Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

On the outside of the battlements there was little to be heard, but on the inside was one of the loudest parties the mercenaries had had in a while. It was Halloween, and the RED team had won this year. Demo blew up the enemy Heavy-Medic to bits. Spy got a couple clean trick stabs. Scout snatched the BLU’s briefcase, with minimal bullet wounds. Defeating the horseless headless horsemann was a piece of cake. The team couldn’t have done any better, so what were they to do? Throw an amazing Halloween party, that's what.

In the common room were strung up fake cobwebs, as well as flickering orange and purple lights. A plastic skeleton dangled from a ceiling fan, spinning slowly like a part of the team. Laughter and loud music seeped through the corridors around the room, broken occasionally by the sound of Scout or Soldier yelling. The party has started, and Demo has decided to say a toast.

“May the scrumpy be strong enough to melt our livers, and may we wake up in one piece, or at least in the right country!” Demo shouts with one foot atop the table and another on a chair. Holding up a beer stein of scrumpy.

Scout sniffs the amber colored liquid with a sour face. “Ugh, dude, this stuff smells like gasoline.”

“Could strip the paint off my van. Who bloody made this?” Sniper chimed in.

After Demo’s toast the room began to buzz with noise. Pyro wore their handmade ghost costume. They had snatched one of Medic’s medical cloths, still with a few mysterious fluids, to make the costume. They pulled Scout by the arm to dance by the fireplace. Engie rigged up one of his dispensers to dispense candy corn instead of bullets. Spy hovered near the small window with a cigarette and a scowl, pretending not to enjoy himself. Soldier declared war with the pumpkins after a jack-o-lantern had looked at him weird, or so he said.

A sudden swirl of green smoke and sparks bursted from the center of the room. Everyone turned, the room silenced except for Tom Jones playing in the background. A dramatic cackle echoed from nowhere.

“FOOLS! You DARE celebrate the thinning of the veil without inviting ME—MERASMUS!”

“Hello Merasmus!” Soldier says waving.

“Oh wonderful. My least favorite idiots.”

“Oi, do a trick!” Demo yells, stumbling over himself while walking towards Merasmus. “I bet my other eye ye can’t even handle a wee spell without yer bones fallin’ outta yer ass!”

“You will rue those words, cyclopean drunkard!” Merasmus yells, lifting his staff. He starts chanting something ancient as the room grows colder. The windows begin to fog as a beam of green light forms from the end of the staff. Demo, who's not aware that Merasmus’s eyes are now glowing a blinding blue, laughs and swigs from his mug. Merasmus utters the final words of his incantation as Tavish finally realizes why everyone has horrified looks on their faces.

Then the staff shoots. It hits Tavish in center mass. He can feel it smash into him. As if the entire world had slowed down, he saw Medic and Engie race to him. Soldier was lunging at Merasmus, and Spy had even dropped his glass of wine. He didn't see it hit the ground before it all vanished. Enveloped in white and then a wave of some feeling he didn't quite understand washed over him. He stood in the common room unable to move, frozen. His vision was blurry, or maybe the world around him was hazy, he didn't know. He saw everything move around him, the mercenaries he knew and became friends with moved inhumanly fast. At first they were sad, even Heavy ended up shedding a tear. They mourned for a few days, then after a while they started their usual routine again. Breakfast, fighting, dinner, sleep, repeat. It felt as if he wasn't really there, but he was, he was in the common room stuck. The passage of time had begun to speed up even more. The sun set and rose as fast as he could blink.

What felt like days began to feel like weeks, then years all in an instant. Time rapidly picked up its pace. One day his friends were there and now they're weren't. The building began to decay slowly, storms had smashed the windows and destroyed through the roof years ago. Now the mold and animals had taken refuge in the forgotten building. Its original purpose as a battle ground now lost to time.

Then something he had never seen before in the ruins of the place he used to call home. A plane? He thought it looked like one of those futuristic ships from one of Scout's comic books. As soon as it was there it was gone. Then the sky grew dark, smoke rose in the distance. Then came the screams. More of whatever he had seen before flew overhead again, this time dropping bombs. One landed right on the bridge—or where the bridge would have been, if the storm (what felt like decades ago now) hadn’t already ripped it to shreds. He tried to duck but his body wouldn't budge. He heard what sounded like Heavy’s minigun outside but multiplied by 10. He got a small peek at a robot. A square head and large boxy body. On its back were the machine guns he had been hearing. Another blink and it was all gone. Had the robots he fought at Mann Co. finally taken over? Why did they look so different?

The days began to slow, or at least he thought, there were no more ships whizzing by, no more machine guns. No more of anything really…

Finally his body fell, crumpled under the weight of standing for a hundred years. All his muscles felt tired and so did he.

Chapter Text

Demo had woken up face-down in the dirt and dust. The air was stale, the kind that clung to your throat and made your tongue feel dry. His head throbbed like someone had detonated a sticky bomb behind his eyes. How much did he drink last night, he thought. Groaning, he pushed himself upright and blinked hard. He was still in the common room, or what was left of it. The cobwebs were real now, and the walls half-collapsed. The fort was in ruins both BLU’s and RED’s. So it wasn't a dream he whispered to himself. Merasmus really did cast a spell on him, but what kind?

He coughed hard, and attempted to brush off the dust like it’d make a difference. Everything was still. No anything, no shouting, no smell of gunpowder. Just a heavy silence that sat in his chest like a stone. The creaking of old boards was heard with every step he took. He looked around for a while drinking it all in. He was alone, utterly alone. He knew he couldn’t mope about, immediately walking down the halls to Medic’s infirmary. He hoped and prayed there would be something for him, anything. Swinging open one of the doors with a deafening creak.

The smell hit him first, like rotting animals and metal. He pushed through the smell and covered his nose. He frantically opened and ripped drawers from their place looking for anything useful. He found a medkit, half used but better than nothing. A large glass bottle filled with an unknown liquid, he dumped it out and took the bottle. Finally the fridge, this was where the smell was coming from, was it even worth opening. Demo pulled open the rusted fridge door, the smell punched him in the face. Inside, tucked between shattered glass jars and moldy bread, sat what remained of the BLU Spy’s head. It was dried out, the skin pulled tight like old leather, with a smirk forever frozen on his face. Demo swallowed hard, his stomach twisting. Even death hadn’t been enough to wipe that smug look off the bastard. He closed the fridge without a word and moved on.

Above him were chirps and coos. It seems a couple of birds had made their homes in the rafters like Archimedes used too. Medic would have liked that, he thought. He left the birds and made his way to Engi’s workshop. There had to be loads of supplies in there surely. There were tools everywhere, but all rusted and some broken. The only ones he could find worth taking were a flathead screwdriver, hammer and an old worn out pair of leather gloves. Demo picked up one of Dell’s old bags and threw all his findings inside.

Finally he went to his room, he had hoped all of his belongings would still be inside. An old musty smell permeated the room, and it seemed that most of his things were still here. All his clothes still in the small closet, now eaten away by moths. The bed had obviously been taken over by an animal at one point. The blankets had been ripped to shreds and a small home was made in the middle. The only thing that looked untouched was the large trunk at the end of the bed. Demo busted the lock and hesitantly opened the lid.

"Ah, my favorite drunkard! You came back, took you long enough. I almost thought you’d leave me here forever." echoed the words in Tavish’s mind. Eyelander emitted a small green glow once Tavish picked him up.

"Aye, it’s good to see ye again lad. Feels like a lifetime since I held ye. But what in the hell am I supposed to do now?" Tavish asked, walking out of the room, and then outside of the base.

“Hmph. You walk, you idiot," Eyelander grumbled in Tavish’s mind. "The world’s not going to come to us. I’ve been starvin’ for a hundred years.”

“Ye really think it's been a hundred years?” Tavish whispers mostly to himself.

Sheathing eyelander Tavish starts walking along the overgrown road towards the town. His boots kicked up little clouds of dust with every step. The heat beat down on him like a hammer, baking the dirt until it shimmered in the distance. His pack was getting heavy and the silence even heavier. No Scout running his mouth a mile a minute, no Soldier barking orders — just the crunch of his boots.

He let his mind drift to what Eyelander said earlier, was he really a hundred years in the future. When he finally looked up he saw a road sign, it had fallen off only holding on by a screw. He dusted it off and read,

“Teufort… pop 1,280” spray painted in red over the number was a 0.

“What the bloody hell happened here” he said out loud walking further to the town. It was in shambles, homes and businesses destroyed. He found a bar, the windows were gone, so was one of the doors. The ceiling collapsed and grass had taken over the inside. Tavish had found two bottles of whisky somehow still unharmed. He brushed off the dust caked on top and put them in his bag. His eye also caught a twinkle near the cash register. A handful of golden coins, surely these will come in handy he thought.

