23, gabe and jack
30 MULTIPURPOSE PROMPTS. always accepting.
23: FORGETTING WHY IT MATTERED.
this hurts. it is an implaceable pain, no map in the world capable of leading him to it’s deepest source. the only way he could get to the root of this pain would be to rip himself open, dig in the soft places between his ribs where he’d rather not linger. he thinks about all the laughs– that laugh that used to make him smile like nothin’ else could.
but bitterness has made itself at home in him. it’s always been there, lingering at the back of his mind– gabriel’s always been a PETTY motherfucker, just like his sister said. its not a good trait to have– he certainly isn’t proud of it. everything wells up inside of the soldier and he can’t stand it. this overwhelming emotion is starting to choke him. he coughs on a hardly-restrained sob, teeth clenching ‘til it hurts, fist colliding with the wall.
rock crumbles beneath his powerful knuckles. brick peels away, dust billowing up around him. LIKE STONE, he thinks, thanks to the enhancements. his fingers flex, blood trickling between the knuckles there. betrayal hurts. this hurts. he can feel himself starting to get too full up of feeling, to the point of
panic. gabe hasn’t panicked in years. and so he willingly pulls himself together, deep rattling breath shaking his lungs. he can feel his mind disconnecting from his body, and he glances in the mirror. he wishes he was tough enough to go and congratulate his friend, to tell him how proud he is to see the boyscout get all famous. but it’s just not that easy. gabriel isnt even mad at jack alone, he knows its all wound up in politics and manipulation; the UN knows gabriel can see right through them. he doesnt do everything they want from him because he refuses to be manipulated or controlled; plus, who wants this ugly mug as a spokesperson, anyways? better to have the nice wholesome farm boy gone hero who’ll follow commands. he stares harder in the mirror– that’s not him.
—— that’s not me. i’m not here. i’m not real. stop panicking. breathe.
everything blurs. his fingertips sway, hot blood trickling over knuckles as he loses grip on all that sharp hurt. it fades into the background, and suddenly gabriel lets himself go numb again like he did when he was just a depressed teenager, sitting around his room and rotting. he’s just a spectator. none of this matters. overwatch isnt the end– he can still make blackwatch something better. jack doesn’t matter. jack, and his smile and his determination, jack and his endless, courageous stupidity—