also exacerbated my delusions and hallucinations.

Once I was made aware that these things were not ‘normal’ for everyone, and that the disorder I had was progressive, my life’s mission was to do everything I could to keep my mind and body healthy. Reduce the symptoms by changing my lifestyle alongside the taking the medication.

I know it sounds ridiculous. ‘How could you think everyone deals with that?!’ But when someone says ‘I’m depressed’ most people respond with ‘Oh yeah, I feel that.’ I’d tell someone I hear voices that say awful things and the response would be ‘Ah, yeah, intrusive thoughts. I get those too.’ In hindsight all of it seems obvious, but when the world is constantly reassuring you that you’re ‘normal’, you begin to think the ‘shadow people’ in the basement is just the normal fear of the dark most people have… up until your mind snaps and suddenly it’s ‘How could you not seek help?! You’re so stupid! How did you not know?!’

That began my horrid journey through the healthcare system.

I’ve been on many different medications to try and quell my symptoms and those medications have caused physical side effects that I am still living with. I gave so much trust to doctors, doing my best to be understanding and patient. Doctors and nurses are people too. However, I’ve only ever met dismissive medical staff in all my years.

Before inpatient, I always got the following: It’s just stress and anxiety. Take a self-care day. Get more Vitamin D. Are you sure you aren’t thinking about it too much? Get more sleep. Drink less caffeine. I. Do. It. All.

I lost the weight they told me would ‘help’. I ate the food they told me would ‘help’. I do the exercise they told me would ‘help’. So, how much extra work do I have to do, in order to get my life to the ‘normal baseline’ that everyone else is at?

Once I grabbed the recommended vitamins out of my bag and shook it in a neurologist’s face, after he told me that I was probably hormonal, on my period, and needed more vitamins – he didn’t even look at my chart. I went in because I was rapidly losing weight for no reason and my hair was falling out.

“How many of these do I need to take and for how long?!” I shoved the bottle at him. “It’s been years! How many more hoops do I need to jump through, before you people finally do something besides tell me that you don’t know what it could be and send me home with nothing?!”

I paid for the appointment and went home empty-handed with a migraine, feeling nauseous and exhausted as my hair fell out in clumps. Doctors don’t care.

I went into the hospital once, telling them I was suicidal and slipping into delusions. My knick-knacks were ‘talking to me’. But because I didn’t think they were influencing me or moving things in my home, I didn’t get sent to inpatient. They locked me away in a glass room with an officer outside it. They did nothing but come back in occasionally and ask if I changed my mind. When I said I wasn’t suicidal anymore, they let me go, alone, to drive home, and be alone at home. I was still delusional, they didn’t give me anything no matter how much I asked because it was ‘drug seeking behavior, and that night I had the worst psychotic episode of my life.

That’s a full-blown story for another day. I do sometimes wonder if he had anything to do with it...

All this to say, my faith in the medical field has slipped and I no longer want to communicate my issues to them beyond what I have already. That trust has been drained like my bank account. They got to take their frustrations out on me while I paid them to do it. They said things to my face that I’d never say to another human being, let alone to someone scared of themselves and everything around them.

-

There actually was a 2 month period of relief; I finally had found a medication cocktail that worked for me. The ‘thing’ by the door was gone and the mirrors were safe to walk past was beautiful!

I was living for first time in my life! I had spent thousands hopping from psychiatrist to psychiatrist, therapist to therapist, doctor to doctor. I got bloodwork done here, evaluations done there. Try this anti-psychotic, try that one. I was so miserable for so long, a guinea pig for them to mix medications together without thinking about how they’d interact in my system.

It nearly destroyed my physical health… This was why my hair was falling out, my teeth were wearing down from gastrointestinal issues, the vertigo was intense, my vision had failed for a few weeks on one prescription, another had given me such bad insomnia I was up for five days and my doctor still refused to take me off it…

But it finally felt like I was seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. I cried over the years that were wasted. For the first time in my life, I had the sanity to realize just how bad it had gotten.

It didn’t matter anymore, I could work on my physical health; the peace I had in my mind was worth the suffering.

...Then it started again.

Years ago, the intense stare of the ‘thing’ by the door returned. Hearing people that weren’t there when I would lay down in bed, seeing shadow people who wanted to do disgusting things to my body...

The cycle was going to have to start all over again. After knowing what life truly could be, the thought of regressing back into my old mindset was beyond devastating and overwhelming.

In a fit of mania, my wrist was slashed so deep I almost cut the nerves in my arm. There was blood splatter all around the room and it kept squirting out in bursts from my arm as my heart beat. The blood loss made me dizzy and nauseous, my vision blurred until all I saw were lights and shadows. My eyes closed and I was ready for everything to be over.

After all these years, all the fear and suffering, this was what my brain truly wanted and I was going to give it that. I know he was there and saw me do it. I could feel him. The thing by the doorway… It was a delusion, but I indulged in the idea that he could be real as I succumbed to the bloodloss. I liked to believe that he took pity on me.

There were sirens off in the distance.

I lived alone and hadn’t called for help.

-

Waking up in the ER, I was voluntold to go to inpatient for an indefinite amount of time.

They took pictures of my body to document any injuries or identifying marks and gave me an assessment. With hair that had thinned tremendously, eyes with dark purple bags, a stomach a bit distended from IBS, and fingers turned white from the cold of the ER, I was filthy from not taking care of myself. I must have smelled and looked pathetic.

I had failed. Years of trying to be good and doing all the right things, I followed all the rules and put up with anything that was thrown my way and failed anyway.

I was in the psychiatric ward.

-

When I said I didn’t like the medical system earlier… I was discussing dismissive doctors which was nothing compared to the inpatient staff. Those people not only made me feel like a burden to the system, but that I was disgusting and rotten. The staff would scoff, roll their eyes, or make fun of my memory issues. A few times the night shift staff would role play as us behind the front counter, poking fun of our symptoms or saying they’d ‘rather be dead’.

They would drug me to the point of passing out and seeing stars and then get aggravated when I couldn’t get up for their check-ins. Edward, a friend I had made, got the same treatment. I could go on all day about that guy, he and Rosaline were my two buddies. They both are schizoaffective too for similar reasons and it was a relief to casually talk about our lives together without the judgment. Maybe I’ll write about those guys later, but things got weird with them towards the end and I feel a little bad about it.

Anyway, the ER had told my inpatient nurse to put a bandage over my cut when she cleaned and dressed it, in the morning and at night. ‘Why do you need this to be dressed like this?’ She always complained. If she had read my file, she’d know why because I’m lucky I still have control over my left hand.

I was ‘uncooperative’ because I yanked my hand back when she tried putting the bandage down, but she was going to put the sticky part on my cut. I was scolded and she put the sticky edges over the cut out of spite. It pulled on the stitches and the goo from the bandage got into the crevasse of the cut.

That night, sobbing in my bed, the paper thin hospital clothes did nothing to keep me from freezing. My entire forearm was itchy and red; I realized she had never cleaned the wound with saline. It would turn bright white when poked, there was a burning sensation as it turned red again. I had tried to get help earlier but was told ‘come back when you can’t move your wrist’. Not wanting to be written up again, I was trying to stick it out until morning. My other arm was covered in goosebumps and I trembled with no way to warm myself. The blanket was useless, as thin as my ‘clothes’, but I still pulled it over my lower half.

I felt something by the door but expected to see nothing as usual. That was the first time I saw him. Eyes swollen and filled with tears, my vision was blurry, but I could still make out a figure, hunched over and peering into my room. I frantically wiped my face with my hands, hoping it was just a trick of the light.

Off-white skin glistened in the fluorescent overhead lighting from the hallway. Tinged pink in some places, yellow or green in others, deep purples resembling bruises were scattered over his body. It was as if someone had poorly sculpted a human figure from pure-white clay with messy hands, colors bleeding into the white as he was molded. There were even little dents, impressions on his skin, that resembled hundreds of little fingerprints. His limbs were curved or bent in a slightly unusual way, but not enough that it looked wrong. The off-white color of his lanky arms bled into a muddy red on his spider-like hands. His splotchy white legs were similar, leading to large, red feet.

The facial features were rudimentary, as if someone had taken a sculpting tool and sliced off what made him look human, leaving a flat surface. Large, black, marble-like eyes protruded from his face, thick pinkish-purple eyelids framed them. His large, red ears made me paranoid, like he could listen in on my thoughts as I analyzed him.

He had a shadow.

If he didn’t, I could confirm it was my brain playing tricks on me, but his shadow grounded him in reality.

Frozen in place, I didn’t scream, telling myself over and over that I’d finally fallen off the edge. My mind had unraveled. I was shivering uncontrollably, doing my best to try and stay still but it only made me more tense. My hands and feet were like ice.

I didn’t know the best course of action and I was in awe at what my mind had created – because I knew, I knew this wasn’t real.

I was not going to close my eyes. Even blinking was scaring me, but I didn’t want to keep my eyes open so long they’d dry out and I’d have to close them for longer… better for short and quick blinks, right?

A quick blink. He was still, but tilted his head curiously.

A quick blink. He seemed to be relaxing into his crouched position by the door.

I started to relax, a little empowered that I was sticking it out and not becoming the problematic screaming patient like my poor friend Edward had a few nights ago. They’d sedated him so badly he didn’t wake up for an entire day. I didn’t want that to be me. I felt strong.

A quick blink, and he still didn’t make any sudden movements. I smiled to myself and decided the best course of action was to ignore him and go to bed. Before settling in, I tried to fluff the flat, stiff pillow. Collapsing with a sigh, I vowed to not open my eyes again and delve into my imagination instead. I wanted to ‘watch’ something calm and comforting that night. Slowing my breathing, I heard a very light sound of sticky footsteps making their way to me and then there was a warmth.

The mattress dipped slightly, as if someone was leaning against the edge of the bed near my face. I was doing a good job of ignoring him, valiantly escaping into my own Wonderland, until it felt like something was prying its way into my skull.

Play the one about ‘The Willful Child’.

Unable to resist any longer, I opened my eyes to see his face inches from my own.

“Ffff-!” I instantly sat up and he pushed himself up slightly to continue to stay eye-level. There was a hollow pressure in my chest. Tears welled up in my eyes again.

