Junkertown was not a single place, a single town or gathering of buildings. It was more like a haphazard collection of shanty towns spread out over miles and miles of desolate wasteland. Some were close enough to each other they could be reached by a walk, others were a day's ride; all were in view of the jagged, distant skeleton of the Omnium. It rose from the far-off skyline like the teeth of a drug addict, uneven, crooked, and sharp. Junkrat couldn't remember a time when the hazy silhouette of destruction wasn't a permanent fixture in his life.
Not that he could remember a lot.
His boots, snagged from a deadman and a little loose on his feet, sent up puffs of dust as he slouched down the street. Cobbled together vehicles lined the road, but Junkrat ignored them in favor of dragging his clunking canvas bag through the dirt. He'd learned the hard way as a child that any Junker worth their salt knew how to booby trap their shit. Where his rusty hook dug into the canvas his phantom fingers tingled. Junkrat hauled the bag up a step and kicked open a door made of a mishmash of wood and metal. Inside it was thick with dust, and even the punishing Australian sun couldn't fully pierce the grimy windows.
“Oy!” The man behind the counter leveled a shotgun at Junkrat's face, but lowered it as soon as he realized who it was. “You trying to get shot, Rat?” he barked, “What have I told you about bustin' in here like that?”
“Izzat anyway to greet your best Scrapper?” Junkrat asked, completely unphased by having a gun shoved in his face. Wasn't the first time and it wouldn't be the last. He lifted the bag onto the counter with a grunt, pointing at it proudly, “Lotsa good shit!”
The Scrap Dealer grunted and set the shotgun back under the counter, “I'll be the judge of that,” he muttered, untying the top of the bag and pulling it open. Each item was taken out one at a time and carefully inspected before being set on the counter before them. Rejected items would be left in the bag (or chucked at Junkrat's head depending on the Scrap Dealer's mood) but he puffed out his chest to see every item in the bag taken out and lain before them. Treasures of the Outback! It mostly amounted to old car parts salvaged from a wreck out in the desert. Some big ol' pileup that Junkrat had managed to stumble on, cars stacked on top of each other in a massive heap. The outside cars had been stripped to the skeleton, but Junkrat had been skinny enough, and perhaps stupid enough, to wriggle further in and strip the untouched cars in the middle of the pile.
He'd nearly been crushed to death, but he hadn't been so that was what mattered. If his memory was better he would take his bag and go back out and get more scrap, but Junkrat had already forgotten where the cars were and didn't fancy getting lost in the desert on a desperate search.
“Good haul,” the Scrap Dealer said almost reluctantly, “Where'd you find it?”
“Ah, that's a trade secret,” said Junkrat, as if he could actually remember, “wouldn't want me losing me meal ticket, would ya?”
The Scrap Dealer grunted but didn't press. “Alright, Rat, I'll give you 20 tokens for the lot, or you can browse the wares.”
The Scrap Dealer had just about anything a man could dream of wanting, for the right price. Junkrat looked down at his cobbled together right arm, some scrap metal and a rusty metal hook. He'd had lots of arms over the years since he'd gotten it sliced off below the elbow after getting caught in a trap, but this one was quite possibly the worst. Junkrat kept scratching and stabbing himself with it, and he damn well couldn't grab or hold anything. He held it up with a crooked grin, “Ya got any arms?” he asked.
The Scrap Dealer snorted, crossing his arms over his broad chest, “Sure, you got 200 tokens? Or maybe five more bags just like this one?”
“You're a fuckin' liar! A thief!” Junkrat spat, anger arching through him without rhyme or reason. His emotions could be so hard to control, “You don't got shit!”
“Don't I?” The Scrap Dealer challenged, slamming his palms on the counter, “Take your fuckin' tokens, Rat, and quit wasting my time!”
As soon as it had come, the anger drained out of him, “Ah mate I didn't mean it,” he pleaded, bending down so he was no longer towering over the shorter man, “You know me temper, ahaha, just gets away from me! I could find you good scrap if you really got an arm back there, yeah? Show me, come on, do your ol' pal Junkrat a favor?”
“Old pal, my ass,” the Scrap Dealer muttered, but he walked into a backroom and through the persistent ringing in his ears, Junkrat could hear him moving things around back there.
“Tick tock tick tock tick tock,” Junkrat muttered, squirming with the wait. He paced like an animal back and forth along the edge of the counter, just waiting for the Scrap Dealer to come back out. He probably didn't have shit, maybe just another hook hand, or one of them prosthetics with a plastic mannequin hand. Useless junk for a Junker.
“Here we are,” the Scrap Dealer had returned with an old metal box cradled against his chest. He shot Junkrat an angry scowl and he stopped pacing but practically vibrated in place instead. The Scrap Dealer opened the box and tilted it so Junkrat got a clear view of what was in there.
“Hooley dooley...” Junkrat breathed, leaning over the counter until the edge pressed uncomfortably against his hip bones. That was an honest-to-God prosthetic. The real shit. The good shit. Five fully functioning fingers, a wrist that twisted, what looked like a nerve cap and hook up. This was the kind of shit suits wore out in the big wide world Junkrat sometimes glimpsed in the pages of ancient magazines at the bar.
The box slammed shut and with it Junkrat's dreams of having two functioning hands for bomb making. He shivered and grinned maniacally, “Mate, pal, buddy-”
“Keep dreaming, Rat,” the Scrap Dealer said coldly, “You'll never have anything worth as much as this. Works like a beauty too, or it did before we took it off that Junker what owed me big time.”
Junkrat keened and the Scrap Dealer winced at the sound, “I could owe you! You know how much more scrap I could harvest with two working hands? Mate, I'd find you so much-”
“No. Either find something else or take your tokens. Come back with five full bags of this caliber and we'll talk. Until then, get the fuck out of my shop.”
In the end, Junkrat had a handful of tokens as he was kicked out, they jingled in his pocket as he slouched towards the tavern, muttering angrily under his breath. Why show a man everything he's ever wanted just to take it away? He'd never have that much money or items, not in Junkertown, not when he had to struggle just to feed himself.
The tavern was filled with Junkers lucky enough to find themselves with tokens or something worth trading for food and a drink. 20 tokens would probably get him food, drink, and a roof over his head but Junkrat didn't particularly trust sleeping indoors after a lifetime of curling up outside with a thick blanket wrapped around him and a bunch of concussion mines set up. So he'd get something to drink, something to eat, and then be on his merry way.
“Junkrat,” the woman behind the bar growled as he sat down, “no explosions or I fookin' swear I'll rip yer other arm off.”
“I swear on me good arm!” Junkrat grinned with a salute, “Now come on Marcie, gimme something good to eat and drink!”
“Show me the money, no tabs,” she said sharply, using a dirty rag to clean a dirtier glass as she eyed Junkrat suspiciously.
Junkrat pulled out some of his tokens and dropped them on the counter. All sorts of sizes, they were. Big silver ones, little brown ones. When the explosion had happened people weren't really picky about what constituted money around Junkertown. Paper money didn't last long, but coins did. So it didn't matter what the size or denomination it had once been; a token was a token.
Marcie picked out five tokens and poured some sticky sweet whiskey into a glass for Junkrat to nurse. “Fried hoppers for a meal,” she said, “take it or leave it.”
“Take it!” said Junkrat eagerly, squirming on his barstool.
A plate of fried grasshoppers was dropped in front of him and Junkrat tore into it, ravenous with hunger. He hadn't had a full meal in weeks, just little things here and there to keep him from starving to death. Legs got caught in his chipped teeth but he picked them out and swallowed them down. The hoppers weren't that seasoned, but someone had had the decency to use salt and that practically made them a delicacy.
While Junkrat was stuffing his face and thinking about his next big scrap, he heard the door open and two loud voices join the din of the bar. Chairs scraped across the packed dirt floor as what sounded like two men sat just behind Junkrat. “Four glasses, Marcie!” called one of them, “you know the drill!”
“Money first,” she replied, but she was already carrying a tray of dirty shot glasses to the table.
Junkrat twisted with a frown, a couple hopper legs still poking out from between his lips. The two men sat facing each other, sipping their drinks. The two other drinks sat untouched in front of empty chairs. Now hey! That was just a waste of perfectly good booze! One of the guys, a rough looking customer with a scar that stretched from his forehead to his chin, caught Junkrat's eye and snarled, “You'd better turn around, boy, or I'll snap your neck all the way around.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Junkrat muttered, hunching back over the bar and his own drink. Sadly almost gone.
His hearing wasn't so good, turned out working and playing with explosions wasn't great for your ears, but the men were right behind him and they weren't exactly whispering. Junkrat didn't think he had any choice but to eavesdrop. He finished his first drink and pushed a couple more tokens across the bar so Marcie would give him a refill.
“I thought for sure we'd be seeing Dave,” said the man with a voice like tires on gravel.
“Yeah, well, that idiot basically done killed himself,” said Scarface.
Gravelvoice hummed and Junkrat heard them sip their drinks.
“So you know where he went, then?”
Junkrat shifted a little on his seat and glanced around in time to see Scarface shrug, “I have an idea. Last time I saw Dave was 20 miles away at the Crossroads Tavern, ran into him on accident. He was babbling all crazy 'bout some goddamn treasure near the Core of the Omnium.”
“There ain't no fuckin' treasure,” spat Gravelvoice, “that place been picked goddamn clean.”
“Yeah, that's what I told him,” Scarface agreed, “and that the radiation there will sap you dead. We ain't like these young idiots, breathing radiation from birth. We're susceptible. We lived without it until we was thirty.”
“Remember what fresh air smells like?”
Junkrat wasn't even drinking anymore, so engrossed in the conversation behind him. He'd always been fascinated by people who had lived Before. Technically he had lived Before too, but he didn't remember shit about it. Didn't remember no parents, no family, no home. His first memory was wriggling through an abandoned warehouse for scrap to feed himself. His whole life was Junkertown.
“Well, here's to that idiot Dave, what gone and killed hisself for treasure!” said Gravelvoice. Their glasses clinked together.
Treasure. Treasure in the Omnium. What had they said? Young idiots could handle the radiation better? Well hey! He was a young idiot, was he not? If he brought back somethin' real valuable he could get himself that prosthetic arm from the Scrap Dealer. Junkrat looked down at his hook, excitement nearly choking him, real fingers he could flex and grab with. Better bombs. Bigger explosions!
He finished off his shot in one go, enjoying the delightful little buzz that had started up in his limbs, and slid off the stool with a giggle. “So long, Marcie!” he called.
“Bah, fuck off, Rat,” she growled.
It was nice when everyone knew your name.
So! Junkrat nearly clapped his hand against his hook but stopped himself at the last minute and instead slapped his thigh. Where to? The Core was miles and miles away from here, he'd never be able to walk. Core=Treasure. He had to get closer. Junkrat pulled out his remaining tokens, chewing his bottom lip, he could probably pay someone for a ride pretty close then walk the rest of the way, no one would drop him off right there, he knew that.
“Oy!” Junkrat trot after a man undoing the booby-traps on his truck, “Oy! Which way you heading?”
A gun was pointed in his face and Junkrat took that for 'wherever you're not' and left him alone.
“Oy, you got room for another?”
“Which way you headed, mate?”
“Hooo boy, that car is a BEAUT maybe I could-”
“I have some tokens if you're-”
It wasn't until the sun was beginning to set that Junkrat finally convinced a guy to let him ride in the covered bed of his truck for most of his remaining tokens. He curled up around heavy pieces of scrap metal and wires as the guy started his truck and began to drive. The back of the truck smelled thickly of gas and Junkrat's fingers twitched at the thought of making a real nice bomb back here while they traveled...but he stopped himself. Wouldn't do him no good to gain the kind of reputation where he went and blew up the trucks of people ferrying him around.
The comforting smell of gas lulled him to sleep.
Something hard smashed against him and Junkrat scrambled around the back of the truck with a yell of shock, long limbs thrashing around until he found himself rolling clean out and into the dirt with a grunt. Night had truly fallen and the air turned cold and freezing, Junkrat shivered as he sat up. “Wot's the deal, mate?”
“We're here, ya freak,” hands curled around the straps of the backpack he wore and hauled him to his feet, slamming him against the side of the truck. “And I decided I need more tokens for the trip.”
“Fuck you!” Junkrat spat, he only had three tokens left!
“You either give me my tokens or I-”
Junkrat didn't have a gun to stick in people's faces, but he did have a pipebomb in easy reach. He ripped it from his pocket and slammed it so hard between the guy's teeth that they shattered around the hard PVC. He pressed back against the car and with a grunt kicked the guy right in the chest, sending him collapsing back into the dirt. “Oh, ya shouldn't a done that, mate,” Junkrat panted, pulling out his detonator, “Now here's my offer. You give me back my tokens and in return I won't blow your brains out all over the sand.”
The man spit out the bomb along with the fragments of his teeth, blood dripping down his lips and chin. His hand scrambled into his pocket and a pile of tokens was slammed into the dirt. Junkrat giggled and held his thumb away from the red buttom. The guy scrambled back into his truck and left him in a cloud of dust.
“Bloody wanker,” Junkrat muttered, capping his detonator and putting it back in his pocket along with the pipebomb. The tokens were gathered up and placed in his other pocket. Not bad! People who got greedy at the end of a job rarely left with more than they'd come with. Junkrat had certainly learned that lesson young. You were either greedy from the start or not at all.
The Junkertown was just in the distance, probably an hour walk. Idiot had dropped him off early just to try and take his tokens. Junkrat started to walk, pulling his blanket out of his backpack to wrap it around his shoulders as the cold desert air swirled around him and right through his bones. He hummed and chattered to the empty air as he traveled, the crooked buildings growing larger and larger as he went.
“Treasure in the Omnium,” he said, “treasure! Wopping piles of gold, maybe? Big ol'...somethin'...hmmm,” Junkrat shook his head like a dog, trying to rattle his thoughts back into order. Treasure in the Omnium, near the Core. Near the harshest radiation. He was a...a young idiot that could handle this. “Treasure in the Omnium, treasure in the Omnium,” he chanted. Had to chant, had to remind himself or he'd forget over time.
Once in town he walked into their general store to buy supplies. How long would he be in the Omnium? A few days? How long would it take to find treasure? Junkrat had a nose for shiny things, he figured he could find it quick. So he refilled his backpack with water and tasteless protein biscuits then finished it off with some medical supplies.
Not a token left to his name when he walked out of the store whistling. That was fine, he'd be rolling in riches soon enough. The Omnium dominated the skyline here, a great big hulking beast that Junkrat was going to willingly climb into and plunder. It was maybe a day or two walk, but that was alright, Junkrat was used to walking.
So he walked. And walked. And walked.
The sun rose and Junkrat found a rock to lay half under, his blanket draped over him to hide from the punishing heat and light. He dozed until the sun began to set then set out after nibbling at some of his biscuits and catching a couple of big ol' beetles to stuff in his mouth. Traveling through the desert was tedious at best, dangerous at worst, but not much lived in this belt between Junkertown and the Omnium. There weren't even many bugs.
His mantra was muttered with every step, “There's treasure in the Omnium, there's treasure. I'm gonna find me some loot. Shiny loot. Get me a new arm. There's treasure in the Omnium.”
If the Omnium looked like teeth from a distance, it looked like the skeleton of a massive beast up close. Junkrat whistled as he approached one of the remaining skyscrapers. It was more of a collection of rusted steel beams, twisted and leaning like an old man's spine. Other buildings shot haphazardly from the ground like ribs, and between them hills and mountains of metal scrap. Junkrat's old boots slipped and slid on the uneven surfaces, but he managed to scramble his way deeper into the destroyed landscape.
The cloud of dust in the sky was thick here, blocking the sun and making the days dim and dreamlike, while the nights were pitch black and crushing. Junkrat didn't like it. He'd never been fond of small spaces, and despite behind out here in the open he felt trapped, crushed under the full weight of the Omnium. He was alone, but Junkrat scratched the back of his neck bloody as he felt eyes crawl all over him.
He found a body on his second day crawling closer to the Core, maybe old unlucky Dave. Hard to tell how old he was, what with the advanced level of decomposition and all. Junkrat shuffled through his stuff anyway, taking his stale water to add to his diminishing supply, some of the protein biscuits that would never go bad, and his remaining medical kits. “Won't need this, will you?” Junkrat giggled as he stuffed everything into his backpack.
