Chapter Text
When Jack was eleven years old, a crop circle showed up in his neighbor’s cornfield.
He knew, deep down, that it was just some bored teenagers messing around, but that didn’t stop him and his friends from investing all of their free time into the quietly spreading rumors of aliens. There were several UFO “sightings” over the course of the next few weeks and he remembers begging his parents for a telescope for his birthday. He told them he was just really excited about his science teacher’s lectures on astronomy. Thinking back, there was no way they hadn’t known what he actually wanted it for – to investigate aliens – but they were kind enough to pretend to believe him and he got his telescope.
He has fond memories of that summer. Stealing out of the house at midnight with his friends and setting up his telescope, swatting hands away because he had a right to the first look. When he finally did hand off the scope to the others, he lay out on his back in the grass and marveled at the great expanse of stars above.
He had looked at the stars before, of course – they were a little hard to miss in the rural Midwest. But this time was different. This time, he looked up and knew with a surge of sparks under his skin that there was something out there. He realized for the first time just how small he was, and just how huge the universe could be. It was dizzying. He had to shut his eyes for a moment, the cold expanse of sheer space above his head the most terrifying unknown he had ever come across. But when he opened them again, he saw the stars twinkle and dance and it was beautiful.
The universe is infinite, he had thought. There are infinite possibilities. There’s no way we’re all that is.
All at once, the fear had evaporated. He wasn’t alone. The sky wasn’t empty. His heart was full with planets and galaxies yet to be found and his excitement bubbled over. He would escape this hopeless expanse of land, he vowed. Someday, he would be free of the gravity chaining him to this place called home. He would make something of himself out there, among the ancient stars.
When Jack turned eighteen, he joined the military. It wasn’t quite the glamorous astronaut career he had been planning in his head for the past seven years, but he figured it was his way out. His ticket out of Indiana, his chance to see the world. To discover what was out there.
He was young and stupid back then, head in the clouds and eyes turned to the stars. Maybe if he had bothered glancing down once in awhile he would have seen the land mine before it went off.
He was lucky, they told him afterward. He could have been blown to bits. He should be grateful to get off the hook with mildly impaired vision and two ugly gashes splitting his face down the middle. He should thank god he could still walk, that he had all his limbs, that he could have a future.
Never mind that his negligence had cost his comrades – his friends – their lives. Never mind that there was blood on his hands and he would see the stains on everything he touched for the rest of his own life. Never mind that, just the other day, he had been laughing at Jones for spewing milk out of her nose, had heard all about Miller’s newborn niece in a joyful rush and his plans to visit her next leave, had made fun of Adams for her terrible poker face when they played blackjack…
He was discharged and found himself back in Indiana, twenty-one years old, with no college education and no prospects. His parents were happy to have him help out on the farm and he had no other options. He didn’t have the money to move out and he couldn’t see himself getting a job he would be happy with, considering his lack of a degree.
All things considered, once he resigned himself to farm life, it wasn’t that bad. He liked working with his hands, liked the satisfaction of showering the grime and sweat off his sore muscles at the end of the day. It kept him busy, kept his lingering trauma at bay. Even better, his parents were treating his work as employment and paying him for his efforts so that he could save up for school. This was a setback, but he could handle it. He would earn his future and be better for it.
Then his father was unexpectedly diagnosed with lung cancer. Jack poured all his savings out into helping his parents pay for treatment, but it was no use. His father died the next year.
His mother officially took full ownership of the farm after that, but she wasn’t quite the same. Grief and the simple problem of age was getting to her. She couldn’t handle making decisions or doing much of the physical labor anymore. Jack stepped in and took care of everything.
It wasn’t long before she died as well. She had always loved riding horses – it was one of the few activities she seemed happy doing anymore – so even though Jack knew it was a bad idea, he didn’t protest. That made it all the worse when she did inevitably have a heart attack and fall from her saddle. By the time Jack rushed her to the hospital, it was too late.
Jack had two months until he turned twenty-six years old and he was alone.
The farm was legally his now, but his work was the same. He hired a few of his neighbors’ kids on as farmhands to manage it all during the planting and harvesting seasons, but for the most part kept to himself.
When his birthday came around in August, he dug out his old dusty telescope and set it up in front of the porch. He adjusted it clumsily, having lost the instructions, but managed to see Saturn.
He sat down next to his telescope and looked up. I am small, he realized sadly. Nothing more than a blip in this ancient swath of fabric they called time. What a fool he had been, to think his tiny life would ever make a difference.
If there was something out there, it didn’t care about Jack Morrison.
Jack is twenty-seven years old when an alien crash-lands in his backyard.