The day had worn me down. My arm was screaming for attention. I tried to move my wrist and it was swollen in place.

This wasn’t fair!

“Please... I’m so tired,” was all I could muster with a sigh. I was unable to look him in the eyes, those black marbles. I opted to stare in the middle of his face where I finally noticed two little slits in the bruise-like pink splot there, like the remains of nose. He really did look like he was handmade. Smooth, dirty, white clay.

“I’ve never had a strong visual hallucination like this before.” It felt like I had to say something. He leaned in slightly, as if trying to hear the words I was thinking rather than speaking.

There were so many things I could say, my mind was racing with thoughts but I couldn’t grab a single one. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know more about where it came from or what it was… but I was scared of being hurt.

“Are you mad at me?”

Giving me a closed smile, he leaned back slightly. I nervously smiled back, ready to accept insanity until the morning. As I tried to even out my breathing, I blinked a few times and tears fell down my cheeks. The thing reached up to poke at them harshly, his nail pressed into my cheek, making me scrunch my face up. They were as clammy as they looked and his fingernails were pointed like little claws with dirt in the crevices.

It was annoying until I realized that he was tactile. Feeling his fingers prodding my face, I broke out in a cold sweat, shaking like a leaf.

What level of crazy is it when you can start feeling things? I thought.

The room was starting to get blurry because the medication was starting to kick in, nausea hitting me.

He looked at his wet fingers, rubbing them together in thought, then he reached up again. That was my breaking point.

I tried to scramble backwards on the bed and make space between us, convinced he was going to poke my eyes in. When I put pressure on my cut arm, heat surged from my arm to my brain like an electric shock, causing black and white spots to dot my vision. It was swollen, pulsing, and itchy, looking more like a stage prop than my forearm. I hissed and nearly fell backwards, off the other side of the bed.

Either he moved too fast for me to get away or I was officially succumbing to the medication cocktail, a misshapen hand latched onto my bad arm and yanked me back towards him. I yelped, slapping my other hand over my mouth.

He inspected it. Putting his thumb on the bandage and pressing down hard, he cocked his head curiously and listened to me cry out in pain.

“Stop it. Stop. Please,” I tried to reason with him. “I’m so tired. I - I made a mistake coming here and thinking I’d get better. I need sleep.” I swallowed the snot that was running down the back of my throat. “Let me get better. Please.”

His head swung up to stare straight into my eyes and lips parted to reveal its dull yet pointy teeth. Any confidence I had of it being a hallucination was long gone. I fully believed he was in front of me.

A clammy hand snapped up to grab my face, it was big enough to wrap around my head. He shoved me back down onto my bed, my legs failed and I tried to grab at his arm to free myself. It didn’t do much, he was too strong. My head was forced to rest against the flat pillow and I pulled my arms to my chest as a last ditch effort to protect myself from nothing.

Through the gaps in his fingers, I scanned the room searching for a clock, words on a poster, pamphlet, anything. I knew in dreams those things could be wonky. My vision was already bad, head aching, eyes stinging, and a dizzy spell was coming over me, so my efforts were futile. Removing his hand, he leaned over to fill my field of vision.

Shaking, I swallowed and stared back. He smiled warmly, taking enjoyment in my inebriated state, but sympathizing with it in a strange way. Unable to handle his vacant stare, I tried to make out what his skin could be made of.

His middle and index fingers were placed above my eyes and then he pushed my lids down. Eyes closed, I accepted whatever was going to happen but nothing did. His presence remained, the warmth he radiated eased the chill of the room more than the paper thin blanket ever could.

I didn’t want to picture him. So, I delved deep back into my own little world to keep my mind occupied until I fell asleep. He let out a pleased hum, as if that was what he wanted.

-

The next day, I bounced out of bed. It was the best sleep I had gotten in years. Years. In inpatient, I had the worst hallucination of my life but also got the best sleep I’ve ever had? Leaving the room and going into the common area for my medication, I found my nurse. She was the same nurse from the day prior and I readied myself for her to roughly grab my arm and tear the bandage off of the stitches she pressed it into.

I found her with her cart, engrossed in drawing on her clipboard. There was a chair positioned next to her, which was odd because everything had always been done standing up somewhere random in the ward. This was a comfortable corner by the window, undisturbed by the other patients and nurses, and the morning light was shining through to warm the area. The cart that carried her medical supplies and patients’ medication was stationed next to her.

I could still be dreaming… and could cry because this is is so… nice... I stepped into the warm and sighed in relief, rubbing my shoulders to rid myself of the excess cold.

“I, um, like your nail color today,” I tried to be as polite as possible. “It’s pretty.”

“Thank you, I wanted to try something new for a change,” she raised her hand, as if she just noticed her freshly manicured nails herself. A lovely gradient of purples and reds. “Sit down.”

I obediently sat down next to her, taking a peek at her clipboard. They weren’t notes, just seemingly random doodles.

Typical. I thought.

She chuckled and set the clipboard down.

My arm was gingerly taken by my wrist and turned over to view the cut. My jaw dropped. The redness and swelling was gone, the relief I had gotten from a good night’s sleep made me forget how much pain I had been in. The bandage was also fixed, placed down diagonal so none of the edges touched the cut.

Eyes wide, my breath caught in my throat; it had been a dream. When the realization seeped in, I exhaled loudly and any tension in my body dissipated. Just a dream.

She gently peeled the bandaid off, discarding it in a small garbage bin kept on the lower level of her cart.

“Thank you,” I smiled slightly.

“Your welcome.” The nursed tilted her head up at me. Her eyes were completely black, bulging slightly, with purple bruising around them.

My jaw was stuck parted, drying my mouth and throat out. I knew it wasn’t possible. She was being gentle and kind, the black eyes, the good night’s sleep… maybe I had died?!

“No, silly,” she chuckled, bringing out a syringe filled with saline and applied the liquid to my cut. “I couldn’t let that happen.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. ...Did I almost die?

She tutted. “Strong will. Such a small little person, trying again and again. Willful little child. They’re not kind to you, are they?”

My heart was beating erratically causing my breathing to falter. “I’m well past being a child.”

“Aw, sweetie, don’t be like that.”

“What does it matter how staff treats me? ...Can you call Dr. Kasley? I’m seeing things again... and it’s... worse.”

She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Do you think she’d care?”

There was nothing I could say because my ‘nurse’ was right. My doctor was the same one who over medicated me to the point of drooling in bed like a lobotomized patient last week, and they refused to ease up the dosage. A patient had tried to take advantage of me in my inebriated state and I was only saved by Rosaline, who came to get me for dinner.

I didn’t want to be a vegetable in bed again for the whole day.

“I can help with that for a price.”

“I need something though,” I genuinely needed some sort of medication – I wasn’t stupid enough to forego what brought me sanity at one point in my life. As much as I hated the doctors, I still held out hope they cared somehow.

“Why,” she spat. Holding the bandage over my cut, she turned it so it’d stick to my stitches.

“The-.” I licked my chapped lips, and then whispered, “the voices… I see and hear things.”

She cocked her head. “Only for the fake ones?”

“...The fake ones?” I wanted to run, something primal in me was screaming.

With a huff and an eye roll, she turned the bandage back so it’d avoid my stitches. “I can be patient.” She leaned back and pulled out a tiny clear up with my pills in it. Before she handed them to me, she plucked out my anti-psychotic and broke it in half. I couldn’t stop myself from reaching out to stop her, but her dead spherical eyes made me recoil. The mood stabilizer was also broken in half.

She offered me my reduced prescription. “This is what you get.”

Licking my lips, I decided to press my luck. “The anxiety one, the green one, it makes me feel nauseous. They give it to me just to put me to sleep and it doesn’t help. Do I have to take it?”

The ‘nurse’ beamed and plucked the green pill from the clear container and popped it in her own mouth. Gasping, a raised a hand to stop her but the damage was done.

“I didn’t like the one you played last night,” she casually said, packing up her things on the cart.

“The… the what?”

“You didn’t play your usual story. I was disappointed.”

-

I spent the day trying to draw him, as best as I could. I wanted to capture how terrified I was at the time, but the longer I spent on it the more calming and comforting the image got. Nostalgic.

Edward had come over to see what I was doing, but took one of my drawings and tore it up. It was so out-of-character for him I stood up and backed away, gathering my other drawings and retreating into my room.

That night I felt silly, sitting cross-legged in bed and facing the door. My nurse had returned to her old self and given me my anxiety medication so I was dozing off. Eventually it became too difficult to stay awake and I situated myself for sleep.

The bed grew warm and comfortable, it was so wonderful I wanted to cry in relief to be free from the cold again. ‘The Willful Child’. I like that one.

Afraid of the consequences, yet eager to please the one ray of light I had, I began to visualize the story in my head. It’s one I always liked to make my own little visuals for…A Grimm’s Fairytale that I relate to heavily.

And… and...I actually don’t think this helped at all. I’m ashamed that, after revisiting this again, I only feel sentimental and more confident I my decision. Even if he’s not real, he’s the nicest thing that’s happened to me in years, the nicest delusion or hallucination I’ve ever had… I know he’s not real though, so there’s still sanity left in me. As long as I know he’s not, he can stay.

Juicy jury FREEDOM

Final part 1 (here), part two tomorrow

Previously

Characters belong to:

@percy-eats-souls @smol-bean-boi13 @trashyandtiredsol @angelpuns @saturn-anon-with-a-tiara @friskebits

Also the designs are all altered as they are not the canon character design, they aren't true simply...oh to see the mind of a child

Okay you know what? Schizophrenia is way too demonized and, as someone who has had it for ten freaking years, I want to dispel some myths about hallucinations.

Aka talking about hallucinations using my own personal examples because I had an actual fucking THERAPIST tell me I was the ONLY person in the world who experienced hallucinations that were not solely visual or auditory. Warning for…hallucinations obviously.

Visual hallucinations - These are hallucinations you see. I usually experience these by way of inanimate objects moving (like dolls or mannequins moving on their own, before you ask yes I do hate clothing stores). Sometimes these can be scary and sometimes they’re mundane! I’ve hallucinated monsters and I’ve hallucinated pretty birds. Hallucinations don’t always have to be scary.