The further in he got, the more bodies he found, but these were long decomposed and had been picked clean ages ago. Junkrat sniffed and rubbed his nose as he slid down a pile of junk, trying not to cut himself on rusty metal. Where was this treasure? This place was just trash, garbage, scrap. Not even great scrap, nothing he couldn't find scattered further out in Outback.
He searched for days, and on day three he threw up his meal. Day four he noticed more of his hair falling out. Junkrat shivered during the night, feeling weak and nauseous as he looked up into nothingness and wondering if all the stars in the sky had gone out forever. “Treasure in the Omnium,” he whispered, “get me a new arm.”
That night he slept restlessly, tossing and turning in his thick blanket. He dreamed of flashes of light, explosions, of being a little boy getting his arm trapped when he tried to steal a car. Blood, pain, the crunch of bone. Junkrat jerked awake and threw up yellow bile and spit, whole body shivering. Maybe he should go back, give up the ghost, get some of them fancy pills they sold. Forget this. His hook was fine.
Wearily he gathered up his meager camp and stumbled onward.
While climbing a particularly large pile of rubble his head spun and he slipped, cutting open his shin as he fell. “Fuck me dead!” Junkrat snarled, scrambling back up until he could find a place to sit. He wrapped his leg up, huffing through the pain as his brain fizzled and his stomach threatened to heave up more acid. Hadn't been able to keep down a biscuit in a while.
“Enough of this,” he panted, “ain't fuckin' worth it!” He stood up and felt something shift under him, as if this pile of rubble hid a great beast that was going to shrug him off its back. Junkrat flailed, just barely managing to windmill his arms enough to keep standing. The Omnium was silent as the shifting stopped and Junkrat was left crouching with his heart beating in his chest.
“Ha!” He gasped after a moment of silence, plates of metal shifting under the soles of his shoes, “Ha! Takes more than that to topple ol' Junk-” With a roar the rubble started to fall out under him and Junkrat realized with choking horror that this beast wasn't shrugging him off—it was swallowing him whole.
It's dark and he doesn't know where to go, but that hasn't stopped him before
His ears were ringing. It was silent. Junkrat sucked in a shaking breath and then coughed it all out at once. There was pressure on his back, like a pile of blankets keeping him warm on a cold night. Maybe too many. He sucked in another breath and wriggled, trying to throw off a couple blankets so he could fuckin' breathe. Rubble shifted above him and Junkrat jerked as concrete tumbled off his back and rolled away. The feeling of a mattress under his chest disappeared and he realized he was laying on a pile of steel and stone that cut into his skin. He thrashed, throwing off more junk until he could push himself up on his arms with a wheeze. His hook was long gone, but he could support himself on his elbows just fine. He shook dust out of his hair and blinked blearily. There was...light down here? Dim blue light from panels in the walls. He twisted to look above him and saw a massive hole in the ceiling closed up with steel beams and more junk. No getting out that way.
Junkrat wriggled and twisted, but pain like he'd only felt once before in his life shot from his right leg all the way up his body to rattle around in his brain. He stilled with a hiss, huffing and panting for breath as the pain throbbed through him. Now that Junkrat was aware of it, he had a hard time being aware of anything else.
“Fuck me fuck me fuck me,” Junkrat chanted breathlessly, slowly twisting around so he could look behind him. A massive steel beam had fallen on his right leg, pinning him in place. He whimpered and gasped, bringing his left leg up and bracing his foot against the beam. Like hell was he dying while pinned under a mountain of junk! Junkrat screamed and pushed with his good leg, one hand scrambling against the floor as he wriggled and thrashed and kicked. With a sickening sound, the leg finally popped free but it was so mangled that Junkrat nearly threw up at the sight of it.
His foot was on backwards, and his shin bone splintered through his skin. Then his knee, his knee was completely crushed, nearly concave against his thigh. Tears were cutting tracks through the dust on his face as he wriggled off the junk and onto the smooth metal floor, whole body shaking as darkness threatened to creep from the corner of his eyes. If he passed out, he would die. His leg was leaving a smeared trail of blood as he dragged it like dead weight behind him.
It had to go.
This wasn't his first time losing a limb, of course, but it was the first time he'd lose one by his own hand intentionally. His arm had been sliced off just below the elbow, the cut had been as clean as it could be when done by a rusty trap in an old car. He'd been a kid, he'd been in civilization, and some rare good Samaritan had bothered to drag him kicking, screaming, and gushing blood to the local Junker doctor.
Junkrat couldn't remember a lot, but he could remember that. He could remember the pain like fire, he could remember getting strapped down so he'd stop thrashing, there had been some powder to stop the bleeding, something for infection, and a huff of hydrogen.
So he just had to do the same things—but himself and for a leg—and without hydrogen. That seemed do-able.
He still had his backpack, and it hadn't burst open in the fall. Junkrat tore it off and dug through it, panting through the pain, keeping himself from passing out. He damn well wouldn't die like this! If he was going to go it was going to be in an explosion, taking out as many scrap heaps and suits as he possibly could.
His own medical supplies were for smaller wounds, but he did have blood clotting powder and some needle and thread. Junkrat set that aside. The deadman—Junkrat had decided it was absolutely Dave-- had much better kits. There were pain meds which Junkrat ate down like candy as soon as he saw them, and... hydrogen canisters. Junkrat had only seen these from the distance, only had one when he'd lost his arm. They were tiny, not for massive wounds... but this could be the difference between life and death. If the canisters were bigger he might have been able to save the whole leg. Junkrat opened each kit and took out its canister to set it lovingly aside with everything else.
Nothing had ever come easy to him, he'd had to scrape by his whole life. The Outback had done him no favors, but still he'd survived. He'd bit and clawed his way along, killing or maiming anyone who got in his way. That was how you survived out here, you took anything you could get your hands on and you left everyone else in your dust. People had done it to him plenty of times.
Junkrat's hands were shaking worse than ever as he dug through the closest rubble, finding the sharpest piece of metal scrap he could get his hands on. This was just one more thing he'd survive, one more horrible thing to add to the pile. Someday he'd find a way out of the Outback, and then he'd bring all this horror to the smiling people he saw in dirty old magazines. Those worthless suits who didn't care what they went through every day. Junkrat would survive this...and then he'd make sure the outside world didn't survive him.
“Jus' like... jus' like slicing a nice, fat hunk of meat,” Junkrat whispered, teeth chattering as pulled off his belt and tied it tight around his thigh, as tight as his ropy arm could manage. He picked up his chosen piece of scrap, breath coming in short, harsh pants. He wished he could have a hit of hydrogen now but it was too precious to waste. It was already half-off anyway! Just... get through the flesh and bone, discard it like waste... Junkrat whimpered and started to saw.
He had thought that losing his arm was the worst pain in the world, he was wrong. Junkrat screamed, turning his head to bite into the meat of his right arm as his left slowly, painfully, hacked through the meat of his thigh. Some people said that you could only feel so much pain before you just stopped but Junkrat didn't believe that, because he could feel every fuckin' slice, every hack, every stab. When he reached bone he stopped screaming, head spinning as his whole body shook and shivered powerfully. He giggled maniacally, at least he weren't making a bomb! Not precision work, chopping off a limb!
Junkrat wanted a hit of that hydrogen, but it would undo all his hard work and then he'd have one less to keep himself from bleeding out down here. He cracked through bone, hacked haphazardly through the remaining meat of his leg, taking more chips of bone along the way. He couldn't keep it jagged, had to...had to even it...he sobbed and laughed and screamed as he finally cut away the last flaps of skin. There was a pool of blood all around him, he felt seconds from flopping over and letting the darkness claim him.
“C-can't get rid of me that easy!” he whispered, fumbling around his supplies for the blood clotting powder. He wasted all of it in one go, hand shaking too much to get more than half of it on his giant wound...it was enough. Junkrat grabbed his needle and thread, but realized it would be pointless with how bad he was shaking. The hydrogen was his only hope. Using his one hand he stuffed the nozzle up his nostril and pinched shut the other before thumbing the tab and sending the drug into his lungs with one shuddering breath.
Instant relief. Junkrat nearly sobbed as that all consuming pain seemed to fade to the back of his head. Hoo boy, that was good shit. Fuck! Junkrat giggled and dropped the empty canister to grab another, stuffing that up his nose and getting another good hit. Hooley Dooley! Hoo...oh boy... Junkrat swooned, dropping the second empty canister and trying to grab the third. He slumped over before he could grab it.
He woke up with tears dripping down his face, feeling as if his right leg had been set on fire. He whimpered and reached down to scratch at it, but found nothing but his scabbed up stump, still tacky with blood. “F-fuck,” he stuttered, jerking his fingers away. They were covered in blood when he brought them up to his face.
He was still alive, but for how much longer? Junkrat felt a swell of nausea and dry heaved, retching up nothing but spit and bile. There was still one more hydrogen canister left and he slapped his palm down over it to drag it closer and stuff it up his nose. “Oh, that's the good shit,” Junkrat gasped as he sucked in his last breath. His stump tingled and he melted over the floor just to savor the high while it lasted. So he'd thus far survived cutting off his own leg, which was still sitting in a pool of dried blood right before his face. All he had to do was, while missing an arm and a leg, crawl out of his hole, make it through the Omnium, make it back to Junkertown and all without dying of infection or radiation poisoning.
Junkrat giggled and rolled onto his belly, drooling onto the metal as he stared hazily at the glowing blue panels in the wall. What was this place anyway? Everything in the Omnium was destroyed, but aside from the hole in the ceiling this place looked untouched. There was a round door at the end of the room but it was shut. Maybe it would still open, or he could use some of the charges in his bag to blast it open. There had to be an actual exit he could get to; he wouldn't give up.
“I should jus' steal that arm,” Junkrat mused, forcing himself to nibble on a biscuit and drink some of his stale water. “Why even try and pay? Wot am I, some kinda upstanding citizen?” he snickered, retched, gagged, and vomited up anything he'd eaten.
He slept restlessly, feeling too feverish to wrap up in his blanket. At some point he banged his stump against something and howled and wailed with pain, hand clasping over his eyes as if that would make it stop.
“At this rate I'll be completely bald,” he tittered, running his hand through his hair an unknown amount of time later. He came away with chunks of greasy blond hair and let out a high pitched wheezing giggle.
“You know!” he called into the empty room, laying on his back with one arm under his head, as if he were stargazing, “Ain't no treasure worth this shit! When I get out of here I'm gonna find those two dongers from the bar and blow 'em up! Show 'em for talking about wot they don't know! Ha! From Dave! Aaahahaha- HUEGCH!” He twisted and spat on the ground.
His leg was starting to stink.
He might really die down here.
Junkrat threw one of his grenades up and down, catching it before it smashed into his face. If he dropped it, it'd go off and he'd end up smeared all over the floor. He still had food, he still had water, but he couldn't keep any of it down. He'd probably die of dehydration soon. Junkrat threw the grenade into the air then swore as it spun from his fingers, shit, well, better than starving to-
He let out a breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding. Not ready to die after all. The ball rolled over the floor and came to rest against the far wall, next to a little vent. Shit, what the fuck was he doing? Just laying here waiting for...what? Junkrat swore and dug through his backpack, pulling out a roll of bandages to protect his healing stump. The hydrogen had done most of the work, but banging it against something would still slice him open, and the radiation weren't doing him no favors in the healing department.
Slipping on the backpack, Junkrat started to crawl, painfully, slowly, towards the door. His weight didn't open it, but maybe it was because he was crawling around like a worm. Using the wall, Junkrat managed to scramble onto his foot, swaying as his head spun and the room seemed to flip under him, sending him crashing back down onto his back with a grunt.
Okay, too sick to stand.
He set a charge against the door and crawled to the furthest end of the room, curling up behind a lump of concrete as he hit the ignition. There was a satisfying BOOM, but when he poked his head out to see the smoke clear, the door was barely dented. It'd take him ages to get through there, if he even had the explosives to do it! Junkrat turned his eyes on the little vent next to his defective (maybe) grenade. It was tiny, but he was a skinny bloke, and he had one less limb to worry about. He giggled and started to crawl again.
The metal plate over the vent popped off easy enough with a single yank, and he tossed it over his shoulder to let it clatter against the floor. Shrugging out of the bag, Junkrat shoved it in ahead of him and then used his head to push it along as he started to wriggle his way forward. It was a tight fit, even for him, but he'd lost even more weight being trapped down here and just barely managed to inch his way in.
Junkrat crawled on his elbows for what felt like hours, time stretching before him endlessly. Maybe this damn vent never ended. Maybe it was blocked off at the other end and he'd be forced to just lay down and die, wasn't like he had the space to back up. Hell no, he'd eat a grenade before that. Finally his bag pressed against something and Junkrat slammed his palm against it, once, twice, and on the third time he heard a pop and clang as another metal vent went flying off. As soon as he popped the bag through the opening he had to squint as bright blue light filtered in.
“What the fuck,” he growled, popping his head free to squint up at the light source.
Balls. He tittered to himself. Thousands...no... millions! Trillions! He wasn't great with numbers. There were a lot. They sat side by side on shelf after shelf, glowing a gentle blue color that filled the whole room with their light. With a grunt, Junkrat wriggled the rest of the way out of the vent. He huffed and puffed his way over the smooth metal floor to the closest shelf, shaking hands knocking little glass balls left and right with gentle tinkling before he finally managed to grab one in his fist. They were small enough to sit in his palm completely, their glow just barely piercing his fingers. Holding it was like... like taking a cold drink after being in the desert, it was sleeping after days of being awake, it was having one real good jerk off session. Shit it was... it was like breathing again.
Junkrat hugged the ball against his chest, curling up around it as more of them rolled about his head from the shelf he'd knocked them from. This time when he fell asleep, it was for real.
When he woke up something was different, but he couldn't put his fingers on it. He'd loosened his grip on the ball at some point, but it was still loosely grasped against his collarbone. Slowly Junkrat pushed himself to sit up and lean against the shelf, blinking sleepily. What was different? His stomach rumbled and clenched with a hunger he hadn't truly felt in days. Oh, he wasn't nauseous! Junkrat lurched for his bag, digging out water and biscuits to chomp them down while his good fortune lasted. His hand wasn't shaking anymore as he ate with two fingers while the rest kept the ball pressed against his palm.
“Shit,” he breathed, sucking down the last of Dead Dave's water and chucking the flask away. Nothing even threatened to come back up.
“Ha!...Ha...ahahahaha!” Junkrat hooted and held the ball up against his eye, trying to figure out what was in there. Maybe a gas? A liquid? Who cared! It was treasure! Treasure in the Omnium! More treasure than he could possibly carry! Junkrat scrambled around him, grabbing an armful of balls and dumping them in his backpack, just one of these would get him an arm, he was sure of it!
Now to get out... he pulled on his backpack and grabbed one of the shelves with his hand, scooting his leg under him to try and stand up. Junkrat swore as his sensitive stump bumped against the floor but thankfully the bandages weren't dotted with blood by the time he got his foot under him. Without his arm, and without his leg, Junkrat swayed even while grasping the shelf like his life depended on it, his center of balance was all kinds of fucked up, but at least his head wasn't spinning anymore.
Where to? No point in crawling back the way he came, unless he wanted to spend more time with his own rotting leg. Junkrat zero'd in on the darkness across the room, maybe there was something over there. He grabbed another little ball for a light source, hopped, swore as he immediately lost his balance and collapsed. Junkrat gave up trying to hop and just crawled along the floor, grumbling to himself. He needed a leg if he wanted any hope of getting out of here. If he could find some decent scrap he could cobble together just about anything.
The room was fuckin' huge, and Junkrat had to take several breaks just to catch his breath. Outside of the light of the balls there lurked a monstrous machine, the light of his little ball only enough to hint at its size, but nowhere near enough to whisper its purpose. Junkrat whistled as he rolled onto his back, holding up the ball to try and get some idea, some scope, of what was barely illuminated before him. There were conveyor belts, work tables flickering in the distance, and above it all the machine; a mass of wires and arms and engines.
