The Hunter | Overwatch

Chapter 12: In the Quiet Aftermath

The hum of fluorescent lights buzzed quietly above, a faint rhythm that filled the stillness. Shaun lay on a cot, his left shoulder wrapped tightly with bandages, the faint ache a reminder of yesterdayʼs mission. His gaze traced the sterile white walls, the quiet so absolute that he could almost hear his own heartbeat, thrumming slowly as if to say, youʼre still here.

He tried to close his eyes, to let his body slip into much-needed rest, but the images wouldnʼt leave. He kept seeing flashes of the mission, of the others' faces-Jackʼs determined look, Torbjörnʼs confident movements as he set up his defenses, and then Chaseʼs calculating gaze as she surveyed the battlefield. A part of him still felt as if he were there, back in the haze of combat and tension. His thoughts swirled, replaying moments of action and adrenaline, then dipping into the quieter but more difficult realization of how truly out of place heʼd felt.

Am I even cut out for this? The thought slipped in uninvited, but once it was there, it wouldnʼt leave.

Shaun adjusted his position on the cot, wincing as a sharp twinge shot up his side. Physical discomfort was easier to handle; it was tangible, something that could be solved with rest or, at worst, a good painkiller. But the doubts in his head-those were harder to quiet.

He tried to picture himself as part of the team. When he looked at them, everyone seemed to belong. Jack had that natural air of command, Torbjörn the unshakeable confidence of experience, and Liao, even with her air of detachment, showed a precision in her work that was awe-inspiring. Then there was Chase, so sharp and unwavering, someone who demanded respect just by standing there.

And then there was him, a young man with barely any experience, already limping back from his second mission.

He sat up, the room spinning for a second before steadying. Maybe if I had done better... The thought lingered, unwelcome but persistent. He hadnʼt exactly messed up, but he hadn't made a difference either. He had been more of a liability than an asset, and deep down, he couldn't shake the feeling that everyone else knew it too.

---

A soft beep broke the silence. Looking down, he realized it was his communicator, a short message from Jack flashing across the screen: "Get some rest, Shaun. You did well out there."

The words should have comforted him, but instead, they felt hollow. He had seen the way Jack looked at the others, the quiet respect he held for those who could handle themselves in the chaos of battle. Was Jack just trying to make him feel better? Did he actually believe it?

His eyes fell on the comm device, his thumb hovering over the keypad. He could reply with a quick "thanks," but somehow, it felt disingenuous. He didnʼt feel like heʼd done well, and he didnʼt want to pretend otherwise. Not with Jack, whoʼd always seemed to see through him anyway.

Still, the message lingered, a reminder that Jack believed in him-at least to some extent. The thought was both reassuring and a bit terrifying, the weight of that trust feeling heavier now than before.

A light tap on the door made him jump, and he sat up straighter, hastily wiping a hand across his face. He wasnʼt expecting anyone, especially not now when he was so lost in his own head.

To his surprise, it was a medical assistant, carrying a small tray with a meal-soup, bread, and a bottle of water. She offered him a kind smile as she set it down on the small table beside his bed.

"Thought you could use something to eat," she said gently, her voice soft as if she could sense his inner turmoil.

"Thank you," Shaun mumbled, feeling a bit embarrassed by how relieved he was to see another face. As she turned to leave, he found himself reaching out, almost instinctively. "Um, wait."

She paused, looking back at him with an expectant smile.

He fumbled for words, feeling a bit silly. "How... how often do you see people come back like this? From... missions, I mean."

The assistant tilted her head thoughtfully. "More often than youʼd think. Everyone has their own challenges, especially on their first few missions. But that's what makes you part of the team, right? Facing the hard stuff together."

He nodded, but the words didnʼt fully sink in. It was one thing to hear reassurances; it was another to feel like he belonged. After she left, he sipped the soup slowly, the warmth settling in his stomach, and for a few moments, he let himself imagine that he was just any other soldier, someone who would eventually find their place among legends.

But as the moments passed, the self-doubt crept back in. What would it take for him to really earn his place? What did he have to prove, and more importantly, to whom?

The others have been through so much. And here I am, barely surviving my first mission, he thought bitterly.

---

The minutes dragged on, each tick of the clock above his bed a reminder of how much he wanted to be different, to be better. He wasnʼt sure how long he sat there, lost in thought, until he heard footsteps approaching again. This time, he felt a prickle of tension rise up his spine, a familiar aura of authority filling the room even before he looked up.

Chase stood in the doorway, arms folded, her gaze as sharp and assessing as ever. Her presence seemed to fill the small room, and Shaun felt his stomach tighten.

"Captain Chase," he greeted, trying to keep his voice steady.

She gave him a once-over, her expression unreadable. "Thought Iʼd check in. How's the shoulder?"

"Itʼs fine," he replied automatically, though the ache flared up again as if to prove him wrong.

She studied him for a moment, her gaze narrowing slightly. "Looked rough out there. You held up, but... Iʼd say there's room for improvement."

Shaun felt his face flush, a mix of embarrassment and frustration bubbling up. Room for improvement. The words echoed, sharp and stinging. He forced himself to nod, to swallow down the words that wanted to rise in his throat.

"Yeah. Iʼll do better next time," he managed to say, though even he could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

Chaseʼs eyes softened, just a fraction. "You're here. That counts for something. But in the field, itʼs not enough just to survive. You have to know why you're there, and what you're willing to put on the line."

The words settled heavily in the air, each one landing like a stone in his chest. He thought about the mission, about the panic and the fear, and most of all, the feeling that heʼd barely made a difference. The others had known exactly what to do, had moved with purpose and precision, while he had stumbled through, unsure and unsteady.

"I... I just donʼt want to let anyone down," he admitted quietly, the words spilling out before he could stop them.

Chase's expression shifted, something almost like empathy flashing across her face. She stepped closer, her gaze steady and unflinching. "Letting people down isn't the same as learning. You'll mess up, Oxton. But thatʼs part of it. The question is whether you're willing to keep going."

The simplicity of her words struck him, a strange comfort in the fact that even someone like her acknowledged the possibility of failure. He didnʼt have to be perfect; he just had to keep moving forward.

As she turned to leave, she paused, glancing back over her shoulder. "Remember why youʼre here, Oxton. Not for anyone else, but for yourself. Youʼre the only one who can define what this means to you."

And with that, she was gone, leaving him alone once more in the quiet room. But this time, the silence felt different-no longer a prison of his doubts, but a space for reflection, for finding that elusive sense of purpose. He sat there, breathing deeply, letting her words settle. For the first time, he felt a spark of determination, a sense that maybe, just maybe, he could carve out a place here after all.

The journey ahead was still long and uncertain, but he knew one thing: he was ready to take the next step, however small.