Auditory hallucinations - These are hallucinations you hear. I commonly hear crying, talking, music, and video game noises. If I play a video game for too long and it has a repetitive sound in it, I WILL be hearing that sound for minimum three hours. You think the sound that plays in LoZ when you’re low on hearts is annoying? Try having to listen to it on loop when you’re not even playing the game. Like with visual hallucinations, they’re not always scary! Contrary to popular belief, they can be totally mundane. Hearing voices is not always scary either. Sometimes they just say random stuff, sometimes they give me little pep talks, most of the time they just all talk over each other at once and I’m like GUYS ONE AT A TIME PLEASE jeezy cheez-it’s.

Tactile hallucinations - These are hallucinations you feel. I hear common tactile hallucinations are feelings of bugs on you and fur but I don’t usually have these, I mostly have tactile hallucinations of being choked which is…not fun.

Olfactory hallucinations - These are hallucinations you smell. Yeah I thought of farts first too. So far I haven’t heard of that being a common hallucination though. I hear a common olfactory hallucination is burning? But I just smell wet metal. I…don’t know why.

Gustatory hallucinations - These are hallucinations you taste. I don’t know how to pronounce gustatory either. I often taste blood or metal. I hear those are pretty common gustatory hallucinations.

None of these hallucinations are inherently scary! As a child, I thought hallucinations were a super power. After living with them for over ten years, they just don’t phase me that much. Remember: you don’t have to be schizophrenic to experience hallucinations! There are many things that cause hallucinations including and not limited to trauma, PTSD, psychotic depression, etc. (sometimes even stress!)

But please please please be kind to people who hallucinate. I’ve lived with it for over ten years and (rarely) it can still be terrifying to me sometimes. People say “But there’s nothing there and you know that-“ yes I know that! But it’s still very very real to me and very terrifying! Minimizing what people experience with their hallucinations is not helpful and will only make them feel worse.

Thank you for reading!

On the one hand peripheral hallucinations kinda suck but on the other hand they're great because now my life is very exciting and terrible and I am frightened yippee

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.

AO3 | FF.net | Works | Pandora Playlist

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]

Act One | Act Two | Act Three | Act Four | Act Five | Act Six

Breaking [My Heart]: Act IV Shattering

"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 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 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]

Act One | Act Two | Act Three | Act Four | Act Five | Act Six

Breaking [My Heart]: Act V Preserving

"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!

I have nothing left to give, I have found the perfect end. - Dear Agony [Breaking Benjamin]

A pair of boots stomped towards her. After a moment, she was dumped unceremoniously on the ground; she whimpered as her knee struck the concrete and she sprawled out. Angela looked up quickly, though, for the food and water they always placed out for her. She didn’t want them to force it upon her because she was too slow. Instead of sustenance, she was yanked up onto her knees by the man. She struggled weakly, trying to take the pressure off her broken knee, but it was a wasted effort. The constant grinding noise turned off – perhaps for their sanity because it certainly wasn’t for hers. Panting, she wondered what new hell they had in store for her. The man restraining her yanked her head back from its bowed position as two other men came into the room. There were always three when they interrogated her. The distinctive sound of a pistol slide racking filled the silent room. Finally. They were finally going to put her out of her misery. Relief filled her, chasing away the pain from her knee and the lasting agony that her body was always in. She had won. They had decided to cut their losses and get rid of her. The gunman moved forward and slammed the barrel of the pistol against her head hard. If it weren’t for the restrainer gripping her hair tightly, her head would have been shoved aside. With the brace, she imagined there would be a nasty bruise. But what did bruises matter when she would be dead soon? “This is your last chance.” The third man spoke – of the trio, he was the only one who ever spoke to her. “Answer the questions, or you will die.” He thought it was a threat, but, in reality, it was the sweetest promise she had ever heard. An escape from this? He couldn’t have better guaranteed her continued silence. “Who will answer the recall?” It always started there – with the questions he understood. While he had gotten better at asking the more technical questions, she knew he still had absolutely no idea what he was saying. “Lena Oxton?” Silence. “Victor Daigneau?” Angela focused her gaze on the pistol, on the promise. “Torbjörn Lindholm?” The names brought a flicker of something – guilt? Shame? Grief? – she wasn’t sure. If she died here, what would happen to the ones she left behind? What would happen when they found her broken body wherever Talon dumped her – if Talon dumped her? But they hadn’t found her, hadn’t saved her from this room. All she wanted was out. The pistol was removed, and she nearly cried for the loss of that gift. Then it was slamming back into her, startling a cry out of her. Blood filled her mouth as her teeth tore into her lip. “Where will they go, now that they have cleared out Watchpoint: Gibraltar?” She kept silent. Angela hadn’t even known they had left that Watchpoint until he told her just now. How would she know where they went? She had loved it when she visited that Watchpoint. Oh, her purpose was nearly always for something horrible – usually an emergency surgery or a response to a strike injury – but those brief periods before she left? It was beautiful there; it was unfortunate that Overwatch – this new, rough version of it – had given it up. Angela wished she had gone out to visit Winston more, regretted that she hadn’t seen it in years. She’d always thought there was more time. More time to create and heal, to fix the broken of the world. More time to see her friends; there was always next year, after all – until next year didn’t come. Angela really should have known better. “Perhaps, Dr. Ziegler, you do not believe we will kill you.” Oh, no – quite the opposite. She was praying for it. Even with the misgivings that were rising, tickling at the back of her mind, she wanted it. Death was the only escape left for her. The gun was pulled away again as the gunman pointed it towards the far wall. The gunshot was far too loud for the space, leaving her ears ringing and her eyes watering. She had dealt with death all her life. First, her parents had died in the Omnic Crisis. Next, she had chosen her path as a doctor – before, during, and after Overwatch. Then again, when she had served in the field as a combat medic. Finally, when she had been locked into this room. She had faced her mortality often with Overwatch, and less so since the fall. Angela had been forced to realize it again upon her capture: now, death was a certainty instead of a distant possibility. She wasn’t afraid to die; she had come to terms with that days – weeks? Time was a blur here – ago. Death was easy – but living? Living was hard, especially here. Faintly, she heard the slide being racked again before the warm barrel was pressed against her temple again. Angela heard the speaker demand something, but she couldn’t understand the words over the ringing of the gunshot and the rushing of her blood. The barrel dug into her temple harder; the question repeated as she tried to focus. “Last chance, doctor.” The speaker growled. “Explain how your nanites give you the ability to replicate the DNA and RNA in others.” It had been her crowning achievement: unlike Jack and Gabriel, whose bodies had been modified to regenerate from most wounds slowly, her nanites also allowed her to heal the bodies of others if she chose. Apparently, it was also part of how Gabriel was still alive. Angela gritted her teeth. She would stay silent; it was all she had left. Her chin lifted defiantly. She didn’t know if it was resolution or defeat that fueled her as she stared defiantly up at the speaker. All she knew was that this was the last stand for Mercy, her final act. The speaker nodded at the gunman. The barrel pressed into her temple painfully, and then the trigger was pulled. Click. Angela sucked in a shaky breath as her heart skipped a beat before pounding painfully, head dropping limply as her restrainer released her head. She should be dead. They were going to kill her – there was a bullet in there; they proved it – she had made her peace – they put a gun to her head – she was supposed to be dead. Hard, cruel hands grabbed her face, fingers pressing too hard on her cheeks and forcing her head back until it was painful. “Did you honestly think we would let you go so easily?” The taunting whisper wrapped around her heart and squeezed until she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. She was supposed to be free. Free of the pain and anguish that had been her life since she had been taken from Cairo. It was supposed to be an escape, a relief – and now it was more agonizing than her shattered knee. They were supposed to kill her. She had been ready, more than ready – she had given up entirely, was prepared to abandon her cause and all those she protected. And they let her live. How was she supposed to continue living after that? How could she live with herself? Angela was breathing too fast, her eyes unseeing as she stared up at nothing. She barely felt it when both men released her, allowing her to slump sideways to the floor into the ever-present puddle. For once, they didn’t douse her with water before they left – not that she was in any state to have noticed one way or the other.

---

She had no idea how long she had laid there. They hadn’t brought her food, nor had they thrown water on her. Angela had just sprawled there, body aching from the awkward, twisted position she had fallen in – but she couldn’t seem to muster the energy to move. To do anything more than breathe. Angela wished her one of her friends would come to her, would tell her she would be alright – that she was strong – but none had appeared. Why would they? They had abandoned her as she had abandoned them; she couldn’t blame them for that. Without a thought for the consequences, she had prayed for death. All she wanted was for the pain – all-encompassing and ever-present – to stop. Angela wasn’t strong like this, didn’t want to be strong like this. She wasn’t Jack or Cole or Reinhardt. She wasn’t Ana. She was just Angela. Wait. When had she stopped being Dr. Ziegler – being Mercy? When had she become ‘just’ Angela? Did it matter when Dr. Ziegler was dead, and all that was left behind was the soft, emotional parts that were Angela? ‘Easy’ wasn’t in Dr. Ziegler’s vocabulary. She had never backed down from a fight, never given an inch when she knew she was in the right – no matter how hard, Dr. Ziegler did what she believed was best. Just because it was easy didn’t make it right; that had been one of her favorite quotes. But easy, oh – ‘easy’ was in Angela’s vocabulary. Easy was what Angela was good at. She was all too willing to let her emotions overwhelm her, to let her feelings blind her. She felt too much, remembered too much, and shook from the weight of it all. If it hadn’t been for the cold, hard parts that were Dr. Ziegler, Angela never could have survived Ana’s death, Jack’s death, Gabr- She couldn’t finish that line of thought, not here and now. It was Angela who was left quivering in this room; Dr. Ziegler was killed when they pulled that trigger. With her had gone her support – because they didn’t support Angela. She was useless, nothing – it should have been Angela that had died instead of Dr. Ziegler. Angela wept, curled there on the ground. Grieved for everything she had lost – her dignity, her strength, her self, but not her life. Sobbed for those she had betrayed and abandoned, for whom she bled in this bright, loud room. Without the strength of Dr. Ziegler and the resolve of Mercy, without the support of her friends, Angela didn’t know how she would survive the next time those men came to her. She didn’t know if she could take their abuse and remain silent, to keep the oath that had been sworn by someone stronger, better.