The statue in the center of town was shattered into three big chunks. Half-buried in the rubble was a robot, not one of Gray Mann’s, Tavish could tell that much. This one was built stocky, more like a small tank and less like a human.

There's nothing left to scavenge in the town, all the water is contaminated, he knew that 100 years ago. Hungry, tired and hot as hell he set out west, maybe he would find someone or one of the team's other bases.

Days blurred together as Tavish trudged westward. At first, he stuck to the road, sleeping in the shells of cars or whatever abandoned shacks he could find along the way. When the sun dipped low and the desert turned freezing, he’d find a cave to huddle in or slept inside dusty service stations, wrapping himself in whatever rags he could find.

Finding clean water was the real enemy, sometimes he’d find old rain barrels, or broken vending machines with a few ancient bottles rattling around. Food wasn’t much better. Canned beans, stale jerky, whatever the coyotes hadn’t gotten to first. It wasn’t living, but it was surviving, and for now, that was enough.

The road stretched on, cracked and swallowed by weeds. Tavish admired the beautiful layers of rock in the Arizona scenery. He passed the skeletons of an old gas station, their signs rusted and barely clinging to the frames. Deadlock graffiti was sprayed across crumbling walls. Skulls with wings, crossed rifles, warnings he couldn’t quite read through the dust. Every town he walked through was the same, empty, sun-bleached, dead. But then up ahead he spotted something still standing. An old diner, trapped behind a train wreck. One of the cars was swinging precariously off the tracks above.

A line of dusty motorcycles was parked out front, engines ticking as they cooled in the heat. Tavish ran a hand across his mouth, weighing his options. Inside, through the grimy windows, he could just make out the shapes of people. They had to be the Deadlock gang, no mistaking it, but god was he hungry for something that didn't come out of a tin can. He squared his shoulders and pushed the door open.

The bell over the door gave a half-hearted jingle as he stepped inside. Heads turned, boots thunked against the cold tile floor. He spotted an open booth near the window, no one said a word, but he could feel their eyes on him, watching him, waiting.

An omnic in a faded diner uniform shuffled over, a battered metal hand sliding a menu onto the table.

“Haven't seen you around these parts before. What can I get ya?”

Tavish stared at the omnic. After years of blowing Gray Mann’s machines to bits, seeing one just stand there like a regular waiter made him feel queasy. Realizing he had stared long enough he flipped open the menu, the laminate sticky and curling at the corners. His stomach growled loud enough that a few Deadlock thugs snickered from the bar. He ignored them, focusing on the faded pictures of burgers, fries, and greasy breakfasts. The omnic waited, head tilted in a polite, mechanical way. Tavish jabbed a finger at the first thing he saw.

"I'll take a burger, fries, and a glass of water, if ye've got it."

The omnic gave a nod and shuffled back toward the kitchen, leaving Tavish alone under their heavy stares. He let his eye wander over the gang members. They didn’t seem in a hurry to pick a fight, but he knew better than to get comfortable. Eyelander's voice echoed faintly in his mind, impatient and hungry.

"Plenty of heads in here, just say the word."

Tavish sighed and rubbed his face. "Let's just get a meal in first, aye?"

One of the gang members pushed off the bar and sauntered over. His boots stomped with every slow, heavy step.

"You talkin' to yourself there, old man?" he sneered, loud enough for his buddies to hear. A few of the others chuckled, knives and forks clinking against plates. Tavish didn’t look up, intent on studying the scratches and carvings on the worn table. He held a hand on Eyelander’s hilt under the table.

"Best if ye sit back down, lad. All aye want to do is eat then I'll be outta yer hair." he muttered, voice low and even. The Deadlock thug wasn't interested in warnings. His face turned sour as one hand went for his sidearm, thumbing the safety off.

Tavish caught the gang member’s movement from the corner of his eye. In a blur, he stood, the table scraping loudly against the floor. He withdrew Eyelander with a satisfying shrrk of steel. The blade hummed with a greedy, eager glow.

"Fine," Tavish growled. "If yer that desperate to lose yer head, who am I to argue?"

Chapter Text

One of the gang members barked a laugh from across the diner, kicking his chair back as he stood. Another at the bar said,

“Didn’t know the Renaissance Fair was in town, motherfucker showed up with a sword like it’s the damn Middle Ages!”

The thug in front of Tavish grinned wide, “What? You forget how guns work.” He pointed the pistol in Tavish’s face. But he didn’t flinch, not even when the rest of the crew got up from the bar weapons at the ready.

Tavish didn’t wait for the trigger. Eyelander came down hard and fast, carving through the thug’s forearm in one clean swing. It landed with a thud, his blood making a painting on the tiles below. The man screamed and fell to his knees, grasping at the wound as chaos exploded behind him. Chairs scraped. A shotgun roared. Tavish ducked low and jumped behind a booth, splinters flying as pellets tore through the seatback. Eyelander pulsed in his grip, glowing bright and more eager by the second.

"Ahh, that’s the taste I’ve missed! Don’t stop now, give me every last head!” Eyelander cheered.

There was no finesse in the way Tavish moved, only the brutal rhythm of survival. He kicked a table into one Deadlock gang members as he charged. One thug swung a bat; Tavish grabbed onto it with one hand and with the other he drove the pommel of Eyelander into the man’s nose, followed by a sickening crack. Then he shoved the sword through the man's guts. Pulling out quickly to spin around as another came at him with a knife, the blade of Eyelander flashing in an arc that carved clean through the man's wrist. The severed hand hit the floor still clutching the blade, he screamed like the first and staggered back. Then gurgling was heard as a clean slice across the man’s neck appeared, perfected through years of brutal practice. Blood fanned across the room. He fell gurgling until no more sound escaped.

Eyelander took its second head with a wet, awful sound, the blade glowing brighter with each soul claimed. Tavish didn’t stop to count. Didn’t stop to think. Every move was instinct, a thousand battles behind him fueling each swing. Then a shotgun boomed, he felt the heat of some of the bullets hitting his flesh but didn’t slow down. He had been shot before, for years day after day, this was nothing.

When the last man dropped with a gurgle and a crash, Tavish stood alone in the middle of the wrecked diner, breathing hard, blood dripping from his clothes. The stuff was everywhere, it painted the windows, the tiles, and Eyelander.

“Now that’s a meal” Eyelander's voice sounded smug and content in Tavish’s mind. Tavish spat on the floor, wiped the blood from his face, and stumbled toward the bar placing Eyelander down. The metal clattering caused the waiter to peek over and see a room full of dead bodies and the man who killed them all sitting there waiting. They scurried to the back and came back with a plate in hand and a glass of water. The plate clinked on the countertop. Tavish took a bite of the now cold burger like nothing had happened.

After his meal he picked up the pistol, shotgun and looted the bodies for their bullets. He went to the bathroom, washed out the glass bottle from Medics lab and filled it with what he hoped was clean water. He took out the medkit from his bag, and wrapped his bullet wounds with gauze. Cleaned off his face and made his way outside.

Outside he stared at the bikes, clicking the stolen key fob. One whirled to life, its wheels turned sideways and glowed blue, hovering the bike in the air.

“What the bloody hell, either I’m really in the future, or Arizona’s gotten real weird." He walked around it, checking it out from different angles. “Alright, you floaty metal bastard, pretend you're a real motorcycle, just for me." Tavish said, sitting on it. It lowered at first with his weight then calibrated slowly rising back up again.

Little did Tavish know in the diner, the omnic waiter quietly tapped a few buttons on the register, sending a silent call through the dusty comm lines straight to Ashe.

—

The Deadlock hideout was quiet, too quiet for Ashe’s liking. She sat with her boots kicked up on her desk, picking invisible dirt from under her nails while Bob loomed silently nearby. The radio crackled every so often, all static and dead air. She was just about to call it a night when the comm on the corner of her desk buzzed to life, sharp and urgent.

Ashe sat up straight, eyes narrowing.

“This better be good,” she muttered, jabbing the button. It was quiet at first…

“Ashe… uh, ma’am……we got a real problem here. Some stranger came through the Route 66 diner. He killed all of the boys and took one of the bikes too. You're gonna wanna see the footage.”

She tapped a few keys on the keyboard in front of her. Footage flickered to life. The feed was grainy, but clear enough to show a black Scottish cyclops cutting through her gang like it was nothing. The hoverbike lifted and vanished in the cloud of dust off Route 66.

Ashe exhaled, then hit a different button and waited for the phone to pick up.

“Hey, Cass,” she said, voice smooth as whiskey but with a sharp edge. “I think you still owe me a favor.”

