Sombra slouches against the wall of the cave, the glow from her translocator the only light in their shared tomb. "Welp, it's official. We're going to die."

"Why is it only now official?" Widowmaker asks, staring at the patterns the purple light makes in the ceiling.

"Because I've run out of emergency snacking peanut bags. I don't know how to tell you this amigos, but…we're going starve."

And it's only funny because they're going run out of air long before then.

The trio has been fighting in the hills, a place where they have to combine all their skill sets in order to be a effective strike team. Widow finds plenty of vantage points in the verticals of the terrain, picking off anyone that gets too close to Reaper. The wraith himself tears through targets in the close quarters, finding it even easier when his enemies' weapons spark an electric purple. It's going well, right up until it isn't.

Once they'd reach the inner compound, they were met with the steadily flickering number of a self-destruct countdown.

"I mean, who even actually has a self-destruct protocol anymore?" Sombra asks as they run. "Like, that's for evil villains on Saturday morning cartoons. Wait. Reaper, does Talon have a self-destruct protocol? Please tell me we do, that would just be too good."

Reaper ignores the grating fluff Sombra insists on throwing against his ears, and the two dash into the light of day with minutes to spare. They'd grab widow, duck into the closest cave, and have been here ever since.

At the time, it was only for shelter as an avalanche crashed down on their right side. But now it's their grave, sealing them inside with no hope of getting out. Reaper's tried everything. The first thing he does is claw against the way they've come, digging out handfuls of rock that do nothing to move the larger boulders sealing the entrance. Then he wraithed, pressing against every nook and cranny for hours until he's given up and slamming his fists against the airtight walls. There's no way around it. They're sealed in.

"Any word from Doomfist?" Widow asks him when he walks back to Sombra's wall.

"Nothing," he barks shortly.

They've been able to get a few scant words to Talon command and send a location, but an estimated time was never sent back. The last contact they've made was before they knew about the ticking clock that is their air supply, so Talon isn't even aware of how close they are to an untimely death. Well, death for Sombra and Widow. Reaper may be able to last longer, his body repairing his cells even as they die from lack of oxygen, but even he can't last forever.

It won't come to that though. He won't be the last one left alive. Not again.

He sinks down at Sombra's side.

"Is it…an object?" Sombra guesses.

"Yes," Widow replies, eyes on the ceiling.

"Is it smaller than a bread box?"

"No."

"Is it larger than a bread box?"

"No."

"…Amélie. Is it a bread box."

"Yes," Widow says faintly, shifting her head back down. "Your turn."

Reaper groans. Dying might be easier if it was anyone besides them.

Sombra sighs, a lungful of their oh-so-precious air. "Never mind, I'm bored of this. Let's play something else."

Widow eyes the two off then, then sits down on Reaper's other side. He can feel them both like this, feel the labor of their breathing through their sides. He's tried to help the best he can, turning his lungs into a gaseous stew for minutes at a time so there's one less person leeching off their air supply. He can't hold that state for long, the rest of his body screaming for oxygen, but maybe in the long run it will buy them a few extra minutes.

It doesn't seem enough when he's pressed between the two suffocating women.

"I spy with my little eye…" Sombra begins, "…something purple."

"Is it me?" Widow chances.

"Nope! Try again."

"Is it you?"

"No, but warmer."

"Is it that?" Widow casts her hand at the ceiling once again.

Purple light flows over their roof in waves, like light bouncing off water. It's beautiful, really. Reaper can understand why Widow wants her last thoughts to be of it.

"You got it love!" Sombra says, and this time her voice is missing its usual enthusiasm.

She must hear it to. They both are so…tired. Reaper can see it in the way their eyelids droop, hands relaxing against folded knees. Sombra's head drops against Reaper's shoulder.

"…We really are going to die, aren't we?" she asks. There's no answer they can give she doesn't already know. "Well. Shit. Anyone want to confess their undying love for me last minute?"

"…"

"No takers? Damn. Worst group death ever."

She picks at her gloves while Widow watches her from around the barrel of Reaper's chest. Her profile is beautiful in the half-light, despite how they're all slowly fading.

Sombra sighs, but it takes more effort than before.

"Fine then. How about any last words?"

"Yeah," Reaper grunts. "My last words, which I think paint a pretty good picture of my life up until this point, are 'shut up Sombra'."

"Uhg," Sombra rolls her eyes. "You're no fun Gabe."

"Really? Everyone always tells me what a killer at parties I am."

"I have some last words," Widow says suddenly, to the surprise of both her companions. They sit, waiting, staring at the Sniper as she gazes out into the black of the room. It takes a minute, but finally she speaks again. "I think we are a good team. When we met, I did not believe we would be, but I also believe that somehow I am a different person than I was before. You two have changed that. If I am to die, I am glad I have you two at my side."

Reaper is at a loss for words. Widow has never been particularly articulate, not one for grand speeches or cheesy one lines over a fallen foe. But, somehow, they've inspired something in her, to let her say this final thing before the lights went out in their dark hole-in-the-wall.

"It's good you're glad to have us, but I'd rather it didn't involve me dying too," Sombra jokes weakly, trying and failing to cut the tension in the room.

They lapse into silence, though not from social awkwardness. Reaper can feel it coming, the carbon monoxide buildup too strong to ignore. It's everywhere, and Widow's head slides down onto his other shoulder.

He hopes he won't wake up. Let him die here, with them. It's better than any…thing…e..l….s…...e…


White light smashes into the room. Widow and Sombra jerk on either side of him, lungs filling with new air. Reaper can hardly see, the inky black of his own eyelids doing nothing to prepare him. Years of training force him to his feet before the others can get up, and he's able to see their savior.

Doomfist is there, sharp silhouette against the hole Talon has busted through. An agent is still chipping away, a giant drill strapped to her shoulders.

"Reaper," Doomfist calls in. "It appears your team is sleeping on the job." There's humor in his voice, a layer that is undetectable unless you know him well.

"Apologies, sir," Reaper wheezes, voice matching his note. "Won't happen again."

Doomfist smiles, and Reaper always thought there wasn't enough human left in him to feel relief. But he was wrong.

He looks down at Widow and Sombra, still stirring themselves. In Sombra's case, pushing herself off the floor since she'd been leaning too heavily on him. Typical. He reaches down and pulls them to their feet.

Doomfist approaches them. "Good to see you are well. We nearly couldn't find your location, thanks to a local avalanche."

"Yeah," Reaper grunts. "We're familiar."

"Medical teams are on their way, now that we know you're alive to be helped."

"Thanks…sir…"

And suddenly Reaper doesn't feel so good. His head is as light as air, but when he sways, he feels someone catch him on his right side. He looks to Widow, supporting him gently.

"Thank you, Doomfist," she says stiffly. "We will go wait outside for them."

She tries to guide Reaper toward the entrance, but his feet fail him. Turning his lungs to gas earlier must have taken more out of them than he thought. Sombra slips under his other arm, already bouncing back more sharply than a human has any right to.

"Yep! Thanks boss. We'll take it from here."

Doomfist raises an eyebrow, but says nothing more. Reaper feels himself being hauled out into the sunlight, and for once that thought doesn't seem as awful as it usually does.