Overwatch fic: The catdads and that time they met up with McCree after the Fall.
Remember when I said I was writing this, a year and a day ago? No warnings. The cut is just for length.
***
Jesse’s clients showed him the documentation on his targets before he took the job, and it’s pretty clear he’s after a real pair of desperadoes. These two have left a trail of bodies, theft, and occasional devastation in their wake from one hemisphere to the other, and he reckons it’s about time someone put a stop to it.
When they nail him in an ambush, he realizes that someone’ll have to be someone else.
His arms get pinned from behind by a grip that feels like a bear’s, claws and all. The other one drops down in front of him from an awning three stories up and then uncoils from his crouch like he’s made of shock absorbers. “Jesse McCree,” that one says in a low growl of a voice. Grand, being recognized always goes so well for him. “You look like a werewolf, kid.”
The man holding him laughs. It sounds beyond rough, almost inhuman, and kinda smug. Jesse knows it well. He’s heard that insult more than a few times, too.
“Well, damn,” he says faintly as the shock sets in.
Jack pushes back his hood to reveal his grinning, scarred, cat-eared face. “Surprise.”
He sure as fuck is surprised. He just stands there and takes it while he gets crushed in a double hug by his two favorite dead men.
Gabriel licks Jesse’s ear with his weird raspy cat tongue. Then he turns his head and spits. “Fuck, Jesse, you taste like cigars soaked in stale tequila and piss. Where’ve you been sleeping?”
***
Turns out they aren’t real impressed with his answer, which he’s got to say is pretty rich once he sees where they’ve been shacking up. They lead him to an empty house with no heat and a whole lot of cat hair. There’s a Century 21 sign in the yard, but the place is well past its ‘sell by’ date. From the smell, Jesse’d bet that’s because somebody painted over a mold problem instead of fixing it.
He’s dropped further off the radar in his time, but this is about as low as a man can go and still keep a roof over his head. For the best, probably, now that he’s ditched on his latest clients. He should’ve known it was too good to be true. The ones with money always end up being the black hats.
He’s occupied a little pile of pillows and blankets where he can watch Gabe in the kitchen, heating something carefully in the microwave. They’ve got no heat but the power works. One outta two ain’t bad.
The floor is strewn with guns, knives and assorted other shit. Most of it’s well used, at least the weapons. He picks up a pulse pistol that is 110% stolen, because these things are only available to the military and to defense contractors who ask real nice. New as it looks, the photodegradation on the blue enamel at the muzzle indicates it’s seen lots of use.
He’s spent his life trying to live up to these two men. Part of him says they deserve better than this. Another part of him recalls the extensive casualty lists in their dossiers. He doesn’t really mean for it, but the words pop out anyway. “Did you two really kill all those people?”
Gabriel turns to look at him from the kitchen at the same time as Jesse’s inner Reyes weighs in: Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to. But it’s Jack who answers, on the other side of the room where he’s rummaging through a pile of laundry. His eyes flash predator green when he looks up. “They killed us first.”
Jesse sets down the pistol and scowls thoughtfully in his direction. “You gonna tell me about that?”
Pretty much the only words he’s had on his brain since they met up are, But ain’t you dead? He’s exerted heroic efforts to keep from saying it yet, but a man can only take so much.
“Yeah, we’ll tell you,” Gabe says from the kitchen. Something over that way is smelling like heaven in a bottle. “Later. Go take a shower while I finish this. Use soap, for god’s sake.”
“Now that’s just hurtful. It’s not like I picked a stanky back alley for a showdown.”
***
They can call him a werewolf all they want. He’s not the one who left a squirrel’s worth of fur in the tub trap. For having to clean that out, he’s not even sorry if he dulls Gabe’s razor on his own sorely neglected facial hair. He likes a stylish amount of scruff, but there are limits.
While he’s at it, he applies some lather and elbow grease to his clothes, and leaves them to drip dry over the curtain rod while he walks out of the bathroom shirtless and shivering in the cat hair-covered pajama bottoms one of them left out for him.
Jack meets him coming out, and leans in to sniff at the crook of Jesse’s neck. “Better,” he says approvingly, then jams a bowl of something steamy and heaven-scented into his hands. “Now eat.”