The mission had been an utter failure. Gabriel didn’t care about how the mission went, though it frustrated him that it had been a waste of his time. Time away from the base, from watching Angela and trying to figure out what – if anything – he would do. Once they landed, he had stalked through the base until he was looking in on Angela, drawn like a moth to a flame. She looked hollow – like a shell of herself. Angela wasn’t being worked on right now, wasn’t even hanging from the chains. She was limp, staring blankly up at the ceiling. She didn’t seem to care that the way she was lying left most of her body on display to the window he was looking through. Before he had left, she had been willing to spend the energy to turn her back; now, she was no longer willing – or able – to make such an effort. What had been done to her that had destroyed that? Gabriel was familiar with torture; he knew there was plenty that would make her look and act like this. He had known it was only a matter of time before they broke her, shattered like a glass thrown to the floor. But after her stubborn refusal to bend, her defiance despite the excruciating pain she was experiencing, he had thought she wouldn’t break. Had thought she could pull off one last miracle. Foolish. The Reaper was a walking testament to the curse that was Angela’s ‘miracles.’ Disgusted, Gabriel spun away and went to his office. He would see what they had done, how she had been broken. He would read the reports and see what her progress was – and what was still yet to come.

---

“Yeah, boss?” He hated the thought of asking anyone for help, but there was no way around it. Sombra was the electronic security in this base; if he wanted to get out, he needed her on his side. He was taking a risk by coming to her, but she had seemed sympathetic towards the doctor the last time they had been in the observation room. “We need to talk.” The woman was practically hanging on her doorknob, hazel eyes peering up at him as she kept her body – and the door – between him and her sanctum. Frustration crossed her face as she stepped out fully, arms crossing. “Is it about the mission? ’Cause, seriously, I’ve only apologized like – a thousand times. I scr-” Gabriel held up a clawed hand, trying to stop her before she started into an unstoppable tirade. “Here.” He offered her a page. Scrawled on it was a request for a secure space to speak – he knew she had to have a place where no one could watch what she got into. He was pretty sure it was behind that door, but he’d been wrong before. Sombra read the paper, taking far too long for the handful of words that had been written there, before looking up at him with one eyebrow raised. He crossed his arms in return, glaring down at her from behind his mask. “Fine.” Sombra sighed, making a big show of rolling her eyes and tossing her arms dramatically. “No es como si tuviera algo mejor que hacer, 1” she muttered irritably as she turned back into her room. Gabriel followed, closing the door behind them. He had never seen this room, but he honestly couldn’t say he was surprised by most of what was in here. Tucked in a corner was an untidy bed with what looked like a handheld computer – or maybe a video game device – left carelessly on top of a pillow and a stuffed animal peeking out from under the blanket. One door, farther in, was left slightly ajar to show a closet filled with clothes of all colors: for a woman built around stealth, she certainly had a vibrant selection. Most of the room, however, was taken up by screens of all sizes. There were news stations from across the world, what looked like the stock market, the security feeds for the base, and screens of various lines of text that Gabriel couldn’t discern in the few seconds he could see them. Sombra hit a few buttons, darkening all of the screens, before turning to lean against her impressively large desk. “So.” Sombra gestured vaguely with one hand. “You wanted to talk.” She fixed him with a look. “Talk.” Gabriel stepped farther into the room, worried about someone overhearing from the hall. “It’s secure?” He growled. He hadn’t seen her do anything, but maybe she always hid what she was doing in this room. There weren’t cameras, of course, but he was almost positive that every room was littered with microphones to catch precisely the kind of thing he was trying to talk about. “Of course it’s secure.” She rolled her eyes before turning to drop into a rolling chair. One leg hooked over the other as she leaned back with her arms crossed once more. “Who do you take me for?” Gabriel sighed. “Fine.” Here it was, his last chance to back out. The opportunity to stop before this foolhardy plan got him – or her – killed. Did he really want to do this? Risk his life for the woman that he had condemned? Who feared him? Who might not even be alive – not in the way it mattered – anymore? Gabriel wanted it; guilt and shame for the promises he had broken and the pain Angela had experienced drove him to save whatever was left of her. He couldn’t make it right – nothing could ever make what he had done right – but he could try to make it better. The Reaper thought it was foolish; they were burning bridges over the woman that had cursed them? She didn’t deserve rescue after everything she had done to them. But, he had come to realize, there was no pleasure in her torture – there was nothing but apathy and a growing stress from the parts that were Gabriel. Gabriel was as important, as intrinsic, to their consciousness as the Reaper was. His cool head tempered the hazy bloodlust; Gabriel was the tactician, and the Reaper was the soldier. They were a team – for better or for worse. To keep Gabriel, Angela had to be saved – so that was what they would do. “I want to get Angela out.” There was no going back now; the words couldn’t be unsaid. Sombra made an incredulous noise. “What happened to ‘she deserves it’?” Sombra lowered her voice on the quote in a mockery of his own. “What happened to the cold-hearted bastard that put her in there, twice?” He crossed the space to thrust another set of papers at her. “This.” Sombra took the papers. She read through them far more quickly than she had his one-line note – she never missed a chance to let a person squirm. Sombra flipped through them, paling slightly once she got to the last page. When she looked back up at him, however, she was completely cool again. “When is this supposed to happen?” She gestured down at the final page. The first pages had been what Angela had been through in the past week, culminating with the threat of her execution yesterday. They’d been in once since then, but she had been so unresponsive that they had spent barely any time with her. However, that final page detailed the tentative timeline of interrogation and the tools and methods to be used in each session. The next few days were littered with what had become her usual – drowning and whipping and burning – assuming that they would find her responsive. There was a note, ended with a question mark, about using a gun again; that, it seemed, was still undecided. If it were anyone else, Gabriel would have told them to use it. He knew that they, too, would come to that conclusion in time – when it came to their trade, they were experts after all. Towards the middle of the following week, they planned to escalate again if she still refused to break. They hadn’t decided which method they would go to next: rape or dismemberment. Either was horrific – would be just as devastating as the mock execution she had experienced. He didn’t think Angela would survive either of them. Gabriel wasn’t sure she had survived the last one. “Wednesday. Thursday, at the latest – as long as they keep to that schedule.” Sometimes plans were moved up – or pushed back. These reports weren’t set in stone by any means; they were more like a guide and a way to cover their asses should an interrogation end badly. Sombra read over the page again, as if a closer look would change the text. Then, she looked up at him once more. “You sure you want to do this?” Gabriel had seen the look on her face before she had hidden it away; Sombra wanted Angela out, too. This woman, who had seen the worst that humanity had to offer to use as blackmail, didn’t want Angela to die, either. “I’m sure.” If he – they – didn’t act now, there would be nothing left of Angela to save. “Alright then.” Sombra nodded after a moment, offering the papers back to him. “Take this,” she held out a comm unit, “and get out. I need to get some things together.” Gabriel hesitated for only a moment before accepting the papers and comm; there was no going back now. He had preparations of his own that needed to be made. At least, with Sombra on his side, he didn’t have to worry as much about being watched.

---

With the little comm unit she had given him – plus some help from her while she was invisible – she had walked Gabriel through the setup of what would ‘disable’ the cameras and hide their escape for as long as possible. Honestly, it would be Sombra that would take care of the security, but – since she wasn’t quite ready to leave Talon – they had to make it look like it was all him. Most of it was familiar – he’d run plenty of covert ops both with Blackwatch and Talon – but having Sombra tell him where everything was made things run more smoothly. He’d gone into the city of Oasis itself to steal supplies. They were mostly medical in nature, since stealing from the infirmary would be nearly impossible, but he had also gathered some food and clothing. They’d need more, but they would at least have something for the immediate days after the escape. Sombra told him she was trying to find them a secure place for Angela to recover until Overwatch could be reached, but she wasn’t sure she could arrange it before he escaped with the doctor. Gabriel had to plan to steal a form of transportation – he couldn’t exactly sneak onto a bus or get a taxi with a bloody woman, after all – and figure out where to lay low. Talon would come after him, after her. Angela was marked for death, had been marked since he had placed her in that cell. Once he took her, he would become a target, too. Gabriel wasn’t sure he could be killed, but he knew Talon would try. With Moira to help them, perhaps they would even be successful. “Here you go, boss.” Sombra had appeared in the door of his office, a stack of papers in her hands. “I know, I know; I should have had this done days ago.” She offered them over. He reached out and found something hard underneath the paper; carefully, he accepted it all, mindful of the security he was trying to avoid. “See ya later.” Sombra had wiggled her fingers at him and strutted out the door, giving no sign that she was up to anything. He palmed the item and tucked it into a pocket without looking at it; if Sombra thought it should be hidden, he’d keep it that way. The second page of her report had been a scrawled explanation. The comm unit would only work while he was in the base – once they were out, she wouldn’t be able to use that to reach him without the frequency being compromised. Instead, Sombra had procured a burner phone. He needed to always keep it on; once she had a safe house, she could call him with further instructions. She also wrote that he owed her, big, for the risks she was taking for him. He had known there would be a price for her help – blackmail and extortion was what she was known for, after all. Gabriel didn’t care. He’d pay whatever price it was that Sombra demanded of him if it would get Angela out of this base. But he knew that his debt wasn’t her real goal: no, that was just a bonus. She wanted Angela out, too. He had seen her face when she’d watched the interrogation and after she had read the reports; she was doing this for Angela. It made no sense. Sombra had never met Angela, had never even seen her until the doctor was bound in chains. Sombra always twisted a situation to benefit herself – it was how she had bounced from Los Muertos to Talon, after all – with minimal, if any, regards to others. Despite those facts, Sombra was willing to risk her position here with Talon to help the doctor escape. Gabriel had a hard time believing that Sombra was doing this purely out of the goodness of her heart. Perhaps she wanted the doctor in her debt – having a world-renowned doctor in her corner was nothing to sneeze at. And, even now, with the shadow of Overwatch dogging her heels and making her life difficult, Angela was still one of the best doctors in the world. When she couldn’t continue her research, when working in a hospital was not enough, she had returned to her calling as a combat medic and emergency responder. Angela had waded into war-torn countries and disaster zones without regard for her own safety, healing anything she could. It hadn’t mattered what side the injured was on; she simply put them back together because that was what she did best. It had been that altruism, mixed with her prodigal skills and sterling reputation, that had kept her safe until now. Yes, a debt from Dr. Angela Ziegler, the woman who could actually defy death, would be no small thing. Even knowing that Sombra was on their side – for whatever reasons – he hesitated to let her dictate where they went. Gabriel wasn’t sure that he had much choice in the matter, though. His nearest safe house was in Turkey, almost a thousand miles away. The Oasis base had been his safe house for this country – one of many things that would change in the coming days. And it wasn’t like he could just book a hotel room or take Angela into a hospital. They had to find a place to lie low, where Talon couldn’t find them, while Gabriel found a way to contact Overwatch. He had a few ideas of where they may have gone, but that would take far more travel than Angela could take. She was too injured – too traumatized, broken – to be dragged across the globe on an international goose chase by the monstrous Reaper. Instead, he’d have to contact them and arrange a meeting to return her to them for safekeeping. Until that time, he’d be forced to keep them on the move – somehow – while he tried to keep her alive. Gabriel wasn’t sure if he’d ever been given a more impossible task.

