Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Its already too late when Roadhog spots her. It’s a sick little thing that the raiders left behind. She’s tiny and too skinny to be healthy, all bones and skin. Probably about 8 or 9. They’ll never know if she was one of the raiders’ kids or if she was a captive, not with the raiders’ body parts scattered all over the place. Roadhog would guess captive by the state she’s in.

“She’s not gonna make it.” One of the Dogs on the scavving team says.

Roadhog knows he’s right. And yet he still picks up the tiny thing and tucks her in the crook of her arm. She sneezes, and he mumbles to her soothingly.

“Oi, Pig, you heard me. She’s dead meat. Vulture meal. Dog food.” The same one scowls.

Roadhog says nothing, staring him down. 

In a flash, the Dog shoots the little girl point blank, and the girl gasps once, before going limp. “More merciful that way.” The Dog mumbles.

Roadhog gently lowers the girl’s body to the ground. Then, in an even quicker flash, he grabs the Junker by the head in one mighty fist, flexes, and crushes the man’s head with a sickening splat, like breaking open a melon. Brains and blood and gore splatter to the ground, and the headless body crumples. Roadhog shakes his hand free of viscera like it’s sweat or water, like it’s nothing.

None of the remaining Dogs say anything. They just watch in resigned horror. They all knew better than that one— everyone had heard legends of Roadhog, and every Junker worth the grime on their skin knew what the hell that name meant. They all know that even if they ganged on him, they’d lose.

Other animals you picked as a name could be potentially fought and killed. Rats were terrifying buggers that could chew your leg off in your sleep, could multiply in an hour and send a whole structure crashing down even faster with those fucking teeth, but a good grenade blew them to pieces, and they weren’t immune to bear traps.

Dogs were vicious, and a pack of them could spell death for even a good scavving team. The most violent and aggressive Junkers took on their name for a reason. But still, good aim and a machine gun did the trick.

But hogs? No one had ever killed a hog. Not an Australian hog. No one went near those. If a hog was coming towards you and you didn’t have a get away vehicle, you were already dead. Hogs were aggressive, with piercing tusks and several rows of teeth. They were huge fuckers, usually clocking in at five feet long and tall, and could speed towards you on six legs and skewer you within the minute like a kebab. They could take machine gun fire head on and keep going, running all the way to the machine and destroying it. They could have a bear trap close on their legs and keep walking like it was just a tick. Those who took on the name Hog were usually arrogant edgy pricks who thought they were tough shit. They always died quickly. But every so often, there was somebody who truly lived up to the name. Somebody who earned the meaning of the name. Somebody who embodied the beast that no Australian since the Omnium Explosion had ever slain. Only two of those people had ever existed, as far as they knew. Roadhog was one of the people, and he was also currently the last Hog standing. He’d been here longer than everyone on this crew had had names, since the beginning of the apocalypse.

Chipdog, the makeshift leader of this scavving expedition, knew better than to test a man that had proven himself worthy of that name. She didn’t mourn the loss of the man he’d killed either. If you were stupid enough to test the one man apocalypse, you deserved to be another tally mark in his long list of kills.

“Right, let’s keep going.” She dismisses the scene. “You… good now, Hog?” She asks tentatively.

Roadhog finishes using a gore soaked hand to spread a filthy tattered worthless blanket over the corpse of the little girl, and grunts. Chipdog takes that as an affirmation, and leads the crew onward. They’ve spent too much time here.

Chapter Text

Mako sees the grasslands and fields of crops, see his arms, much younger and less calloused, torn open by bites, and sees a girl his age, a teenager like him. Her dark hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and sweat rolls down her dark skin in the summer heat as she takes a needle to his skin, where the dingo he killed tore his arm open. She’s the only one with medical knowledge for miles out, the only one willing to come out this far to fix someone up, but she doesn’t have the tools a real doctor does.

Mako’s biting a bullet, and braces for the pain.

Haeata looks up at his ummasked, unscarred face. “Ready?”

He nods.

“One, two, three—“ The needle pierces his skin, and Mako bites the bullet, growling in agony. His uninjured hand twitches, clenching and unclenching.

It’s pure unfiltered pain, true suffering, but Mako endures it, keeps still, doesn’t fight it.

He’s panting by the time it’s done, by the time he’s all stitched up.