Jesse looks down at it and bites his lip to fend off a suspicious tightness around his eyes. “Gabe? Is this your chili?”
Gabriel’s parked on a built-in bench with a bowl of his own. He snorts. “Like it’d be somebody else’s? You look like you haven’t had a hot meal in a year, boy. Eat.”
Jesse sits down by him and snorts back. ‘Boy’ is a good joke, considering he’s in spitting distance of forty. But for the Reyes family recipe, he’ll forego argument in favor of stuffing his gob. It’s hot as lava and the best thing Jesse’s put in his mouth in longer than he can remember. The last thing he ate that approached flavor was a Taco Bell sauce pack he sucked on out of sheer desperation a few weeks back.
A few spoonfuls in, he can’t stop his eyes from leaking.
“How the fuck much chili paste did you put in this?” he mumbles, wiping at his eyes. Gabriel made this for him. Nobody’s cooked for him in years. He thought he’d never taste this again. He thought they were both gone. “‘S hot as the gosh darn Mojave.”
Their eyes have always had a weight to them. They’re resting heavy on him now, but hell if he’ll risking looking up to find pity on their faces. He ducks his head and shoves another spoonful of chili into his mouth. He’s a grown ass man. He’ll be damned if he’s gonna break into sentimental sobs over a home-cooked meal and two old assholes cat-staring at him in concern a foot from either side of his face.
When he finishes the bowl, though, Jack just takes it from him and heads back to the kitchen, licking absently at it. His tail swishes lazily behind him where it sticks out over top of his waistband. His gym pants are slung so low around his hips that Jesse can see the little trail of fur that starts up his spine from the base of his tail.
Jesse’s tempted to tease him about it. That might come off weird. He’s short on references for what a pair of murderous half-cat vigilantes would take as socially acceptable.
“There was shit going wrong in Overwatch,” Gabriel says out of nowhere, while Jack ladles more food into Jesse’s bowl. Gabe’s voice is maybe a little rougher than it used to be, a touch less human, but he still sounds like him. “You knew that as well as we did. But by the time we figured out what was happening, it was too far gone. The explosion was supposed to kill us, Jesse. So we let it.”
Jack drops back down by them, eyes on the far wall. “Everything they said afterward, about us fighting each other, it was all a lie. Gave ‘em a pretty narrative to cover it all up. We were the evidence, see. You remember how we were, near the end? How they started saying we were erratic? Because somebody knew just how to work us. Because somebody had our psych profiles.”
They’re both quiet for a few beats after that. Jesse pulls the bowl out of Jack’s loose grip and chews on that bit of information along with his second helping of chili. That’s pretty deep. The only people who should’ve had access to intel like that for these two were Mercy and the US military. Gabe told him once, the psychology of the SEP subjects was a touchy subject. Classified stuff.
“After the explosion,” Jack says after a minute, sounding a little further away, “I couldn’t get out of the rubble. I was half buried under rebar and I could hear them looking for me. They talked about making sure we were dead. There were other people trapped in the wreckage, calling for help. I could smell them, but if I’d tried to get them out, they’d have killed me and anybody who saw me.”
“Jack.” Gabriel moves, drops to his knees in front of Jack and grabs at his arms. His claws are out, Jesse notes, but the way he handles Jack is so careful.
Jack blinks at him like a man reorienting himself. He reaches down to cup Gabe’s chin. Gabriel licks at his knuckles. “It was two weeks before Gabe and I found each other,” Jack says without looking away from Gabe’s face. “For a while I wasn’t sure he’d made it.”
Gabe’s on his knees between Jack’s legs, arms braced on his thighs, and the way they’re looking at each other, into each other’s eyes… Jesse swallows and looks away. Two weeks. He’s never had to wait that long to find out if a loved one was dead. He can’t rightly imagine it, but he knows a description of hell when he hears it.
Gabe finally clears his throat and pushes back to his feet. “So yeah,” he says roughly. “We weren’t interested in giving them a second shot at us, or anybody standing too close to us.”
“We can’t fight them toe to toe,” Jack adds, in a businesslike tone at odds with the traces of that haunted look still clearing from his eyes. “We can’t take them down without either gathering evidence or a murder rap.”