A pause. Then the lazy southern drawl came through.

“Damn, I thought you forgot about that. So what the hell happened, musta been bad if you're callin’ me.”

“Some one-eyed lunatic came crashin’ through the Route 66 diner with a sword. Left five bodies and rode off on one of my bikes.” Ashe grumbled fist clenched.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, “...A sword?” Cassidy asked, like he wasn’t sure if he misheard or just didn’t want to believe it.

“Yes, a sword, did ya not hear me the first time? I’m watching the goddamn footage right now Cassidy.” She sneered, voice laced with anger.

“No need to get your panties in a twist, I’ll track him down for ya. Then we’re even.” Cassidy chuckled low.

“Yeah, Do it quickly and I’ll call us even. I’ll send you over the footage.” Ashe hung up before Cassidy could say another word.

Cassidy had no idea what to think when he saw the footage. The mysterious man definitely had combat experience, he knew that much. He also knew Tavish was shot, so he had to stop sometime and get help or risk bleeding out. Cassidy hoped he would find him alive, he had so many questions he had to ask.

—

Cassidy stepped through the door of the Route 66 diner, the bell gave a small jingle behind him. His spurs clinked softly against the broken tile. The place stank of blood and fried food. Tables were overturned, glass crunched under his boots, and one of the Deadlock bikes was missing from the front. He tipped his hat back, jaw tight.

“Damn, you sure made a mess, stranger…” He whispered.

Cassidy stood in the middle of the mess of bodies and blood, thumb hooked on his belt, brow furrowed. This wasn’t just another outlaw picking a fight. The cuts were too clean, his movement was too. That damn sword glowed. Something about this whole thing was weird.

Behind the counter, the omnic waiter stood stiffly, some stray blood had landed on their uniform.

“You the one who made the call?” Cassidy asked, walking over to the bar. The omnic nodded,

“Yes. I sent the call when he left.” Silence hung in the air for a moment as Cassidy took in the scene. “He didn’t start it.” The omnic’s voice was calm, almost apologetic.

“I know, I saw the footage, You got a good look at him?” Cassidy asked.

“He was tall. Wore an eye patch, and had a Scottish accent.” A pause. “And his sword... glowed.”

Cassidy had seen it right then. The damn sword glowed, the only other person he knew that had a sword like that was Genji. He had to get some help to figure this out. Stepping outside finally able to breathe again he pulled out his comms. “Hey, Echo. You busy?”

There was a pause, then her voice chimed in, light and curious. “Hello Cassidy. No more busy than usual. Are you alright?”

He scratched at his beard, glancing around the carnage through the windows. “Yeah I’m fine, on a job right now… got somethin’ weird here.”

"Weird? Your tone says ‘trouble.’ The kind with teeth or the kind with lasers?"

Cassidy gave a dry chuckle, “The kind with a sword.”

“A sword?” Echo sighed, “What did Genji do now?”

Cassidy gave a big full hearted laugh, “No, nothing like that, he aint here…” Then he got quiet, Echo could feel the weight of the conversation shift drastically. “Some guy cut down a whole Deadlock crew like it was nothin’. Took off on one of their bikes.”

“Oh… now you’ve got my attention. Would you like me to run recon?” Echo asks already pressing buttons on an interface.

“Already sent you the footage.” Cass says sending the file over, “Take a peek, see if it rings any bells. Faces, clothes, tech—whatever you can pull.”

“On it,” Right before Cassidy hangs up he hears, “And Cassidy, please be careful.”

“Will do moon pie.” With that he hung up the comms and got on his bike.

Chapter Text

The screen flashed red. A warning.

ACCESS DENIED: REQUIRES ADMIN CREDENTIALS

Echo’s holographic interface flickered dimly beneath the neon sign of the roadside café. She sat beside Cassidy at a corner table near the back, far from curious eyes and the clatter of waiters. Their attention was fixed on the corrupted file they’d pulled from Overwatch archives. It was old, pre-recall, even pre-omnic crisis, and buried so deep it barely survived.

“It’s like tryin’ to read a ghost,” Cassidy muttered, tipping his hat back as Echo ran a bypass protocol. “Most of it’s scrambled to hell.”

“Not scrambled,” Echo corrected, her voice soft but tense. “Redacted. Purposefully.” She scrolled through walls of redacted text and heavily censored photos. Some were still legible, A photo and a news clipping. A grainy headline from The Teufort Bystander scrolled by: ████████ Members ██ ████ Teufort █████ ██ Pay for ██████ ██ Destruction to Fair City. The photo showed two men’s mugshots, their faces redacted.

“Teufort? Where in the hell is that?” Cassidy asked scanning through the document.

“It seems to be a very small town out in the middle of New Mexico, the closest notable town is Roswell.” Echo stated looking at Cassidy puzzled. She continued to read further but it was all blacked out. Except for a group photo, it was their mystery man. He was surrounded by eight other men all dressed in red. They all seemed to be friendly and having a good time. In the background was a logo on a tall building. The word RED inside a bomb, underneath was Reliable Excavation Demolition. They kept going through all the redacted text until at the very end they read…

“Mann Co.?” They both said in unison looking at each other.

“What in the hell does a defunct company have to do with this?” Cassidy asked confused, taking a sip of his coffee. Echo stopped for a moment to process all the data she found.

“Mann Co. was acquired by The Omnica Corp. decades ago.” Echo stated, sifting through old documents on acquisition deals. They both sat confused at the small booth in the diner. This only led to more questions than answers.

—

The hum of fluorescent lights buzzed like flies in the rundown roadside motel room on the outskirts of Vegas. A pop echoed in the cramped bathroom. Tavish had opened the bottle of whiskey he nabbed and took a long swig, some dribbling down into his beard. He exhaled slowly, the familiar burn settling in his chest. It had been weeks since his last real drink. Sure he took the occasional sip here and there on the road, but just enough to keep away the worst of detox. But now, he needed it for more than just comfort. This time it wasn't going to just his liver but to the open wound on his stomach. Blood and antiseptic stained the sink. The medkit was spread out across the countertop.

He winced as he drew the thread through the gash in his side, the needle trembling in his whiskey-soaked fingers. He muttered a curse under his breath, half-wishing the lunatic doctor was here to help fix him up.

After his impromptu minor surgery he cleaned himself up in the shower. He watched as the blood washed off of him and mixed with the water below. He knew he shouldn't stay in the shabby motel, someone would be after him because of what happened at the diner. But his body had other plans, as soon as his head hit the pillow he melted into the bed and fell asleep.

—

The future was loud, fast, and alien. And he was already sick of it. Neon lights buzzed overhead as Tavish wandered through the edge of Vegas, caught between dusty roads and gaudy digital billboards.

He ducked into a cheap looking clothing shop, the bell above the door giving a distorted chime. An older omnic whirred to life behind the counter. “Hello sir! Everything in the store is 20% off!” Tavish looked to the nearest rack, a brown coat with a design on the back. He lifted the price tag and was horrified, “Two hundred credits?” he muttered. “For a jacket?” Before he could put the coat back, the omnic whirred into action, it made its way towards Tavish.

“Is there something I can assist you with?” it asked in a standard chirpy tone, its camera eyes blinking with an unnerving precision. “Perhaps you’d like to try something more... appropriate for your needs?”

Tavish scowled, “I don’t need anything from you, lass,” he grumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets and walking to another section of the store. But the omnic wasn’t about to let Tavish go. It walked behind him, matching his every turn. “We have discounted options for... individuals in need—at a reasonable price, of course.”

Tavish stopped mid-step and turned to face the omnic, his brows furrowed. He didn’t know if it was the filthy jacket he was wearing, the scruffy beard, or the tired look in his eyes, but he sure as hell didn’t appreciate being labeled. He picked up the first shirt and pants he saw, plain & cheap and shoved them under his arm. “These’ll do.”

“Excellent choice!” the omnic chirped, clearly told to praise even the most begrudging purchases. “Would you like to try them on, or shall I ring you up?”

Tavish frowned, “Ring it up,” he muttered, already walking toward the counter. He just wanted to get out of here and fast. The register was just as confusing as the rest of the store: all touchscreens and holograms. The omnic slid behind the counter with practiced ease, scanning the items and producing a floating total in front of him: 140 credits.

Tavish blinked. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He had never seen prices so high.

“We do accept most major cards.” the omnic said cheerfully. He fished around in his bag pulling out the small coin purse of jingling, unfamiliar tokens he’d swiped from the bar in Teufort. He sat the bag on the counter with a heavy thud. The omnic counted the needed credits, and nodded. “That will suffice. Would you like a reusable bag for two credits?”