His makeshift nurse sighs in relief, breaking off the stitch once it’s tight enough and putting down the dreaded needle. “You’re done.” Haeata smiles. “It’s nice to officially meet you, by the way.”

Mako grumbles unintelligibly and Haeata laughs in good humor. “You mind telling me why the hell you fought a dingo with your bare hands, big guy?” She asks, looking at him with an exasperated smile.

“…” He stares at her. It’s a look that makes most grown men wither, that makes the boys that try to tease him for his size think twice. But she stares back, unflinching. This goes on for several minutes.

Mako’s the one who finally caves, breaking the gaze. “…It was tryin’ ta hurt the neighbor’s kids.” He finally mumbles.

Haeata smiles softly. “Well you sure scared the hell out of both of ‘em.” She tells him bluntly, and pats his arm. “But at least they’re alive. I think that’s the important part. Good job, big guy.”

He grumbles unintelligibly again, and she rolls her eyes. “Dunno what you said, but I feel like it was sarcastic.” She sighs. “I got to get going. Don’t make me come back here, dummy.”

Less than two weeks later, Haeata stares at the new stitches she just had to give Mako after a magpie clawed the shit out of him, which he also killed with his bare hands.

“Really?” She sighs.

Mako stays quiet, and keeps secret the fact that while he may not have been trying to get hurt on purpose, he was hoping that she’d be the one to patch him up.

Chapter Text

The scavving trip goes spectacular, at least in Chipdog’s opinion. All they lost was that one dumbass who shot a kid in front of the man known to pull off the heads of anyone who disrespects him. They got a decent haul, scrap wise. They split it into their portions, and most the crew takes off to the market place, eager to trade for food or beer or whatever else they need. Chipdog stays, though, waits, watches. Roadhog’s been standing there, stock still for a little while. She’s worried, but not sure it’s her place to try to help him anymore.

It’s been a while since they were in the same place, despite their heavy history. Before this trip, the last time she’d seen him in Junkertown at all was when Bloodhog… well, enough about that. He disappeared after that, to where, who the hell knows.

Chipdog’s known the man since she was little, though. He and Bloodhog were the ones who found her, stuck starving and locked in a collapsing house, hiding from feral bots.

She’d watched the two from the broken second story window. To be honest, she was fucking terrified of the two of them when she first saw them. They moved in sync, like they’d done this all a million times before. They were both huge, Roadhog much more than Bloodhog, and they both wore pig-shaped gas masks. Bloodhog had impeccable aim, and every bullet she fired from her shotgun nailed an omnic in the head. Meanwhile, Roadhog was just fucking brutal. His hook was sharp enough to chop most bots in half, and the ones that he didn’t halve got a shot of scrap directly to the metal face, which usually blew their heads off.

Once all of them were dead, the two of them had started tearing the fucking bots apart, turning them all into scrap and shoving them in a bag. Bloodhog was the most brutal about it, surprisingly, using a serrated machete to hack the bots into shreds with something like fury, growling and snarling like an animal.

The tiny girl that would one day become Chipdog stepped back a little horrified, and tripped over a fallen vase. She landed with a thud. Heavy footsteps came towards the house was hiding in. The door that she’d locked and pushed a table against gave in with a loud CRACK as the big man’s strength forced it open easily.

‘I’m going to die.’ She’d thought back then. ‘This is it, I’m going to die.’

The giant tattooed man appeared at the top of the staircase, gun raised, and the girl shut her eyes.

But nothing happened. Tentatively opening one eye, she saw the man with his gun lowered, staring at her through his impassive mask. The masked woman had come up too, then, and saw her. The woman tilted her head at the girl.

“What are you doing here?” She barked.

The girl squeaked, trembling.

“Answer me.” The woman growled, hand reaching for her shotgun.

“H-hiding! I’m hiding, I’m sorry, please don’t hurt me!” The girl yelled.

The posture of the two relaxed a little. The woman spoke up. “Where are you from?” She asked, softly.

“S-Sidney. They kicked my family out.” The girl had said.

“Your family those bodies outside?” The woman asked.

The girl nodded meekly.

The woman sighed. “You poor thing.” She finally said, and it was the first thing she said with kindness. “I’m Bloodhog, this is Roadhog. We’ll get you to Junkertown. It’s safe there. Alright?”