Where there were machines, there was scrap. Junkrat stuffed the ball in his mouth so he could crawl a little faster to one of the distant work tables. He had to scrabble clumsily over a conveyor belt, kicking away tiny useless pieces of metal that may have been nuts and bolts of some design. When he finally reached the table he was gasping for breath, aching to take a drink of water, but knowing he had to conserve it. To his delight, the table was covered in all kinds of junk metal. Some of it even looked like joints.
Junkrat's brow furrowed and he twisted to look up at the shadow of the machine... was this... were Omnics built by Omnics here? If that was the case, where were they all? The entire underground was in decent enough shape, certainly good enough shape for some disgusting scrap heap. He shook his head nervously and turned back to the table, spitting out his little ball to light up everything around him.
“Well, don't you look promisin'!” he said to a long piece of metal that would make a good peg leg. Nice, sturdy, without rust or any warping. There was some kind of joint-esque contraption that he grabbed. Two thick pieces of metal that bent on a thick joint. Kinda like a knee. Or a mouth.
“Oi'd love ta be part of Jamison Fawkes,” Junkrat said in a high-pitched voice, making the two pieces of metal clink together as he moved them, “He's handsome!”
“Oy!” Junkrat lifted his hand to press it magnanimously against his chest, “Well not to toot me own horn, sheila, but handsome hardly covers it!”
“You're right!” Clink clink clink. Junkrat giggled and his laugh echoed back at him.
What else did they have here? A spring, thick and durable that would make good shock absorption. He pushed one to the side but only after he nearly sent the other launching right into his eyeball, just barely jerking out of the way in time to keep from losing another body part.
Now, how to get it to attach to his stump? Weren't gonna be no nerve hookups down here, though ideally he could pay an expert to wire it properly when he got out of here (not if, when). Junkrat hopped clumsily from one table to the next, using his hand on the wall to keep from pitching onto his face. The leg wouldn't do him no good if he couldn't bloody keep it on his body! He nearly swore but remembered he had a ball stuffed into his mouth. Ha! Blue balls in his mouth! Shouldn't be blue much longer!
Junkrat snorted so hard he nearly swallowed the ball.
Eventually he gave up the work tables and crawled back towards the conveyor belts, propping himself up to sift through everything scattered haphazardly on them. Mostly little stuff, though he did pocket a few bolts and nuts he could use for his leg, but the further up the belt he went, the bigger the scrap got. Close to the machine he noticed some pieces that could probably be hammered into shape. It wouldn't be comfortable, but it would get him to civilization.
He cradled his finds in one arm as he dragged himself across the floor and back to his table.
Junkrat lost track of time as he tinkered, using his mouth, hand, arm stump, anything he could to get pieces together. “Well that'll want to go through that... spring here... coiled to take my weight just...no no no! Up here! Ah, loosen this-nah nah tighten this then loosen when I have- hmmm plated here...”
There were basic hand tools scattered about the tables which Junkrat hopped around to find when he needed them, a massive hammer shaping metal, screwdrivers to help twist pieces together right. At some point he curled up on the floor and slept, he wasn't sure how long and the room was just as gloomy no matter what the time, but for that pinprick of blue glowing in the distance along with the little ball still sitting on his table.
When it was finished Junkrat squirmed with glee, this was the best prosthetic he'd ever made! With the touch of an expert it'd be fully functioning! Harder to find legs out here than arms, more expensive too. Not that he had to worry about how expensive something was. Maybe he'd get a pure gold leg just because he could!
The working knee joint had been stiffened so as to be completely unbend-able, he didn't want the damn thing folding up on him when he walked around. It could be adjusted once it had the proper nerve hookups installed.
Now the moment of truth. Junkrat leaned back against the table and carefully, slowly, slid his aching stump into the freshly molded metal. It cradled his thigh perfectly, well, after a few more hits with the hammer while he was wearing it. He teared up at the pain but otherwise didn't make any noise. When he pushed himself off the desk he windmilled his arm a little with a yelp, getting used to having his weight on a peg instead of a foot, not to mention all that metal was a great deal heavier than his old leg.
Junkrat hobbled forward, one shaky step at a time. Thump, clink, thump, clink. The more confident he got, the faster he limped along, tittering with excitement as he broke into a lope. That lasted all of two seconds before he tripped and ate shit with a loud curse, the ball he'd been holding bouncing over the metal floor before it rolled away. Junkrat grumbled but didn't chase it down, not yet, instead he dug through the other balls, he'd grabbed four of them in his bag, to pull out some food and drink a few more sips of stale water. Had to regain his energy. Not sure why the balls made him feel better (frantic laughter) but he might as well take advantage of it.
He got to his feet once more, scooped up his fifth ball (there was a joke there, he knew it!) and limped along further.
The silence was oppressive, if he let it be, but Junkrat had never been one to succumb to silence. He chattered and muttered to himself, searching around the room for exits other than his vent. Every time he ran into a door he tried to pry it open but didn't bother wasting explosives on them. They were thick, almost like blast doors. Junkrat got the feeling this place was built specifically to withstand nuclear explosions.
“Well what do we have here?” Junkrat asked, noticing a vent probably 20 feet in the air. If he could get up there, he could slip in it.
“What's a buncha tables but a ladder in disguise?” he giggled, hobbling back towards the work tables. His stump was aching powerfully as even through the thick bandages it rubbed and chafed inside the metal shell. The pain was inconsequential, easy to ignore. For now. He had a lot more walking in his future. Junkrat started to push the work tables across the floor, grunting and straining as their metal legs squealed and screamed along the floor.
“At least the radiation didn't stunt me growth!” Junkrat panted as he got four tables shoved around the vent then went about stacking them on top of each other. His peg slipped and slid over their surface, he may or may not have fallen off them a couple times. In the end, he got three tables stacked, using more tables as sort of stairs leading up to them. Junkrat scrabbled up with a muffled titter, that glowing ball still clutched in his mouth. His tables shifted as he punched away the vent and he nearly went toppling to the ground.
“Fuck me dead!” he swore, fingers clinging to the edge of the vent as the tables clattered to the floor, leaving him hanging twenty feet above the ground. He was weak and underfed, but he was desperate. Junkrat pulled himself up far enough to catch his elbows in the vent, single foot pushing against the wall to wriggle up and in.
Sweat poured down his face as he finally got his whole body into the vent, wheezing around the ball. The vent had a slight incline, and Junkrat prayed it was going to lead to fresh air. “Fresh” here meaning “irradiated”. Junkrat moved inch by inch through the vent, sweat making him stick sometimes and slip others. He giggled at the thought of sliding clean out the vent and shooting like a bullet back into that room. The higher he got, the more he could smell the stink of the outside air, which just made him wriggle faster, his peg leg clanking along the walls of the vent.
“Almost there, almost a rich living man!” Junkrat hissed, his arms aching as he hauled himself ever upward. Finally his little blue ball wasn't the only thing lighting up the vent, he could see hazy light filtering down from above, which cheered him as it meant the vent wasn't covered in debris and blocked off. Would have sucked sliding backwards or getting trapped and dying in here. Junkrat reached the vent and punched it off before taking a deep breath of disgusting outside air through his nose.
The vent came out inside the shell of one of the massive skyscrapers and Junkrat pushed himself to his feet as he came out, observing the area. Wouldn't do to forget this. His fortune was down under his feet, and this wasn't gonna be like the the pile-up. He wasn't going to forget where this was. Junkrat limped over to a pile of twisted metal, picking up the sharpest piece and sitting down on a block of concrete so he could take off his leg. His bandages were dotted with blood but he ignored that; weren't much he could do about it anyway.
Where the shell of the leg hugged his thigh there was a bottom for his stump to rest against. Junkrat used the scrap to punch it out and pull the flat round metal out. He spat the little blue ball into the hidden compartment. That would be his proof. The others he had to spend, but this one... this one stayed with him. His map would look like nothing more than meaningless scribbles should anyone actually take apart his leg, but Junkrat knew.
He put the leg back together and slipped it onto his stump once more. It was time to return to civilization; hopefully before his food and water ran out. Would be a shame to chop off his own leg, escape an underground facility, fight off radiation poisoning, all to die from dehydration in the desert.
Junkrat grinned, squinting out past the Omnium to where the desert stretched out before him. His fate was changin', he was a rich man now. Just had to find a buyer.
If Junkrat was worried about finding buyers (he wasn't) he realizes he should really be more worried about the people who want to buy
Junkertown swam into view on the horizon just as Junkrat ran out of water, but he still had plenty of flavorless biscuits. Despite his tongue sticking the roof of his mouth with thirst, there was a spring in his step as he made it into town.
“Hullo!” he called to the first person he saw.
“Fuck off or I'll blow your brains out!” snarled the man.
Ah, felt good to be home! The first thing Junkrat did was sniff out where the town medic was. Like many medics, she also dabbled in prosthetics, and Junkrat popped off his leg and asked for a full nerve hook-up, as well as work on his bleeding and aching stump.
“Disgusting,” she muttered as she peeled away the bandages, “did you rip this off with your bare hands or was it chewed off by a dingo?”
“Sawed it off with scrap,” said Junkrat, laying back on the metal table, slightly stained with dried and flaking blood.
The medic made a sound of disgust, “This is going to need extensive work, you can pay for everything?”
Junkrat gave her a smug look, lips curling. His best 'rich person' face, that said he could pay for all this and more. She looked unimpressed. “Yeah I can pay,” said Junkrat defensively, dropping the face, “can you do the work?”
“Not if you don't pay me,” she said, “cough it up.”
“Ah, well, see... I don't exactly have it...” Junkrat fumbled in his backpack to pull out one of the balls, “See! I just gotta sell it and you'll get yours!”
The medic narrowed her eyes, “What the fuck is that? How do you know it's worth shit?”
“It's treasure!” said Junkrat, offended on behalf of his balls, “Treasure from the Omnium! I know people will pay big just for this one, and I gots millions of th' things!”
She narrowed her eyes, looking between the glowing ball and Junkrat's face. Whatever she saw there must have convinced her because she finally grumbled out, “Okay, fine, I'll work on this... but I'm keeping your scrap leg until you get me tokens. Got it?”
“You gotta hook it up anyway,” Junkrat agreed, slipping the ball into his bag. They nodded at each other and he relaxed again. Until she started carving away huge chunks of meat and bone on his leg. His hollering and swearing must have been annoying her because she jabbed something into his leg and Junkrat conked out after that.
“Hey, ugly,” fingers snapped before his face. Junkrat blearily opened his eyes, reaching up to rub the crust away with a grumble.
“Wot the fuck, mate,” he mumbled, his head throbbing in time with the pain in his leg.
“Get me my money,” the medic grunted, tossing a pair of crutches at him, “I'll start work on your prosthetic, but if you're not back with payment I'll find you and take your other fuckin' leg.”
Junkrat fumbled with the crutches with a scowl. Touchy bitch. He tossed the second crutch back at her before sliding off the table, hissing as his leg throbbed. “I asked for hydrogen,” he muttered angrily.
“And you'll get it when you get me my money,” said the medic.
“Foine, but if I bleed out all over th' place you ain't gettin' shit.”
Walking with a crutch when you were missing half your limbs was tedious to say the least. Junkrat hobbled painfully slowly out the medic's door and down into the street. He wasn't the only Junker missing limbs, but he was the only one without a single prosthetic to his name, which meant people stared at him as he made his way down the street to the local scrap dealer. They were all thinking about pushing him over and raiding whatever he had in his pack, but Junkrat met each of their eyes and bared his teeth like a feral dog. It was enough to get them to decide he maybe wasn't as easy as they thought.
“Oof,” he shoved open the door to the local Scrap Dealer with a grunt, hobbling to the front counter as his eyes took in the piles of junk stacked to the ceiling around him. This guy was way less organized than his scrap dealer. “Oi!” Junkrat called, setting the crutch against the counter as he leaned his hips against it, “I gots somethin' ta sell!”
While from the back there came swearing and crashing, Junkrat shrugged off his bag and dug through to grab one of his precious treasures. How many tokens would this thing be worth? No less than 200, but probably more. Yeah...definitely more. The Scrap Dealer finally hobbled out of the back, he was a short, bald man with a perpetual wheeze in his breath. “What do you have, son?” he asked.
Junkrat clutched the ball tighter, eyes narrowing suspiciously, “Ya ain't my dad.”
The bald man chuckled, he almost sounded... uhg.... kindly. “It's an expression-ah, never mind. What are you selling?”
Reluctantly, Junkrat uncurled his fingers and held the glowing ball out in his palm, “I found this in the Omnium, and don't you try an' cheat me, mate, or I'll blow this whole building sky high!”
The man's skin was turning the color of curdled milk right before Junkrat's eyes, and his wheezing was growing more pronounced, “You...you found this in the Omnium? Just the one?”
“N-nah, millions,” Junkrat started to curl his fingers around the ball again, that little part of him that had helped him survive this long was screaming for him to get out.
“Where?” The bald man asked, and his kindly old man act dropped in a split second, his eyes growing cold. “Tell me where, now!”
“Fuck ya, ya drongo!” Junkrat spat, “I found 'em fair and square, it's my treasure! Do ya want to pay for this one or not?”
The bald man breathed through gritted teeth, “You'll tell me where you found it right now you filthy little scavenger!” Which seemed like a rich insult coming from a Scrap Dealer who was probably two feet shorter than him.
Junkrat dropped the ball back in his bag, “Foine, fuck off for I c-”
A shotgun was leveled at his face, and though the Scrap Dealer seemed shaky, the barrel didn't tremble as it nearly rest against Junkrat's lips, “Give me everything you have, and tell me where you found it!” he screamed, “NOW!”
Junkrat froze, “Come on, mate, surely we can talk about thi-”
“GIVE ME YOUR BAG!” The shotgun barrel shot forward and smashed him in the mouth, cutting his lips and chipping one of his teeth. Junkrat spat out a mouthful of blood and swore, fumbling for his bag and wishing that bitch hadn't kept his fuckin' leg!
“You want it?” Junkrat asked darkly, gripping the straps tightly as his whole body shook with adrenaline, “Then have it!” He swung the bag as hard as he could, hip pressed against the desk for balance. The shotgun went off beside his head and Junkrat's skull seemed to vibrate like a bell, his already shoddy hearing blinking out like a light, leaving behind nothing but ringing. With a yell he couldn't hear, Junkrat vaulted over the counter, grabbing the barrel of the shotgun to try and wrestle it from the Scrap Dealer.
His balance was completely shot, but he was big enough that when he went down clutching the shotgun, the Scrap Dealer went with him. The Dealer was screaming something but Junkrat couldn't hear it over the ringing. There was something wet trickling out of his ear and down his jaw, a persistent and irritating tickle. They wrestled over the floor in total silence, Junkrat kicking with his one leg and banging his thigh up when he could. His stump burned and throbbed, and he thought he was pulling out all his stitches. Whatever, she could fix him up again.
An elbow smashed into his face, his collarbone, his neck. Junkrat choked but refused to let go of the gun, trying to wrestle it out of the Scrap Dealer's fat little hands. His thigh smashed up and this time landed between the Dealer's legs. The little man lurched forward and Junkrat jerked the shotgun out of his hands completely, spinning it around so he could jam his finger in the trigger and rest the barrel in the crook of his elbow.
“Now let's calm do-” Junkrat started to say. The Dealer was sitting up, his face right in front of the barrel and he looked like he was surrendering, hands in the air, lips moving. His twitchy hands were the death of him. The Scrap Dealer, that was. His finger involuntarily twitched and the shotgun kicked in his hand at the same moment it blasted the Scrap Dealer's head clean off.
Junkrat tittered and dropped the gun, rolling onto his side to dig under the counter for money. Wasn't leaving here empty handed, and he had to leave fast . The Dealer had a box with a joke of a lock on it that the butt of the gun took care of in a jiffy. If Junkrat thought he had more time he would have hunted out the rest of the tokens hidden in this place, but what was in the box would have to do. It was a few handfuls worth, probably enough to pay the medic and get himself a ride back to his Scrap Dealer and his beautiful new arm. He stuffed them into his bag, grabbed a box of ammo, and then stuffed the gun barrel-first into his bag as well. The butt stuck out in easy grabbing rang, even for a man with one hand.