He is woken up abruptly at three in the morning by a huge flash of light and a horrible sound right outside his window. For a moment, he lies in bed and wonders if it would be such a horrible thing if the omnics had finally come to kill him. The news said the omnic forces hadn’t reached the United States yet, but really, it was only a matter of time…
When he doesn’t hear any gunshots, he drags himself out of bed and goes to investigate. He pauses by the kitchen counter on his way out, considering his steak knives. He shifts his flashlight to his other hand to grab one, then shoves his bare feet in some sneakers and hurries out the back door. He finds a massive craggy shape, sitting about fifty feet away from the back of his house, obscured by plumes of smoke too thick for his flashlight to cut through. A few dark shapes stumble from what he assumes to be an aircraft.
He doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until he has to inhale to speak. “Hey-“ He stops. Do aliens even understand English? In most of the movies, they seem to either hand-wave that question or use some kind of deus ex machina real-time translation device… He tries making a large gesture with his arm to signal their attention, then almost immediately puts his arm down. What is he doing? Aliens are usually hostile, aren’t they? Especially that huge, hulking black shape just beyond his field of clear vision, how many ways could such a monster end his life-
Oh god, he is gonna die tonight. He’s at a low point in his life right now, but he’s not ready to get murdered by fucking aliens – at least not without a fight.
That good old familiar rush of adrenaline kicks its way up from underneath a thin sheet of sleep and apprehension, pushing Jack into gear. He flicks the handle of the knife around to hold it underhand and charges at the threatening, giant shadow with a yell. The alien moves to grab at him, but he’s too fast, darting under the massive limb coming at him and jamming the knife into the thing’s side. The blade glances off – shit, armor, really? Fuck these battle-ready aliens.
Before he can dash back inside to get his shotgun, there’s a prick in the side of his neck and the energy abruptly leaves his body. He falls like a brick onto his side, narrowly avoiding hitting his head on a rock. His hammering heartbeat slows unnaturally, air burning in his throat as his breathing is forcibly dragged back down from near-hyperventilation. His eyes dart around in the dark, unable to move his head, ice blooming in his veins as it becomes apparent he’s been paralyzed by some kind of injection-based drug.
Footsteps – he thinks he can hear five distinct ones as the shapes stand over him. Fucking hell. They’re going to dissect him alive or use him for freaky experiments or maybe just murder him without another thought…
Then, he hears something strange. It sounds like… laughter? It’s coming from over his shoulder so he can’t see – though, with how dark it is, being able to move his head probably wouldn’t make much of a difference – but it’s definitely laughter. Human laughter. Deep, genuine, resonating-in-the-stomach laughter.
The kind of laughter that makes Jack want to curl his fingers around the person’s throat and squeeze.
“Fuck Rein,” the person tries to start but is cut off by another round of cackling. He manages to gasp out, “Holy shit-“
“Calm down, Gabriel,” chides a stern-sounding female voice.
“Ha ha!” A voice that seems to shake the earth chimes in, way too loud. “What a valiant show of courage!”
Patronizing asshole, Jack thinks savagely.
“No kidding,” says the first person – Gabriel? Jack can hear the grin in his tone and feels a boot nudge gently at his back.
Get your foot off me or so help me god-
“You actually darted him?”
“Sleep or paralysis?” asks another, softer masculine voice.
One of the figures kneels down, close enough that Jack can finally make out an actual face for the first time. A woman with handsome features, some kind of tattoo over her eye and long, dark hair swept back over her shoulders. She tilts his head to bare his neck and pulls the needle out expertly, checking it over.
“Small dose,” she confirms. “Just paralysis.”
“It’ll be a miracle if he didn’t get a concussion,” grumbles a thickly accented voice. Something Scandinavian?
Gabriel is still snickering in the background as the woman sighs and feels around Jack’s head for bumps.
“He should be fine,” she says. “Reinhardt, carry him inside.”
Hold the fuck on, this is my goddamn property. The anger boiling steadily in Jack’s gut flares up even higher, only exacerbated by his inability to voice it. Still, in absence of any protest, Jack finds himself hauled up, thrown over the huge guy’s shoulder like a rag doll, and carried unceremoniously inside his own home.
He is going to murder these fake aliens for this as soon as his limbs work again.
“Reinhardt” lays him out on his couch, then steps back for the woman to get in his face again.
“Sorry about this,” she says clinically, removing one of her gloves. She lifts her hand and slaps Jack in the face with an audible smack. He yelps, limbs seizing up from the shock of the horrible stinging sensation flickering like a candle right up against his cheek. All at once, his circulation is flowing again and he realizes he can move once more.
“What the fuck,” he snarls, sitting upright and rubbing his cheek gingerly. He peers around suspiciously at the assholes who have decided to so rudely invade his private living room.