She didn’t have much of a choice, so the girl that would become Chipdog went. They took her on their bike across the wastes, to a city made of metal. They lead her along the crowded streets, Roadhog holding her hand so she wouldn’t get lost. His grip was surprisingly gentle, and it made her less terrified. They go deep into the city, making a confusing amount of turns, but they seem to know where they’re going.

They get to a more crowded area, filled with people who twitch and watch. A place that would become very familiar to this girl. The Rat Den.

An older woman comes from the entrance of the Den, looking worried but not surprised. She holds her hand out to the girl, who flinches and looks up to the Hogs.

Roadhog pat her head with a hand. “She’ll be right.” He told her softly.

Bloodhog nodded. “They’ll take care of you. Go.”

And so the girl went. As she grew, she found out more about the two of them. They were a scavenging duo, and the only two Hogs worth their name— the de facto leaders of the Hogs, who never accepted new clan members. Which meant all the young people calling themselves Junkhog and Scraphog and Dirthog were just arrogant edgy pricks who weren’t taken seriously by anyone.

They both came by the Den every time they got back from a scavving trip and played with the kids. They looked a lot less scary when they were both letting tiny kids use them as a jungle gym.

The girl learned that the two of them were responsible for bringing quite a few lost and abandoned kids here, where they’d be relatively safe. The girl had tentatively played with them too. Tentatively sat with them, tentatively asked them questions, most of which went unanswered. It got to the point that she got a pat on the head from them both when they came to visit.

She’d considered asking them to take her in, to be her parents, since the Rats already had so many kids to take care of.

But that’s when it all went to shit.

And now, back in the present, Chipdog wasn’t a girl anymore. She was a full grown woman in her twenties, with a name and everything. And now, she was staring at the man who used to be somewhat of a father figure to her, trying to figure out what to say.

Roadhog’s head suddenly snaps to attention. He feels her eyes, and looks at Chipdog, stares her down. Chipdog breaks the gaze nervously, looking to her dirty boots.

“…Alice.” He finally mumbles, finally recognizing exactly who she was.

Chipdog nods. “Y-yeah… Got a name now, though. ‘S Chipdog.”

He grumbles in what might be approval.

Chipdog opens and closes her mouth, trying to figure out how to word her concerns. ‘Where did you go? Why did you leave for so long? Where have you been? Why did you show up so suddenly like it was nothing? Like you never left?’ There’s so many questions in her head, but she eyes the gore still caked to his hand warily. Roadhog and Bloodhog were well known to never harm children, but she wasn’t exactly a child anymore. And Roadhog was known for murdering those that disrespected him.

“Are… Are you okay?” She finally squeaks, feeling exactly like she did as a little girl when she first met them. Terrified. Not at all like a Dog, not at all like the woman who had once murdered an entire band of raiders with only her spite and a meat cleaver. She remembers what the current leader of the Dogs said though— ‘Being a Dog doesn’t mean never being afraid. Fear is good, fear keeps you alive. Being a Dog just means that you’re willing to fight, willing to get hurt. Just like everyone else, you should pick your battles.’

Roadhog stares deep into her soul. Then he huffs, turns around, and leaves.

Chipdog watches the lone Hog go, clutching her heart, shaking from the fear that had overwhelmed her.

Chapter Text

Mako taps his fingers on the wheel as he drives through the countryside as fast as he can, hoping to get there in time, to not be too late. Haeata is practically shaking with anxiety as well, looking through her medkit for the umpteenth time to make sure she’s prepared for anything.

It’s a good job, driving her around to each place in the rural farmlands that needs her medical knowledge. Mako took over for her matua after the the tenth time she had to patch him up from something. It was Mako’s whaea’s idea, because she could always read her son a little too well.

“If you want an excuse to see her so bad, there’s a better one than fighting the wildlife.” His whaea had said, smiling at him with both love and exhaustion for his bullshit.

And so, Mako took the opportunity handed to him. Driving Haeata around was a good excuse to spend time with her, admittedly. But it meant that a lot of their moments were tense, since most of the time when she was needed somewhere it was because someone was injured but not enough for the expensive-ass hospital, which migrant farmers in the countryside like both their families would only go to when they were literally on death’s goddamn door.

They arrived in record time, and Mako and Haeata practically jumped out the car, rushing to the front of the farmhouse they’d gotten the call from. It was a kid with a pretty bad cut on his arm, bleeding profusely as the kid sobbed. The two settled into routine as they always did— and with kids, it meant Haeata trying to calm the kid down and encouraging them to rely on Mako for support.