“Time to go, time to go!” Junkrat muttered to himself, even if he couldn't hear it. He hopped back over the counter, catching his balance as he quickly jammed the crutch under his arm and hobbled out the door. People weren't staring, but Junkrat could see them glancing at him from the corner of their eye. The second he was out of sight they'd go rushing in and either loot the place, or someone would take over as the next Dealer... then they might come for him.
“Hydrogen, now!” Junkrat barked as he burst into the medic's shack, tossing a handful of tokens on the table along with the crutch.
She said something with a scowl but Junkrat couldn't read lips, and whatever it was probably wasn't important because she put the mask over his face and turned on her compressor. Sweet gas filled the mask and Junkrat took several deep breaths in a row. His ears popped unpleasantly as the ringing faded to its normal volume and sound rushed back into his head, making him dizzy.
“-tore out all your stitches and-”
Another deep breath and he could feel the tears in his stump healing right up. The scar would be uglier than normal, but ain't no one in the world had accused Junkrat of being pretty. She yanked the mask away before he could get another hit.
“Hoo hoo hoo!” he giggled, flopping back against the table as the world spun, “Good shit!”
Something heavy was dumped on his chest and he grunted, sitting up on his elbows to see his leg. Looked the same, and he was glad to see her work hadn't tampered with his false bottom at the thigh. She had trimmed it down further and installed hookups that ran to the knee joint. Looked almost like a professional limb! In Junkrat's opinion anyway.
The medic yanked his stump forward, undoing the bandages and tossing them aside. They were soaked with blood from his fight, and Junkrat imaged his face was no better. That old guy had splattered everywhere. She lined up the cap for his stump then pressed, tiny little needles sank into his flesh and she let him get one more huff of hydrogen so he'd heal around them.
Junkrat bent forward and slipped on his leg, and with a twist, it locked into place.
“Give it a moment,” she barked, rolling her hydrogen tank away.
Junkrat practically vibrated over the table until his twitching thigh translated into his new knee bending back and forth. He hooted and hopped off the table, jumping around the room, squatting, springing up, and kicking. Good as new! “Noice, doc!” he said with a giggle that evolved into a full on laugh. The world had better be afraid, Junkrat was about to have two working limbs again.
The medic was counting out her scattered tokens, but she shot him a sour look, “Get out.”
Junkrat stood up straight and gave her a salute, “Roight! On me way!”
Even with a working knee the leg wasn't perfect, but Junkrat loved it all the same. He loped out of the medic's and with a speed he hadn't felt since entering the Omnium, ran to the first guy with a car he saw. “I'm going that way,” said Junkrat, pointing out towards to the horizon.
“Who fucking cares?” said the guy gruffly, “I'm going the opposite way.”
Junkrat looked over to see a crowd was already gathered around the Scrap Dealer's and he looked back at his new friend with a wicked smile. “Oi think yer wrong, friend,” he shook his bag and let the man hear the jingling before he grabbed the shotgun, completely out of ammo, and aimed it right at his face, “Me an' you are goin' the same way.”
The man swallowed, “Fine, get in.”
“Ta!” said Junkrat cheerily, throwing himself into the passenger seat so he could set his bag between his legs and dig out a handful of tokens. “As a sign of our new friendship, here's the first half,” he let the coins fall on the floor between them, “and if you drive until I say stop, you'll get more. If you don't, I blow your brains out AND leave all these coins here 'cause I'm so rich!”
With the squealing of tires, the man pealed away. Junkrat twisted to watch all the people fade away into the distance and let out a short breath. Safe. For now. He grabbed his shotgun and managed to click it open while clutching it between his knees. Junkrat giggled as the guy let out a strangled sound of frustration as he reloaded it.
“You've got balls,” he muttered, knuckles white on his steering wheel, “for some dumb kid.”
Junkrat clicked the gun together and set it barrel-first back into his bag, “Jus' doin' wot I can to survive.”
“Ain't we all.”
The guy driving the car didn't have much to say, he mostly grunted as Junkrat chattered on about his quest through the Omnium and when he had to saw off his own leg. Slightly paranoid, he left out the bit about his treasure and just talked about building his leg and escaping the underground facility. That left three more hours to fill.
“This is a nice car, never had a car meself.”
“Oy! Look at that fuckin' bush, HA! Weird lookin' right?”
“See those lizards on that rock? I've eaten more o' them things than I c'n count. Don't taste so good.”
“The way I see it- Stop here!”
“Oh thank fuckin' God 'n' Jesus an' all the Saints,” the man moaned, slamming on the brakes.
“Cheers, cobber!” said Junkrat, dumping down another handful of tokens, as per their agreement. He slung his bag over his shoulder and stepped out into the sand, hobbling towards the buildings in the distance. He'd stopped them behind town, not wanting to pop out in the middle of the street. Not until he had a nice new arm, anyway. Junkrat slipped in the back way, taking a deep breath of the familiar scents of metal and dust that filled the Scrap Dealer's shop, all of it so neatly organized. Much better than that bald fuck.
“Jesus, Rat, what happened to you?” The Scrap Dealer came out of the back room wiping his hands off on a rag, eyes darting from Junkrat's peg leg up to the blood dried on his face.
“I've come for me arm!” said Junkrat boldly, twisting the bag around to dig inside it for one of the balls, “go get it an' I'll show you what I found!” he sing-songed.
The Scrap Dealer made a sound of disgust, but he went into the back once more to retrieve the arm. “Better not be jerking me around, Rat,” he said gruffly, setting the box down on the counter, “Or I'll take your other arm.”
“Look!” Junkrat pulled it out and held it between two of his fingers, the blue glow throwing the Scrap Dealer's face into sharp contrast. He was very still for a moment.
“I see...” he said slowly, setting the box down on the counter and pushing it towards Junkrat while reaching out with his other hand.
“Neat, huh?” Junkrat said as he pulled the box close and opened it up. The sound he made was nearly orgasmic as he took in his new prosthetic. Fingers! A wrist! It'd be like he never had his arm chopped off at all! He grabbed the nerve cap and started to shove the needles into his stump, getting it aligned on his arm. “Yer best scrapper is movin' up!” Junkrat bragged, grabbing the arm and clicking it on the nerve cap.
“What do you mean?” The Scrap Dealer asked sharply, looking from the ball to Junkrat, “Do you have more of these?”
“Oh, loads,” Junkrat grinned, hearing the mechanisms in the arm start to click, “millions, even! Found treasure in the Omnium! Just gotta find a buyer.” He looked down at his fingers and tried to remember how he would have once bent them, how he would have twisted his wrist. Slowly his fingers started to curl into a fist and Junkrat nearly cried to see it. “A real beaut!” he whispered, tears pricking the corner of his eyes.
“Oh, well, what you've found is worth more than that hunk of scrap,” said the Scrap Dealer smoothly. He bent down and pulled out his box of tokens, starting to count out a pile. “Where ah... where in the Omnium did you find them?” he asked, almost idly. Almost.
Junkrat curled and uncurled his fingers, started to roll his new wrist and listen to the way it whirred. It was getting easier and easier as his body remembered what to do. Soon he wouldn't even have to think about it. “Mum's the word, mate,” said Junkrat with a wink, “Ya know I never share scores!”
“Right, right,” said the Scrap Dealer vaguely, “Well here, you take these, a 100 more tokens to go with your arm. You can get a real good meal, yeah? And stay at Marcie's. Would probably be nice to sleep in a bed.”
“Thanks, mate!” Junkrat crowed, scooping up the coins with both his hands and dumping them into his backpack. “I knew ya wouldn't cheat me! Been lookin' after me since I was a tyke, eh?”
The Scrap Dealer was rolling the ball around in his palms, eyes glued to it, “Hm? Yeah. Get out of here, Rat, eat something, you look like a skeleton.”
He had two hands again! Junkrat burst out of the Scrap Dealer's and into the street, “Hullo! Hey! G'day, mate!” He waved at everyone he passed just to twist his wrist and wriggle his fingers, hypnotized by their easy movement. No more hooks or scrap metal tied to him by wires and belts. He was a complete man now! Junkrat burst into the tavern, “Marcie!” he waved his mechanical fingers with a grin so wide it hurt his cheeks, “I want the works! Load me up with food and drink!”
“What's the occasion?” she snorted, “you have tokens?”
“Plenty,” said Junkrat smugly, dropping about twenty of them on the counter with a smirk, “And I want a room, a nice one! I'm fockin' King Jamison Fawkes as far as yer concerned!”
“If you've got the money you can have the stuff,” said Marcie, pouring him one glass of whiskey and another glass of mostly clear water. Junkrat drank down the water, then grabbed one of Marcie's cleaning rags from over the counter to try and wipe away the blood still flaking on his face. Marcie came back with a plate of more hoppers and...
“Meat!” Junkrat started to drool at the hunk of...whatever it was. It was meat, and that was what mattered! He flipped over a few more coins which Marcie pocketed and started to stuff food into his mouth as fast as he could. The meat wasn't seasoned, but it didn't matter, Junkrat wasn't sure when he'd last eaten something so damn good. The hoppers crunched between his teeth as he alternated between them, the meat, and gulps of whiskey.
“Ooo, big spender,” said one of Marcie's girls, leaning on the bar next to Junkrat with a smile, “you a rich boy?”
Marcie's girls had never paid him any mind before, and every time Junkrat had tried to flirt he'd ended up slapped. Marcie kept them all fed and watered, so her tits were spilling clean out of her dress and she looked like she had hips to grab. Junkrat had never had much of a preference towards men or women, as far as he was concerned if someone wanted to fool around then he was game... and after what he'd been through he wouldn't say no to getting his dick sucked.
“Ain't you a pretty sheila,” he grinned, finishing off his whiskey and motioning for more, “I'm rich enough for ya.”
“She's 30 tokens for the night,” said Marcie bluntly, filling up Junkrat's glass of whiskey to the brim.
“I don't want her for th' night,” said Junkrat, wrinkling his nose, “jus' wanna get my dick sucked.”
“Uhg,” the girl wrinkled her nose and looked like she was going to pull back but Marcie made a sort of angry clicking sound with her tongue and the girl reluctantly pushed her tits back on the bar. “So... 10 tokens and I'll make you feel good,” she said with a sort of stiff smile, one finger tracing along Junkrat's dirty shoulder.
“Pft, for that price I'll suck me own dick,” Junkrat shrugged her off and went back to drinking. He may be filthy stinking rich but he wasn't dropping 10 tokens when he could just jerk himself off later.
Junkrat drank and ate until the thought of putting one more thing inside his mouth was a sickening one. He slipped off his stool and walked to the stairs, one hand on his stomach which was visibly stuffed. He hadn't eaten that good in... well... ever. As much as he preferred curling up outside with a bunch of proximity mines buried in the dirt, Junkrat had to admit that collapsing on a mattress was a certain kind of heaven. He lazily palmed his cock but couldn't quite find the energy to get it up and quit, maybe tomorrow morning.
Out of habit he set down a couple of proximity mines by the door then curled up under the thin blanket and closed his eyes. It was amazing how fast life could turn around... Junkrat bit his lip on an excited titter, rubbing his face against the pillow. He was a rich man.
Valuable things will make people do crazy things
Proximity mines weren't meant to cause the biggest explosion nor fling a huge amount of shrapnel. They were supposed to be loud and scare off whoever, or whatever, was creeping around. Junkrat heard the boom and was on his feet before he was aware of what was going on. The blanket was tangled around him and he swore, hearing people screaming and yelling at the door. What was he doing inside- oh yeah. He could see people in the doorway clutching their faces, and the mangled body of whatever unlucky idiot had stepped directly on one of the mines.
“SOMEONE GRAB HIM!”
That almost sounded like the Scrap Dealer. Junkrat scrambled with a hiss away from the figure rushing at him. Was that one of Marcie's girls? He lashed out, hitting her in the temple with his metal hand as they scrambled over the floor. More hands grasped at him and Junkrat bit into someone's wrist as it passed over his head.
“Take off his prosthetics!” that sounded like Marcie... but why?
“Fuck you!” Junkrat screeched, fighting harder as hands reached for his leg and arm, trying to twist them off. He lashed out with the peg and caught someone in the gut, hearing them yelp in pain and slam against the wall. With his legs free he twisted like a snake, smashing his fist into another person's face so he could scrabble under the bed for his bag.
Strong hands grasped his ankle and yanked just as Junkrat got his hands on the shotgun. He twisted and shot blindly with a yell. The hand fell off him as a body hit the wall. It was Marcie, the shotgun had blasted a massive hole in her chest, blood and gore pooling onto the floor. Junkrat let out a strangled sound, trying to get to his feet and unable to take his eyes off of Marcie's corpse. He'd known her his whole life, when the storms came around she let him sleep under a table to avoid the acid rain. She'd given him scraps as a child. She stared at him with wide, unblinking eyes.
“Now you've done it, you brat!” It was the Scrap Dealer, “you'll give us the location of your treasure, dammit!”
“Why th' hell are you doin' this?!” Junkrat kicked out with his peg and caught the Scrap Dealer in the chest, but he was immediately grabbed and yanked. “Ya... ya looked after me! I been scrappin' for ya my whole life!”
“And now you've actually found something worthwhile,” the Scrap Dealer panted, hauling Junkrat across the floor by his peg leg, “and you don't even know what you have!”
Junkrat leveled the shotgun, then hesitated; it was all the Scrap Dealer needed. He yanked the shotgun out of Junkrat's hands by the barrel and no matter how he grasped for it he couldn't quite grab it before it was out of his reach. He rolled and grabbed his backpack, kicking out just to give himself space to get to his feet as he ripped open the bag. He grabbed the first grenade his fingers curled around and tossed it into the hallway.
The explosion rocked the building and blew in the wall, knocking the Scrap Dealer down and giving Junkrat the time he needed to run out of the room. The grenade had started a fire and people were leaving the rooms, yelling in alarm as he shoved past a pair of naked men to vault over the second floor balcony and onto the floor.
“CATCH HIM! CATCH THAT KID!” The Scrap Dealer screamed from above.
Junkrat fled into the darkness, panting and huffing as the joints on his leg squeaked lightly as he pushed the prosthetic to its limit. If it survived all this he'd know it was good enough. Behind him the building had really started to catch, the fire lighting up the desert before him as he ran from civilization and into the harsh and uncompromising wild. His heart beat in his ears—THUMPTHUMPTHUMP--and his lungs burned for air; but he was fast when he wanted to be and soon enough any sounds of pursuit had faded. No doubt they'd run back for their cars but Junkrat ran towards a nearby canyon, climbing down the precarious rock wall to the bottom.
Only once he was at the bottom of the canyon and stuffed into a tiny cave, more of a crack in the wall, did he let himself collapse. What the fuck had he found? Why did some people go mad for it? He curled up in a ball, and when he closed his eyes Marcie stared at him... but she didn't say anything.
2 YEARS LATER
It hadn't rained in ages, which was a good thing, but there were dark clouds on the far horizon and he had to find shelter or watch his own skin slough off his muscles. Junkrat dug at the dirt like a dog, the dry ground harsh under his calloused finger tips. His metal hand always dug faster since those fingers couldn't feel pain or bleed. The years had not been kind to him, but he was still alive and that was what mattered. Since fleeing his, well, home for lack of a better term, Junkrat had been chased up and down the Outback by eager bounty hunters and thrill seekers. Most of them didn't even know what he'd found, they just knew he'd found treasure in the Omnium and that only he could tell them where it was.
Those were the easy ones, they stopped after you blew up enough of them.
It was the other ones, the ones who knew something that Junkrat feared. He wasn't great at recognizing patterns, but throw it in his face enough and he'd pick up on it eventually. The really mad ones were all the people from the Before Time. Those that were old enough to remember something other than a wasteland. Junkrat didn't know what they knew, but he knew that they wanted what he had not because it was worth a lot but because it was important for reasons Junkrat didn't understand.
You could blow up men and women until the acid rains came and went, and still more would come; because they weren't bosses—oh no--they were pawns. More would always be hired.
Yet still he survived, and escaped, and held on to the dream of getting out of the wasteland and to a real buyer. His hole started to reach under the boulder before him and Junkrat dug harder, eyes flicking to the clouds that kept getting closer and closer. It was going to be a tight fit, but that was fine, he was skinny.