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Now that he had decided, he was impatient for action. He’d gone to the nearby airport and had stolen a car from the long-term parking lot. With Sombra’s help, he hadn’t even needed to break anything; he simply used the little gadget she had provided, and the locks just popped open. Then he had gathered and packed supplies, tucking them in the stolen vehicle. He’d filled and repacked a small bag of absolute essentials – this would be the pack he carried with him through the entire escape. If, for whatever reason, he couldn’t reach the stolen car, they would still have some supplies. They had decided that Sunday – today – would be the day he would break her out. A strike team was leaving this afternoon, and Angela would be worked on in the early evening. While Gabriel hated the thought of her experiencing more torture, he had to wait until shortly after they finished with her. By waiting until after they were done, he reduced the chances of her absence being immediately noticed – and with the strike team reducing the number of staff wandering around, it further reduced those chances. Gabriel only hoped it wouldn’t be too late. The comm unit was in place, hidden by the hood and mask he always wore. He had nowhere on his person to conceal the small pack of supplies, so he was putting off heading towards the armory – and his weapons, which would be necessary – until the last possible moment. Then, it was time. Equipped with his shotguns, ammo tucked in the various pockets and pouches built for that express purpose, Gabriel strode through the halls of the Oasis base for what would probably be the last time. With Sombra whispering in his ear, it hadn’t been hard to avoid detection – especially when he used the same stairwell that Angela had used in her failed escape attempt. This was when the challenge would truly begin. He had a device in his pocket, one fashioned by Sombra, that was supposed to ‘affect’ the cameras and keep him from being seen by whoever else was monitoring the security feeds. Sombra had assured him that she would take care of that – but he only had her word that they would be taken care of. It could be an elaborate setup. Alone, the Reaper would be hard to capture – but carrying Angela? Gabriel wouldn’t be able to use his shadow form to escape bullets and travel through small spaces. This would be the best chance at neutralizing him unless he chose to drop and abandon her. He had already done that once. Gabriel wasn’t planning to do it again. Squaring his shoulders, he let himself into her cell. For better or for worse, he had made his choice.

Footsteps. One pair. The last time there had been one pair of footsteps, they had killed her – yet left her breathing, hollow. She couldn’t, she couldn’t, do that again. She was barely hanging on as it was; that would break her, she knew it. Hadn’t they hurt her enough for one day? She was still dripping with blood and water from their treatment. They had broken her knee again, and the agony was still making her nauseous. She hadn’t been given enough time to recover – which, Angela dimly realized, was precisely the point. She couldn’t break. That was a promise made by the woman they had killed. It was an impossibly heavy burden, dropped upon her because there was no one left, and Angela was left staggering and stumbling under its weight. They deserved better than her, but she was all that remained. It had taken every ragged piece of her to keep from cracking. Oh, she wanted to break – to spill every secret and truth that they wanted. It would be so easy. Angela wanted easy, craved easy. And yet, every time the words were on the tip of her tongue, she somehow managed to swallow them down. Now they were back. Maybe this time, they would kill her, just as they had killed Dr. Ziegler. Her body might remain, but everything they ever wanted would be out of their reach for good. She would be out of their reach for good. The chains rattled. Just before the release that always dropped her painfully to the ground, an arm wrapped around her torso. It pulled her close and supported her weight, disregarding the blood that streaked her skin. The intimacy – and pain – made her shudder. This had never happened before – it wasn’t efficient, nor did it further their goal of making her miserable. “I’ve got you, cariño.” Her breath caught, chest seizing painfully as her entire body tensed. They had sent the Reaper to hurt her, to try to rip the answers from her throat. There was no way – none – that she could hold her ground, not when it was against him. Even knowing that he wasn’t Gabriel, it would still utterly destroy her. He was going to break her. She was going to fail. The Reaper released the chains and her body slumped, utterly reliant on his strength to hold her upright. With it went her tension: now Angela was shaking again, terrified of what he was going to do with her. She couldn’t catch her breath – why was it suddenly so hard to breathe? – as he held her confidently with one arm. “It’s alright, Angela,” he shushed her, trying and failing to sound reassuring, before carefully lowering her to the ground away from the puddle of blood and water at their feet. Crouching, he supported her weight against his chest – the familiarity of it made her eyes well up with tears. She looked around the room, searching for something – anything. A friendly face that would help her get through whatever this was. One of her interrogators, the ones who had taken such pleasure in her pain. Any kind of explanation for what was happening. All she found were the mocking blank walls of her cage, blurred by the water in her eyes. He shook out some dark cloth – his jacket, the one that she had always seen the Reaper wearing – before gently pulling it onto her naked flesh. It was still warm and had a smoky musk that almost hid the familiar scent of leather and sandalwood. The Reaper was careful of his claws as he tugged the jacket over her shaking, uncooperative arms. “I’m getting you out of here.” The Reaper murmured. Angela choked; there was no way she could believe that. She refused to believe it. After everything that had happened to her – after he had put her here – Angela couldn’t dare to. How could she believe that he was Gabriel, that he wasn’t the Reaper? How could she believe that he’d had a change of heart? This was cruel, even for him. “This will hurt, cariño,” he rumbled, one clawed hand hovering over her destroyed knee in explanation. Of course it would hurt. His very presence hurt. Knowing that Gabriel was so close, yet so terribly far away, was almost physically painful. Then he was hoisting her up, one arm hooked under her knees and the other at her shoulders just under her arms. It hurt – oh, it hurt – and she couldn’t help the agonized whimper that escaped. “I know, I know.” The Reaper made the low, shushing noise again as he rose, shifting her so that her head rested against his body armor instead of hanging loosely off to the side. “I’m sorry, Angela. Hold on for me.” Confidently, he carried her straight out of the room and into the hallway she had seen only once. There was no one out here, just like the time she had escaped. Maybe that wasn’t unusual? Perhaps it was just her down here, so they weren’t worried about an escape – after all, how could she go anywhere with her knee broken as it was? Who would ever expect one of their own – the Reaper, of all people – to rescue her? No. Impossible. There was no way this was real; this was a dream – a dream – and any moment, her captors would throw that horribly cold water over her and yank it away. They never let her sleep for long, denying her even that small escape. But if she was asleep, why did it hurt? Her shattered knee was screaming, her bloody and torn back was aching, and her heart was breaking – if this were a dream, surely she wouldn’t feel this way. How could a dream be so painful? “Status?” The Reaper murmured, pulling her out of her distracted thoughts. Angela glanced up towards his mask in confusion – what in the world was he asking for? Before she could decide if she would break her silence and ask, he turned to the left. “The stairs, then.” His steps were measured as he kept his arms steady, trying to minimize the jostling of her body. It didn’t stop the tears from springing and rolling down her cheeks to dampen his armor and the jacket he’d so gently wrapped her in. She stared at the ceiling, letting it blur as he carried her along. Angela didn’t believe this was a rescue. Couldn’t – because if she did, and it was a lie, she would shatter into a million pieces. Hope no longer existed in her world: all that was left was pure cynicism and despair. He was taking her somewhere else; that much was true. She was sure the next place he put her would be much worse – somehow – than the room he had just pulled her from. The thought made her trembling begin again – or maybe she hadn’t stopped. Angela wasn’t sure. So much was happening that it was hard to keep track. Perhaps it was just worse now, because even her teeth were chattering now from the terror. “Angela.” They had stopped. When had he stopped moving? His mask was canted down towards her. “Angela, I know it’s a lot – but I need you to be quiet now. Just for a few minutes.” Quiet? She wasn’t – suddenly she was aware of the soft keening noise coming from her throat, the sound a mixture of her terror and pain. Angela had no idea how long she had been making the noise, but now that she was aware, she did her best to silence it. Angela didn’t know why she had obeyed the order. He was her enemy, no matter what he might say. This wasn’t an escape – it was a trick – and she was just playing into his game. And yet, she had choked the sound off as quickly as he had pointed it out; was it from pride? Or did some small part of her believe this lie? “Yes, just like that, cariño.” The endearment ripped at her heart. He must have seen the pain that flashed across her face – he knew her far too well – because his grip tightened slightly as he looked away. “We’ll be out soon.” They were still motionless, waiting in the stairwell. Why weren’t they moving? Did it matter? The longer they were here in this stairwell, the less time she would spend in whatever new hell they had created. Angela greatly preferred being in his arms – being held with a terrible gentleness, as if he were afraid his touch would break her further – than being strung up in chains. At some point, she had relaxed, her traitorous body leaning into his familiar warmth. It was hard to remember he was her enemy when she was pressed against him like this. And he was her enemy, she reminded herself sternly. He was just taking her somewhere else to be hurt. Dressing it up as an escape would make it hurt that much more when this trip ended in chains once more. Despite knowing all of this, Angela knew that the betrayal – was it a betrayal if he was her enemy? – would rip her to pieces again. She didn’t know if her heart, her soul, could survive a third time. Suddenly, they were moving again. The Reaper pushed the door open, and then they were hurrying down the hallway – in the opposite direction that she had chosen during her escape attempt. Angela wasn’t sure where they had to go, but they hadn’t gotten far before the Reaper tensed. Then, ahead, a door opened for a pair of two men. Angela tensed, too – this must be where he was taking her. That hadn’t taken long at all. She didn’t recognize the men, but that didn’t matter. Anyone in this place was her enemy and would hurt her. The Reaper hesitated for a brief moment – Angela couldn’t understand why. After all, this was what his plan was the whole time. Make her think she was safe only to rip it away once more. It would hurt, but why did that matter? That was the point. Pain was the only constant in her life anymore. Squaring his shoulders, fingers tight on her flesh, the Reaper kept walking as he shushed her under his breath. The men were chatting amicably until they realized there was someone else in the hall; when they saw the Reaper’s mask, they paled. If even his own men were terrified of him, how could she be safe in his arms? Then, they noticed her, bundled up in his grasp. They glanced at each other before one seemed to gather some sort of courage. “What’s going on?” So this was the game. They were going to play along, make her think this was real. Angela wouldn’t let herself fall for it. She would remain silent – she had to give him the same treatment she had given her previous interrogators. She couldn’t give him a single word. If she did, he would break her, and Angela would fail her friends. “The council is not pleased with the lack of results.” The Reaper growled. Angela tried to shrink, make herself smaller and hide in the fabric, as if it would help protect her from what would come next. Just because she expected pain didn’t mean she wanted it. All it did was make her body ache more, and she choked on a groan. His fingers squeezed briefly – in what, comfort? – as he continued speaking to the guards. “We are moving her to a different base, to more... capable hands.” “I – I didn’t hear about a transfer.” The guard blustered. Her eyes, strained as they were from the blinding lights, couldn’t tell that they were acting. Their reactions were good – but she knew better. Her eyes skimmed away again, searching as they always did for a friend, but they were still avoiding her. “I didn’t realize the council answered to you.” Angela snapped back to the conversation as the guard flushed. “Now, get out of my way.” After another moment of hesitation, the guards stepped aside and watched them pass. Angela stared past the bone-white mask to the ceiling above once more, trying to forget who was carrying her – and where she was surely going to end up. “Can you stop it?” The Reaper demanded suddenly, startling Angela, and she tensed again as her eyes went wide. Stop what? What was she doing? “Not you, Angela,” he murmured before his attention was drawn elsewhere. “Fuck!” The angry curse had her curling into herself again, and he shook his head. “Fine.” Angela had lost track of where they were, of how many turns and doors they had gone through. It all blurred, white walls and white ceilings, until suddenly there was wind on her face and stars in the sky. It was so dark. She couldn’t see anything. How could the Reaper keep walking so confidently? Angela shrank into him, eyes wide as she tried to make out their surroundings. It was impossible. It sounded like they were outside, but she couldn’t see – could they simulate the outdoors in a room? Probably. It was dark, dark, dark – how would she see her friends, see anything in this darkness? “Shh, cariño, not yet.” The Reaper said absently, drawing her attention back down to herself. The darkness had evoked terrified whimpers, and she tried to choke them off now. It was hard when she was so afraid, when it was so dark – but she tried. Angela turned and pressed her face against his body armor in an attempt to stifle the sounds. Angela had mostly gotten control of herself when an alarm began blaring. “Mierda.” The Reaper muttered, breaking into a run. He had just ducked around a corner when a gunshot pierced the night, startling a strangled scream from her throat. That had sounded close. The Reaper shushed her as he kept moving. “Sombra?” His voice was tight with stress. Angela had no idea what a ‘Sombra’ was, so all she could do was press her face against his chest, eyes squeezed tight. Angela shouldn’t feel such desperate hope – she wanted this to be real – but it was there, flickering in her heart again. Suddenly he lunged into a doorway as a second gunshot echoed around them. Angela was wide-eyed and shaking, fingers curled in the cloth so tightly that they were going numb. Those shots sounded real, even if she knew they were fake – just like the bullet meant for her had been fake. The Reaper held her tighter; while the claws didn’t pierce her skin, she was confident there would be bruises left behind – though she doubted they would be discernable through all the rest. Then he was moving them again, muttering about a spider as they went. The escape became disjointed for a short time – she couldn’t see anything except in short bursts when light appeared. All she could do was listen to his panting breaths and pounding heart as he carried her through the night. They darted along, rarely pausing or slowing as he took her away. Eventually, they reached an area with more light, though he kept them in the shadows still. The sounds of people surrounded them, and she tensed. Who were they? Were these the people that had been chasing them, shooting at them? Was it time for the lie to end? The Reaper didn’t stop, didn’t bother to attempt to silence her terrified noises any longer; either it didn’t matter, or he was giving up on the effort. Lights pierced and passed by her eyes occasionally, until she finally gave up on looking around and just pressed her face against the Reaper and squeezed her eyes shut. She hated how familiar this felt. It wasn’t much longer after that that the Reaper was laying her down on something soft. Her eyes opened again, confused. There was a little light so that she could make out her space. This was a vehicle – he was putting her in a car. Why were they in a car? He arranged her limbs so that she was tucked in fully before slinging something into the foot space next to her. Then he leaned in and grabbed a strap. “I’m not going to hurt you, Angela.” He soothed when she tried to scramble back, whimpering and shaking in terror and pain. Here it was; this was where it would start. “It’s to keep you safe while I drive.” No, that was not what those were for. Restraints held you in place, kept you weak and trapped while others hurt you. He didn’t give her much choice, though – of course he wouldn’t – as he clipped her into place. “It’ll be alright, cariño, you’ll see.” Then he was pulling away, slamming something – a door, the car door – that made everything jostle and shake briefly. After a few moments, where he muttered to himself where she couldn’t hear, he climbed into the seat before her. Wordlessly, he shifted the rearview mirror to see her before turning the vehicle on and driving off into the night. If this was a dream, Angela hoped she never woke up.