“Hey, it’s okay.” She soothed. “It’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna get you all fixed up. I’m going to clean your wound and stitch it, and Mako here is going to hold your hand. He’s big and strong and tough and won’t let anything happen to you, okay? You can trust him. If it hurts, just squeeze his hand as hard as you can, put all your pain into him. He can take it.”

The distressed kid looks at the giant seventeen year old man before him, and Mako allows himself to crack a smile, sitting besides the kid and offering his hand. Slowly the kid sniffles and takes it. Mako wraps his other arm around the boy gently, prepared to hold him still. “She’ll be right, kid.” He says softly. The kid nods slowly, and he’s a smart kid, because Mako can see the fear in his eyes when Haeata approached with antiseptic. Mako squeezes his hand gently, and the kid takes in a shaky breath, squeezes their eyes shut, and braces.

It’s not an easy job, what the two of them do, at least not when it’s kids like this. Mako loves kids, and Haeata does too. She plays with her littlest brothers every day, and she’s had the opportunity to catch Mako’s neighbor’s kids both riding on top of him and giggling like mad, one kid per shoulder. It hurts them both like hell to see them in pain, to be the cause of their pain, and they read it in each other by the deep frowns and furrows of the brow.

The kid’s tuckered out by the time they’re done, and Haeata sighs heavily in relief when she sees that he’s still okay and hasn’t passed out from pain.

“Good job kid. You’re a fighter.” Mako’s low voice praises, and he squeezes the kid in a little hug. The kid giggles and smiles tiredly.

“You mind if Mako carries him to bed?” Haeata asks the worried but immensely relieved parents gently.

The mother nods, and Mako picks the kid up easily in his arms, tucks him into the crook of his arm, and takes him into the house. It’s easy to find which room is his, and Mako tucks him in bed and ruffles his hair. “Get some sleep. Be careful with your stitches.” He whispers.

The kid suddenly reaches up and hugs Mako tightly— or at least tries. The kid’s arms don’t even begin to be able to wrap around his width, but it’s a valiant attempt. “Thank you.” The kid whispers, and it makes Mako soften, more than he already was.

Mako wraps his arms around him carefully, always hyper aware of his own strength, of the muscle underneath his fat that he earned by helping his matua on the farm. He could crush this kid, and he knows it. Which is why he’s so careful when hugging him, making sure he doesn’t hurt this tiny treasure.

Finally, Mako parts, and lets the kid lie down and sleep. He comes out of the house to the tail end of a conversation.

“We’re so thankful to have a young couple like you around willing to help us. Are you sure there’s nothing else we can do to repay you?” The mother of the child is asking.

“You already paid for my services. You all just be careful not to get hurt this badly again and we’ll call it even.” Haeata tells them with a smile, as she tells every family she helps. Mako’s breath catches in his chest a little when he registers that she didn’t deny that they were a couple.

They both head to the car, and the mood is significantly lighter. Haeata hums some tune she heard on the radio as she climbs into the passenger seat. “You’re basically my boyfriend, aren’t you?” She suddenly asks, and Mako chokes a little bit.

“…” He looks away, embarrassed. She chuckles.

“You hover around the things you like. Pigs, little kids, plushies, your family… and me.” She continues. “Plus, you’re not exactly subtle. You didn’t really think you could get hurt and call me over ten times and I wouldn’t catch on, did you?” Haeata grins. “Maybe I’m wrong though. Gotta give me a sign. At least nod or shake your head. You like me? Want to date me?”

Mako stares at the road ahead, mortified. Slowly he nods.

She chuckles again. “And you know I don’t do short term or flings, right? If sex is what you’re after, you’re out of luck. You good with that?”

A little more eagerly, he nods.

Haeata sighs, and this is a happy one, not one that comes after she has to stitch someone back together herself because no one in her area can afford hospital bills. “You can be so cute sometimes, big guy.”

The memories come in snapshots, past that. More harrowing drives through the countryside, more of Haeata healing people the best she can with what she’s got, Mako introducing her as his girlfriend to his family, him picking her up after school, then going on dates whenever they have the time. It’s a fairytale romance, or so Haeata tells him. ‘It’s the kind of fairytale I’d like to read.’ She amends.