“No.” Tavish grabbed the clothes, and stormed into the fitting room. If the future wanted to treat him like a bum, fine. But he'd walk out of this place at least looking like he belonged in it. Once he was out of that shop he threw away his old tattered clothes and set foot deeper into the heart of Vegas.

The city was a mess of holograms, flashing lights, and synthetic charm. Digital billboards barked ads at passersby, hovering taxis hummed overhead, and the crowds flowed, barely glancing at the chaos around them. Somewhere nearby he saw a pink neon flower flickering in front of an aging hotel. Little flamingos danced back and forth in the neon lights. It made him think of Scout, how the kid never shut up about wanting to see Tom Jones live at the Flamingo, like it was the pinnacle of class.

One massive screen loomed above a plaza, flashing with bold colors and triumphant music: “Legacy of Heroes — Overwatch! Now Open at the Nevada History Museum.” Tavish squinted up at it. A heroic shot of Winston, Tracer, Mercy and Reinhardt stood frozen mid-pose, the words “Heros Never Die” glowing beneath them.

He wasn't the museum going kinda man, but it was a nice place to disappear for a while in. Maybe he could learn about where or when the hell he was too.

As he crossed the street a southern drawl called out to him, “You’ve been makin’ a lot of noise for someone tryna stay hidden.”

Tavish turned sharply. He saw a man arms crossed and wearing a cowboy hat low over his brow, leaning against a pillar like he owned the sidewalk. Tavish didn’t answer, he ran letting a crowd swallow him up hoping to hide. He snuck into the entrance of the museum, the air inside was cold and quiet. He wandered aimlessly at first eyes glancing over artifacts and paintings. Wandering deeper past marble statues and glowing holograms he found himself in a dimmed section marked, The Omnic Crisis: The War that Changed the World.

He walked around the tight twisting hallways slowly taking in the imagery of destroyed cities, and deceased men, women and children. There were timelines etched into the walls with dates and counters for how many had died. His heart sank when he saw up ahead a viewing area. There were benches and playing on a loop was a documentary. First hand video footage of massive omnics blowing up bridges, hospitals, and parks.

He sat down in the first row, Tavish didn’t look away, not even when he heard footsteps behind him.

Cassidy stepped into the viewing room, his spurs quiet against the polished floor. He stood at the back for a moment, watching the footage with a somber expression. “Ain’t enough documentaries in the world to capture what that war really felt like.” he said quietly, his voice carrying just enough to reach Tavish.

He made his way slowly down the aisle, then eased onto the bench beside Tavish without another word. The two sat in silence for a moment before Cassidy asked, “Looks like you’ve seen that kinda hell before.”

Tavish just stared at the screen, the chaos of the Omnic Crisis flickering across it. Cities in flames, machines tearing through concrete and bone alike. A crushing weight sat on his chest.

He should’ve stopped them.

Back when it was still just machines and mercs, they fought waves of bots like sport, him, the lads, Red vs Blu, all of it treated like a bloody game. But they never asked where the bots came from. Never asked why. And now here they were, back again. He clenched his jaw, stomach twisting with guilt. Maybe if they’d done something then this future wouldn’t exist.

Cassidy glanced over, picking up on the weight in Tavish’s silence. He let the quiet stretch for a beat, then exhaled through his nose, a dry smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. “I’m Cassidy. Some call me Cole. Most just call me a pain in the ass.” Tavish huffed, not quite a laugh, but not nothing either.

“I know you’re not from around here, probably not even this century if I had to guess.” Cassidy chatted, but Tavish stayed quiet. “Lotta folks are asking who you are.”

Then a defining BOOM shook the building, glass shattered, alarms blared and screams rippled through the air. Cassidy was on his feet in an instant, Tavish rose slower, still recovering from his injuries. Both men bolted toward the exit, shoving past panicked visitors and staff trying to flee deeper inside. The museum doors blew open just as they reached them—debris and smoke pouring in from the city outside.

Vegas was under attack.

Null Sector troopers swarmed the streets, but these weren’t like the ones Cassidy remembered. They had what seemed to be gold flowing through tubes in their bodies.

Cassidy unholstered his Peacekeeper and fired. From above, Echo swooped into view with a flash of blue light and opened fire with pinpoint precision. “Cassidy these Null Sector units are different. Nothing like we’ve fought before!” Her sticky bombs detonated across their armor but the troopers just kept advancing like nothing had touched them.

Tavish drew Eyelander from the sheath strapped across his back. He swung with a battle-worn grip and a roar. Slicing through the flying omnics terrorizing the crowds, but every movement tore at his aching side. He was already bleeding through his shirt, the fight ripping open his unhealed wound.

A blast from one of the upgraded troopers struck the pavement at his feet, sending him flying. He crashed through a store window, slammed hard into the floor, and didn’t get back up. Dust and smoke filled his lungs. He tried to move, but a chunk of concrete pinned his body. Blood poured out of his side. He grimaced, groaning as the pain dragged him toward unconsciousness.

—

“FOUND HIM!” He heard faintly, it sounded like the cowboy he met. He saw glowing wings first, then felt the crushing weight being taken off his body. He coughed and winced in pain. He was light headed, and bleeding out.

She knelt beside Tavish, pulling some of the rubble off with surprising strength, then activated her Caduceus Staff. The warm pulse of energy closed the worst of the wound in seconds. Tavish blinked up at her through the haze of pain, the edges of her face framed by a holy glow.

“...Am I dead?” he rasped.

Mercy gave a small smile, tilting her head. “Not yet.”

And for the first time in this confusing, dangerous, alien future, Tavish didn’t feel completely alone…

Chapter Text

The first thing Tavish noticed was that he was no longer in pain. Not completely gone, the dull throb in his side still lingered like a hangover. A machine beeped and hummed beside him and the room smelled of antiseptic. His vision was still hazy and his recollection of the past few days even hazier. His brain, slower than usual, filled in the gaps. This had to be Medic’s lab. But as his sight grew clearer he saw that there were no bloodstains, no cracked tiles or rusted metal. No bullet holes in the walls. Just smooth white panels, soft blue lighting, and a screen that blinked in languages he couldn't read. Right… he was in the future, no Medic, no team,

just him…

alone…

He shifted, or tried to, only to feel a sharp tug at his right wrist. Metal bit against his skin. His hand was cuffed to the bed frame. The other arm was free, nicely dressed in IV tubing. Definitely not Medic’s lab, he thought grimly.

His eye swept the room, half-expecting to see a familiar glint of steel propped in the corner, but there was nothing. No Eyelander. No gear. Not even the busted flask he kept hidden under his vest. He struggled under the cuffs once more. The metal clanged against the frame.

The door opened and spurs clicked on the tiles below. Cassidy stepped into view, a cup of coffee in one hand and a lopsided grin on his face.

“You took a bad hit. Glad to see you pull through.” he said casually, like they were old friends catching up and not separated by a pair of handcuffs. “Don’t worry, the cuffs are just a formality… Mostly.”

Tavish raised his cuffed wrist and gave it a lazy shake. “Ye do this with all your guests, or am I just special?””

Cassidy huffed out a weak laugh, pulled over a nearby chair and sat. “What can I say, you make a hell of a first impression.” Cassidy settled into the chair and asked “I don’t reckon I ever got your name partner.”

Tavish moved to extend his hand, only to be yanked short by the cuff still locked around his wrist. The chain rattled against the bedframe as he muttered, “Tavish. Now, where the bloody hell are we?”

Cassidy met his hand and shook, firm and short. “Unfortunately Tavish that ain't something I can tell ya right now.” He leaned back in the chair, took off his hat and placed it on the small side table. “We both got questions, you answer one of mine, I’ll answer you one of yours. Fair deal, I'd say.” He took a swig outta his mug and waited.

Tavish eyed him warily, weighing the offer. It wasn’t the worst deal he’d been given, not by a long shot. And, he needed to know where he was and how the hell he was gonna get back. The deal still sounded like someone digging for more than they were willing to give. But, Cassidy hadn’t pulled a gun on him in Vegas, and that counted for something. Besides, if this cowboy really had answers, Tavish wasn’t in much of a position to turn them down. Not with one wrist cuffed to the bed and a head still foggy from blood loss and painkillers. He nodded and waved his hand asking for the first of many questions.

“I gotta ask, what the hell is up with your sword…” He looked towards Tavish, “I mean, the damn thing glows…”

Tavish just shook his head, “Aye, he’s a damned bastard. Where’d ye put him anyway, gotta be careful, if ye aint lookin’ he’ll snatch yer head.” Tavish laughed after but it quickly turned into a violent cough. The sting in his side was sharp and the monitor beside him flared to life with a loud warning beep. He gritted his teeth and eased himself back against the pillows, riding the pain out with a grimace.