A few hours in and Junkrat was frantic as he dug, the acid rain was almost upon him and he was cutting it close. Finally he crawled fully into his hole, curling up and bracing his foot against the boulder to roll it over the entrance to his hole. Just like that he was in pitch blackness, him and his bag clutched against his chest.
It had been three weeks since his last run in with treasure hunters, so he was optimistic that he could make it to The Junkyard unmolested. He needed new bomb supplies and no better place to scavenge for them. His bag held some food, some water, and bombs in various state of build. Over the last couple years, his three little glowing balls had been stolen from him, and all that was left was the one in his peg leg. He hadn't touched it since putting it in there, afraid of tipping someone off. It was his proof of treasure, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't fond of it. He still remembered how it had saved him as he wasted away of radiation poisoning in the underground. Maybe having it close was the only reason he was still alive.
He slept through the night and the storm. Junkrat grumbled when he woke up, his whole body cramping up from being curled up for hours. He pressed his ear against the bolder, listening for the sounds of rain. Heard nothing. He shuffled and grunted to turn himself around in his hole, bracing his foot back on the bolder to roll it off the top of his little hole. Sunshine, bright and hot, fell on his face.
“Ahg!” he covered his eyes with his hand and scrambled out of the hole and onto the ground which had already dried again in the intense Australian heat. In the distance was the hulking mountain of The Junkyard, and with nothing keeping him here Junkrat shouldered his ratty old bag and started walking.
The sun rose in the sky until the heat became too much to travel with, and he was forced to curl up under his thin blanket between a pair of dried old bushes and wait it out. He'd scattered some proximity mines all around him to warn him of any ambushes and napped.
“Wasn't wot I was shittin' expectin' when I found treasure,” Junkrat complained to himself as he walked the rest of the way in the fading evening light. This was a common complaint for the long walks or the long sprints away from danger. Junkrat wasn't even sure if he regret it or not, on one hand he knew his future could hold riches beyond compare, but on the other hand he wasn't sure if he was going to have a future. He was lucky he'd survived on the run for the last two years, flitting in and out of the wildest parts of the Outback, only coming back when he ran out of water or needed new gossip. Not everyone recognized him, or cared about chasing after him.
“They'll get bored eventually,” Junkrat told himself as the shadow of night passed over him.
He walked softly towards the pile of junk that made up The Junkyard. It was so much and so far into the Outback that it hadn't been picked clean by Scrappers. Junkrat had been here a couple times before and every time he found something nice. He started scavenging immediately, digging through everything to pick out things he could use for his bombs. Specifically, he wanted some bombs filled with sharp shrapnel, something that'd REALLY blow someone into pieces. He also needed more concussion mines and grenades.
Since Junkrat had been through the The Junkyard before he even had a pre-built hole to crawl into. Every time he visited he made it a little bigger so he could actually stretch out his gangly limbs and keep his new finds in the hole with him. He grabbed some nearby scraggly bushes and yanked them off the stem to put them over the top of his hole as camouflage. It was unlikely anyone would show up, Junkrat was starting to think his trail had been lost, but he didn't survive all these years by not being paranoid.
He shut his eyes and fell asleep almost immediately.
There was a thump in the night. Junkrat rolled over in the dirt silently, half asleep and wondering if fuckin' dingos were knocking shit over out there. Another thump and the ground seemed to vibrate around him. That wasn't dingos. Junkrat sucked in a breath and held it, twisting his head to try and see out from between the branches at the mouth of his hole. There was a foot out there. A massive, gigantic steel-toed boot with a fuckin' spike on it.
With an earth-shaking thump the man outside sat down right outside Junkrat's hole, leaning back on his hands. Junkrat covered his mouth with his hand, swallowing hard. In the darkness he could just make out a gas mask in the shape of a pig snout. That was Roadhog.
A living legend sat just outside his hiding place, and Junkrat was positive he was only here for one reason. To catch him. Junkrat shivered, trying to breathe as silently as he could. Above ground Roadhog grunted through his mask, round stomach rising and falling as he breathed nice and easy. Junkrat had heard stories about Roadhog, whispered in taverns across Junkertown and even the outskirts of the Outback where the real loonies lived. They said he could grab a man with his hook over 50 feet away, that with one slash of the machete on his back he could cut a man in half, and that his shrapnel gun could take out 20 men at once.
Someone wanted him... bad. Junkrat swallowed and settled in the dirt. Roadhog couldn't sit there forever, Junkrat would just have to wait him out. He had food and water in his bag, but Roadhog didn't seem to have anything on him at all. He just sat there... breathing through his mask.
The sun rose and Roadhog hadn't moved an inch.
Junkrat felt like he was going to vibrate right out of his skin, he'd never had to sit still this long before. He bit his lip on a scream, fingers kneading at the canvas of his backpack. If he pulled out one of his grenades he risked blowing himself up in this hole, and he wasn't quite ready to die yet.
It was the hottest part of the day and still Roadhog sat and breathed, hands resting on his knees as he looked out into the distance. Why the FUCK was he just sitting there? What was he waiting for?! Junkrat almost wanted to turn himself over just to move his limbs again, which had moved past cramping into something worse. His chewed his knuckles almost bloody, twisting and turning through the dirt.
The sun was beginning to set and Junkrat's eyes were growing heavy, yet still Roadhog didn't move. This cunt was fucked up. He'd just shut his eyes, just relax and maybe by morning Roadhog would have fucked off. He was probably waiting for Junkrat to come back without realizing he was in the dirt not two feet away. Idiot... Junkrat almost giggled... almost.
His grip on his bag relaxed as his eyes closed, sleep curling it's gentle fingers around him to drag him down. Just a little rest.. just...
CRUNCH! The dry branches crackled and snapped loudly as something plunged through them.
A giant hand wrapped completely around Junkrat's head and yanked. Junkrat screamed and thrashed as he was dragged out of the hole, but his screeching was muffled by Roadhog's palm. “YA FILTHY CUNT!” Junkrat swore, opening his mouth wide just to sink his teeth into the flesh of Roadhog's hand. There was a growl and he was slammed head-first into the ground, stars bursting before his eyes. His hands, which had been groping to hang on to his backpack, slipped clumsily past the canvas and it slid back into the hole as he was dragged completely out.
Another hand wrapped around his waist, and as if he weighed nothing at all, Junkrat was lifted into the air as Roadhog stood up.
In times of extreme danger, Junkrat didn't think, he did. His hand slipped into his pocket to pull out his trusty detonator and press the red button. The explosion from his backpack was so violent it threw both him, Roadhog, and the nearest pile of scrap, into the air. Junkrat hit the ground running, ears ringing loudly as his own breath burned its way from his throat. Flaming piles of junk rained from the sky, crashing down on all sides of him as he tried to lose Roadhog in the chaos. Junkrat looked over his shoulder to see how far away Roadhog was, and through the fiery scrap it looked like he'd hadn't even tried to run after him. “HA!” Junkrat screamed, “Can't catch me, fatass!”
Junkrat lept forward, but his body didn't seem to get the memo as he jerked back with a strangled cry. Roadhog's hook had caught him around the middle. He tried to twist away...and that was when the nails caught him. Junkrat screamed in rage as he was tugged so hard he flew into the air, hook cutting furrows into his skin, catching on his ribs as he slammed and rolled into the dirt at Roadhog's feet. A big boot pressed against his chest as Roadhog, almost lazily, bent down to tug the nails out of Junkrat's torn up skin and return his bloody hook to his belt.
“Ah... haha... ya got the wrong guy, mate!” Junkrat grunted, teeth grit in a feral smile through the pain, “I ain't nobody! A scrapper!”
Roadhog said nothing as he grabbed a rope and started to tie Junkrat up, keeping that foot on him to prevent him from wriggling away.
“I ain't nobody!” Junkrat repeated shrilly, wriggling like a fish on a hook, “Ya got the wrong guy! Let me go you fat cunt! You-... rrrggghhh!” Junkrat grit his teeth and screamed in frustration as he was physically picked up and thrown over Roadhog's shoulder. Blood dripped down his sides and stained the coarse rope wrapped around and around him, pinning his arms to his sides. Junkrat kicked his feet, wriggling and swearing and screaming, but he might as well have been throwing a tantrum before a brick wall for all the good it did him.
Parked in the distance and covered in an old tarp was the biggest goddamn bike Junkrat had ever seen. The bike was half of Roadhog's mystique. A mountain of a man you could hear before you could see, roaring down the broken highway. “They say ya can get across the Outback in half a day!” said Junkrat, temporarily forgetting his predicament, “izzat true?”
Roadhog let out a short grunt which Junkrat chose to translate as, “yes! Absolutely!”
In one smooth motion, he was bumped off Roadhog's shoulder and set on the bike seat. A big hand curled around his waist to hold him in place as Roadhog sat behind him, the bike dropping what felt like half a foot under his weight. Massive thighs squeezed against his hips, holding him in place effortlessly. The bike turned on with a roar, rumbling like a purring cat beneath him and vibrating him where he sat. Fear was starting to twist at his gut, making him feel sick. He'd been caught before, but he'd never been caught and lost all his bombs in one go, or been picked up by the most famous and fearsome Enforcer in all of Junkertown.
The desert rushed past him in a blur, the stars winked down through the perpetual haze in the air, and Junkrat had never felt more trapped. “C'MON! LEMME GO!” he yelled, but the wind caught his words and blew them away, if they ever reached Roadhog's ears, he wouldn't know.
The bike had a slight wobble, as if one of the wheels wasn't bolted in right. He noticed it whenever Roadhog leaned into a curve and his hands clenched around the handlebars as he expertly corrected for it. Junkrat looked over his shoulder at the impassive pig mask then back out at the expansive and dark desert. He was shivering with the cold, even with Roadhog's body like a heater just behind him. Only one of them Old Timers could have hired Roadhog, which meant wherever he was being taken, it wasn't gonna end well.
Roadhog was starting to lean into another turn, the bike had that nearly imperceptible wobble. Junkrat threw himself into the turn, slamming against Roadhog's thick arm and sinking his teeth into his flesh. The roar that came from behind the mask put the bike to shame. Roadhog jerked the wheel and then Junkrat was soaring through the air as the entire thing slid into the dirt in a cloud of dust. He laughed shrilly—until he hit the ground. All the air in his lungs felt as if Roadhog himself had reached down his throat and ripped it out. Perhaps the only thing protecting him from scraping all his skin off in the sand as he rolled and rolled and bounced into rocks, was the rope. By the time Junkrat rolled to a stop he could hardly breathe for the pain. The ropes had been snapped and he wriggled out of them with a wheeze, blood bubbling between his lips.
Behind him, heavy footsteps, deceptively fast. Junkrat twisted to stare with disbelief as Roadhog, just as bloody and bruised, ran at him like a goddamn tank. He popped a canister off his belt and stuck it to his mask, giving it a twist. Junkrat moaned in agony to see all those wounds healing up with one massive breath. He giggled, eyes bulging with fear as he tried to crawl away in the dirt, leaving behind a trail of blood.
Roadhog's hand curled around his waist, lifting him up and shaking him like he was trying to break his neck. “F-f-f-uu-uuck y-y-y!” Junkrat's scream was stopped in its tracks as another hand closed around his rib cage and with one squeeze, broke every rib with a sickening crunch. Junkrat felt darkness encroaching on his vision, fingers sweeping across his eyes as cherry bombs went off in his brain.
“C-can't... can't...shut me up...that easy... ya drongo...” Junkrat whispered, voice thick as blood poured out his mouth to smear his chin and chest and splatter over Roadhog's fist.
It was probably just his imagination as his brain shut down, but Junkrat could have swore Roadhog laughed at that. He slumped forward, his injuries finally getting the better of him as unconsciousness claimed him.
There are bad men in the Outback who will do anything to get an answer
Considering how he'd passed out, Junkrat felt remarkably good when he woke up. He shifted with a small groan only to find his arms tied behind his back and his legs tied up to the thigh. It kept him from straddling the bike, which would explain why he was laid out over Roadhog's lap with the wind rushing into his face. He wriggled and Roadhog's hand came off the handlebars to give his torso a warning squeeze. Junkrat smacked his chapped lips, feeling blood flake off his mouth and chin as he moved his jaw. Fuck he'd kill for a drink of water.
“Oy! You want me to die of dehydration!” Junkrat yelled, feeling his ribs ache distantly, “Pull over!”
Shockingly, the bike started to slow and Roadhog pulled off the road a bit, kicking out the kick stand and turning off his bike. He lifted Junkrat up as he stood, then set him down so his back leaned against the side of the bike, his legs stretched out before him. “Let's talk!” said Junkrat, now that the wind wasn't roaring in his ears, “C'mon big guy! Ya think whoever is paying ya will pay like I will?”
Roadhog dug through his saddlebags and pulled out a water skin, kneeling down and pressing the tip against Junkrat's lips. The options were shut up and drink, or choke. He drank. Junkrat drank greedily until Roadhog grunted and pulled the water away. The blood on his chin itched, so he turned his head to rub his face against his shoulder, trying to get it to flake off. “Roadhog,” Junkrat said with a face-splitting smile, “I know ya! I can get money, lots o' it! That's what you want, right? Money?”
Roadhog grunted, packing away his water skin.
“If you let me go, I'll get ya so much money yer bike could be traded in for...for a heli!” Junkrat moaned as Roadhog picked him up and placed him back over his lap on the bike. “Why work fer some Junker suits? I'd treat ya right, me 'n my treasure! I-I could give ya some! Some o' my treasure, would ya like that?!”
Roadhog paused and for one glorious moment Junkrat thought he'd gotten through that pig mask. “You ain't got shit,” it was the first thing Roadhog had said to him and it hurt more than a punch to the gut, “I don't care what everyone says. Now shut up.”
Kinda hard to bribe someone that thought you didn't have anything.
Wasn't going to stop Junkrat from trying.
If Roadhog could hear him blabbler over the sound of the wind, he made no indication. Junkrat talked and screamed and begged until his voice gave out and he was forced to shut up. No one had ever taken him so far, and certainly no one had refused his offer of treasure. Sure, he usually blew them up after they took the offer, but he was seriously considering honoring any offer he made to Roadhog, if only because killing him seemed like too much goddamn work.
As the sun once more reached its zenith, Roadhog pulled over and drove through the desert until they came upon the remains of what appeared to be the top half of a skyscraper. Roadhog parked the bike in the thick shadows and chucked Junkrat into the dirt without a care for his well-being.
“Oy, careful with the goods!” he snapped hoarsely, wriggling around in the dirt fruitlessly. His arms and legs ached from being tied so long.
Roadhog snorted, sitting down to lean against a pillar of rusty metal, folding his hands over his belly. With the pig mask on Junkrat couldn't tell if his eyes were closed or open. Was he being watched...or not? Junkrat started to wriggle anyway, shifting his arms to test the ropes. Roadhog just breathed.
Maybe he was napping.
Tongue poking out with concentration, Junkrat locked his metal arm between the bike and ropes so he could wriggle his shoulder, trying to unlock his metal arm from the nerve hookup. He twisted, holding his breath until he felt he would pass out again because if he let it out he might make a sound and wake the big guy up. The click and hiss of his arm coming off had never sounded better, Junkrat nearly sobbed as he leaned forward, shaking himself like a dog until the metal arm fell out from the ropes which were now slipping off his skinny arms.
He couldn't hold back a small giggle as he picked up his arm and twisted it back on, it'd take more than some stupid ropes to hold him! Junkrat, reached down to fumble with the the knots at his thighs, fingers shakily picking them open. A shadow fell over him, “You don't give up, do you?” Roadhog growled from above him, he almost sounding grudgingly impressed.
“There's a reason I been out here two years,” Junkrat bragged, trying not to let it show that his heart felt like it was going to beat right out his throat, “Whatever they're payin' ya can't worth all this trouble, can it?”
Roadhog bent down until his pig mask was inches from Junkrat's face, impassive opaque eyes staring into his very soul, “I'd almost say yes... but they're paying me quite a bit to bring you in, you little shit.”
