The next thing Brigitte could remember after the blackness was the aroma of a doctor's office and a coffee shop.

As she came too, she felt horrendous: immense throbbing in the back of her head, nausea, dizziness, and extreme fatigue. Her eyes fluttered open, and her vision was extremely foggy. It was if she was in a dream or thick fog surrounded her. She tried to piece together why she was seeing a paneled, metal ceiling. Her clothes felt different—all she felt was something light wrapped around her upper body down to her knees—and her exposed skin rubbed against fuzzy, warm fabric.

Had she not been so confused about her new situation, she might've passed out then and there. She couldn't remember how long it's been since she felt this comfortable. She blinked and groaned as she took in indistinct beeps and pings from around her, especially above her head.

She let her head roll to her right, ready to fall asleep again. And she might have, if A.) it didn't sting so bad to do so, and B.) what she saw didn't spark such disbelief. Mercy, a swiss, middle-aged woman of blonde, white hair gazed back at her with wide, cyan eyes. Her first-response suit gave her the appearance of an angel. Mechanical white wings with red, emergency crosses dotting it sprouted from her back, rubbing up against the wall she sat in front of. A gold halo ring arched above a turf of hair that partially fell over the right side of her face, and a ponytail fell behind her. The suit surrounded her neck and back of head with black plating, and ginger-black armor covered her limbs.

Before Brigitte could react, Mercy shot up, her hands pressing into her neck and onto her forehead. "Rein, Brigitte's awake! I need your assistance!"

"H-huh?" Brigitte murmured.

"Right away!" came a familiar bark, followed by a stampede of footsteps.

Mercy tilted Brigitte's head back so that she was facing the ceiling again and the stinging receded. All of Brigitte's hair must've been on her left side since she could feel the tips of Mercy's fingers caressing her skull. "Blood pressure low, but not critical," she murmured to herself. "The parietal bone is still severely fractured, but better. Lena, get me my staff, would you? It's on the table. Reinhardt, the med kit. Hand me a cotton ball soaked in alcohol. Brigitte."

Mercy peered over her from Brigitte's right as a giant in steel armor stood behind her. The old man with his helmet off had tears running down his good eye as he handed Mercy a cotton ball.

"Brigitte, I need you to stay conscious and reactive for a moment." Mercy placed the ball against her head, where it stung like a snake. "Do you understand?"

Brigitte barely understood her surroundings, but she tried to nod. Mercy pulled her head back. "Don't move your head if you can. Don't want you blind. For now, move your eyes. Follow my fingers. Here we go."

As Mercy held two fingers above her, a familiar figure popped into view from below her feet. Tracer, a slim, British woman in a leather jacket over an orange jumpsuit, held a staff in both hands. The staff's tip had three panels that opened like a parasol, with a few buttons throughout the staff. Tracer gazed upon Brigitte through a massive, orange visor. Strapped to her chest and back was something she knew of called a chronal accelerator (CA), but honestly, it simply almost looked like a backpack with dimensional pockets, capped with turbines with cyan emissions.

Without looking, Mercy took her staff with one hand while slowly moving her fingers with the other. "Slowly, if you need to."

So Brigitte did. She moved them vertically, horizontally, then in random directions. After a moment, Mercy nodded. "Good so far. Rein, take her temperature. Lena, if you can fetch another blood bag for her. Brigitte, can you talk?"

Brigitte didn't want to move; being still felt like heaven. But she stuttered as Tracer left her field of vision. The pain wracking her head didn't help. "Y-yes."

"I know this must be hard, but I need you to answer my questions. Need to make sure your brain is perfectly fine before I seal your fractures. Now, I know this is dumb, but what's your full name?"

"B…Brigitte Ingrid Lindholm."

Mercy shot Rein a look. "Her middle name is her mother's first name?"

"I, uh, don't know, actually." Reinhardt frowned. "Never talked about middle names." He held out a thermometer, which he swiftly inserted inside Brigitte's mouth.

"Never mind, then. Brigitte, do you remember my full name?"

"…Angela…Angela Ziegler."

The pain began to wrack up and she winced. Mercy slowly rubbed her fingers in a circular motion against her temples. "You're doing very well. Just a few more questions and you can rest." She pressed a button on her staff, and a shining, yellow stream fell upon her.

"Is she going to be well soon, doc?" Tracer asked somewhere behind her. Her British accent was strong in her tone.

"It's nothing I can't heal in time." The thermometer buzzed. Mercy removed it, glanced it over, then set it aside. "Once we make sure the concussion is dealt with, she'll only need rest. Brigitte, do you know the man above you?"

Brigitte couldn't help but smile, and Reinhardt smiled back. "Rein. Whinny Reinny."

"Ve—pardon?" She shot another look at Rein, whose face was turning slightly red. "An inside thing. Forget you heard that."

"Like heck I will! Ha!" Tracer called, "Hey, Winston! Genji! Guess what I just heard?"

"What?" echoed a heavy, scruffy voice and a robotic one from far above her head.

"Wait a—!" Before Reinhardt could finish, Tracer's CA made a cartoonish, high-pitched FWOOSH before sounding like she was no longer in the area. "Ah, for the love of…it was just after I fought the dragons! I was famished!"

Reinhardt left from Brigitte's view, leaving her alone with Mercy, who had slightly giggled. "Well, that's a laugh. Last question. I'm going to turn your head. I want you to tell me if you remember the girl laying on the bed."

Brigitte knew exactly who she was talking about before her head was turned. DVa, with only a simple pair of juniper-shaded lenin bottoms, laid with her chest against the bed. Pillows were below her head and groin, completely straightening her back. Blood still covered most of it, but it was all dried up. Several blood bags, most of them empty, laid at the base of her bed on wheels. Her makeup was gone, but her sleeping, babyish face still looked beyond cute. Had Brigitte been perfectly fine, her instinct would've led her to gently pat her head.

"D-DVa," Brigitte suddenly croaked. "Is she—?"

"She'll be fine," Mercy assured. "A few blood transfers did her well. All you both need now is rest. Now, try to sleep."

The yellow rays disappeared from around her and Mercy stood tall. "Do you want some pain killers?"

But Brigitte never answered the question. The thought finally came to her: they were safe. Finally. No more running. No more hiding. No more sleep deprivation. They'd have food soon, and water. She tried to think of how long it's been since everything started, but she couldn't. She closed her eyes at the same time a wave of massive relief spread across her body. Her eyes were like bricks, but this time, she didn't resist. It probably wouldn't be for long. Maybe a day, maybe a few hours. But she wanted to enjoy this sensation of peace as much as she could.

She heard Mercy sigh with relief. Brigitte felt the cotton ball move from behind her head before Mercy's footsteps receding away.

And she may have imagined this. But before Brigitte fell asleep, she thought she heard Sombra's voice whisper in her ear:

"Sweet dreams, amiga."