The door opened, and in stepped a woman clad in a white lab coat, and hung around her neck was a stethoscope. Her blonde hair was pinned back in a practical twist, glasses perched low on her nose. She moved with practiced urgency, crossing the room in quick strides.

“Could you please not antagonise my patient, he needs rest.” she said dryly as she swept past Cassidy, already moving toward Tavish’s bedside. Her eyes flicked over the monitor, then to the half-healed gash at his side. “Not the worst fieldwork I’ve seen.” She glanced at the crude stitching Tavish did in the motel. Her hands were steady as she adjusted the heart rate monitor on his finger with practiced ease. She gave him a look, “Try not to tear your stitches open. I don’t have unlimited patience you know.”

Tavish was awestruck, he hadn’t expected his savior to walk into the room. He couldn’t help the way his gaze lingered as she moved, and her voice was that of warm hands on cold skin. She was resetting his monitors like he was worth the trouble. Maybe almost dying wasn’t the worst decision he’d made this week.

Tavish shifted on the bed, wincing a little as he adjusted his posture. “Aye, well… if all doctors looked like you, maybe I’d get crushed by rubble more often, Ye got a name, Or do you just go by Doctor Gorgeous?” he said with a crooked smirk, pain tugging at the edges of his voice.

Mercy raised an eyebrow, her expression hovering somewhere between amusement and exasperation. “Flirting while cuffed to a hospital bed,” she said, checking his vitals on the monitor, then glancing at the restraints. “That’s certainly a new one.”

She had jotted down a few scribbles on the clipboard at the end of the bed and then left. The soft click of the door behind her left Tavish with an unexpected ache in his chest.

“Careful, partner. Angela’s already got a queue of suitors lining up, and I ain't too sure you’re at the front of it.” Cassidy laughed and cleared his throat. “To answer your first question, we’re in Gibraltar.”

Tavish looked at Cassidy as if he had grown another head, “Do I look like a lad who would know where in the bloody hell that is?”

Cassidy only laughed, “No I suppose you don’t, We’re in southern Spain.”

Damn, he was even farther away from home than he thought. If he could just sneak outta here somehow, he may be able to take a train to Ullapool. Go somewhere he knows at least, but then how would he really get home, back to his friends… Thoughts raced through his brain as he stared at the ceiling. As if Cassidy could read his mind he said,

“Yer far from home partner, not just from wherever you started walkin’, but from when you started too.” Cassidy’s tone was even. From his jacket, he drew a slim manila folder and slipped something free from the inside. It was a photograph, one Tavish knew well. That picture had once been taped inside his locker back in Teufort. It was him, and the others all together lined up outside the base, grinning after a hard-fought victory. Scout had insisted they take it, saying they ought to remember the win. It had been over a year into their work as a team, long enough for them to feel less like hired guns and more like a disorganised family.

Tavish tentatively reached out for the photo, and Cassidy let him take it from his hand, “So, yah wanna tell me a bit about that photo, ‘cuz all I know is this picture was taken a hell of a long time ago…” Cassidy moved closer, leaned over the photo and tapped at Tavish’s face, “And I believe that right there, is you…”

Tavish looked up at Cassidy with pain in eyes. “Even if I told ye, I doubt ye would believe me cowboy.”

Cassidy let out a huff and relaxed back in the cushioned hospital chair, “Try me…”

Tavish opened and closed his mouth a few times fumbling for words to explain the impossible situation he found himself in. Finally he broke the silence, “1970, Thats— thats when I’m from lad. That damned wizard sent me to the future…” Cassidy blinked, caught off guard, but quickly regained his composure. He gave a slow nod as all the pieces were finally sliding into place.

“We were mercenaries,” Tavish went on, his grip tightening around the photo. “Fightin’ battle after battle for— Hell, I don't even know really why… but the pay was good…” He gave a rough chuckle at his own words, though there was no real humor in it.

Looking up, he met Cassidy’s eyes, “Ye don't have to believe me lad but that's the bloody truth, I don’t belong here and I sure as hell want to get back…” Tavish turned over the photo in his hand, “Canne keep this?”

Cassidy nodded, “All yours, and I do believe you Tavish. I dunno about the Wizard part but time travel? That, I can believe.” Cassidy stood and moved to the bed rails, pressing his thumb to the lock. The cuffs clicked open and dropped neatly into his hand.

“I’d like you to meet someone.” He said, setting them aside. From the corner of the room, he rolled over a wheelchair to the edge of the bed and patted its seatback softly. “Now don't go tellin’ Angela I let you get outta bed, she’d probably kill me.” Cassidy chuckled, giving Tavish a hand as he eased into the chair. The IV stand clattered softly as it followed, wheels squeaking against the floor. With a firm push, Cassidy steered Tavish out into the hall. The doors shut behind them with a muted click, leaving the quiet of the infirmary behind.

They made their way out of the main building glancing around each corner not to be caught before moving on. When the hallway opened into a wide outdoor courtyard the two hurried across. The IV stand rattling noisily behind them. At last they reached a large hydraulic door, above it read ‘Research’. Cassidy stepped ahead to the panel, pressed his hand against it, and with a sharp hiss the seal broke. He gave Tavish’s wheelchair another firm push inside.

Once inside, Tavish’s eyes were drawn upward to a massive pod suspended from the ceiling, its metal frame casting long shadows across the room. A low hum filled the air, emanating from a wall of monitors flickering to his right. Desks cluttered with boxes, scattered papers, and half-finished projects crowded the space. Above, faint voices drifted down, growing steadily louder, whoever they belonged to was on their way to see who had come in.

“Ok, now whatever you do, don't call him a monkey…” Cassidy dipped down to whisper in Tavish’s ear. “What?” He barely got the word out before he saw a woman and a large ape walk down the stairs.

“‘Ello love! What brings you here!” The young woman beamed hurrying over to them. Then noticing Tavish in the wheelchair she murmured something quick to Cassidy under her breath. The ape adjusted his glasses with calm precision and stepped forward to address Tavish directly.

“Hi there! I heard about what happened to you in Vegas, I trust your recovery’s going well?”

Tavish couldn’t believe his eyes or his ears, Tavish’s jaw nearly hit the floor. He blinked hard, staring. It was talking to him. “Is there actually a talkin’ monkey in front of me lad or did that beautiful Angel slip somethin’ in my IV?”

Cassidy let out an awkward chuckle, then shot Tavish a sharp glare. Winston’s brow furrowed. “I am a gorilla, yes… but first and foremost, I am a scientist.” His voice carried a mix of frustration and polite insistence, as if correcting a minor yet important misunderstanding.

Tavish blinked, mouth half-open, still trying to wrap his head around the situation. “Sorry…”

Cassidy stepped in, trying to ease the tension. “Tavish, this is Winston and Tracer, they're who I wanted you to meet.” Cassidy gestured to the two. “Tracer here might understand what you’re going through.” Tracer tilted her head, brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean, Cass?” she asked, glancing between him and Tavish.

“Tavish traveled through time, from the 1970s,” Cassidy said matter-of-factly. Tavish gave a curt nod, his eyes flicking around the lab, taking in the cluttered scenery.

Tracer’s eyes widened with excitement for a moment, but the realization quickly sank in, and her expression fell into a frown. Without hesitation, she stepped forward and wrapped Tavish in a warm, urgent hug. “I’m so sorry love… I know exactly how horrible that feels.”

Pulling back slightly, she smiled softly and held out a hand. “The name’s Lena, I’ve… been through something similar. I got desyncrised from the flow of time.”

Tavish reached for her outstretched hand, their eyes met. “Me and Winston here—we’ll do everything we can to get you back where you belong. He got me all fixed up,” She tapped the anchor strapped to her chest. “...so I know we can help you!”

Tavish smiled, a real smile, the one that reaches your eyes. A warmth stirred in his chest, something he hadn’t felt since before the accident.

This was it.

His best shot.

He’d kept a grim thought buried in the back of his mind since he first got to the future, that he’d never see home again. That Teufort, his mates, his whole bloody life had been stripped away for good. He’d tried not to think about it, because dwelling on it only deepened the ache.

But now… for the first time, it felt possible. A way back…

Chapter Text

Behind them was another hiss of the large door followed by the measured cadence of boots on metal flooring. “Winston,” Sojourn’s voice cut through the lab’s low hum, firm and steady. “Just the scientist I was looking for.”

Her sharp eyes swept the room and immediately landed on Tavish sitting in the wheelchair. Her brow furrowed, her tone cooling into reprimand. “What the hell is he doing out of the infirmary? Unrestrained, no less.” She folded her arms, gaze hard on Cassidy.

