Revenant & Task Force 141

The lights in the common area were dim, the soft hum of idle conversation filling the air. For once, Task Force 141 wasn't on the move. No missions, no briefings—just downtime.

Soap leaned back in his chair, beer in hand, chuckling at one of Gaz's stories. Price sat nearby, half-listening as he cleaned his sidearm. Ghost was quiet, as usual, but the slight tilt of his head meant he was paying attention.

In the farthest corner, half-hidden in the shadows, Revenant sat with his back against the wall.

He had no real reason to be there. He didn't belong in these moments, not really. He was an outsider, a shadow among soldiers who shared bonds forged through trust. But something about the sound of their voices, the casual stories of past missions and dumb mistakes, kept him there.

So, he listened.

Soap was mid-way through recounting a disastrous training op from years ago, laughing as he recalled the absolute mess Gaz had made of a rappel line, when Revenant's head dipped slightly.

No one noticed at first.

Ghost's sharp eyes flicked toward him, watching as Revenant's frame, normally tense and ready, finally relaxed. His arms were folded over his chest, legs stretched out, head slightly tilted downward.

He had fallen asleep.

Sunlight streamed through white lace curtains, painting golden patterns across the hardwood floor. The soft scent of vanilla and fresh coffee filled the air, warm and familiar.

He was home.

Ezekiel stood in the middle of his living room, frozen. The old leather couch. The framed photographs on the wall. The toy cars scattered near the rug.

A laugh echoed from the kitchen.

"You gonna stand there all day, or are you gonna come kiss your wife?"

His breath hitched as Elena stepped into view, her dark hair pulled into a messy bun, a playful smile on her lips.

She was real.

She looked just as she had the last time he saw her, wearing his oversized hoodie, her silver cross resting against her collarbone.

He moved before he could think, crossing the room in two strides, arms wrapping around her. He buried his face in her shoulder, inhaling deeply—vanilla, coffee, warmth.

"You okay, Zeke?" she murmured.

He didn't answer. Couldn't.

A giggle rang out from behind him.

"Daddy, Daddy, look!"

He turned.

Daniel and Lucas—his boys—stood in the hallway, identical grins on their faces, waving drawings in the air. "We made superheroes! This one's you!"

His throat tightened.

They ran to him, little arms wrapping around his legs, their warmth seeping through his clothes.

He dropped to his knees, hands trembling as they cupped their faces. His thumb brushed over Lucas' cheek, ruffled Daniel's messy hair.

"I missed you," he whispered, voice breaking.

Elena knelt beside him, resting her forehead against his. "We never left."

His vision blurred. His heart pounded.

It wasn't okay.

Then—

BANG.

The sunlight dimmed. The kitchen faded.

Smoke. The sound of twisted metal. Blood pooling on pavement.

He saw their bodies again, lifeless in the wreckage. The warmth was gone, replaced with the cold, suffocating weight of reality.

They were gone.

Revenant jolted awake.

His breath was steady, controlled, but his fingers twitched slightly as they curled into a fist.

The voices were still there. The sound of laughter, of life.

He was back in the common area, slouched against the wall, the dim glow of the overhead lights bringing him fully back.

Ghost was watching him.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, there was an understanding.

Ghost didn't ask. Revenant didn't offer.

Instead, Ghost simply said, "You snore."

Soap snorted, oblivious to the weight of the moment. "Oh aye, I was wonderin' when you'd finally crash. You're always sneakin' around, figured you didn't need sleep."

Revenant exhaled, shaking off the remnants of the dream. He forced a smirk, masking the lingering ache in his chest.

"Guess even ghosts need rest."

No one saw the way his hand drifted to his pocket, fingers brushing against a worn, silver pendant—the only thing he had left of them.