Chapter Text
It was on one of Junkrat's usual heists, dicking around where they didn't need to dick around, when they found him.
They were in Illios, just under the radar of their new employers, basking in the warm sun and the sea air and planning to rob one of the best kept secrets in the area out of sheer boredom. Overwatch wouldn't really care, Roadhog told himself - they knew to leave well enough alone as long as the Junkers weren't blowing up civilians, or causing too much damage, and even then they were very good at turning a blind eye - as long as they kept the mission in mind while they relaxed. Overwatch had just recently taken control of several areas, including the ruins at the top of the scenic mountain, and had instructed the two Junkers to hold down the fort until others were free to take their spot. It was supposed to be boring, and easy, which was Overwatch's way of trying to keep them out of the way while the others did the delicate dirty work that they would probably ruin. But they made a serious miscalculation in leaving Junkrat alone with basically nothing to do, because the young Junker barely knew how to sit still, and Roadhog wasn't usually keen on trying to keep the younger Junker in line unless he absolutely had to.
It was terribly hot that morning, and they'd been out since sun up. Besides loping through the streets dressed like civilians - both had sunglasses and hats and shorts, and they'd tried to strip their more deadly gear for a lighter, more protective load - they'd gotten breakfast and cased the ruins in the north for the easiest way in and out. There weren't any walls to blow up, and most of the shiny, pretty things Junkrat liked - Roadhog hated to tell the others but half the "treasure" Junkrat had stored was useless baubles, even if the rest made up for the difference in value - were out in the open, with only a few things actively locked away. A good explosive would fix those, though, and Junkrat had his pockets stuffed full of small bombs. The larger bomb, they only had one, was in Roadhog's pocket.
Roadhog looked to the sky briefly. He didn't have his mask, but the sunglasses made up for the lack of tinting and the air here was clearer than in the dead space he lived in before all this, so he didn't need it. It felt a little weird to be breathing the air straight up, the dusty smell of the mask gone and replaced with warm sea air, but it wasn't bad. He just felt a little naked, that was all. The sky was crystal clear, devoid of clouds, so clear it felt like he could look straight to the stars and into the space beyond. It reminded him of cold nights in the Outback before the war happened, when the sky was clear and the light pollution was low, but something about it smelled... off, like the spark in the air before a storm. There was a crispness in the air that made his hair stand on end, like something was going to happen today, something bad. He looked to Junkrat as they meandered and grumbled something gruff - he rarely spoke real words, mostly because the other didn't need them to know what he said. He was good at that, and Roadhog was more comfortable that way anyhow - he didn't have to feel so human, talking, and he could let that part of him rest in silence elsewhere, away from the terrible things he did without it.
"You're jus' bein' paranoid. Nothin's gonna happen t'day unless we make it happen." The smaller of the two grinned broadly, talking quickly and adjusting the shades that were too big for his eyes. He finished his boba tea with a loud slurp and tossed the cup in the general direction of a trash bin, walking past without a care. Usually, he wouldn't make it in, and Roadhog was preparing himself to pick up after the slobby mess of a boss and friend, but instead he paused.
The cup went straight into the bin, dead center. No circle of the rim or bounce or nothing, and Junkrat didn't seem to notice.
Junkrat kept on walking, his half limp gait not really gaining him much distance, going over the plan in a voice that half knew Roadhog wasn't listening and didn't give a flying fuck, leaving the other staring at the can and then the sky with a tingle on the back of his neck. If that wasn't indicative of something happening today, nothing else would be. Roadhog wasn't a superstitious man, but living in the tiny hell that was Australia for all his life made him learn a few things about give and take, about how the world moves in circles and always comes back on itself. Call it Karma or retribution or even call it fake philosophy, but it happened, and something was telling him the world was doubling back. But he couldn't dwell on it, not with Junkrat already moving off, because one of them had to stay focused on keeping them both alive - and Junkrat rarely ever took that job himself.