Mako doesn’t think much of those things. He knows they’re a bit of an odd couple, the girl that everyone likes and the giant fat boy that people think is stupid and slow, and he knows the mean comments people have about them, but he’s honestly just happy being with her. And she says she’s happy with him— he can tell she is. She smiles more when he’s around, laughs happily when he randomly brings her bunches of wildflowers, kisses him every time they meet up.

They graduate school together, and though Haeata could probably go on and become a doctor or something, could sure as hell get a scholarship, she chooses to stay and be the town sawbones. Mako worried she had made the wrong choice at first, but it makes sense the more he thinks about it. Someone’s got to look out for the people who can’t afford doctors, after all.

She moves in with Mako and his family when they’re both nineteen. Mako proposes when they’re twenty-one.

Haeata had laughed when she saw the ring, topped with sparkling amethyst. “Sure took you long enough, you big lug.” She grinned.

They were married in the spring, an affair attended mostly by their families, their neighbors, and some of the families that the two of them had helped. Mako just about fainted when he saw her at the altar.

And then, from there, bliss. They went on doing the normal things they did, Mako helping his matua on the farm and driving Haeata all over the place to help people with injuries, but they did it with the giddy knowledge that they had a bond that couldn’t be broken very easily.

On his twenty-second birthday, Haeata tells him to close his eyes, and leads in a tiny little piglet with a ribbon around its neck. “Surprise!” Crows both his wife and his parents.

“No. Not butchering a pig.” Mako says firmly. He’s always liked pigs too much to be comfortable killing them, or even eating pork.

Haeata smiles softly and brushes his hair out of his face. “We know that, big guy. This one’s not for eating. It won’t be butchered, ever. It’s a pet. Wanda said we could have it because she’s the runt of the litter.”

That makes Mako relax significantly. He pats his knee, and the little guy comes over easily. “They need lots of care.” He grumbles, even as he scratches the piglet behind her cute pink ear.

“I know. We’ll do it together. We can leash train it, take it with us everywhere.” Haeata assures. “Besides… it can be practice.” She smiles secretively, and lowers her hand to her stomach.

Mako catches on, and his eyes go wide. Piglet momentarily forgotten, he stands and goes to his wife. He gets on his knees, a giant hand over her stomach. He looks up at her, asking silently.

“5 positive tests, so it sure as hell should be.” She answers easily with a laugh.

Mako takes her gently in his huge arms, and hugs her tight. Haeata’s very tall, but he’s always dwarfed her a little. “I’m happy.” He rumbles gently, and it’s true. He is.

Everything’s right.

That’s how it always feels when a storm is brewing.

Chapter Text

He stops here because he sees a band of scavvers leaving it behind. They were looking at a pile of bent metal, looking at each other, talking. Then they left. Mako got curious. Lots of times, scavvers leave behind shit that looks too dangerous. Which means he’s always got an opportunity to search places that have already been ‘picked clean.’ No one can endure pain like he can, after all. So he stops, and finds that they were looking at a hole.

There’s something about this hole in a pile of bent metal. Roadhog doesn’t know how he knows it, but he does. He likes to think that she’s pointing it out to him, shoving it in his face, making him get it. She was always like that with important details.

He looks in the hole. Inside is a kid, leg mangled. They’re not moving. They might be dead, but he can’t tell from this angle. Roadhog tears the hole open and pulls them out. To his surprise, they’re breathing. To his despair, they’re blond and skinny and beat up with freckles. Roadhog carries them carefully in his arms back to his chopper. There’s not much time to spare. The bleeding has stopped for the most part, but if he doesn’t get them to someone who can clean the wounds and amputate the leg that it’s gonna get infected. And antibiotics are not something Junkertown can really get most of the time, usually locked away in places like Sidney, so an infection is a death sentence.

Roadhog rides fast, kid cradled in his arms as carefully as he can on a chopper. He doesn’t waste time, going straight into Junkertown, going straight to where he knows he can find help. It’s a bunch of confusing turns, but he’s memorized them. He’s come here a lot over the years. The Rat Den. It’s practically his home away from home. The twitchy eye fucks watch him warily as he walks through, as always, but when they see he’s got a kid they relax. They suppose it must be just like old times for him.

He supposes it is just like old times.