“Tha's the most words ya ever said!” Junkrat crowed, grin splitting his face, “Are we bondin'? We're bondin'! Awww you big soft- HRGH!” A big hand wrapped around his throat and squeezed until he shut up.
“Don't push your luck,” Roadhog snarled.
“Sure thing, buddy,” Junkrat wheezed around the hand on his throat.
To his surprise Roadhog untied his thighs, “You run or tip my bike again,” he warned darkly, “I will kill you, money be damned.”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Junkrat, kicking off the ropes and rubbing his cramped thighs until he could stumble to his feet. There really wasn't anywhere to run, and Roadhog had proved twice that Junkrat could never get far from him. He didn't fancy getting torn open by the hook again. He looked at the bike, wondering if he could steal it, but he honestly had no idea how to drive a bike that big, nor did he think he could use it with his peg leg.
Roadhog had sat back down, hands folded over his stomach as he breathed deeply as if he were asleep. Junkrat didn't trust that he was. “So,” he said, flopping down beside Roadhog to lean against his gut, “Oi'm thinkin'... yer a big guy... strong...” Junkrat reached up to squeeze a bicep bigger than his head and Roadhog growled in warning. “Well, what abouts... what abouts you become me bodyguard! Junkrat and Roadhog!” he waved his hand before him, eyes narrowing with the size of his smile, “We'd take th' Outback—no!--The world! By storm!”
“Shut up,” Roadhog grunted.
“No, mate, hear me out!” said Junkrat, becoming quite enamored by the idea the more he thought about it, “I haven't been able to get out of here with no wheels and all these blokes tryna grab me, but with you an' your bike... shit mate we could really take the world! Steal all the money and jewels and everything precious them suits love, we'd make 'em see all the horror that we saw! We'd make 'em bleed!” Junkrat cackled and squeezed his hand into a tight fist.
“Aww, come on!” Junkrat whined, hanging off Roadhog's arm and giving him his best pleading look, “Ya know you want to! Big guy like you loves a little chaos, settin' some fires, gettin' ta swing yer hook around and blow the load on that big gun whenever ya want! An... And as me bodyguard yer like me partner, 50/50 of all spoils, even me treasure!”
Roadhog turned his head to look down at him, head cocked as if he were thinking about it. Junkrat wriggled hopefully, grinning widely. “You. Don't. Have. Treasure.” Roadhog shook him off and lay back against the wall with a huff.
Junkrat's face fell, “I do though! I d-mmph!” Roadhog covered his face with one hand and shoved him into the dirt, pinning him there as he screamed and thrashed, banging his fists and heel on the ground. He went limp with a tired sigh, nose filled the smell of sweat, oil, and blood that clung to Roadhog's palm. Once his tantrum was done, Roadhog took his hand back, wiping drool off on his pants.
“Yer makin' a real mistake, mate,” Junkrat sighed, laying on his back to stare at the rusted, gnarled metal twisting above them.
The sun began to set and Junkrat found himself stuffed once more between Roadhog's thighs, muscled arms on either end of him as he started his motorcycle and started to drive. If they hadn't been riding towards Junkrat's inevitable death, he might have enjoyed the heat of him, the sheer size of him. Junkrat had never seen a bigger man before, the Outback made everyone rangy and skinny, but not Roadhog. He was thick.
He was also extremely silent. Junkrat was no stranger to people not responding to him when he chattered, but this was ridiculous. Since he wasn't going to throw himself off the bike again, what would be the point, Junkrat talked... and talked... and talked. Nerves made his fingers tingle and his toes curl in his boot. A part of Junkertown he'd never been to was growing on the horizon, and Roadhog was roaring right towards it.
That was fine, no doubt once he was handed over Roadhog would take his money and go, and Junkrat could handle anyone else. At least, that was what he told himself to keep from panicking.
“Phwoa, this place is fancy,” Junkrat said, leaning forward as the buildings started to come into focus. Some of them were even four stories tall! He saw not a single broken window, no graffiti, and there were more cars and bikes in one place than he'd ever seen in his entire life. Junkrat's brow furrowed, what part of Junkertown was this? Roadhog let off the throttle as they coasted into the middle of town, pulling to a stop before the biggest, nicest building Junkrat had ever seen. How did they get it to be four stories tall without collapsing in on itself? If he didn't know better, he might think it was built from new, not scavenged, materials... but that was ridiculous, if you could build something new why would you do it in Junkertown?
“Mate,” Junkrat twisted in his seat to grab Roadhog's vest, “Mate it's not too late ta take me up on my offer! 50/50! You an' I traversin' th' world, takin' what we wants!” He refused to believe that his voice cracked with desperation, but it certainly cracked with something. There was probably sand in his throat.
“Shut up,” said Roadhog.
“Mate-Hoggy-mmph!” a dirty cloth was stuffed into his mouth and tied, muffling his words. Roadhog picked him up again, carrying him through the front door which was opened by a goon wearing sunglasses. Oh yeah, there was an Old Timer in here somewhere who wanted what he had real bad. A Junker Suit. Junkrat ground his teeth into the cloth, drool dripping down his chin and soaking into the dirty rag. If he could get this gag off...
Roadhog's breathing sounded harsh through his mask as he climbed the stairs, but he didn't slow or falter from floor one to four, even as he wheezed. Maybe he wore the mask for a reason. Junkrat could feel his teeth starting to grind as the cloth got thinner, tearing with each roll of his jaw. Just as they reached the door to the fourth floor he spat it out with a curse.
“Ya really don't have to do this, I can show ya me treasure!” Junkrat babbled desperately.
Roadhog let out an irritated grunt, shoving open the door and carrying Junkrat inside. It looked like they'd been transported outside of Junkertown completely. The floor was carpeted a rich blue that was so foreign it almost made Junkrat's eyes hurt just looking at it, and there was an old man in a suit—an actual suit!--sitting behind a heavy wooden desk. He was flanked on either side by two pairs of goons.
“Well it's about time.” The suit drawled, “I was starting to think I was paying you too much.”
“Had to track him down,” Roadhog grunted, dropping Junkrat into an empty chair which had leather straps hanging from it. “My money.”
“Yes, yes,” the suit waved his hand and one of the goons bent down to grab a suitcase, “but I have a proposition for you... you stick around and help and I'll double this amount... and I have a piece of land that I think will interest you very much.”
Junkrat wasn't so good at reading body language, but even he could tell how stiff Roadhog had gone behind him. “Wazzat mean?” he asked, twisting to look up at Roadhog, “wot's going on?”
“You think you can't handle him?” Roadhog growled after a moment of tense silence, “You dare to hold what I already own-”
“I'm afraid any ownership you once had is long gone,” said the suit with a cold smile, “but it doesn't have to stay that way.”
One of Roadhog's hands curled around his head and squeezed, “Shut. Up.” he snarled.
Junkrat yelped, thrashing in the chair as he tried to pry Roadhog's fat fingers off of him. He felt as if his eyes were going to pop right out of his skull! All at once he was let go, slouching down in the seat with a pained whimper, “That was cold, mate,” he said petulantly.
“Honestly, Roadhog, I think you have a personal investment in these proceedings anyway,” said the suit smoothly, “for old times sake, friend, and for more money than you know what to do with... you do charge an awful lot.”
“I'm no one's friend,” Roadhog growled, his voice almost seemed to tremble with rage behind his mask and Junkrat shifted away from him in the chair for fear of getting his head cracked open just by the bad fortune of sitting so close to those fists. “I'll stay,” he grunted, “for the money... and my land.”
“H-had a good talk, didn't ya, lads?” said Junkrat with a nervous titter, “all made up an' stuff. Beautiful, brings a tear to me eye. Can I go now?”
“Roadhog, break his arm,” said the suit smoothly.
“Waitwaitwaitwait!” Junkrat screeched as one hand curled around his arm and started to squeeze, “Ya didn't even ask me anythin'!”
“Just a warm up,” quipped the suit.
“Mate, don't!” he looked up into the mask, but saw nothing. Roadhog squeezed and Junkrat keened between pursed lips as his forearm snapped like a twig. He slammed his heel and peg on the floor, tears springing into the corners of his eyes with the pain, but he refused to scream.
“I just want to make it very clear that I'm not playing with you, Mr. Fawkes. Tell me the location of your treasure... or you're going to find out in how many different places an arm can break.”
“I ain't got shit,” Junkrat spat, drool sliding down his chin as his head lolled against the back of the chair, bumping Roadhog's belly. He giggled weakly. “Maybe ya should have found that out before ya went through all the trouble of hiring the big g-”
“Squeeze,” the suit ordered.
Roadhog made a sound of disgust, but he squeezed and Junkrat finally screamed as his broken bones ground together with a sickening crunch even he could hear. He sobbed when Roadhog loosened his grip and that was almost worse. Junkrat tried to curl his fingers into a fist but they wouldn't respond, not even a twitch.
“Ya o-owe me another arm you CUNT!” Junkrat slurred.
“Tell me where the treasure is,” the suit reiterated calmly, hands tented over his desk. Junkrat wanted to bite each finger off and spit it in his old, wrinkled face. Ugly son of a bitch.
“I ain't got nothin'!” Junkrat repeated shrilly. He'd sawed off his own leg for that treasure, and he wasn't going to let it go for anything less than a premium price. The kinda price that could see him buying all of Australia. His first order as King Jamison Fawkes the First would be stuffing a grenade up this suit's asshole and pulling the pin.
“Oh, enough of this,” the suit sneered. He opened a drawer and pulled out four glowing balls which rolled gently over the wood as the suit corralled them into a line. Behind him, Junkrat heard Roadhog suck in a wheezing breath.
“I... I ain't knowin' what those are,” said Junkrat weakly, heart fluttering like a bird about to get its neck snapped. His little balls had been stolen or traded away in every corner of the Outback. How was it that this suit had all of them?
“For once,” said the suit dryly, “I believe you, Mr. Fawkes. You don't know what these are. Roadhog does, don't you?” Junkrat bristled at that slimy little smile thrown over his shoulder to Roadhog who was growling lowly just behind him.
“Destroyed,” Roadhog grunted.
“Yes, we thought so as well,” said the suit, picking up one of the balls between his thumb and forefinger to hold it up before his eye, “but our little rat friend here managed to sniff them out again and didn't keep his big mouth shut. Did you, rat? Told all your dirty little friends the second you got back, didn't you?”
“I didn't...” Junkrat swallowed, mouth going dry. How much did this guy know... and how?
“Save it, Mr. Fawkes,” said the suit curtly, gently setting the ball back down, “It's taken the last two years but I've pieced together your whole story. All I need to know is where you found the treasure. Tell me and you're free to go.”
“You broke my arm, you fuck!” Junkrat snapped, “Why would I tell ya anything at all... if I had anything ta tell?!”
“Because I will accept nothing less, and it's just a matter of how many working limbs you want to leave here with,” said the suit, and he sounded so fuckin' smug that Junkrat wanted to scream.
So he did.
Junkrat would have thrashed to really accentuate his yelling, but his broken arm was so painful he didn't even want to twitch. Screaming almost helped with the throbbing pain. Almost. The suit made a motion and Roadhog's hand, the smell now familiar, wrapped around his head and muffled the rest of his swearing. Roadhog squeezed again and Junkrat shut up with a pained yelp.
“How about we just let you stew overnight,” the suit said as soon as Roadhog removed his hand, “Roadhog, break all his fingers.”
“NonononoNONONO-AAAAAHHHGG YOU FUCKS!” Junkrat screeched loud enough to shatter glass as Roadhog snapped each of his fingers, one by one. As soon as it was over he slouched, kept from sliding out of the chair by Roadhog's hand on his shoulder. “You... you cunts,” Junkrat sobbed, rage and fear feeling like they were going to choke him. This suit knew too much and he didn't have any of his tools or bombs, and now his arm and fingers were all broken.
“If you're not ready to talk in the morning,” said the suit, standing up behind his desk and rolling the little balls back into their drawer, “then I'll have Roadhog break your leg. Boys, take him to his rooms and don't forget to take his...” the suit laughed derisively, “prosthetics if that's what you want to call that scrap.”
The goons grabbed him and forcibly unhooked his arm and leg before dragging him off. Thankfully they didn't bother to rip off his nerve hookups, which had long since healed into his body. Junkrat glanced at Roadhog, holding his arm and his leg in the palm of his hand.
No arms, one leg, his prosthetics gone, Junkrat lay on his back on the cot they'd tossed him on and stared at the ceiling. His broken arm rested on his chest, cradled carefully as if he could prevent it from hurting. There was no way Junkrat was going to be able to sleep, not with the pain and fear gnawing him up from the inside out. Wearily his eyes darted around, looking for anything he could use, but without his hand he couldn't see how he would use any potential weapons. Not that there were any. The room was completely bare aside from the metal cot, which was bolted into the floor. It had a thin mattress, but Junkrat giggled weakly at the thought of swinging that at anyone.
The silence reminded him of those claustrophobic nights in the Omnium, radiation rotting him away... but he'd survived that. Junkrat took a deep breath, wincing as it jostled his arm, he'd survive this.
Junkrat learns what his treasure actually is
Time crawled. Junkrat couldn't pace, he couldn't twist and turn, he could just lay down and stare at the fuckin' ceiling. He tried to get the clock to tick by picturing all the ways he was going to kill that suit. He'd blow him up, no, too fast, he'd chop off some of his limbs and see how well he handled it. No, he'd start with his fingers and work his way up.
The lock on his door clicked.
Junkrat jerked, then stilled with a hiss of pain as his arm throbbed. Fucking FUCKS he was going to make them pay, all of them! The door opened and Roadhog bent down to squeeze inside, looking far too big to be in Junkrat's little cell. He shut the door with a silent click and they were left together in the darkness.
“Waddya want, ya fat cunt?” Junkrat muttered, “here to break me leg early just for the fun of it?”
“Your treasure,” Roadhog said slowly.
“I ain't tellin' you shit either-” Junkrat snarled.
“That deal still on the table?”
Junkrat was shocked into silence. Had he made a deal with Roadhog? He furrowed his brow, trying to remember everything he'd said.
“50/50 to be your bodyguard,” Roadhog reminded him slowly.
“Shit job ya doing!” Junkrat snapped, taking his word for it, “you broke my arm! I thought that suit was paying you! What the fuck are ya doing down here with me?”
Roadhog walked to the edge of the cot and sat down, but he still towered over Junkrat, breath wheezing through his leather mask. “You don't know what you have.”
“We established that you fat fuck!” Junkrat yelled shrilly, “I ain't stupid are ya calling me s-mmph! Mggph mmmfff mmmphhh!” Junkrat screamed behind Roadhog's palm until the pain got too bad to continue. He fell silent with a moan, stars bursting over his vision. Roadhog removed his hand, looking down into Junkrat's face with that stupid unreadable mask.
“Men like that...” said Roadhog lowly, “can't have it. I know him, knew him...”
Roadhog talked like a man who hadn't strung together a full sentence in the last five years, like every word had to be carefully chosen. Junkrat kicked his foot slightly, the only squirming he could manage in his current position, “Yeah?” he muttered, not feeling particularly charitable, “well ya got shit friends, mate. Real cunts.”
“Mmm,” Roadhog seemed to hum agreement.
“So...” Junkrat shifted and whimpered, toes curling as fresh pain pinged around inside his skull, “Ya know what my treasure is. What is it? What's that fuck want with it?”
“Now isn't the time,” Roadhog growled, “is the offer on the table or not?”
“How do I know this ain't a trick?” Junkrat spat, “some suit game? You a suit in disguise, mate!?”
“We don't have time for this,” Roadhog got to his feet and for one horrifying second Junkrat thought he was going to leave, because as much as he didn't necessarily trust Roadhog, he also knew he didn't have many other chances.
“Mate, don't go I was just-”
Roadhog reached back and started to unclasp the gas mask. Junkrat's lips parted as he fell silent, no one had ever seen Roadhog without the mask! A big hand covered his eyes before he could see anything, and then the mask was over his face, blocking most of his vision. Junkrat took a deep breath, coughing at the smell. It was...thick... sweat, musk, leather and blood. Something clicked from the outside and then Roadhog's hydrogen canister was filling the mask. Junkrat took a deep breath and let it out in an excited titter as the pain was washed away, the bones in his arm and finger snapping back into place in seconds. If that shit really was hydrogen it was the strongest stuff Junkrat had ever seen because he was high as a goddamn kite with only one breath.