They moved into the ruins, taking a leisurely tourist route until they'd passed all pretenses of "supposed to be there". They would have snuck a little better, instead of just strolling, but there was no one around to really sneak past, so they ended up just walking straight to where they wanted to go. The area they found themselves in was quiet, serene even, situated at the bottom of the mountain. A long winding path led up to a small series of ruined stone houses and a larger, padlocked stone great hall towards the middle. The path twisted down around the mountain side until it reached beach, and the drop off the path was sheer and terrible. Even Overwatch hadn't turned this area into anything in particular, so it was unsullied and untouched, for the time being. The ruins almost sparkled in the sunlight, and the only brighter glint were the bombs Junkrat was setting up at the entrance where the path met the houses.
"Just a bit of precaution." He said, when Roadhog gave him a questioning grunt. "Just in case some drongo comes runnin' in here tryin' t'bust us, got him a little gift." There was that grin again, almost manic, that spark in Junkrat's eyes that came from fiddling around just on the brink of danger, tying off the last of the trigger and listening for the armed beep. He then moved past, hobbling a little funny on the uneven stone floors, setting up a bear trap just by the large bomb Roadhog had bought - Roadhog could see the plan in his own head, knowing whomever got trapped there would get a face full of bomb and knowing full well Junkrat could hear the sheering click of his own traps going off from miles away, almost super humanly so - grunting a little as he locked the trap open. "You stay right there, Hog, I'll be right back. Don't know how these bombs are gonna function, best not get us both caught in the blast."
Roadhog watched the other wander off, a little perturbed at the indication that Junkrat might need to be carried out because the bombs fail, taking up his own position near the entrance they'd picked. He pulled out his hook, which was the only weapon he was carrying that day, and tested the weight in his hands. They were traveling light, and the junk gun was heavy - besides, he was readily capable of making the hook look like a fisherman's tool rather than a deadly weapon. There was a slight archway to his right - that led straight to bomb filled terror in a narrow pathway between the buildings - and the path continued behind him, most likely able to sweep around and rejoin the area on the other side. To his left, a sheer drop, probably fifty feet or so, straight into rocks and deep ocean. He decided to take up position to block the winding path, so anyone trying to stop them would either dive fifty feet to their death or veer into explosive hell if they decided they didn't want to fight him.
And he wasn't planning on being merciful, so the drop seemed like the best choice of death.
He could hear Junkrat bustling about in the ruins, whistling a soft tune, shuffling around rocks and stuffing a bag full of treasures. He needed to make sure he made a final sweep through the area himself, because Junkrat almost always missed something large and actually worth money in his need to pick up every little thing that shined. Otherwise, it was quiet, save the roll of the ocean down below, and the patter of birds trying to nest in the area, and the soft breeze rustling the little vegetation.
He paused. The patter sounded less and less like birds every minute that went by, and it kept getting closer. Like little feet padding along the stone, quick and quiet. Whatever it was, it was coming up the path, and something deep in Roadhog's nature wanted to shift his hook up and ready for the strike, but he stayed his own hand. He could wait, be patient - if they needed to die, they would. He shifted to block the entire path anyway, just because he could, hoping that whatever small being ran up on him would turn tail and run back the other way.
He didn't have to wait very long before the figure he was hearing appeared around the corner. It was a child, or at least as far as Roadhog could tell - once someone was a certain level of small he had a hard problem judging age, and this young boy, most likely a boy, was absolutely tiny - and he skidded to a stop just around the corner, panting hard. There was blood in the air, thick and heavy, the child bleeding from what looked like a large bite on his side, tiny baby hands clutching desperately at it like maybe he could stop it bleeding. The bite seemed to take up most of the boy's abdomen and chest, and nearly tore the blue t-shirt he was wearing into pieces. It was definitely a shark, a large one, and Roadhog tried not to look too hard at it because too much attention might look like he cared. He just wanted to know the size of the thing that bit him. The child was decked out in simple fishing gear - a spool and a small hook, a knotted rope with a fish tied onto it, a small net across his back - and panting, breathless, in the shade of an overly large sunhat. The boy was obviously in pain, but didn't stop moving even though he was moving at a limp.