He enters the makeshift hovel-office of the fucker who he knows is capable of what he needs. There’s no shortage of sawbones in the Rat clan, but Gorerat’s the miracle worker. Spoken about with both awe and fear, known for doing 10 quick and clean no anesthesia surgeries in an hour and all of them surviving it. Known for being ruthless and going to any lengths to keep you alive. Given the name ‘gore’ for a reason.

Gorerat’s washing the stuff that gives him his name off his gloves when Roadhog enters. It’s far from the first time they’ve met, and they’ve established a bit of a routine. They always meet in similar situations, after all.

“Well, look at the scrap heap that showed up at my door.” Gorerat greets him as usual. “You finally got yourself hurt enough that you’re willing to stay in town for more than half a second, you old bitch?” Gorerat asks, already dreading what this man brought with him. He only comes to him when he’s two seconds away from passing out, riddled with bullets and knife wounds from all the fights he gets into.

It’s then that Gorerat registers the child he’s carrying. “Oh goddamnit, not again. You’re fucking lucky I’m not in a surgery right now! C’mon, put ‘em on the table!! C’mon, chop, chop! I hate waiting!!!” The doctor finishes cleaning up and grabs his tools, also meticulously cleaned and sanitized. Despite his name, Gorerat’s prissy about keeping clean as much as you can get in a wasteland before a surgery. He gets his name from what he looks like after the surgeries.

Roadhog lays the kid on the table and takes their hand in his, while the doctor goes about checking vitals and preparing for this surgery.

“Not a suit’s chance in heaven that we can save the leg, even if we had all the fancy medical supplies we could ever want.” Gorerat sighs. They grab a walkie-talkie, which Roadhog knows connects to the Den’s resident prosthetics expert. “Need you here. Kid with leg. Over.” Once that’s done they put back on their gloves and prepare their tools. “Alright, keep the kid steady for me in case they wake up. Hold  em through it in that cute little way you used to before you fucked off into the wilderness. Hopefully they’ll sleep through it. Gonna need to graft some skin too, but we’ll burn that bridge when we get to it. Here we go!”

And so, Gorerat dives into what they do best. It’s a clean and quick amputation and cleaning, and the skin graft is over just as quick. The prosthetics expert gets a port attached, and though she’s not as quick as Gorerat, the whole ordeal doesn’t take more than an hour, and most of it was the port.

After it’s done, Gorerat starts cleaning meticulously. It’s a job-ordained compulsion at this point. “We don’t got enough beds for a kid to recover from surgery, so you’re taking them, asshole. You got a whole ass house and I know you ain’t hurting for scrap. It’s not like you’re terrible with kids, so suck it up.”

Roadhog stares at him. Anyone with sense would backtrack, but Gorerat stares back, unflinching. This goes on for quite a while. Finally, Roadhog breaks the gaze.

“…I’ll take care of ‘em.” He speaks to him for the first time in years.

“Yeah, the fuck you will.” Gorerat scoffs. “I’ll come over to give checks up and help you get settled in with your new charge. We’ll get you a prosthetic for the kid soon. You know how to change bandages, don’t you?”

Roadhog nods.

Gorerat smiles, finally, for probably the first time that day. It’s a nice, soft, tired little smile on his stress wrinkled face, that betrays the fact that despite all his bitching, he doesn’t hate Roadhog— just gets frustrated with his bullshit a lot. “Good. Now get the fuck out of my OR.”

Chapter Text

The first one was something they’d wanted for a long time. They were stable enough to raise a child, as stable as you could get being who they were. But more than anything, they both wanted it. They wanted a child of their own so bad. They’d dreamed about it, had long conversations about it, planned everything out to a T. They’d been preparing for it, them and the grandparents, ready to welcome a new child into the world and give them everything they’d ever want.

The second one happened by accident, while Haeata was still pregnant.

Mako had been out in the fields, when he heard the rustling of something running through the corn. He grabbed his shotgun in case it was some dangerous animal—

Instead, popping out of the fields was a blond skinny kid in ratty clothes, with bruises and cuts all over their body. Their left eye was swollen shut, and they breathed heavily, painfully.

“Don’t tell him I’m here. Please.” The kid panted out, and then stumbled to the ground, collapsing. Mako, very troubled by this sight, carefully picked the kid off the ground and into his arms. He took them into the house, where Haeata was making lunch. She swore loudly when she saw the kid.

