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Scout’s dream is stupidly bright.
Not like the war kind of bright that he's used to, there are no muzzle flashes, no explosions, no one yelling at him in German, but warm, golden, late afternoon kind of bright. The kind of light that seeps in through your blinds and gently kisses you awake, making everything feel warm and saccharine sweet.
He’s older. Not old old, but… settled. He has laugh lines, his hair has grown out, he's got a little bit of scruff he actually keeps because his wife says it looks hot on him. There’s a house, suburban, two stories tall with ugly beige siding that he pretends to hate, but secretly loves because it’s theirs. There’s a minivan in the driveway that he swore he’d never drive, and yet now absolutely does.
And then there’s her.
Y/N, his wife, standing in the kitchen barefoot, hair still messy from sleep, wearing one of his old shirts like it’s always belonged to her. She's frying bacon in a frying pan while there’s a baby on her hip, one clinging to her leg, and two more yelling at each other from the living room over whose turn it is with the tv remote. Four kids. Four. Scout watches it all, bewildered, like he’s about to wake up any second, heart pounding, waiting for the universe to pull the rug out from under him.
But it doesn’t.
She looks over at him and smiles, soft and familiar and fond in her devastating way. “Can you grab the lunches, honey? You’re gonna make them late.” she giggles.
He does, Of course he does. He’s good at this. He packs lunches, kisses scraped knees, goes to a job he actually loves, and comes home tired, but in a good way. Sometimes the old RED team visits, Engineer and Pyro bring weird gifts, Heavy lifts the kids up like they’re dolls and lets them use his arms as jungle gyms, Medic is absolutely not allowed to babysit alone. They sit around a firepit at night, beer bottles in hand, and laugh about the war like it happened to someone else.
Scouts writing one last heartfelt message for his daughter on her brown paper bag. He could live like this forever.
Until-
BANG.
Scout jolts awake with a sharp inhale, heart slamming against his ribs like he's back on the battlefield, head darting around everywhere in his room for a sign of an intruder. Until his eyes land on his window, with an absurd sight occurring outside.
“What the- ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?” he exclaimed.
Another explosion rattles the windows.
“TAVISH,” Soldier’s voice bellows from outside, “OBSERVE MY IMPROVED RECREATIONAL FIREARM TECHNIQUE.”
Demoman cackles like a banshee as Soldier aims his rocket launcher at a pyramid of beer cans he stacked against a wall.
Scout groans and flops back onto the pillow, staring at the ceiling. For a few seconds, his chest aches. That dream… it felt real. Too real. The house, The kids, Her ring on his finger. The way she looked at him like he was worth keeping.
“Just a dream.” he thinks, blinking hard. “Figures.”
Then he rolls over, and there she is.
Y/N, curled toward him in her sleep, her breathing slow and even and her face relaxed in a way she only ever is when she feels completely safe. Scout freezes.
Then, gingerly, like he’s afraid she’ll disappear, he scoots closer and wraps an arm around her waist. She makes a tiny noise, instinctively tucking herself into his chest like she belongs there. Her hand grips his shirt in her sleep and she nuzzles her face into his sternum. His throat goes tight.
“…holy shit,” he whispers, voice rough with sleep. “I’m the luckiest guy on the damn planet.”
Outside, something else explodes. Scout ignores it completely. He presses his forehead against her hair, eyes closing again, already rebuilding the dream in his head. Different timeline. Same ending. He doesn’t know when, and he doesn’t know how, but he knows one thing for sure.
He’s gonna marry her.
With zero hesitation. The ring, the house, the kids, the dumb suburban bullshit, all of it. If she’ll let him.
(She will.)