Chapter Text
“What’ll it be, cabrón?”
Jesse bares his bloodstained teeth at the impassive man before him. Agony consumes him. Every wheezing breath he takes feels like a white-hot, jagged knife slamming into his cracked ribs. His left arm hangs limply at his side, his numb, uncooperative fingers dangling excruciatingly close to Peacekeeper’s holster. His hands are trembling hard enough that Jesse wouldn’t be able to shoot straight if he tried—if he weren’t already out of bullets.
His shoulder protrudes unnaturally beneath his hovercycle jacket, dislocated during his desperate tumble down the ravine. He’d lost his hat somewhere along the way. The rest of his body throbs dully, muscles burning and flesh bruised from having brutally lost the ensuing fistfight. Covered in dust and blood, Jesse kneels in the warm desert sand, panting shallowly and snarling like an animal.
Some of the blood is his, but most of it had spattered onto him as Reyes’ men gunned down the last of the Deadlock Gang. He’d recognized the commander immediately—posters bearing his face plaster the walls of just about every diner along Route 66, propaganda left over from the Omnic Crisis that’s tattered and faded but still perfectly recognizable. The man’s got a few more scars now, and a certain darkness lingers in his eyes, but he still stands like a hero.
Jesse wishes he’d act like one, too. Reyes had singlehandedly beaten Jesse into the dirt in less than five minutes. The thought is more than a little bit humiliating. Jesse’s never been well-suited to close combat, but the ease with which Reyes subdued him had been pathetic. The man had lashed out with startling strength and grace, targeting Jesse’s weaknesses with lethal, remorseless precision. Jesse had given up on fighting defensively the instant he realized he was sorely outmatched and unable to read Reyes’ attacks. He’d resigned himself to imminent pain and had instead dedicated himself to making Reyes work for it.
It stings that Jesse hadn’t been able to achieve even that in the end. “Pendejo,” he spits back viciously, glaring up at Reyes.
The other man raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him, crossing his arms over his armored chest. Jesse feels a spark of satisfaction that Reyes had at least scraped his knuckles raw against Jesse’s leather jacket. “That the best you got?”
Reyes moves like a predator, resting languidly against the canyon wall as he gazes down at Jesse’s crumpled body with sharp, vigilant eyes. His dog tags glint in the piercing sunlight, having slipped out during their scuffle. Jesse squints at them, eagerly seeking any possible advantage despite knowing that it’s foolish to hope for one in a few lines of engraved text. ‘A’ and ‘JACK’ are all he manages to read before Reyes scoffs and tucks his tags away beneath his chest plate.
Jack Reyes? Really? Jesse is almost disappointed by how ordinary his name sounds. Nothing else about Reyes is ordinary, even with the military-grade suppressant implants blocking his alpha pheromones. It’s disconcerting that Reyes emits no scent, but Jesse is quietly thankful for it. It’s difficult enough to deal with his own biology screaming at him for losing to a fellow alpha without said alpha’s scent smothering him, demanding submission.
Reyes’ presence is already more intimidating than his poster suggests, much to Jesse’s surprise. Propaganda is usually a gross exaggeration—the handsome golden-haired, blue-eyed man who shares the poster with Reyes is the very caricature of an American soldier—so Jesse had been expecting Reyes to be smaller, weaker. Definitely less condescending. “Look, kid,” Reyes starts, and Jesse bristles at once.
“I’m no kid,” he slurs through his swollen jaw, spitting a mouthful of blood at Reyes’ feet.
Reyes smirks and begins again. “Alright, gamberro. Like I said, second chances don’t come around often. This one’s pretty simple. Die here with your compadres, or join Blackwatch. Your choice.” He pauses suddenly and tilts his head. He’s listening to his comm, Jesse realizes, tensing. It can’t be good news, judging by Reyes’ deepening scowl. He tsks and turns back to Jesse, uncrossing his arms and stepping closer. “You’ve got about three minutes before my men figure out how to get down here. Then it’s a bullet in your skull unless I say otherwise. Think about it.”
“I’m just supposed to trust you?” Jesse asks, stalling as he glances around, looking for a way out. There isn’t one. Diving off the edge of a shallow cliff had been a stupid idea—but Jesse had run out of good ones, and he was hoping that the steep thirty-foot drop would slow Reyes. It hadn’t. Now Jesse’s stuck in a narrow dead-end gorge only a few strides away from one of the world’s deadliest men, in no condition to run, let alone escape.
Reyes shrugs. “You’re more use to me alive than dead, if that helps.”
“It doesn’t,” Jesse grits out through clenched teeth. Choice? Jesse sneers. There is no choice. At a loss, he snaps, “How’m I supposed to trust the word of a man who won’t even give me his name?”
Reyes blinks, momentarily taken aback before a glimmer of something halfway between respect and amusement settles in his eyes. “It’s Reyes,” he offers. “Gabriel Reyes.”
Gabriel? It suits him. But his tags had said—Jesse cuts himself off. He’s got more important things to worry about. “You don’t strike me as a Jack, anyway,” Jesse mutters under his breath, before sighing as heavily as his battered ribs can manage. “Fine,” he grumbles.
“Fine what?”
Jesse’s lips curl back into a grimace as he replies with increasing vehemence. “You’re really gonna make me say it, aren’t ya? Want me to bare my throat too? Kick a man when he’s down, why don’tcha.” The words leave a bitter taste in his mouth, and he squeezes his good hand into a tight fist, wishing he had some strength left. Jesse may not like to admit it, but he knows when to quit. He growls lowly but still submits. “I’ll join you. I’ll join Blackwatch.”
Gabriel grins down at him, pleased. “Welcome to Blackwatch, McCree.”
Jesse wants to punch him in the face.