They killed us first. “You’ve killed a lotta people,” he says, carefully neutral.
“A lot of people who chased us,” Gabriel replies, defiant. “They got what they asked for.”
“A lot of people who helped kill a lot of good people,” Jack adds. There’s something in his voice that makes Jesse think he hasn’t quite given up on the crusading, even if he’s not above shoplifting these days.
***
The third bowl was probably too much. He’s not sure when he slid sideways onto Gabe’s shoulder, but it’s very cozy here. One of them has their arm around his waist to keep him from slipping into a pile on the floor. Kind of unfortunate, since that sounds like a good move right now.
“When’s the last time you slept, buckaroo?” And shit, Jesse’s spitting glitter to have found these guys again, but Gabe’s as bad at funny nicknames as he ever was.
“Ah sleep most ever’ night,” Jesse slurs. Maybe they’ll get the clue and shut up and leave him be.
Jack snorts. “Yeah? How much? Come on, Gabe, you want to carry him or shall I?”
“You guys’re assholes.” Jesse grudgingly collects himself enough to get to his feet. He’d been so comfy. The air in here is cold, but they’re warm—a little more so than humans—and he hasn’t felt so safe in longer than he cares to think about. “I ain’t a noob at this shit, catgramp. I can walk. Where’m I sleepin’?”
Gabriel steers him over to a nice little nest of blankets and pillows and unceremoniously shoves Jesse into it—then flops in after him. Jack follows, curling up against them with just slightly more civility.
Jesse wants to say something about mothering, but hell, talking feels like so much work when he’s this full and finally warm. Damn fools who foreclosed on this place’ll be lucky if the pipes don’t freeze in another month or so. But with them draped over his chest and legs, that’s hardly Jesse’s problem. And they’re purring. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t been this cozy in years.
Something thwacks Jesse in the face. It’s soft and fuzzy and after a second he realizes it’s The Tail. It bumps him in the nose and he reaches up gingerly to wrap his fingers around it. It’s fluffy as fuck, and as soft as it is beautiful with its white and black patterned fur.
Jack’s always been particular about who he lets touch his tail. Back in the good old days, Jesse was seldom among the blessed few. Now he hangs onto it and looks at Jack, waiting to get thwapped, but all Jack does is crack an eye at him. He doesn’t seem to notice the tip of his tongue is poking out. It’s a bit flatter and longer than it should be. Jesse had forgotten that. The two of them are fucking weird, and cute as a button at the oddest times.
Jesse stuffs his nose into the soft warm fur and falls asleep.
***
He wakes up in the middle of the night, which just goes to figure. His body’s got no clue what to do with more than four hours of sleep these days. It’s dark, with only the dim yellow tint of the street lamps through the blinds giving the room any shape. Gabe and Jack are draped half on top of him like semi-fuzzy radiators. He’s relieved to find he doesn’t need to take a piss.
Gabe’s ears twitch in his sleep, nestled in amid the curls he’s let grow out. Jesse manages to worm a hand free to pet gently at the silky fur, and smiles when Gabe makes a little noise and nuzzles in closer. They’re fucking alive. He’s not even gonna try to get that to make sense in his brain. He reckons he’ll be working on coming to terms with it for quite some time.
It’s been years. He…well, he never stopped thinking about it, exactly. His days in Overwatch were the best time of his life. But he had to draw a line, after. That was then; this is now. He loved them all, but these two were the ones who gave him the shot at everything. A family, a purpose, a home. And it all died with them.
Or not, apparently.
They’re different now, though. Even he can tell that. Been alone too long, for starters. Not that he’s much for the finer points of social interaction, but he knows better than to stare people down the way they do unless he’s planning to kill them. And they cuddle like touch-starved animals, clinging like they expect to be torn away in the night.
They make his heart ache, he wants to protect them so bad. They’re as feral as Jesse was when they took him in, only he was a stupid kid and they’re living weapons. Not that he’s afraid of them, but there’s people out there that damn should be. And he shudders to think how much more of themselves they might lose on this revenge quest of theirs, assuming they don’t get themselves killed first. Or worse.
In the morning he needs to tell them that his orders were to take them alive.
from Tumblr http://ift.tt/2qtSwHS