Gabriel glanced up at the mirror again at Angela, checking to make sure she was alright – or, rather, as alright as she could be. He needed to find a place to pull over and dress her wounds, but putting distance between them and Talon was a higher priority. Sombra had run interference as much as possible, but unless she had wanted to give herself away – which she did not – she’d had to cooperate with them as they had searched. If it hadn’t been for Sombra, though, he’d have been shot by Widowmaker before they had escaped the base. He had destroyed the earpiece before climbing into the vehicle. The only electronic he’d brought along was the phone Sombra had given him. Gabriel had asked Sombra to check him for any tracking devices, anything at all that might lead them to wherever it was they escaped to; surprisingly, there were none – or she was lying. Either way, they were as safe as possible at the moment. They had been on the road for maybe fifteen minutes. Angela had managed to fall into some semblance of sleep a few minutes back. A sharp blade of guilt twisted in Gabriel’s heart as he realized that the warmth of the car, the relative softness of the seat beneath her, and his jacket wrapped carefully around her, she was the most comfortable she’d been in the past month. Gabriel kept glancing in the side mirrors, worried that they might be being followed and keeping an eye out for any low-flying aircraft. The car hit something – a pothole, probably – that rattled the vehicle with a loud thunk. It was then that Angela came shrieking back to life, startling him badly enough that he almost wrecked the vehicle. He forced his eyes to remain on the road as he pulled over. Then, after they were safely stopped, he allowed himself to turn and look at the broken angel in the backseat. “Angela,” he crooned, making no move to reach out and touch her – even though he wanted to. No, Angela wouldn’t welcome the Reaper’s touch. “Angela, you’re alright. Come back, cariño.” He knew the bump couldn’t have been pleasant on her wounds, and the sound would have been jarring, but he hadn’t expected her to lose it like this. Then again, she had been tortured for over a month; he shouldn’t expect anything. She had probably been in the middle of a nightmare – if he coupled that with new, terrifying sensations and the Reaper hovering over her, he couldn’t really be surprised. Her screams had died out relatively quickly, for which he was grateful; it was far too loud for the confined space. Her eyes, however, were still glazed and unseeing. It took several precious minutes before she pulled herself back from wherever she had gone. He knew he shouldn’t have waited – Talon was searching – but he wanted to make sure she was alright before they continued along the road. “Are you still with me?” He asked once her eyes came into focus. Angela glanced around the car with confusion, as if she had forgotten where she was. Her gaze cut across him as she investigated the space before jolting back to his mask, eyes wary and body tense. “Are you still with me?” Gabriel repeated patiently. She worried at her lip, clearly considering something, before finally taking a steadying breath. “I am.” Her voice was rough and quiet, even for how close they were. “For now.” The response gave him a small amount of hope. Maybe he hadn’t broken her completely beyond repair. His eyes swept over her one more time before nodding and turning back to the steering wheel. “Good.” Gabriel pulled back onto the road. “I’ll find somewhere for us to hide soon; just hang in there a little longer for me, alright?” He wasn’t exactly sure where this hiding spot would be, but he knew that he had to find something soon. Angela needed to be taken care of before he could try to get them to any of his hiding spots. He had a safe house in Medina, but that would be nearly a full day of travel – not possible for them right now. So, he had followed a more reasonable path and drove them south towards Hillah, hoping to throw off their searchers. North held the relative anonymity of Baghdad and the remnants of Overwatch; hopefully, that was the direction Talon had headed in their search. Eventually, he would have to take them north towards Europe, but it was safer to travel south for now. Between his need to keep from drawing any attention to them and Angela’s fitful sleeping, it took nearly an hour to reach the city. It had left her bleeding longer than he had liked, but there wasn’t anything he could do for it. At least his jacket – and the car seat – would help staunch some of the bleeding. After a little searching, Gabriel found a rundown office building, clearly closed based on the plywood over the windows and chains on the door. He circled the building and parked behind it in an alley in an effort to keep them hidden. As soon as the car stopped moving, Angela’s eyes flew open again. At least this time, she wasn’t yelling. “Angela?” Gabriel asked cautiously, trying to gauge her stability. He needed her relatively cooperative to take care of her; this area wasn’t so deserted that her screams would go unnoticed, but it was the best he could find on short notice. She blinked before turning to look at him, some life in her eyes. “Are you with me?” Angela looked around the vehicle, searching as she often did, before returning to him. Hesitantly, she licked her lips and ducked her head. “I am.” He wondered if it was a mechanical response, one so ingrained that she couldn’t help the answer, or a chosen one. “For now.” She shivered despite the heaters he had turned on, tucking herself further into his jacket. Gabriel frowned behind the mask; she shouldn’t be cold. “I’ll be right back.” He promised her before slipping out of the car. Gabriel wasn’t terribly worried about her managing an escape, not now; she was too tired and they had just shattered her knee again hours previously; he hated that his waiting had let her be hurt so badly again. In a week – if they were still together in a week – he would have his hands full in keeping her from running. Instead, he turned his attention to the building. Gabriel made quick work of the door, breaking the chain and busting the lock to let himself in. It wasn’t the best space – dust and dead bugs littered the floor – but they only needed it for a few hours. At least the single bathroom had running water, which was more than the car had. Satisfied, Gabriel returned to the vehicle, briefly pausing at the driver’s door to turn it off and glance at the woman in the backseat. Angela hadn’t moved from her prone position on the seat; he wondered if she had tried to move at all or if she had just remained lifeless the entire time. With a sigh, he opened the back door. The broken woman jumped, blank eyes focusing on him. As he leaned in to release the seat belts that held her in place, she made a small noise of fear and cringed again. “It’s alright, Angela.” Gabriel wondered how many times he would say that phrase – and if she would ever believe it. “I’ve found us a place to hide for a few hours.” Ignoring the way she recoiled from him, he carefully removed the straps and grabbed the pack he’d slung into the foot space. It had everything he needed for her immediate treatment. “I’m going to pick you up – it will hurt your knee.” Gabriel didn’t know how much she was comprehending at this moment, but hopefully, by explaining himself, she wouldn’t begin screaming again. The Reaper thought it was foolish; just get the task done already because they were wasting time. Then, he leaned in and carefully levered her out of the space. Fortunately, she didn’t scream, but she did whimper lowly as he led them away from the car. Once inside, he hauled her into the bathroom and set her upright on the small counter inside. He left his hands hovering around her, worried she would slump and fall off it entirely. After everything she had been through and the wounds still on her body, he wouldn’t blame her for being weak. He was surprised she was staying upright at all. There had been stains on the seat where she had lain, proving that she had at least bled enough to seep through the thick cloth of his jacket. While it wasn’t completely worrying – she had her nanites and had experienced worse, after all – he still wanted to treat them. It would, at the very least, make them both more comfortable. “Will you let me look at your back?” Angela tensed at the request, pulling the jacket tighter around her. “Look,” he opened the pack to show her the gauze and ointment within, “it’s not a trick.” He held it within her reach, so she could poke through it and see it was just standard medical supplies – items she was familiar with – but she simply looked down at the bag with hollow eyes. “Mi corazón, please.” It was a low blow. He knew it even as the endearment passed his lips. The Reaper was taut with impatience, itching to tear it from her so they could keep moving, but Gabriel refused; as much as possible, he wanted her willing. They had taken too much from her already. Angela shivered and looked away, staring at the far wall instead of towards him or the supplies. After a long silence, one that Gabriel worried he would have to break again, she finally sighed and let the jacket go in submission. Angela had a resigned, faraway look as she stared at anything but him. It wasn’t the best response, but at least it was something, right? Gabriel carefully tugged his gloves off – the claws would do him no good here – to reveal his scarred, ashen hands. Angela didn’t look down as he carefully peeled the jacket from her body, doing his best to keep from hurting her as it stuck to the open wounds. He let the cloth pool at her hips as he assessed her back. There was so much damage that he wasn’t sure where to start – he wasn’t the doctor in this room. Then again, at this moment, neither was she. Still, he had made his choice; he would be whatever Angela needed him to be. Gabriel grabbed some gauze and wet it so he could clean the wounds as best he could. She shuddered and shivered at the cool cloth, wincing and flinching away when Gabriel touched a particularly sensitive spot, but she remained silent. A quick look showed that her face was deathly pale, defeated eyes staring straight ahead as she bit her lip so hard, he worried she would bite through; based on the blood and scabs at her mouth, she’d already done so at least once in the recent past. He wanted to say something to fill the silence, but what was there to say? That he was sorry? That he shouldn’t have broken the only promise that had ever truly mattered? That he should never have taken her, should never have put her in that room? There were no comforting things he could say to her, nothing he could say to her after everything she had gone through because of him. It was clear, by the way she shrank away and couldn’t bear to even look at him, that she wanted nothing to do with him – and he couldn’t blame her. But he was all she had. It took time and a lot of water to clean the gore from her body. The front had been the hardest. He had moved to stand before her, gauze damp with water and blood in his hand, and she had flinched away so hard he’d had to catch her before she completely fell off the counter. While one hand braced her, the other had carefully swabbed at her stomach and breasts. Every flinch and shudder was a dagger in his heart, but he welcomed the pain – he deserved this and more. Finally, he practically bathed her in the ointment that – according to the packaging – was supposed to help fight infection and reduce pain and inflammation. He doubted that it would do much good for her, considering all the open flesh, but it couldn’t hurt, could it? The Reaper thought it was a wasted effort; her nanites were going to heal her anyway, so what was the point? Angela had stopped flinching by then; the far away, glazed look was back. Gabriel hated that look, hated that she felt the need for escape, but it was a welcome respite as he wiped the ointment across her wounds and wrapped the bandages around her. By the time he was done, her entire torso from breasts to hips was wrapped in layers of gauze. He’d run out of bandages then – he’d underestimated the amount he’d need – and was forced to leave her bloody and burned legs unwrapped. At least he had been able to clean them, and they were beginning to scab over; hopefully, after a few days of rest, most of them would be healed enough that movement wouldn’t break them open again. If she were lucky, these, at least, wouldn’t join the scars that were already scattered across her body. “Angela?” Gabriel asked quietly as he packed away what little was left. He had wanted to feed her as well, but he’d worried she would choke herself out of terror while he was working. Now, with her gone for however long she chose, it would have to wait. She’d spent plenty of time hungry, but he had hoped to end that now. Instead, he tugged out a new set of fabric – a green, button-up dress that he had snagged from some store. It wasn’t much, but it would cover her and probably give her some sense of security. It was uncomfortable, dressing her when she was staring vacantly at nothing, but he slid her limp arms into the sleeves and made quick work of the buttons. Work complete, he slung the pack over his shoulder and lifted Angela up once more. He watched her face, wondering if the pain from this movement would bring her back, but she was still gone. Shaking his head, he carried her back out into the night. This time, he set her in the passenger seat – reclined slightly so she could lay more comfortably – and buckled her in. Out of the pack came a protein bar and a water bottle, which he set in the center console for whenever she returned. They had a long drive ahead of them; hopefully, they could make it before Talon found them.