"Ede mwen?" The child asked, approaching the bigger man like he wasn't terrifying - and maybe in the Hawaiian shirt and shorts and sunglasses, Roadhog looked a little more friendly, but the hook should have been scary enough to keep him away - clutching at his wound tightly. The boy's eyes were bright blue and piercing and looking at Roadhog to help, full of fear and distress and pain, but the large man didn't make any indication that he would. This child - probably not a native child, considering the boy's dark skin and sandy hair and inability to speak basic Greek, because whatever he spoke sounded decidedly more French or African influenced - wouldn't find help with two criminals trying to break into an area, that was for sure. Not any that required police influence, and Roadhog only knew enough first aid to help his fellow Junker, which wasn't a lot. So the child turned to the side, to walk the path into the ruins. Roadhog, without thinking, reached out to stop the boy, because while he didn't mind murdering people, children tended to be the exception and no boy should die at the hands of a bomb that big. Of course, this gesture was made quickly and with an angry grunt, and the child found this scary and picked up to a run, not looking where he was running to, only that he need to remove himself from the vicinity quickly.
The next moment happened at such a speed where Roadhog could feel each second tick by on his skin. The child stepped forward and the trap snapped up, clenching into his leg just below the knee so hard and fast Roadhog swore he could see straight muscle through the teeth and almost definitely heard the snap of bone. He fell as Roadhog stepped forward, and the boy's face nearly landed on the mine itself, the body of the thing just in front of him, arm wrapped around it languidly. Roadhog could see Junkrat in the distance, see him snap to like a rodent on alert when the trap closed, that sheering noise enough for him to know, saw his raised hand press down on the button without looking, but he wasn't fast enough to stop any of it. There was a moment when the air was thick with panic, just before the fuse combusted inside the mine, and then the whole thing exploded with a happy, obnoxious laughing noise.
The next thing Roadhog saw was the trap flying at his face, and then everything went black.
~*~
He came back to Junkrat bending over his face, calling his name, one warm hand and one cold clutching at his cheeks. The sun was bright, so bright, too bright, and he shut his eyes again with a groan, feeling at his own face. Everything smelled of copper and his lips and nose were wet and sticky and his glasses had shattered at some point, leaving shards in his face. He cast off the bent frames, rubbing a forearm over his eyes to wipe the glass away, grabbing blindly with the other hand until Junkrat got the cue and stuffed his shades into the empty fist. Of course the shades were a little small, but Roadhog could at least see now, which was better than nothing.
This is why he was wearing his gas mask everywhere from now on, blending in be damned.
"Thank god you're still breathing, y'fat bastard, I thought you'd carked it! That trap right near took yer head off." Junkrat pressed his hands to Roadhog's face in a weird, affectionate partial hug, and Roadhog brushed him off with a grunt. He felt like hell, of course, having apparently gotten smashed in the face with the steel trap, and he cleared his nose violently. The blood smell only partially went away, and he felt the blood running down his chin anyway. He didn't care, scanning around for the child. Hopefully the little fuck didn't go vaulting off the cliff edge to his certain death.
"Kid's over 'ere, if yer lookin' for 'm." Junkrat toed the body with his real foot, balancing startlingly well on the peg. "Ankle biter nearly went careening off the cliff, managed t'catch yer hook on the net. Pulled 'm right up m'self, net got rooted all t'hell, though." Junkrat picked up the net, which had a large gaping hole in it. "Didn't think I'd be settin' a trap fer a tiny fellow like that, all things considered." He shrugged, toeing the boy again, and Roadhog shifted to look at the broken body lying in the road.
The boy's right arm was bent back in an odd way, the right leg still attached to the trap, dug in too deep to pry off without severing the limb itself. His face was half burnt, the hat cocked off to the side awkwardly, lips chapped and charred, his tshirt torn open at the shoulder and his skin there black. He was still bleeding from the shark bite, but the blood was sluggish and barely there. The boy's chest wasn't moving.
"He doesn't look good, mate." Junkrat bent down to be on the same level as Roadhog, who was kneeling gently on the street. "Used yer com, called the others. They're sending a chopper t'get us 'n him. Don't think he's gonna make it, but might as well give it a shot." Junkrat clapped his warm hand on Roadhog's back, watching as the larger man bundled the tiny frame into his arms. The boy was absurdly light, probably the reason he went flying in the first place, and Roadhog tried not to crush the already broken arm as he carried the boy away. Of course, walking through Illios with his face covered in blood carrying what appeared to be a very dead child didn't help their, uh, disguises, but at this point Roadhog didn't care.
He wanted to make this right, before the world decided to come full circle on him instead.