“Are they dead?!” She hissed.

Mako shook his head. They were breathing. “Said not to tell someone they were here.”

“Well fucking hell don’t just stand there, take them to our room and lay them down, I’ll get my medkit and some ice.” She huffed, and Mako easily obeyed.

She didn’t get a chance, because there was a knock on the door. Outside was a cop and an angry swearing man with blood on his knuckles.

“Have you seen a blonde boy in a blue shirt?” The cop asked simply.

‘Shirt is a bit generous, that thing is more like a rag.’ She thought to herself, eyeing the two of them. She could easily connect the dots. “No, I haven’t seen anything.” She said pleasantly.

“She’s lying!” The angry man hissed.

“Ma’am, we’re going to have to search your house.” The cop told her sternly.

“Do you have a warrant?” Haeata asked much too sweetly, plastering on a fake smile.

“Yes.” The cop said easily.

“Then show it to me.” Haeata grinned with venom, calling his bluff.

The cop paused, floundering, and the angry man swore. “Get out of my way, you stupid fucking bitch!”

Haeata slammed the door on his foot from where he tried to step on her foot and he fell backwards. She shut the door and locked it.

Cops never changed. But at least she wasn’t living in the 2020s or something, before the worldwide forced reforms. As intimidating as they tried to look, they couldn’t do shit to innocent people nowadays. If that angry man tried to force a search, they could easily report him for child endangerment and attempted home invasion, and he’d be laughed out of court. That asshole knew it, too— wouldn’t have tried to shove into the house if he didn’t.

Even still, Haeata went to her and Mako’s room with a medkit and a camera. She took pictures of all the injuries and documented them. You should always have proof, in case the law came after you. And aside the proof, you should always have a loaded gun, in case the law tried to play dirty.

Then she went to work healing them up. Mako watched over them as he always did when she healed someone. His large body blocked the window, which he occasionally looked out of. He must have heard the conflict.

After all the injuries were cleaned and bandaged up, the kid woke up, woozy. “Ugh…” They groaned.

Haeata smiled. “Morning, kid. You alright?”

“D-Did… he come for me?” They asked weakly.

“He tried, but I chased him out. Seems like he’s not ready to quit, though. How about you stay with us for a while?” Haeata offered.

“R-really? Could you? I don’t want to bother, but…” They looked away.

“‘S alright.” Mako finally spoke, a great big hand put on the bed near them as a comfort.

“What’s your name, kid?” Haeata asked.

“A-Adelaide.” They answered timidly, looking very nervous.

Haeata and Mako shared a look, speaking without words. It was something they’d learned to do over their years together, reading each other just by their face and body language. It was something they only knew how to do because they watched each other so intently, learned each other like a favorite book. It was a skill and a talent, to have a conversation and exchange information to each other through meaningful glances— this conversation being about the disparity between the name the child gave them and what the cop had called the child.

“You a girl, then?” Haeata finally asked, with careful kindness as her silent conversation with her husband came to a conclusion.

“Y-yes. I d-don’t have the parts, b-but—“ Adelaide was cut off.

“Doesn’t matter what parts you have. If you’re a girl then you’re a girl.” Mako told her firmly.

And that was that.

They introduced her to Kai the pig, and Haeata set about repurposing some clothes that didn’t fit anymore into a nice dress.

That’s how they got their oldest.

Chapter Text

Jamie woke up to a short skinny fellow with bright red hair and bright orange eyes watching over him.

As soon as the man realized Jamie was awake, he sighed in an overdramatic fashion and grinned. “Thank the lack of gods! You’re awake, kid! Was worried you slipped into a coma for a sec there!!”

He raced over to the door. “Oi! Piece a shit! Get in here!”

Jamie startled from the loud shout the red-headed man yelled into the house.

“Your kid’s up and at ‘em, ya big lug, be a good dad and tell ‘em hi, asshole!” He heard from just outside the door, and then the man dragged in--

Jamie went pale. He loved Junker names, even though he hadn’t been here long. He knew what every one of them meant. He could put a face to most of em.

Wandering monster. Nomadic beast. Roaming behemoth. Roadhog.

“Oh right, everyone else thinks you’re bloody terrifying. Fuck!” The red head sighed in aggravation.