---

Angela returned hours later, long after the sun had peaked over the horizon. She had shifted, the movement pulling his attention from the road momentarily, before looking around the car with that same curious look she’d had before. He kept quiet, letting her get her bearings in peace. Finally, once Angela went still again, hands twisted in the soft, green cloth, he reached for the protein bar between them. She flinched, proving that – even though her eyes were downcast and her face was angled away – she was intensely focused on him. It was an effort to keep driving safely while ripping the package open – he should have opened it before driving – but he managed. “Here,” he offered, extending the opened package towards her. “I know you’re hungry.” It wasn’t much, but it wasn’t like they had a lot of options. “You’ll want to eat it slowly; there’s water, too.” Angela stared at the food for a long, considering moment before reaching out with a trembling hand. Once she had it, she fell onto it ravenously – unsurprising, despite his warning. He should have known better: they had trained her to eat quickly or suffer consequences. “Slowly, Angela.” He snapped in hopes that she would slow down; no such luck there. The bar was gone in less than a minute, leaving her picking at the crumbs on the dress and inside the packaging. Hopefully, she wouldn’t be sick. Gabriel left the water bottle, also unopened, where it sat. He doubted she had the strength to open it as she was now, and he wanted to let her stomach settle before adding anything else to it. Angela didn’t seem to notice the water right now, though he’d mentioned it, which made the denial that much easier. Once she was finished getting every bit of sustenance from the package, she crumpled it in her hand. She turned her attention to the window, watching the trees pass by; Gabriel got the impression that she was more trying to not look at him than to look at the scenery. Her entire body was tense, hands balled into fists in her lap and jaw clenched. That was fine, he told himself. They didn’t have to talk, didn’t have to say anything except for what was necessary to keep her safe and – relatively – healthy.