“I don’t care if he helped you in Vegas. On Route 66 he left bodies behind. You don’t just walk someone like that around the base like it’s a Sunday stroll.”

Cassidy’s shoulders slumped slightly, jaw tight, eyes darting down like a child caught misbehaving. Sojourn’s gaze pinned him in place, sharp and unyielding, and the silence pressed heavily in the room. Tavish craned his neck around to try and get a proper look at the woman. “Hey! That was a self-defense lass,” he blurted out, raising his hand in the air feigning innocence. “They came at me first. I was only tryin’ to protect myself.”

Sojourn’s eyes narrowed, the weight of her attention sliding from Tavish back to Cassidy. “You’re lucky there’s something more pressing happening right now,” she said, her voice firm and strong. “But don’t think for a second this conversation is over.” She pointed a long finger to Cassidy, “We’ll revisit this later Cassidy, and next time, you’d better have a damn good explanation ready.” Sojourn walked towards the wall of monitors and asked Athena to pull up a video file of the Vegas strip during the fight.

The footage rolled on the screen, grainy but clear enough to capture the chaos. Echo swept down from the skies in a fluid arc when the feed froze mid-motion. A zoom tightened in on the null sector troop, highlighting a strange, molten glow. Tavish’s breath hitched. His one good eye widened he knew that sheen anywhere. Australium.

Sojourn’s voice cut through the silence, “Torbjörn was able to recover what was left behind of a Null Sector troop and found this substance.” She gestured toward a secondary display, which flickered to life with a still image. It was of a dismantled Null Sector trooper splayed open across a workbench. Tubes of pale metal and fractured plating were neatly cataloged beside it, and at the center of the frame sat a small vial of glowing gold liquid, unmistakable in its radiance.

“This,” Sojourn continued, her tone carrying weight, “is what we found running through their systems.” She pulled up a short video and pressed play.

The video crackled showing a view of a large workshop, then a gruff voice spoke, “Blasted thing was tough to crack open,” Torbjörn muttered, the sound of metal clanging was heard somewhere in the background of the workshop. “Armor thicker than I’ve seen on most Null Sector units—took me half a day just to peel it apart without losing half my tools.” He huffed, irritation bleeding into his tone. Then his voice lowered, more measured. He moved a large piece of the omnic’s plating, “Whatever this substance is here, there’s no name for it. I've never encountered it before.” On the video, a mechanical arm swung into frame holding a jar of the liquid and swirled it around. It shimmered and twinkled in the light. “We’re running every test we can, but so far it doesn’t match any known compound. It’s something entirely new.” The video stopped abruptly.

Sojourn pulled out the small vial from her jacket pocket. “Here Winston, I’d like you to run some tests, see what you can come up with.” Winston grabbed the small vial from her hand making sure to be as delicate as possible with it.

Winston turned the vial carefully in his hands, the golden shimmer catching the lab’s light. Before he could speak, Tavish suddenly leaned forward, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the monitors. “Careful, big fella, ye don’t want to spill that. Just a pinch of tae stuff is worth more than yer life.”

Sojourn’s eyes fixed on Tavish, sharp and unrelenting, cutting through the quiet hum of the lab. She stepped closer, hands on her hips, voice firm, “You sound like you know what this is…” she said, tilting her head slightly as if daring him to lie. Every eye in the lab was on him now, waiting for an answer, the weight of their attention pushing down on him.

“Aye, I know it. And if these Null Sector bots got it… ye better watch out.” Tavish’s words hung heavy in the air.

Sojourn’s jaw tightened, her boots clicking against the floor as she closed the distance between them. Her gaze was sharp, a weight pressing down on him like a blade at his throat. Before the tension could snap,

Winston lifted a hand, his tone calm but insistent. “Interesting… you’ve seen this before, then surely you must know its name?”

“Australium.” Tavish said without hesitation.

Winston blinked, repeating the word with quiet confusion. “Australium? Do you know why it is named after Australia?”

“That’s where they found it lad.” Tavish replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Sojourn cut in, her eyes narrowing. “Hold on. How exactly do you know all this?” Her voice was low, edged with suspicion, like she was already piecing together that he knew more than he should. She stood tall in front of him waiting.

“I don’t know every detail about it, lass,” Tavish admitted, his tone steady. “But I’ve fought with it, and fought men and machines over it.” Tavish explained. Back under the Administrator’s payroll, he’d never bothered to ask too many questions about Australium. Didn’t want to. All that mattered was the pay, and it was damn good. What he did know was enough: the Administrator would do anything to get her hands on it, and that alone was reason enough to fear it.

The group had gathered around the central hologram table, its soft blue light casting shifting patterns across their faces. Chairs scraped against the floor as they settled in, forming a small circle with Tavish at the end of the table. They’d been at it for some time now—probing, pressing, trying to make sense of all Tavish was willing to explain of 100 years in the past. Winston leaned forward, curiosity burning behind his glasses as he asked one careful question after another. Sojourn’s tone, sharper and more precise, cut straight to the heart of things, pushing him in ways the scientist never would. Even Cassidy, usually content to lean back and play the observer, had thrown a few questions of his own into the mix, his drawl carrying a mix of suspicion and genuine interest. It wasn’t an interrogation, not exactly—but Tavish could feel the weight of every eye on him, measuring, judging, trying to decide what sort of man had come from the past.

Cassidy put out his hand to stop Tavish, “Wait now… so yer tellin’ us that Australia was the most technologically advanced country in the world…”

Tavish shot him a look, irritation flickering across his face. “That's what I bloody said lad. How many times do I gotta tell ye.”

The others in the room exchanged glances, disbelief etched on their faces. Winston tapped a few buttons on the hologram table, and the display shifted. It was a detailed 3D render of a sprawling crumbling city of sheet metal and screws labeled Junkertown. “This is Australia now Tavish…” Winston said quietly, letting the weight of the revelation settle over the room.

“What the bloody hell happened to them…” Tavish whispered with a hand over his mouth.

The room had fallen into silence until Winston replied, “One of the largest Omnium’s was built in Australia. Until the ALF destroyed it and turned Australia into an irradiated wasteland. All that was left was turned into Junkertown…”

The hours slipped by as they reviewed the data, shared stories, and tried to make sense of the impossible. Eventually, the glow of the holograms and the quiet hum of the lab made fatigue unavoidable. Sojourn stepped closer to Tavish, extending her hand with a firm, measured grip. “You’ve been… forthcoming,” she said, her voice carrying a rare note of approval. “I’ll see what I can do about those charges on Route 66. Let’s call it a start.”

Tavish nodded, a small, grateful smile crossing his face. Cassidy stepped behind him, patting a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, partner. Time to get you back to bed.” Together, they made their way out of the lab, and quietly to the infirmary.

They pushed open the infirmary doors, the soft hiss of the automatic system echoing down the hallway. Before they could take more than a step inside, a sharp voice cut through the quiet.

“Cassidy! What on earth do you think you’re doing, wheeling him around like this?!” Mercy stood near one of the beds, arms crossed, her brow furrowed and eyes blazing with barely contained irritation.

Tavish flinched slightly at Mercy’s sharp tone, but Cassidy held up a hand and gave her a calm grin. “Relax, doc,” he said smoothly. “We were with Sojourn. She… uh, needed him to answer some questions ’bout some, uh… critical intel. Yeah…”

Mercy’s eyes narrowed, still skeptical, but Cassidy’s casual confidence seemed to ease some of her anger. “Critical intel, huh?” she muttered, shaking her head, though her voice lost some of its edge.

Mercy stepped forward, her movements brisk but controlled. “Enough excuses,” she said, her tone sharp but measured. She grabbed the handles of Tavish’s wheelchair and guided him gently but firmly toward the bed. Cassidy stepped back, hands raised in mock surrender. Tavish let out a soft chuckle, half-amused, half-relieved, as Mercy carefully helped him settle back under the blankets.

Cassidy gave a small nod, smirk tugging at his lips, and quietly stepped out of the room. The door clicked softly behind him, leaving Tavish alone with Angela.

Tavish shifted slightly in his bed, a grin tugging at his lips. “So… who am I thankin’ for keepin’ me in one piece, lass?”

Mercy straightened, maintaining her professional composure. “I’m Dr.Angela Ziegler. And you are…?”

“Name’s Tavish. You’re a much better doctor than my Medic, gorgeous too.” Tavish leaned back slightly, his grin widening. “Aye, I’ve had my fair share of pokes and prods, but none with half the skill, or charm.”

Angela’s lips twitched, but she quickly suppressed any reaction. “Thank you, but I am just here to do a job, Tavish, Flattery doesn’t improve your recovery.”