Suddenly Jamie recognizes him too-- it took him a second, because the man in front of him wasn’t covered in gore like usual. “Wait... you’re Gorerat.”

That makes him relax quite a bit. Gorerat was the best medic in all of Junkertown! Jamison had seen him around a lot, always busy with surgeries, too busy to talk to kids. Gorerat was also well known for being able to murder you in two seconds if you ever tried to shoot the healer. He wouldn’t let Roadhog hurt him, right? If anyone could kill a monster it was the guy who knew where all your instant-death points were.

Gorerat calms down a bit and smiles, finally, gentle and tired and soft. “S’right, li’l roo. I’m Gorerat. I’m glad you’re awake.” The medic came around to his side of the massive bed. “Roadie here brought ya to me. You gave us quite a scare, y’know? He’s gonna take care of you while you recover, alroight? I know he’s a bit scary to those that don’t know ‘em, but I’ve known this hunk of junk 8 years. He’s got a soft spot the size of Oz, especially for li’l ones like you.”

Jamie pouted. “I don’t need ta be taken care of! I’ve been doin’ it meself for 7 years!”

Gorerat sighed. “I figured you’d say that. I’m sorry the Rats are too stretched thin for ya, kid. I’d help them out if I could, but... just let him take care of you. You don’t need to lose the other limbs. Isa roight miracle ya dodged infection, ya know? I’ll be around when I can ta help, okay? Just promise me you won’t run off by the time I get back, okay?”

Jamie knew than it was real special that Gorerat of all people was taking time out of his busy schedule for him. The man should be working miracles on the many wounded dumbasses around here, not looking out for some kid. This was the most special thing that you could ever get. So reluctantly, he sighed. “Fine... I won’t run off.”

“I’ll get Packrat over here to do your prosthetic--“

Jamison wiggled his prosthetic hand. “Don’t need it. I made mine myself. Just get Roadhog to share me some scrap.”

“Oh? I didn’t know we had a little inventor. Kid after my own heart!!” Gorerat grinned. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Jamison. Jamison Fawkes.” Jamie answered.

Roadhog stared deeply at him, taking note of that name. “Hemi.” He mumbled.

“No name? We’ll have to fix that! Oi! Hog, you heard the roo!! Bring him scrap! That way he can hone those skills of his!!” Gorerat cackled a little, maybe a little maniacal.

Roadhog stared down the medic for a very long time, intimidating and disapproving. It terrified Jamison. But Gorerat stared back without any kind of fear, glaring deep into the much taller man’s soul with those bright orange eyes.

After about ten terrifying minutes, Roadhog broke the gaze. “Fine...” He grumbled.

Jamison was awed. He’d seen Roadhog around a lot, and anyone else who held his stare that long would get shot down or crushed with bare hands, and most people were smart enough to break the gaze first and agree to what he wanted. But Gorerat somehow managed to force Roadhog to go for his side. That was suspicious to Jamison.

Gorerat didn’t seem to realize it himself, though, because he simply smacked Roadhog lightly on the chest in a friendly fashion. “Took you long enough, you big lug. Fockin’ scrap heap. I swear, why I keep you around is beyond me. You only bring me trouble. Now, if you need help, you can always come find me. You might just have to wait a tic, y’know. Be good to the kid or I’m making Oz’s first batch of bacon in nearly ten fockin’ years!! Toodles!”

Gorerat threw the kid a wave. “He won’t hurt a kid, so loosen up, Jamie! I’ll be back when I get a sec! A miracle worker’s job is never done!” He gave a slightly maniacal laugh.

As he was gone, the two of them were left staring where he’d gone. Without him there, it was a bit awkward. Neither were sure what to say.

Jamison had so much he wanted to ask. ‘Why did you save me? Why, when everyone left me behind while I screamed for help? I should have died. You’re supposed to be the most terrifying thing in this place, so why are you helping me?’ However, he was too scared to ask any of that now.

Roadhog stared at the door where Gorerat left for a long time. “Whiti te rā.” He grumbled, but there was no actual resentment in the phrase that Jamison was quite sure was an insult.

Instead the giant man moved out of the room and came back a bit later with a giant sack that he laid on the bed. “Lemme know if you need anything specific.” He told Jamison, and moved out the room.

And inside the sack was all the scrap Jamison could ever need.

Years later, Junkrat would tell you that this was the first time he started to feel at home since before the apocalypse.