“Gimme more,” he slurred, trying to suck even more into his lungs. Roadhog removed the mask and Junkrat laughed at the ceiling, whole world spinning around him. By the time he remembered that he wanted to see what the fat fuck looked like without the pig mask, it was already securely strapped back onto his face. One hand curled under his torso and picked him up like he didn't weigh much of anything, and Junkrat was too fucked up to do more than laugh and drool on Roadhog's shoulder.
“Ya've got a tire on yer shoulder,” he giggled, reaching up to fumble against the spikes sticking out of his rubber pauldron, “mmm, nice spikes.”
Roadhog said nothing, predictably. He opened the door and ran out, breath huffing. Junkrat bounced on his shoulder, completely limp as he waited for that strong hydrogen to wear off. The place was completely silent, almost deserted. Junkrat idly wondered where all the goons were until they passed a pair laying on the floor with their necks snapped. Junkrat tittered at the sight and Roadhog gave him a warning squeeze.
“'M quiet,” he stage whispered, not quietly.
Roadhog opened another door, throwing Junkrat down in a chair hard enough to knock the breath out of his lungs. “If yer my bodyguard you gotta stop tossin' me around!” he complained, feeling some of his high dissipate.
“Shut up,” Roadhog said. He had Junkrat's prosthetics in his hands, kneeling down to click on the arm and leg, slapping away Junkrat's fumbling hand when he tried help.
“Where we goin'?” Junkrat asked, getting shakily to his feet once his leg was attached. He could feel that little ball rolling around inside, that special weight that meant no one had messed with his leg. “You ain't gonna turn on me, are ya?”
“You're the one paying me,” Roadhog grunted, as if that explained away him breaking Junkrat's arm. Though he did also heal it. Junkrat guessed that made them even?
It was a weird night, and he didn't have any other plans.
“Let's go,” said Roadhog, he sounded tense as he lead the way out of the room.
“Wait!” Junkrat grabbed him by the back of his overalls, refusing to wince as pig-face turned around to snarl at him. If he really was his bodyguard he wouldn't do anything to him, “He's got stuff what belongs to me! I want my balls back!”
Roadhog's massive hand darted between Junkrat's legs and squeezed hard enough to make him squeal, springing up on his toes as he tried to get away from the pain. “Looks like you still have 'em, if we leave now!”
“You fat piece of shit!” Junkrat yelled, nails digging furrows into Roadhog's skin as that pig mask pressed against his face.
“What was that?”
Roadhog looked away for only a second, but it was enough time for Junkrat to elbow him in the temple with his metal arm and scramble out of his grip as it went lax. Roadhog roared with rage just behind him but Junkrat was already running as fast as he could down the hallway, trying to remember where that suit's office had been. On the 4th floor; he remembered that much. Junkrat hurtled up the stairs, taking them three at a time as Roadhog huffed and swore at his heels. Every once in awhile Junkrat felt air brush by his neck as Roadhog nearly grabbed him. For a big guy he was deceptively fast when he wanted to be.
Junkrat's legs were still longer, and he was motivated in that he didn't want his neck snapped. He was starting to wheeze like Roadhog behind his mask by the time he jumped up the last step and slammed through the door. He shoved into each room, just barely staying ahead of Roadhog. Junkrat gasped for breath as he tumbled into the last room, tripping over his own foot and rolling to the floor to slam into the suit's big wooden desk.
“We're already here, mate!” he screeched as Roadhog came snarling into the room. If Junkrat could have seen his eyes he was sure they would have been full of murder. He scrambled over the top of the desk and dropped down right before a hand swiped over his head, ruffling his messy hair.
The only thing that saved him was the arrival of the goons who had probably been right behind Roadhog the whole way.
“What's going on?” one of them yelled, and Junkrat could hear the clicking of guns being cocked. Junkrat wasn't even sure they'd seen him, maybe they just thought Roadhog was running around crazy.
Junkrat started ripping open drawers, trying to find his stolen goods.
“The Rat escaped,” Roadhog rumbled, “I was running after him.”
The goons swore and Junkrat popped his head out from behind the desk, “Traitor!” he accused.
“GET DOWN!” Roadhog bellowed at him as bullets started whizzing around the room. Junkrat ducked as one of them took a chunk out of the desk in a spray of splinters. He heard a boom and screams from the goons, but Junkrat was distracted by ripping open another drawer and finding his balls rolling around.
He stuffed them into the pockets of his ratty shorts just as Roadhog's hand wrapped clean around his back to lift him off the ground and shove him face-to-face with a snarling, furious Roadhog. Junkrat grinned nervously, “Okay mate, we can skiv off now.”
“You're lucky I don't snap your skinny neck,” Roadhog growled.
“Yeah well, ya my bodyguard...?” said Junkrat a little uncertainly.
“If you ever do that again,” Roadhog whispered, “I'll break you in half.”
“That's fair!” Junkrat giggled nervously, “but it's all on you, Hoggy! How we gettin' out of here?”
A frustrated snarl and Junkrat was dropped onto the ground. He jumped to his feet, following Roadhog as he ran out the door. Junkrat touched the lumps in his pockets, grinning to know he'd gotten back what was his after all this time. If only he had his supplies he'd send this whole building sky high. As it were, he'd be happy enough just to get out in one piece. Roadhog made a sound of frustration ahead of him as he started down the stairs and found them crawling with men with guns.
“Stay behind me!” he ordered, and for once Junkrat felt no need to disobey.
Roadhog soaked up bullets like a sponge, and whenever it looked like he might slow he just unhooked a can of hydrogen and huffed it up, bullets falling from his body like metal rain. Junkrat was in awe of the sheer amount of damage he could do in the enclosed space of the stairwell, scrap gun knocking down dozens of men at a time. Junkrat peaked over the edge of the stairs, and two levels down something caught his eye. A goon sat squatting in the corner with an RPG on his shoulder, just waiting for Roadhog to get down to his level.
Junkrat wasn't so sure Roadhog could soak up a rocket. He didn't think, he did. Junkrat vaulted over the edge and went flying past Roadhog, flying past the goons. Above him Roadhog roared in frustration, no doubt thinking Junkrat was making a break for it. He barely caught himself on the railing in time to jump into the goon's shocked face. “Ta, mate!” he said cheerily, grabbing the barrel of the RPG and punching the guy in the face with his metal hand. Blood sprayed as he crushed his nose with his fist, yanking the weapon out of his lax hands. Junkrat twisted it to slam the butt into the guy's head again and again, ignoring his flailing arms until they went limp, his skull crushed. “Ha!” Junkrat spat, now with some real firepower...but he could have so much more.
“Get back here!” Roadhog yelled from one level up.
“I got this, mate!” Junkrat called back, carrying the RPG over his shoulder as he hurtled out of the stairwell onto the first level. Shockingly there wasn't a single guy down here, maybe they'd all ended up in the stairwell. Either way, that was fine for Junkrat. His peg tapped loudly on the ground as he ran to the front door where Roadhog's bike was still parked. There was a gas can strapped to the back which Junkrat took the liberty of grabbing and dragging back into the building. Roadhog was just getting out the door when Junkrat came back in.
“What do you think you're doing?” he growled.
Junkrat splashed gas all over one of the walls then dumped the container on the ground, “Makin' a little boom!” he said, hobbling to the front door, “give 'em something to think about!”
Roadhog grabbed him and started to drag him away, but Junkrat got the RPG up and with a giggle, fired just as they left the building. It wasn't his best explosion, but it blew out some of the windows and the second floor fell into the first as the supports were knocked down. Junkrat was tossed onto Roadhog's bike, sandwiched between his thighs as he revved the engine and they roared out of town, the building going up in flames behind them.
“He'll come after us,” said Roadhog shortly, voice just barely audible over the motorcycle and the wind.
“That's what yer for!” said Junkrat, relaxing against Roadhog's stomach. Easier to get comfortable when they were driving away from the guys after him. The blood on Roadhog's skin was starting to grow tacky, making them stick together unpleasantly as the sun rose behind them. Junkrat, who hadn't been able to sleep all night, ended up passing out against Hog's chest, his drool mixing with the dried blood. It wasn't that he completely trusted Roadhog, it was that he knew he didn't have much of a say in anything right now so why worry about it?
He woke up to being shoved in the dirt, “Oy!” he complained, pushing himself onto his arms as he squinted up at Roadhog who was slipping off the bike. “What have I said about tossin' me around!”
“I don't care,” Roadhog said, sitting down in the shade of the top half of a skyscraper.
“Hey! We was here yesterday!” said Junkrat, finally recognizing where they were.
“Goin' to The Junkyard,” Roadhog grunted, hands clasped over his stomach, “need a sidecar, you need weapons.”
“Good thinkin'!” Junkrat crowed, scrambling up to just drop down next to Roadhog and beam up at him. Having someone traveling with him was so novel. Junkrat had never had another human stick around him more than a few hours at a time, and now he had someone to talk to besides himself! “So I'm thinkin,” he said, crossing his hands behind his head, “I get set up with supplies, we get a sidecar, then we head out of here. Blow this fuckin' joint!”
“Mm,” Roadhog replied.
“A bank robbin' should be our first thing,” Junkrat continued, “D'ya know how to rob a bank? Can't be any harder than robbing a Scrap Dealer's joint, yeah? Mate, you an' I we're gonna take the whole fuckin' world for ourselves!”
“We won't get out.”
“I- wait, wot?” Junkrat sat up on his elbows, narrowing his eyes.
“The most dangerous man in Junkertown is after your treasure.”
“Pft,” Junkrat flopped back down, “nah mate, you're the most dangerous man in Junkertown and we're partners. So unless you're planning on double crossin' me, we ain't got shit to worry about.”
“We have to kill him,” said Roadhog stubbornly.
“I mean I ain't gonna argue with that but fuck you I ain't gonna go back there,” said Junkrat. He paused and then sat up, wriggling between Roadhog's arm and side so he could pop up and get in his face. Personal space was a foreign concept. “By the by, Roadie, what the fuck does he want with me treasure?!”
“Later,” said Roadhog.
“Fuck off you cunt!” Junkrat yelled, “Later my ass-HRGK!” Roadhog's hand wrapped around his throat and squeezed.
“Knock it off.”
When the hand left his neck Junkrat pushed away, getting out of arms-reach as quickly as possible, “Bastard,” he muttered, rubbing his neck, “I deserve ta know!”
“You'll just forget anyway.”
“I won't!” said Junkrat, offended, “I don't forget everything! Just unimportant things!”
“You forgot you offered to hire me,” said Roadhog, turning to look at him.
“Forgive a bloke fer thinkin' the guy breakin' his arm ain't on the body-guarding up-an'-up,” Junkrat grumbled.
Roadhog grunted as if in acquiescence, but he didn't offer any information.
“Foine,” said Junkrat, reaching into his pocket to pull out one of the balls and hold it up, “at least tell me what these things are. Are they really valuable?”
Roadhog reached over to him and Junkrat winced, prepared to have his neck grabbed again, but he just gently plucked the ball up to hold it between his thumb and his forefinger. It looked like a marble in his hands. “Very valuable,” said Roadhog lowly, the glow reflecting off the glass of his eyepieces and making it look like he was glowing blue from the inside, “more than you know.”
“Yeah mate, we've established wot I don't know,” said Junkrat, exasperated, “fill me in.”
“They're omnic hearts.”
“They're fuckin' wot?!” Junkrat blanched, feeling like he might throw up. That was disgusting! He quickly removed the balls from his pockets to let them roll into the dirt. They certainly didn't look like hearts, they didn't beat, they weren't warm... still... gross.
Roadhog laughed under his breath, plucking up each ball to hold all four in his fist, “You know how an omnic works?”
“No! You callin' me an omnic-lover?!” Junkrat bristled, “Like I care how some scrap heaps-”
“Shut up. You want an answer or not?”
Junkrat grumbled, but ultimately fell silent.
“It takes a lot of energy to run a sentient machine,” said Roadhog, “omnics run on nuclear energy, they need it... but it made them dangerous. A broken omnic was as bad as letting someone run into the core of a reactor.”
“The only good omnic is a broken omnic,” Junkrat muttered stubbornly.
Roadhog continued as if he hadn't heard him, “so omnic scientists came up with a solution. These. The gas inside them feeds on and produces energy from nuclear energy without the same effects. Now omnics, even if broken, wouldn't pose a danger to humans. Like a human heart, they cycle energy through an omnic's body.”
“Gross,” reiterated Junkrat, sticking his tongue out.
“They're exceptionally stable,” Roadhog said, “but under the right circumstances...” he let out a world-weary huff, dropping the balls back into the dirt beside Junkrat's thigh. “Regardless, if you found the right buyer, you'd have more money than you'd know what to do with.”
“We will have more money than we know what to do with!” Junkrat corrected eagerly, his disgust had faded in light of knowing they had value. Nothing was quite as gross if you could get money out of it. He slipped two of them back into his pocket, paused when he grabbed the other two, and nudged them at Roadhog. “Take 'em, mate. 50/50, right? Starts now.”
Roadhog cocked his head, and for a second Junkrat thought he wouldn't take them. After a moment his hand closed around them and slipped them into the pockets of his overalls. Junkrat beamed, now Roadie couldn't say he hadn't gotten paid! He curled up beside Roadhog's thigh, closing his eyes to nap through the hottest part of the day with his brand new bodyguard and partner breathing loudly beside him.
Halfway to The Junkard, the bike ran out of gas.
“You push it,” Roadhog growled, shoving Junkrat off before he got off after him, massive boots kicking up a cloud of dust right in his face. “You're the fuckin' idiot that wasted all my gas.”
“An explosion is never a waste!” Junkrat said, getting to his feet. “How the fuck do ya expect me to push this bike anywhere? It's fuckin' huge! It'd have to be to lug your fat ass around the desert!” Junkrat yelped as Roadhog cuffed him upside the head hard enough to knock him clean off his feet and into the dirt again.
Before he could get to his own feet, Roadhog lifted him up so they were face-to-face as he snarled, “You push this bike or I knock your head off, Rat!”
“Lousy bodyguard!” Junkrat yelled, “Ya bloody drongo!”
He still ended up pushing the bike, swearing his head off. Junkrat curled his fingers around the wide handlebars, thankful he had such long limbs, and strained to get the bike rolling over the uneven desert floor. Junkrat's foot slipped over the sand, and his prosthetics were starting to chafe something awful. Inch by inch, the bike rolled in the direction of The Junkyard, no more than a distant blur.
“Roadie!” he whined, dripping with sweat after a few hours, arms and legs trembling so bad he thought he'd collapse.
Roadhog shoved him, “Maybe now you'll think twice before blowing up my gas supply!”
His sweaty hand slipped and Junkrat yelped as the bike tipped. Oh God, this was how he was ended, crushed to a pulp under this bike. It was caught at the last minute by Roadhog's hand, but Junkrat went down anyway, collapsing quite dramatically with a loud groan of pain.
“Leave me here, mate!” he wailed, throwing his arm over his eyes, “Go on without me, Hoggy!”
“Oh shut up,” Roadhog huffed.
Junkrat was lifted onto the bike and laid out over the seat, letting Roadhog continue to push the bike at a much sharper pace. Which was fortune as Junkrat realized there were clouds gathering on the horizon. He sat up with a jerk, legs crossed on the seat, “Faster, Roadie!”
Roadhog grunted, “We're fine.”
But the clouds rolled ever closer, and The Junkyard seemed no closer.
“RoadieRoadieRoadieRoadie!” Junkrat stood on the seat of the bike, holding onto Hog with one arm while the other pointed at the broiling black storm clouds.
“Shut. UP!” Roadhog snapped.
“Leave the bike, we have to run!” Junkrat made to jump off the bike but Roadhog grabbed him and pinned him against the seat.
“We are not leaving my bike! Now sit down and stop slowing me down!”
“RRRGGHHH!” Junkrat let out a wordless scream of frustration, teeth clenched so tightly his head ached. What was he paying this idiot for?!