There are five of them, like he thought. The huge one he tried to stab – Reinhardt, apparently – still looks like a monster in the light, albeit a cheery monster with a spirited grin and a stupidly beautiful mane of blond hair. Then there’s the woman, slender and tiny, but the force of that slap and her marksmanship in the pitch dark immediately makes Jack wary of her. An even shorter man stands by the door, bearing a grumpy red face and a truly impressive braided beard. Folded in the dark corner of the room is a tall, gangly man with thin-rimmed glasses, face cast in shadow. And finally…
“Nice to meet you, too,” says the last man with a smug smile. Gabriel. Dark, intelligent eyes set under thick eyebrows, lit up like a stain glass window with the annoying combination of both amusement and superiority. He’s a big guy; not shockingly so, like Reinhardt, but easily well over six feet of sheer muscle. His arms are folded, showing off the bulge of his biceps even under his thick black hoodie. Somehow, his waist-to-hip ratio is unfairly pronounced, even moreso than the woman, pooling right into thighs that look like they could crush rock.
Jack briefly entertains the idea of being choked out by those thighs. Then he remembers how this asshole touched him with the muddy sole of his boot and his fantasy shifts into beating the shit out of this guy’s irritating, sexy bearded face.
“Get the fuck out of my house,” Jack says acidly.
“Hold on, sunshine,” Gabriel says like he’s calming a kid. “Look-“
“Don’t call me that,” Jack snaps.
Gabriel raises an eyebrow at him. “Well then, what should I call you?”
Jack narrows his eyes and makes Gabriel wait for his answer. Finally, he pushes “Jack” between his teeth.
“Jack,” Gabriel relents. He tilts his head and looks Jack up and down like he likes what he sees, that smile on his lips only growing bigger. “Mind if we… crash here for the night?”
The woman swats him hard on the shoulder for that pun. Jack’s still-smoldering cheek twinges sympathetically.
“I apologize for him,” she says with a sigh that implies she has had to make such apologies on multiple occasions. “My name is Ana.” She offers her hand and Jack shakes it. Even though his hand dwarves hers, her grip is firm, eye contact unwaveringly direct, and she easily dominates the exchange. “This is, unfortunately, our commander, Gabriel-“
“I’m goddamn Captain America,” Gabriel interrupts, feigning offence. “You don’t appreciate me enough.”
Ana doesn’t take the bait. She points at the strangers around the room in turn. “This is Reinhardt, Torbjörn, and Liao.”
Tobrjörn and Liao both mutter a “hello” while Reinhardt’s greeting shakes the foundation of the house. Jack makes a note to look up if his insurance covers a giant German accidentally shouting his house into rubble.
“Commander,” Jack repeats, stuck on that point. He eyes Reinhardt’s polished silver armor. “You guys are military?”
Ana confirms that with a nod. “A strike team, as it were. Commissioned by the United Nations. The hope is that a small team of highly skilled individuals will be able to do what a huge army cannot. In any case…” She glances at Gabriel. “We were trying to fly from Canada to Brazil. Unfortunately, it seems our plane was sabotaged before takeoff and we had to land here.”
“Okay.” Jack frowns and rubs at the pinprick on his neck. “So, uh. You gonna get it fixed or…?”
“Aye,” Torbjörn says. “The damage assessment will have to wait for daylight, but it will probably take a week or so.”
“A week?” Jack looks between all their faces. “You- You people can’t just come in here, ruin my backyard with a fucking plane, dart me, barge into my house with your muddy shoes all over my fucking rug, then expect to just stay here for a whole week!” He gestures angrily at Reinhardt. “I don’t even have a bed that could fit you!”
Gabriel shrugs. “Yeah. Although to be fair, you did come at us with a knife, so the darting is kinda justified.”
Jack whips around to glare at Gabriel and only gets that smarmy grin in return.
“We understand that this is an inconvenience,” Ana cuts in with a pointed look at Gabriel. “And that we are not giving the best first impression. But there is a lot at stake in this war – the future of humanity as a whole depends on us – and we would be truly grateful if you would graciously allow us to stay in your home until we are able to fix our plane.”
Jack drops his head into his hands with a groan, then drags his palms down his face to look up again. “You’re goddamn lucky you have her,” he informs Gabriel with a nod of his head at Ana.
“Trust me, I know,” Gabriel says.
“I can’t say no to saving humanity,” Jack relents, resigned. “Fine. One week.”
He stands up, doing his best to hide how his legs are still shaking a little from whatever was in that dart, and pushes past Reinhardt to get to the kitchen. He opens his fridge, considers for a moment, then pulls out the tupperware of cornbread he made earlier that evening. He arranges six pieces carefully on a plate and sticks it in the microwave.
Gabriel sidles up and peers into the microwave with a hint of excitement. “Wow, you are a good host after all. That looks yummy.”
“It’s not for you,” Jack snaps. “You woke me up at three in the goddamn morning. I’m a farmer, I have to be up with the sun, and you’ve ruined my whole sleep schedule. I’m having a midnight snack and going back to bed.”
Thankfully, Gabriel for once refrains from making any comments when Jack sets the plate of hot cornbread on the living room coffee table, only taking one with him as he returns upstairs to his bedroom.