“Yeah, Sombra?” He demanded, angry. Baptiste hadn’t expected to hear from her, not after his request for a favor had gone south. Despite trying to warn Dr. Ziegler, she had still been captured. He was positive it was Talon that had taken her; he had just found proof that she was a target only a week before she had been kidnapped. He had called Sombra when the news had broke, but she had ignored him. That had solidified his beliefs; why would his friend – and they were friends – ignore him unless she had information she didn’t want to share? She was prideful, after all. To have been beaten to the punch must have stung. With his knowledge, he had gone to the Rialto base to stake it out and search for clues. Baptiste would have shared the information, but he wasn’t sure who to trust. There were so many organizations trying to find the doctor – but he knew that Talon had eyes and ears everywhere. He didn’t want the doctor to be put into more danger than necessary – nor did he want a target on his back while he searched. “Hey, mijo,” Sombra’s typically boisterous voice was subdued, as if she were trying not to be overheard. “So, about that favor...” Baptiste rolled his eyes, ducking back and away from where his stakeout position. He wouldn’t be able to focus on the task while talking to her. “I thought you were going to warn her.” Baptiste accused. “I know Talon has her.” He just hadn’t figured out where they had her. There were so many bases scattered across the globe; Rialto just happened to be the one closest to him. He’d hoped to pull the information from one of the higher-ranking agents, but he’d had no luck there – and now Talon was aware of his presence. “I tried, mijo, honestly.” She defended, indignant. “It’s not my fault the doctora didn’t take my warning seriously.” Baptiste knew that Sombra was a liar – one of the best, really – but he didn’t think she was lying to him now. He sighed, deflating. “Do you know where she is, then?” Baptiste barely knew the doctor – they had only worked together the one time in Venezuela – but he knew she was a good person that deserved saving. She was the type of person the world needed: a brilliant doctor with a literal healing touch. If he could, he would help her. “Even better,” Sombra confided, voice now sly, “I know where she’s going.” Baptiste knew, then, that she had helped the doctor escape; despite failing the first time, Sombra had tried to fulfill her promise differently. It seemed she had been successful. “Currently, she’s heading out to Medina, Iraq.” “Currently?” Baptiste echoed. “Yeah – the Reaper has a hiding spot out there; I doubt he knows I know about it.” Of course, she knew about it; Sombra found out everything about everyone. It was what made her so scary – and why he had asked her to warn Dr. Ziegler. If anyone could have found and reached her, it would have been Sombra. But – “The Reaper?” Absolutely no way. That man was death. He didn’t take prisoners, didn’t take anything except blood. He was one of the most – if not the most – dangerous men in Talon – and Sombra wanted him to believe that he had broken Dr. Ziegler out? “I know, right?” She chuckled. “But yeah, he’s got her. Talon’s not happy; they’re looking all over for them. I doubt he’ll stay in Medina long – he’ll probably try to reach out to Overwatch here soon – but... the doctora was in pretty bad shape.” Unsurprising, but chilling nonetheless. He’d never seen the results of torture personally, but he’d done some digging about it during his medical career in preparation for the potential inevitability. “I’ll help her. Medina, you said?” Baptiste was already trying to figure out how he was going to get to Iraq with any kind of swiftness. “I said Medina, currently.” Sombra corrected. “I’m calling in some favors; they’ll be in Numbani before the end of the day.” She sounded very confident – she must have excellent intelligence on whoever she was calling. Not only to complete a transport within the next – he glanced at his watch – sixteen hours, but to also keep quiet about who they were transporting. “Get to the airport; I’ve got transportation for you, too.” Baptiste scoffed. “You could have just led with that, you know.” He told her, moving to pack up his survey site. He’d go back to his tiny hotel room and pack. When he arrived in Numbani, he’d get supplies to treat the doctor. “Where’s the fun in that?” Sombra asked, and he chuckled. “I won’t make them wait too long.” The doctor needed him, after all. If he didn’t need to erase his presence in Rialto, to keep Talon from finding out it was him, he’d just leave his luggage behind. “Take care, mijo.” “Yeah, you too.”

---

Sombra took hiding in plain sight to a whole different level. It was eight stories off the ground and required a passcode to enter, which had surprised him considering most bolt holes were hidden. Baptiste shook his head and began setting up the apartment for the injured doctor. Foolishly, he hadn’t asked Sombra about Dr. Ziegler’s wounds, so he’d had to guess at what he would need. Mostly, Baptiste had gotten a lot of gauze with a sprinkling of other items. He’d have to get more supplies after he assessed his patient. Maybe, if he were lucky, the Reaper would be cooperative and get the supplies for him while he worked. It would be the most efficient use of their time – but cooperative wasn’t a word generally associated with the Reaper. Then again, this entire situation wasn’t something that would be associated with the Reaper – unless, of course, the Reaper was the one doing the hunting. Baptiste was pulled out of his musing by the Reaper storming into the small apartment with Dr. Ziegler cradled carefully in his arms. The sight was absolutely disconcerting and left him staring. “Well?” The Reaper demanded impatiently. Baptiste shook off the feeling; he could be weirded out by the Reaper’s apparent change – discovery? – of heart later. Right now, there was the injured doctor to tend to. He cleared his throat. “You can put her on the bed,” he explained, gesturing towards the appropriate door. The Reaper turned and stalked through it, leaving Baptiste to trail behind him. Baptiste watched as the Reaper gently laid out the doctor, taking special care with her left knee; Baptiste eyed it critically. It was black and terribly swollen – considering where she had been, it was probably broken. As the Reaper stepped away to loom against the far wall with his arms crossed, Baptiste took his place at Dr. Ziegler’s side. “Dr. Ziegler?” Baptiste asked, trying to catch her gaze. It was impossible – she was staring blankly up at the ceiling; Baptiste couldn’t even tell if she’d heard him. He glanced back towards the Reaper. “Is this normal?” Did she have a head wound, or was this psychological? There were bruises and cuts on her face, so it could be either. “Yes.” The Reaper bit out. That wasn’t a good sign, but he wasn’t sure there was anything he could do about that. He checked her head over but couldn’t find any external sign of major trauma. She had a bruised cheek, and her lip was scarred and bloody where she had bitten through it, but there was nothing that would explain the doctor’s current mental absence. He’d tried to shoo the Reaper out then, for Dr. Ziegler’s propriety, but the man had just growled at him. Baptiste, realizing it was a fight he wouldn’t win, turned back to his task. It wasn’t long before he had set her green dress aside and cut the gauze away. Baptiste inhaled sharply, horrified at the sight. “Do you know what they did?” He asked, barely keeping his voice steady as he carefully began cleaning out the wounds. Baptiste hadn’t realized how emaciated she was when she’d been bundled up in the Reaper’s arms, but laid out like this, it was obvious. He could make out her ribs under the cuts and bruises, her cheeks hollow, and eyes sunken. They’d starved her, probably dehydrated her too – he would have to figure out a way to combat those safely. Across her thin form were relatively fresh black-purple bruises mixed with healing yellow-green scattered across her body. There were gashes torn haphazardly across her flesh with no apparent pattern or reason. He hoped the majority – all, really, but he wasn’t that lucky – of her wounds were external, because he had no way to assess internal trauma here. “The better question is: what didn’t they do.” The man replied after a long moment. Baptiste’s hands paused then, just for a moment, as he looked down at the poor, broken woman on the bed. “I got her out before they could rape her,” the Reaper continued, voice deadly and cold, “but she suffered plenty of other abuse.” What a horrible silver lining, Baptiste thought. It didn’t take long to clean the wounds – surprisingly, the Reaper had done a decent job there. Baptiste followed the lines of red to her legs, finding burns among the gashes. He frowned; that would make wrapping the cuts harder since the burns needed to breathe. Some looked old and scarred, but a few were fresh and bubbling with blisters. Still, he worked his way down – and looked at the bottoms of her feet when prompted by the Reaper. He hadn’t realized that would be a target, too. The burns there were all old, but he noted them – he would need to get burn cream for all these wounds. Then Baptiste shifted her so he could see her back. Or rather, couldn’t. “What...” It seemed that her body was healing faster, here – but the wounds were still terrible. Strips of dead flesh hung raggedly along the streaks of red scabs; some were bleeding from his jostling. “I told you: she suffered.” The Reaper growled. Baptiste nodded jerkily; he had been warned, but nothing could have prepared him for this. Baptiste supported the woman carefully, considering how to best treat her back. He worried about damaging her knee further Baptiste wasn’t a doctor that knew how to put such delicate parts back together. Hell, he wasn’t a doctor at all – he was a combat medic. Still, he had a job to do. After a moment, Baptiste rolled her onto her stomach so that he could see her back entirely. The Reaper had cleaned these wounds, too. All he needed to do was remove the dead skin. Then, he was propping her up so he could slather ointment across her chest and back before wrapping her back up with gauze. The entire time, Baptiste could feel the heavy gaze of the Reaper, watching to make sure he didn’t hurt the doctor any further. It was one of the most stressful treatments he had ever administered – and he had worked in war zones. “There,” he said, sitting back with a stretch. He had treated Dr. Ziegler to the best of his ability with what supplies he had, and she was now bandaged and dressed once more. Having seen her, he had a better idea of what other things they would need. She had remained still and vacant the entire time; it was only her shallow breaths and faint pulse that had convinced Baptiste she was still alive at times. He wasn’t a psychologist of any kind, but he knew that this couldn’t be good. “How is she?” The Reaper demanded, moving away from the wall to hover over the bed on the opposite side. If Baptiste didn’t know better – and hell, apparently he didn’t considering the situation – he’d say the man looked worried, which was impossible because he was wearing a mask and body armor. “Physically?” Baptiste gestured broadly towards Dr. Ziegler’s body. “She’s healing – she’s gonna be fine. I don’t know about her knee – she needs a real doctor for that, but I’ll get a brace or something for it – but everything else?” He sighed. “Dr. Ziegler will have scars, but the gashes should be healed by the end of the week.” Baptiste had once been envious of her nanite technology and her accelerated healing, but now – seeing this – he wasn’t jealous at all. Those nanites had kept her alive, but at what cost? “Mentally? I don’t know, man.” Baptiste sighed. “I don’t know if it’s a head wound or if it’s something else; I don’t deal with that kind of stuff.” He was used to gunshot wounds and field amputations – torture was a little out of his depth. Generally, he was only with his patients for a short time, then he never saw them again; long-term care wasn’t exactly his forte. “It’s not a head wound.” The Reaper informed him. Baptiste glanced up at him curiously, but if anyone would know, it would be him. “Then I really can’t help with that.” The Reaper turned his gaze onto him then, and Baptiste could feel the baleful glare coming from behind the mask. “Man, don’t give me that look,” he said, holding his hands up defensively. “If I could help her, I would. I need more supplies to help get her physically healthy, but I can’t do anything about her mind.” The Reaper huffed. “Go get whatever she needs.” The Reaper ordered eventually. Baptiste turned away to hide his eye roll. He wandered off to the bathroom to wash his hands and then headed towards the exit, leaving the supplies strewn about – he’d need them soon enough. “No, no, don’t thank me,” he muttered as he closed the front door behind him, not daring to say anything where the Reaper could hear him. “It’s not like I flew halfway across the world or anything.” He’d have come to help Dr. Ziegler anyway, but the Reaper could be a little more grateful, couldn’t he? Then again, he was the Reaper.

All I have is one last chance, I won't turn my back on you. Take my hand, drag me down; If you fall then I will too. And I can't save what's left of you. - Without You [Breaking Benjamin]

1It’s not like I have anything better to do.

Act One | Act Two | Act Three | Act Four | Act Five | Act Six

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]

Act One | Act Two | Act Three | Act Four | Act Five | Act Six

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!