Tavish chuckled softly, unbothered. “Perhaps not, lass, but it certainly makes the stay more enjoyable. I like to know who’s lookin’ after me. Especially if she's as beautiful as you.”

Angela shook her head and began to leave, “I will check in on you tomorrow, Gute Nacht Tavish.” She turned off the bright white lights and closed the door behind her.

When Tavish awoke the next morning all he could think about was how hungry he felt. His stomach grumbled at him with every movement he made reminding him he hadn’t eaten last night.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, wincing slightly at the soreness in his limbs. Across the room, a closet caught his eye. Pushing it open, he found a small stack of clothes left for him—clean, simple, and surprisingly well-fitted. He quickly changed, tugging on the garments and adjusting them as best he could.

Grabbing the IV stand with one hand to keep it and himself from tipping, Tavish slowly made his way out of the room. The stand clinked and rattled slightly with each step, following him obediently as he left his room.

Tavish had barely made it to the door when a soft voice called out, “Morning, young man. Are you feeling a bit steadier on your feet today?”

He turned, blinking at the small figure in the doorway. An older woman stood there, neatly dressed, her eyes warm but sharp. For a moment, Tavish froze. Who is this grandma and why is she here?

“I… uh… yeah, I think so,” he said cautiously, gripping the IV stand a little tighter.

“Good, good,” she said, nodding, her voice lilting with a gentle authority. “I was about to have breakfast. Would you like to join me?”

Tavish hesitated. She didn’t strike him as threatening, but he could still tell she could handle herself. There was a precision in her movements, a quiet confidence that made him straighten up a little.

“After you,” she said, gesturing down the hall. Tavish blinked, then pushed the IV stand in front of him and followed. The hallways were wide and spotless, the soft hum of overhead lights echoing faintly. As they walked, Tavish became aware of the occasional glance from others passing by. Some looked curious, others wary, and a few whispered to one another before quickly turning away. He gripped the IV stand a little tighter, suddenly self-conscious.

The woman beside him didn’t seem to notice—or at least, she didn’t react. She kept her steps even, her calm presence somehow grounding him despite the stares. “The canteen’s just down the next corridor. Smells good today, omelets, toast, and something with fruit.”

They reached the double doors to the canteen, and the older woman held one open for him. Tavish wheeled the IV stand inside, his eyes scanning the room. The smell of eggs, coffee, and toasted bread hit him immediately, making his stomach grumble. It smelled even better than Engi’s breakfasts.

The woman gestured toward the serving line. “Go ahead, help yourself. I’ll grab us a table.”

Tavish picked up a tray, loading it with eggs, toast, and a small portion of fruit. He glanced around the canteen, scanning for the woman who had guided him here. Toward the far side, near a window letting in the morning light, he spotted Ana already seated. At her side sat a towering man, his broad frame impossible to miss. He gave off a commanding presence, but his expression was relaxed as he gestured to the empty chair across from him. Tavish hesitated for a moment, still unsure of the etiquette in this place, then carefully wheeled the IV stand and tray over.

Tavish slid into the chair, still gripping the IV stand lightly, as Ana and Reinhardt nodded for him to relax. He glanced down at his plate, trying to make sense of this new world one bite at a time.

Before he could take a sip of his coffee, a clear, authoritative voice came over the canteen’s loudspeaker.

“Attention all heros: Team 1, Reinhardt, Genji, Mei, Brigitte, Illari. Team 2, D.Va, Cassidy, Echo, Juno, Lucio. Report to the training grounds immediately for tactical exercises.”

Tavish froze mid-bite, looking between Ana and Reinhardt. “Uh… tactical exercises?”

Reinhardt chuckled. “Nothing to worry about young man! Just some drills to keep us sharp.” With that Reinhardt got up from the table and left with a crowd of others. Tavish assumed these were the others called on the loud speaker. He and Ana sat and ate some more before she too got up and pushed in her chair, “They should be starting soon, would you like to watch with me?”

Tavish hesitated, then nodded. He followed her out of the canteen, wheeling the IV stand behind him. They reached the training grounds, and Tavish’s eyes widened. The area was sprawling, with obstacle courses, cover points, and high-tech dummies set up for combat simulation. Both Teams were already taking a starting position.

Ana gestured toward a viewing platform at the edge of the field. “We’ll watch from there.”

Tavish leaned on the railing, as he observed the teams. A bell rang out and each team ran forward. He expected blood and body parts spraying across the battlefield but there was none. Instead, bright energy shields sparked, holographic targets flared to life, and the air hummed with the crackle of simulated weaponry.

Tavish watched, fascinated despite himself. Every movement was calculated, every attack and counterattack part of a complex dance. He could see the teamwork, the timing, and the split-second decisions that separated success from failure. It reminded him of Teufort. Of his team, his family.

He sat down on one of the benches in the viewing platform. A sudden tightness seized his chest. How long had he been here, in the future. The thought hit him like a punch—his world, his team, the chaos of Teufort, all gone. Panic bubbled in his chest, making it hard to breathe. Had they even noticed he was missing? Did they care? Tavish felt the crushing weight of the reality that he may never see his team or his mother again. His family, they wouldn't even know where he went. The world started to spin and grow black around the edges.

When he awoke, the first thing he saw was Angela’s face hovering above him, her brow furrowed with worry. The sterile light of the infirmary softened around her features, but the concern in her eyes was sharp and immediate.

“Tavish… you scared us,” she murmured, brushing a loose strand of hair from his forehead. “Ana said you fainted.”

He blinked slowly, still trying to catch his breath, the remnants of panic clinging to his chest. Angela’s hand rested lightly on his arm, steadying him. The weight of the bed shifted as she sat down next to him. “Hey, it’s okay. Breathe with me. In… and out… just like that.”

Tavish followed her guidance, the world gradually ceasing its spin. He swallowed hard, his mind still racing with the weight of everything he had left behind. Angela didn’t push, didn’t ask the questions he couldn’t answer. She simply stayed, letting him find his footing again.

“Thank you,” he whispered after a long moment, the panic fading to a dull ache. Angela gave him a small, reassuring smile, her eyes never leaving his.

“You’re going to be alright,” she said softly. “We’ll get through this—one step at a time.”

Chapter Text

Soon weeks flew by, Tavish had been in Gibraltar for two months now. His cuts and stitches now turned into scars. He was healed enough to fight, run and lift, and Overwatch was using that last one as much as they could. They didn’t call him a prisoner, but he wasn’t free either. They weren't going to let an ex-mercenary walk the streets of Europe, or any continent for that matter. So instead they decided to keep him busy.

Today’s task was sweeping the large open workshop. Someone had shoved the broom into his hands with a smile that was more order than request, and then left him to it. The job wasn’t hard, but that was the point. They wanted him harmless, occupied, and most importantly, where they could see him. A demolition man turned janitor. Every scrape of bristles against the concrete grated worse than shrapnel, a reminder that he was caged, not in bars, but in boredom.

At this point Tavish had finished sweeping the workshop and he sure as hell didn't want a new busy work task. So he walked around the workshop halfheartedly sweeping the already swept floor, his eye wandering to a table of hightech tools. The monotony of repeatedly sweeping the same spot over and over was slowly eating away at him. Until it was finally too much, and he snapped, throwing down the broom in his hands. The wooden crack echoed sharp through the workshop, bouncing off steel walls and silent machines. He paused and waited for a moment. Someone had to come check on him. To yell at him about the noise… Right? But it never happened.

He was alone, alone with his boredom, alone with his now idle hands and a workshop full of scrap. His eyes wandered over the benches and shelves, cluttered with wires, tubing, and bits of metal that meant nothing to him. Nothing… until he spotted a coil of copper pipe gleaming under a work lamp. A slow grin crept across his face.

He dug through the scrap, pulling together a few pipes, a canister, and whatever else looked useful. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. As he worked, he couldn't help but grin. He had remembered the time Sniper had shared some of his moonshine, claiming it was a “family recipe,” though Tavish was fairly certain it could double as rocket fuel.

Now, crouched over his own crude little still, he could almost hear Sniper’s dry voice again. It wasn't great but it would get the job done. Now came the hard part, getting it back to his room without anyone seeing.

Winston had rounded a corner just as Tavish was hauling a bundle of tubing down the hall. Tavish froze, plastered on his best innocent grin, and mumbled something about “just takin’ out the trash.” Winston gave him a long, suspicious look before lumbering off, leaving Tavish sweating bullets and grinning to himself once the coast was clear.

