Pilar's chest was heaving.

Sweat dripped down her brow; she had not stopped running, even when they reached their hideout, they continued on. Pausing only to grab what they had left, the junkers, the Spaniard and bull in their wake, had run far away. As far as their legs would take them, as far as their engines would roar. Her hands still shook rapidly; there was no way she would go undetected now; it was likely the cameras had gotten a good look at her face at that point...everything was ruined.

She'd barely noticed the prickling, stinging of her eyes. The dirt from the explosions had settled around her eyes, and the sweat-mixed with tears she would not admit-had caused it to drift into them. Trueno trotted along beneath her; she may have not noticed, but he surely did, and forced the woman to ride on his back as the other two rode off ahead on the motorcycle, searching for somewhere they could lay low for the time being.

It was late, past one in the morning, and though she was weary and irritable, Pilar refused to sleep without wrapping what wounds she had acquired. Her arm was minorly cut up, lip was slightly split, and her clothing was nearly torn to shreds. But it still worked.

They had made it into the Spanish countryside, something, in any other case, would have relaxed her, but now it was far from that. Exhausted, cranky, and barely able to keep on Trueno's back, Pilar yawned, listening to the roar of the motorcycle engine beside them. Her gaze was vaguely focused on the junkers; while Roadhog's gaze remained forward-facing, fixing on what appeared to be ruins overlooking a valley, Junrkat's was fixed on the omnic, angered and distrusting, his lip curling. He nursed an injury of his own; his forearm of his remaining limb was torn open, whether by shrapnel or gunshots, Pilar could not tell, but it still looked very fresh and very bloody.

It did not take long for the four to find their camp. The ruins they had reached seemed provide better shelter than they could have asked for, and while there was little to be a roof about the head, it worked. Trueno came to a halt, and Pilar slowly slid from his back, feet hitting the ground heavily, her legs jiggling as though made of jello, and the bull offered himself to keep her upright. She was thankful for his support, but she could still not help but to glance at the others, wondering what exactly they were up to.

Roadhog dismounted from his seat, vaguely scratching his upper arm, drawing more blood from a wound that had appeared to stop bleeding...until then. Then her gaze flashed to Junkrat, who had jumped from his sidecar, hands twitching at his side as though annoyed, bleeding and bruised and pacing about. His hand absentmindedly reached upward, fingers tangling in what was left of his hair, and he tugged in frustration. Clearly this heist had not gone as planned.

With a sigh, Pilar turned back to Trueno, her hand opening another compartment in the bull's body. The door slid open, exposing the contents within; there was but a singular box, filled with supplies to clean and wrap wounds. Though she had her own, it looked as though the junkers had gotten the brunt of it, and helping them was the least she could do, as they had gotten her out of that mess.

Roadhog plopped on the ground, assembling what looked like the beginnings of a firepit, and Junkrat stood at the edge of the ruins, hand on his hips, overlooking the valley below. His fingers seemed to twitch impatiently, and she was almost certain she could hear him grumbling. Perhaps it would be best to leave him alone for a time.

"Stay here," she whispered to Trueno, and the bull bowed his head silently, though even as she backed away, approaching Roadhog cautiously. He appeared to ignite a flame, and soon there was a dull roar of a warm fire illuminating the otherwise dreary area.

In silence, she plopped on the ground next to him, sitting on her knees, opening the small box she had procured from Trueno. Roadhog glanced at her; she could not read the expression behind his mask, but as he did not tense, she appeared to have the go ahead to do what she was.

Within moments, she had produced a cleaning solution and a small cloth, one with which she could clean out the bloody mess on his arm. He watched curiously, though flinched slightly when the stinging solution touched the gouge on his arm. Instinctively, Pilar reached out a hand to rest on his bicep to comfort him, though she laughed at herself silently; this was Roadhog she was treating, after all. He was tougher than anyone she'd ever met.

"Roadhog?" Her voice was soft, timid, and he grunted as she mentioned his alias, letting her know she had his attention. Setting down the cloth on her lap, she produced tweezers from the box, sterilizing them with the disinfectant, and brought them back up to his arm. "There looks like there's a bit of shrapnel in here, I'm going to dig it out so it doesn't get infected. Alright?" She glanced up at him, and saw herself reflected in the lenses of his mask; god, she looked so small, so scared, but composed herself well enough to hide the most of it. He tilted his head, as though wondering why this girl was readily helping, but slowly nodded, leaning in a way that would give her better lighting.

"Thank you," she replied, sticking the tweezers in. Once again, she felt him stiffen beneath her touch, but she gave his arm a gentle squeeze, as though letting him know he could trust her. Her brows knitted together as she struggled to get every bit out, but the moment all the glass had fallen to the ground between them, she sighed in relief, setting the instrument on the cloth on her lap.

"That should feel better now," she said, picking up a large bandage and roll of gauze, first covering the wound completely before wrapping his arm several times for extra protection against infection. "I'm no doctor, but that should heal better. Just don't mess with it too much, okay Roadhog?"

He nodded slowly, a grunt-which sounded almost like a chuckle-escaping him. Pilar offered a weary smile, albeit still a frightening one, as she wrapped the tools she had used to fix him up in the cloth she had cleaned the wound with.

"Mako."

It was one of the few times she had heard him speak, and it surprised her momentarily as she brought her gaze back to his face. "Mako?"

"My name is Mako," he affirmed with a nod. Why he told her this, she wasn't exactly sure, but she nodded, offering another, small smile.

"Thank you," she replied softly, rising to her feet. "Mako."

He waved a hand dismissively, as though he'd not said anything of importance. Instead, he nodded toward his cohort, who was still very anxious, pacing, and tugging at his hair and very much bleeding. Mild concern crossed her features, and her lip pouted, before her gaze fixed back on Roadhog.

"Fix the idiot up. He's gettin' to a bad place."