A/N: So this requires a bit of explanation methinks. First off, Overwatch has two stories in it (at the time of me editing this at least) so there are no tropes or stereotypes I can possible fall under. Yay. It also means that - since the game hasn't been released to even Beta Test yet, having just been announced less than a week ago, there is no set story outside of the background of the first few characters and Tracer's promo vid. And what we are shown in the cinematic. This is what I am basing this one-shot off of - the cinematic mostly.

Also, while the characters listed in the summery are Tracer and OC, I only put OC as a stand-in to represent the two boys shown in the cinematic [edit: apparently their names are Brian (15) and Chris (6) - I think the names I originally used in this story were better (they referenced the Raiders insignia on Brian's hoodie) but whatever, updated because some standard needs to be set and I might as well do it]. I hope they'll get their own characters in some way, but until then, this kinda represents my head fanon of what it'd be like. I'd like to expand on this idea later, if Overwatch gets a bit more support here on ffnet, but I'd finish my Naruto story before then...

"You know, luv, the world could always use a few more heroes…"

'I am right and royally buggered, I am.'

Tracer crouched down behind a small, broken column that certainly had some sort of archaeological value, as Reaper blasted away at it with his shotguns. She was pissed. 'I thought that oriental bloke had said it was clear – damn him through and through.'

This was why she preferred working with Winston – at least she knew what to expect from him.

Despite Overwatch being officially over, she knew those of them still active missed the old days, and were always willing to partner up if the situation called for it. This situation most certainly called, but all the company that hired her would allow with her as a partner was some hardhead with a bow. A very prissy bow, in fact.

'When I get out of here, I'm going to tear that chav a new one.' A blast from Reaper tore another chunk off her cover. 'Well, if I get out of here.'

Tracer checker her heads up display – still another minute before she had a charge. Damn. If Overwatch were still around, she could've torn off the gear and be fine – as far as she knew, Reaper couldn't hit the immaterial. As it were, with no Overwatch there was no guarantee her machine'd get fixed – she would have been able to rely on Winston in the past, but as it is, they would most likely lack the funding or tools to fix the equipment. Plus, she'd have to find Winston first. Though maybe that Indian chick she worked with in Finland could help?

A blast hit a weak spot on the edge of the shelter, and shrapnel and powder coated her. 'Right, head in the here and now, luv.'

Then she noticed it – the firing had stopped. Slowly Tracer turned her head, and found herself staring down the barrel of one of Reaper's guns. 'Well bugger me.'

"What is this," she said, lips quirking. "Not even dinner and a date before you go shoving that in my face, huh?" Reaper just stood there. Honestly, if he was going to kill her he was taking an awfully long time about it. He ignored her, though, and then his head jerked up. 'He must have heard something,' she though.

Then a crowbar hit him in the face.

She saw him stagger back, only for a second, but that's all the time she needed to jump up, smashing the top of her head into his chin. Then, with a flicker, she was gone.

From her new hiding spot around a corner, she saw Reaper review the situation, and, determining it to be too much trouble, she supposed, left. Then a hand fell onto her shoulder. She still swears to this day that it was a war cry, not a scream.

Spinning around to face whoever it was with no sense of personal space, she came eye to eye with some skinny chav in a hoody. He also had on an actual mask – like he was some Wild West bank robber or something – and she knew at least one thing was certain.

He was American. No one else could be as cheesy or tacky.

"Well then," she said. "I guess I owe you my thanks. Reaper would've shagged me six ways to Sunday if you hadn't shown."

To her surprise, the boy – she could tell he was younger than her by the way he moved – seemed to be embarrassed about this. "S'all right," he mumbled. Yep, embarrassed. "Just doing my, uh, duty?"

Tacky as hell too, mustn't forget that.

She decided to humor him, though, and flickered over to where his pipe lay. "I suppose this is yours?" She called out to him, turning around. He raised a hand in reply that, yes, the metal tube was his, and that's when she noticed it. His other hand. 'Is that,' she thought. 'Is that Doom Fist's gauntlet?'

She threw him the pipe, and he caught it with practiced ease. She was about to flicker back over to him when her arse of a partner, who had told her it was clear when it wasn't, dropped down from whatever advantage point he'd spent the entire fight getting to. She spun around to face him, and was about to tear into him with unholy fervor, when he opened his mouth and spoke first. "Who was that?" He asked.

"That is…" she began, spinning around. He was gone. "You know," she said, "I'm not actually sure who that was." Her partner just shrugged – the item he'd been asked to guard was safe, and so long that person was no threat to it or his mission, he cared little.

Tracer, however, was far more interested in the strange lad.

"Just who the hell are you…"

Chris watched through the cracked door as his brother slipped back into his room through his window. It was already four in the morning – whatever he was doing must have been important. Tact, however, was not one of Chris' strong suits, so he did what every little brother would have – and is obligated to – he barged in. Quietly, so as to not wake their parents and be on the receiving end of their wrath.

"Hey, Brian." Chris whispered. His older brother panicked for a bit, swinging around to face him. "What were you doing out so late – going to see a girlfriend~?"

Brian's face lit up a bright pink – he really couldn't control his reactions sometimes. "I wasn't, well, not exactly." He stammered out, speech skills diminishing from both exhaustion and embarrassment. "Huh, just go to bed, Chris – it's way too late for you to be up. You're six, you need your sleep."

"And you're fifteen!" The blond shot back. "Mom and Dad'll kill you if they find out you've been sneaking away."

Brian's face fell, and he turned, tugging off the black hoodie he wore at night. "It's alright little bro, I can take care of myself. What I'm doing is important to me, but I stay safe, so don't worry."

Chris was uneasy, but this was his older brother, and he hadn't led him wrong before. Casting one last worried glance at him, he shut the door quietly and hurried off to his own room, hoping to fall asleep before his mom came to wake him up.

Back in his room, Brian finished putting away his stuff for the night. As he lay in bed, he cast a glance over at the loose floorboards – underneath which a metal pipe, the gauntlet he nicked that day at the museum, and a few other odds-and-ends were hidden. He wondered, for a second, if what he was doing was right. Then he thought back to what Tracer had said to him. He whispered the words to himself, before falling asleep.

"The world could always use a few more heroes…"