Don't own and never will.
AN: This is a companion piece to my fic Hero's Journey and follows the adventures of Brian from the museum (from the first Overwatch trailer/short.)
Eight hours since the break in at the museum. Five hours since he had seen Tracer and Winston and God knows who the other two were. Five hours of being interrogated and questioned about the break in. (Didn't they have security footage? The place was covered in security cameras after all.)
All around them, the police station hummed with life. Officers walked past them to and from their various duties, phones rang in the background (apparently people still used them, much to his surprise.) and even the lights were bright and unhealthy in a way he didn't think even existed any more.
They had of course been examined by a paramedic at the museum and again when they had arrived. And their parents had of course been called.
Brian leaned back in his chair and let out a long yawn. The adrenaline rush from earlier had long since faded away and replaced by exhuastion. On the other chair, his brother Timmy was sleeping. Brian wished he could be so lucky. What HAD he been thinking even getting involved? He had put on Doomfist's guantlet with no real idea how to even use the damn thing and if Winston hadn't intervened, he would almost certainly be dead.
The strange woman had looked pissed when she stood up. Really pissed. Probably hadn't expected to be hit like that by a mere civillian.
And then there was that strange, shadowy man. The one with the twin shotguns and black clothing. Gothic was probably the best way to describe him. He was the kind of thing that nightmares were made of.
Brian looked up to see his mother standing there with a cup in hand.
"You look like you could use this," she said and he gratefully took the cup. She sat down beside him, her He raised the cup to his lips and took a sip.
"Thanks mum," he said as he nursed the coffee in his hand and she smiled.
"How are you feeling?" she asked and Brian shrugged. "You know, you can talk to me about anything right?"
"I know mum," he said, looking down at his cup.
"And you know, I'm proud of you."
"Why?" his mother looked at him with a puzzled expression and he continued. "I was scared. And stupid. What I did almost got me killed and…"
"And there's no guarantee that you or your brother would have been left alone anyway," she said, looking at him with a smile. "But instead of simply freezing where you were, and nobody would blame you for doing so, you may well have tipped the balance in the heroes favour."
"And you didn't just blindly rush in like an idiot." She continued with a smile. "You actually put thought into what you were going to do."
"It just seemed like the sensible thing to do," he said, looking at his feet. "The bad guys wanted it and the heroes were preoccupied and…"
"And you acted like a hero." She paused and looked at him. "Your grandfather told me once that the difference between a hero and a coward is not the fear but the way you respond to it."
"It was just like being in one of those holovids that Brian likes so much," he gestured over to his sleeping brother. "But it was more real, more...scary." He looked at his mother. "They don't really show that in the holovids."
"Of course they don't," she said with a smile. "I don't think that they ever would." She looked at him curiously. "What did Tracer say to you?"
"It was nothing really," he said and his mother raised an eyebrow. "Well, she said that the world could always use more heroes."
"She was right," she said as she gave him a hug. "You were a hero today. And don't you forget it."
"Thanks mum," he said and the two of them sat in companionable silence.