Slowly, he brought piece by piece back to his room and reassembled it. His quarters weren’t much to look at, a narrow barrack room with just enough space for a bed, a locker, and a desk that creaked if you leaned on it wrong. Overwatch had given it to him once he was healed enough to walk on his own, a step up from the infirmary but hardly a home. The room was bare and colorless, the only touch of life was the photo Cassidy had let him keep, its corners taped to the wall above the bed. But now, he had his distillery, tucked in the corner of the dreary room. It was something… it was his.

A day or two later he’d finished the tedious chores, hauling boxes to the kitchen and cleaning lab equipment for Winston. The moment the last tube was put away, he made a break for his room. Finally he had it, liquor! And it wasn't half bad… Everything else they kept around here was weak beer, and you weren't allowed to have more than two. He took a sip feeling the familiar burn down his throat and warmth rise in his chest.

Once Tavish had had his fill, which would have been the whole still but he decided against it, wanting to save some for tomorrow. He left his room and made his way aimlessly though the base. Every corner looked the same, every hallway endless. He had nowhere he had to be, nothing he was allowed to do, and the illusion of freedom only made the boredom worse. Tavish let himself drift along, hands in his pockets, down corridor after corridor. The warmth from his drink spreading lazily through him, making each step feel heavier than the last. He turned left, then right, then left again, not paying much attention to where he was going. The base was bigger than he remembered, or maybe it had just felt smaller when he was bedridden.

By the time he realized he’d been walking in circles, he found himself passing the training room. The sound of gunfire drew him closer, the sharp crack of revolver shots echoing off metal walls. He followed it until he reached the wide doors of the training area, pausing just inside the threshold. Cassidy was there, revolver drawn, firing at a row of holographic targets while Echo floated nearby, observing every move.

Tavish leaned against the doorway, half hidden in the shadows. He watched as Echo’s form shimmered, her limbs folding and reshaping until she was standing there as Cassidy’s double.

Tavish blinked hard. “What the hell…” he muttered under his breath, rubbing his eyes like maybe he’d brewed something a bit too good.

Cassidy turned, lowering his revolver with an easy spin. “Well, look who finally decided to stretch his legs,” he said, grin crooked beneath his hat. “Didn’t think I’d see you up this late Tavish.”

Tavish shrugged, trying not to stumble on the threshold. “Aye, just walkin’ the place. Didn’t know the lass could do that.”

Tavish’s brow furrowed as he studied her. If she could look like Cassidy… could she look like the others too? The thought stirred something bittersweet in his chest. The faint, foolish hope that maybe, just maybe, she could bring back faces long gone.

Cassidy holstered his weapon and gave him an easy nod. “You oughta come join us. Love to see yer skills in person this time.”

Tavish gave a lazy wave. “Think I’ll pass. Don’t fancy showin’ off how bad I've gotten.”

Cassidy chuckled, but his eyes lingered a moment longer than his grin did. He didn’t comment on the slight sway in Tavish’s stance, or the distant glaze in his eyes. “Suit yourself,” he said finally. “We’ll be here tomorrow if you change your mind.”

Tavish nodded and turned back down the corridor. Cassidy watched him go, the grin fading just enough to show the worry behind it, before turning back to the range.

Tavish wandered the halls once more not really having a destination in mind. A right here, a left there, he rounded the next corner a little too fast and nearly collided with a soft body.

“Ach—!” Tavish stumbled back half a step, steadying himself against the wall. “Sorry, love—wasn’t lookin’ where I was—”

Angela stood there with a tablet in one hand and a raised brow, her coat fluttering slightly from the sudden halt. Eyeing him up and down with clinical precision, her gaze flicked over his flushed cheeks and the uneven sway in his posture.

“How much have you drunk tonight Tavish…” She asked quietly.

Tavish straightened up like that might help his case. His eye scanning the blank walls as if they were the most important thing in the world. “Just a wee bit lass.”

She sighed, but not unkindly, it was like a woman who had too much on her mind. “Well, I was looking for you anyway.” Tavish perked up, his eyes finally meeting hers. “I’d like to run a few tests. Check how your body’s holding up. Given the time gap, there’s a good chance your immune system isn’t prepared for... well, any of this.”

Tavish raised a brow, smirking. “What, afraid I’ll catch some sort o’ futuristic cooties?”

“I’m more concerned you’ll spread them,” she said, already turning on her heel. “Come on. Infirmary. Now.”

The infirmary was quiet, lit in soft white with the steady hum of equipment filling the silence. It was clean in the way hospitals always were, sterile like antiseptic. Tavish sat on the edge of the exam table, sleeves rolled up past his elbows, boots kicking idly against the base as he watched Angela move through the space. She stood at the counter, back turned to him as she prepped a syringe, the motion precise, graceful in its own strange way.

Tavish let his gaze wander, not out of wariness but out of sheer curiosity. Every cabinet in here probably held something way beyond his understanding, advanced medicine, nanotech, who knows what else. But it was her that held his attention. The way she moved. The way she didn’t flinch around him like some of the others still did. Like he didn’t bother her.

Angela glanced over her shoulder, catching him watching. “You’re getting vaccinated against five different airborne pathogens.” she said, deadpan. “Try not to look so impressed.”

“Aye, nothing like being stabbed by a beautiful woman to make a man feel wanted,” he said with a grin.

She stepped in close, holding his arm steady as she cleaned the skin with a cool swab. Her touch was light, practiced, almost clinical, but to Tavish, it may as well have been something else entirely. It had been a long time since anyone had handled him with that kind of care. No rough patch jobs, no barked orders or rushed field dressings. Just… quiet, steady hands.

He could smell the faint scent of her. Clean, like antiseptic and something faintly floral, and it made his throat tighten in a way that had nothing to do with the liquor. He didn’t move, didn’t even breathe for a second, afraid that doing so might break the moment. Her fingers brushed over the curve of his arm again as she reached for the syringe, and Tavish fell briefly, awkwardly quiet. He didn’t know what to say, or rather, he knew too many things to say and none of them sounded smart in his head.

He swallowed, trying to come up with something clever, anything to cut through the silence and the way his heart had started tapping against his ribs. “You, uh…” he started, voice lower than usual. “Are you always this gentle lass, or am I just getting the special treatment?”

Angela glanced up at him through her lashes, lips tugging into a soft smile. “Depends on the patient,” she said, her tone just light enough to land somewhere between teasing and kind.

Tavish grinned, emboldened now, even as the shot went in. “Suppose that means I should get injured more often, yeah?”

Angela laughed… actually laughed, a short breathy sound that surprised even her. “Let’s not go that far.”

Angela turned back to Tavish, gently pressing gauze to his arm before reaching for a bandage. “You’re tolerating everything that's happened well.” she said, her voice still warm from laughter. “I’d like to know more about your medical history.”

Tavish shifted, straightening up just slightly not out of discomfort, exactly, but reflex. The kind that settled into your bones after enough time around needles, scalpels, and a man who called himself a doctor.

“Ah, well,” he said, flashing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Let’s just say I’ve had my fair share of... unconventional checkups.”

Angela raised a brow, but didn’t press, not yet at least. “No surgical history? No long-term medications?”

He waved a hand, the grin returning. “Nothing worth putting on paper. I’m in one piece, ain’t I?” His eyes flicked briefly to the side, not quite meeting hers, and his leg bounced once against the base of the exam table.

She hummed, not entirely convinced. Her fingers worked carefully over the bandage, smoothing it into place. “And what about before this?” she asked. “I know you were a mercenary, but that’s all I’ve heard.”

Tavish gave a small snort. “That’s probably for the best lass.”

Angela met his eyes, her gaze softening. “I’d rather hear it from you.”

That made him pause. There was no judgment in her voice, just quiet curiosity. She had wanted to hear it from him. Not from the grapevine of gossip. He scratched at his chin, thoughtful. “Was part of a team, all specialists, I guess you’d say. Hired guns, workin’ for a company that didn’t care much about right or wrong. We were all in it for the money anyway.”

The door to the infirmary hissed open. Neither of them noticed. Genji stepped inside, slow and quiet, pausing when he saw them. He didn’t speak, just lingered near the entrance, half-shrouded in the low light and the steady hum of the machines.

Angela tilted her head slightly. “And now?” she asked. “How are you keeping yourself busy while we keep you grounded?”

Tavish grinned. “Well, I’ve taken up sweeping, light trespassin’, illegal brewing…” He leaned in just a little, lowering his voice. “And flirtin’ with pretty doctors who ask a lot of questions.”

Angela let out a soft laugh, cheeks coloring just slightly as she shook her head. “You’re incorrigible.”

“I get that a lot,” Tavish said, a little softer this time.

From the doorway, Genji stood in silence. He had enough of listening and turned quietly and slipped away.