They rolled into The Junkyard as the wind began to pick up, and when Junkrat turned around he could see rain darkening the sand behind them. Roadhog didn't speed up, he just pushed the bike on through piles of scrap at the same steady speed he'd always used. There was a shack made of corrugated metal squatting between four mountains of scrap, and Roadhog rolled his bike in just as Junkrat heard the roar of the storm hit them.
Roadhog slid a sheet of metal over the opening and they were plunged into darkness, rain pounding onto the metal as if trying to find ways to get to them. Junkrat curled up in the middle of the floor, shivering as the temperature dipped and the humidity spiked. “C-cutting it close y-ya cunt!” Junkrat said past chattering teeth. He missed his hole, the holes were warm with his own body heat and the dirt muffled the sound of rain.
This shack was freezing, the rain roaring.
Roadhog sat down beside him, leaning back on his arms, “Stop whining.”
“You stop whining,” Junkrat muttered petulantly, wrapping his arms around his skinny body to try and save some precious heat. “If yer conversational skills weren't so great I'd of fired ya by now.”
“Only been a day.”
“Yeah, that's what a lousy bodyguard ya are!” snapped Junkrat.
Roadhog sighed. Hands gathered Junkrat up and he found himself laying across Roadhog's lap, back in the crook of one arm. Roadhog was warm, as if a fire burned inside his belly. Junkrat tittered softly to himself as he reached up to touch the faded tattoo on his stomach, perhaps there really was. He rest his cheek against Roadhog's stomach, letting it muffle the sound of rain.
He'd fallen asleep in worse places.
Junkrat and Roadhog get to know each other a little better in The Junkyard
Junkrat woke up alone. He stretched and yawned loudly, back popping and joints cracking. At first he wondered if Roadhog had taken off, but his bike was still sitting in the shack and even Junkrat wasn't so paranoid as to think Hoggy would take off without it. Besides, he could hear a hammer banging metal in the distance.
Heat from the day was already starting to suffuse the shack, which just filled Junkrat with an excited energy, like electricity thrumming through wires. He slammed out of the shack like a bullet from a gun, hooting and hollering as he loped and jumped in the direction of the noises. The rain had dried up, the sky was clear, and he had a bodyguard! For the first time in two years he could sit and tinker without having to look over his shoulder, and hey, without having to worry about fitting everything into a backpack!
Junkrat giggled and danced, peg kicking up dust in his excitement. “Good mornin' Hoggy!” Junkrat crowed, grinning when his sudden appearance had Roadhog pointing his scrap gun in his face. “Ha! Excellent reflexes! Top of the line bodyguard I got right here!”
Roadhog let out an annoyed grunt, putting the gun back in its holster before bending over the pile of scrap before him. He was slowly shaping it into a sidecar, but right now it was barely even a skeleton of an idea. Junkrat threw himself onto the ground with a laugh, lining himself up against the metal Roadhog was working with. “Mate, I know I'm smaller than you but make sure I can fit in all me limbs!”
“You only have two,” Roadhog growled.
“True!” Junkrat howled with laughter, bounding to his feet and into the piles of scrap. He was going to use his time here wisely, he was going to load up and he was never going to be defenseless again. The Junkyard was almost a comforting place for Junkrat, and he managed to bounce his way to the crater that had once been his hole in hopes of finding some surviving stuff. He should have known better, his entire backpack was nothing more than canvas scraps scattered about the dirt. Junkrat would have to find a bag.
Ah, he was getting distracted. He always made sure that no matter where he wandered he could hear Roadhog's work in the distance. He found a ratty old tarp under a pile of crap and tugged it free, throwing everything he could use onto it to drag through the The Junkyard. Wires, shrapnel, gas, acid, chemical waste, tools, anything and everything he thought he could make into something with a bit of a boom. He even found a leather bag with a canteen on it which wasn't a big as his backpack, but it would hold some stuff.
By the time he was heading back towards Roadhog the tarp was so heavy he was grunting and swearing as he tugged it over the uneven ground, peg slipping and tripping over scrap the whole way. Roadhog briefly looked up as Junkrat showed up, sweating and wheezing as he threw himself onto the ground beside his new toys.
“Lookit what I found!” he crowed, grinning over at Roadhog who was banging rivets into the sheet metal now.
Roadhog grunted and got back to work.
“Pft, ta hell with ya, ya drongo,” Junkrat said, waving his hand dismissively at Roadhog.
Junkrat spread out beside the tarp, happily humming to himself as he sorted out his stuff. He'd grabbed all kinds of things, even things he may not see as a bomb. For example, he'd found the carcass of what had once been some kind of gun. Granted it was nothing more than the butt, but it had given Junkrat an idea. He rolled onto his belly as he started to grab pipes and canisters and nuts and bolts, using a saw to cut up what he needed smaller, and an ancient welding gun to force parts together. Junkrat chewed his bottom lip as he scraped grooves into metal so his grenade launcher, for obviously why would he shoot anything else, could be taken apart for cleaning or storage.
He loved tinkering, loved how it calmed and silenced his constantly busy brain. When Junkrat was clicking things together he was happy. Roadhog had banged the sidecar into a definite shape by the time Junkrat had nearly finished the body of his launcher, and he'd even started riveting in a sort of seat for him. How kind. In the distance more clouds gathered for another storm. That's how the acid rains were, you got several sweeping through and then nothing for months. Junkrat wrapped up his tarp of scrap, grabbing a few key pieces to tinker with in the shed, and then covered everything with sheet metal to keep dry. Roadhog had started to do the same with the sidecar.
“You were silent all day,” said Roadhog as they walked back to the corrugated shed, “who would have thought.”
“Hey!” Junkrat snapped, then cackled, “Don't get used to it, Hoggy!”
Roadhog took a seat in the shed and Junkrat moved the sheet metal over the front. He didn't wait before he tossed himself sideways over Roadhog's lap, lounging as he continued to work on his launcher. The rain started not too long after, pounding on the roof. Junkrat had his tools laid out over his belly, starting to work on some of the small fiddly pieces that would make the launcher actually work. He hummed and murmured to himself, too quietly to probably even be heard over the roar of the rain.
“We were mates.”
Junkrat fumbled with his little screwdriver, “Wot?” Did Roadhog just talk to him or was he starting to hear things?
“The... suit... and I,” and Junkrat could feel the growl of Roadhog's voice in the air that told him this was no hallucination. “We were mates.”
Junkrat shoved his supplies off his stomach, mouth parted with fascination. Roadhog was telling him a thing! Completely without being bugged about it! Junkrat opened his mouth to yell something but Roadhog looked down at him and he snapped his mouth shut, then bit into his fist for good measure. That tilt of Hog's head, that told him that this story would stop the second he made a sound.
“Before the explosion but after the Omnium, I was a member of the A.L.F.” Roadhog paused here as if he expected a reaction from Junkrat, but Junkrat had no idea what the Ay-el-eff was so he just stared up at Roadhog with wide eyes. “That suit was one of the members too,” Roadhog continued when Junkrat didn't do or say anything.
Junkrat bit down on his hand so hard he tasted blood, because he wanted to ask what Roadhog was talking about, wanted to ask what kinda mates they'd been, wanted to ask- Roadhog grunted above him, fingers curling around Junkrat's wrist to tug his hand out of his mouth. “So what happened?” Junkrat blurted out the second he wasn't biting into anything. He winced but Hoggy didn't seem too angry, ah hell, Junkrat just couldn't read the mask!
“The Omnium exploded.”
“Yeah it did!” Junkrat cackled, “Blew all them Omnic fucks right out, ey Hoggy?”
Roadhog snarled and Junkrat quickly snapped his mouth shut with a wince. Oops.
“That explosion destroyed our home! Aren't you even angry about that?” Roadhog sounded pissed that was for sure, and Junkrat had heard Roadhog angry more than he'd heard him be anything else. “I was a proud member of the A.L.F. but it was their idiocy that destroyed everything we even stood for! Your whole family is dead because of us! You grew up eating dirt, look at you!” Roadhog wrapped his hand around Junkrat's throat, but surprisingly he didn't squeeze, he just held it there, forcing Junkrat to stare into his glassy eyes, “Why. Aren't. You. Mad?!”
Junkrat swallowed hard, feeling his Adam's apple bob against Hoggy's palm, “R-Roadie, mate,” said Junkrat, mouth a little dry, “Oi didn't lose shit, yeah? I ain't knowin' no parents or home, th-this is all I know. Dunno wot ya want me ta get mad about.”
“You don't care that it could have been different?” Roadhog asked, hand flexing lightly around Junkrat's neck.
“Heh,” Junkrat grinned shakily, aware that his head could get popped off in a second, “Who says it woulda been, mate? Life is wot it is, ya either survive the day or ya don't. S'not complicated, Roadie.”
Roadhog was silent for so long that Junkrat was starting to fear he'd really done it this time. Instead of breaking his neck Roadhog finally just sighed, hand moving from Junkrat's throat to just splay over his chest, “Well I did lose everything I'd fought for. All because the A.L.F. had gotten greedy. We'd thought if we could find the supply of hearts we could make a weapon, a...” Roadhog grunted as he searched for the word, “a pulse that would only target Omnics, using the power of their own hearts...but that suit pushed them to move too fast, mess with shit they didn't understand... the blame lies on his shoulders!”
Junkrat shivered at the pure hatred that dripped from Roadhog's voice, he was surprised he couldn't physically see it leaking from the seams of his mask. “So that... that suit,” Junkrat fumbled, trying to make sense of everything he'd heard, “he's th' reason... everythin' went ta shit? Why's he still want me treasure anyway?”
“Same reason,” said Roadhog, “as a weapon against Omnics, he never gave up the fight. A lot of people didn't. If we all didn't think the Hearts were destroyed... well... they might have been digging for them all this time.”
“Scrap heaps,” Junkrat muttered automatically. “Well he can't have me fuckin' treasure! Even if he were gonna use it for such a perfectly noble purpose! Ain't nobody stealing from ol' Junkrat and Roadhog, aye?” Junkrat looked up hopefully, gripping Roadhog's hand in both of his.
“No,” Roadhog growled lowly.
“We kill 'im, yeah? Blow that suited cunt into pieces?” Junkrat said eagerly, enjoying what seemed to be Roadhog's approval. “We ain't goin' back but he'll come to us, they always do!”
“Gotta lure him out,” said Roadhog, his hand sliding dryly back up Junkrat's body to cup the back of his head, thumb brushing over his scalp with a delightful amount of pressure. Junkrat nearly purred at the touch, as starved as he was for some small kindness. It was almost a novelty to be touched like this.
“Mmm, yeah,” Junkrat groaned happily, melting over Roadhog's lap.
“I know how, where we need to go,” Roadie continued, but by this point Junkrat wasn't really listening to him, his priorities had switched to the feeling of that hand on the back of his head. People didn't treat Junkrat kindly, and Junkrat didn't hold that against them. Hell, he weren't exactly the gentle type himself, but maybe he should be because he rather liked his scalp getting rubbed instead of squeezed until it felt like it would pop.
Roadhog kept talking but Junkrat tuned him out, happily bumping his head up into that touch as blunt nails scratched over his skin and ruffled his already messy hair. When they stopped and pulled away his head flopped back against Roadhog's thigh with a shocked grunt. “Hey! Why'd you stop?” he pouted, reaching up to grab Roadhog's hand to try and urge it back down.
“Were you even listening to me? You bug me to tell you this stuff and then you don't even pay attention when I do?” Hoggy growled.
“Nah, nah I got it,” Junkrat assured him, “we're gonna kill the suit and then steal everything the world owes us!” He grinned and set Roadhog's palm on his head, hoping he'd get the idea from there.
“Okay, where are we luring him?” asked Roadhog, hand stubbornly refusing to move, much to Junkrat's dismay.
“Er...” that wasn't a fair question, had Roadhog even mention a specific place?
Roadhog snorted, “That's what I thought,” he removed his hand, leaning back on his palms. “Go to sleep, Rat.”
“Cunt,” Junkrat muttered mutinously, feeling like his whole body had blue balls. He tucked his hands between his knees as he scrunched up between Roadhog's legs, head pillowed on his thigh as he soaked in his heat. He'd liked that touch, a lot. A lot a lot. Had Roadie been doing it on purpose? Or was it just an idle motion for a man in thought? Junkrat was usually pretty shameless about his wants, no matter how nasty or frowned upon, but he thought discretion was best here. For now. After all, he was Roadie's boss, it wouldn't do to abuse the clear power he held over him. Junkrat didn't want to lose what he'd just gained, and if that took patience then... by God he'd find some. Somewhere.
As yesterday, Junkrat woke up alone in the shed. However this time the bike was gone. He shot up, head spinning and brain only half awake, “Roadie?” he croaked, rubbing crust out of his eyes and drool off his cheek.
Junkrat felt a rush of panic, choking him better than any hand around his neck. He scrambled to his feet, stumbling out into the hot morning, “ROADIE!?” he yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth. He was gone! He'd abandoned Junkrat and ran off! No treasure, no riches, were preferable to his company! Junkrat wrapped his hands around his neck as he let out a strangled groan. Shit shit shit! He'd fucked up last night! He should have listened, shouldn't have let himself get distracted!
“Roadie answer me, you fat cunt!” Junkrat screamed, starting to lope around the The Junkyard, hoping for some sign of his vanished bodyguard. He rounded a tight corner between piles scrap and slammed into what felt like a brick wall, crashing into the dirt with a cry.
“What is your problem?” Roadhog growled, towering above him with one hand resting on his hook.
“Roadie!” Junkrat gasped, pushing himself up to run his palms along Roadhog's belly, just feeling how here he still was.
“You thought I left,” said Roadhog, it was less a question and more of an observation.
Junkrat bristled, jerking his hands back, “No!” he snapped, punching Roadhog in the gut, “but ya don't get ta run off without- ACK!” One hand had grabbed him by his flesh arm and lifted him off the ground.
“You hit me one more time I tear you in half,” Roadhog snarled, “show some respect!”
“I-I got lotsa respect for ya!” Junkrat tittered. He was dumped into the dirt with a grunt, dust puffing up around him as he rubbed his aching shoulder.
“C'mere,” said Roadhog, voice completely low and even once more. He waved his hand indicating Junkrat should follow him, then walked off without looking back to see if he had.
Junkrat bounced to his feet, already forgetting Roadhog's anger and happily chattering along behind him, “Yer an early riser, huh? Always gone before I'm up! Never much been a fan of the dawn, night is so much better. What do you think? You probably like the shitting sunrise, ey Hoggy? Get all fuckin' teary-eyed-”
“Shut. Up.” Roadhog grit out, fingers trailing along the wicked curve of his hook.
“Ain't nothin' wrong with it!” Junkrat assured him, holding his hands up, “Always been fond of the moon meself! Sometimes it's so bright! I noticed it changes shapes, how does it do that?”
“I always- wait, what?” Junkrat stopped in his tracks, looking at Roadhog as if he'd grown a second head. Had he just... answered his question? With a real answer? “What's a phase?” Junkrat asked, jogging to catch up to Roadhog and jostle up beside him. Roadhog probably knew all kinds of things, he was from the Before Time, after all.
Roadhog let out a rattling sigh from behind his mask, “It has to do with how the sun hits the moon over the month. Now shut up and look.” Hoggy grabbed him by the hair and forced him to look at where he'd been working on the sidecar yesterday. The big bike was sittin' pretty with two new tanks of gas strapped to the back, and that cobbled together sidecar hooked up to it.
“Hooley Dooley!” Junkrat whistled, “Ain't she a real beaut! Like she belongs there! Kinda plain though.” He bound forward, walking around the bike and sidecar, trying to jump into the sidecar and bruising his hip with a curse, stuffing himself down inside it with a shrill laugh. It wasn't so bad! “I like it!” grinned, giving Roadhog a thumbs up.
To his delight, Roadhog gave him one in return.
“Finish what you need to finish,” said Roadhog, “tomorrow morning we're leaving.”
“Aye aye, Cap'n!” Junkrat tittered, giving Roadhog a sloppy salute.
He finished his grenade launcher while Roadhog tuned up his bike, hands stroking lovingly over the frame, chassis, and engine. Junkrat almost felt jealous, Roadhog had touched him like that last night and he was greedy for more. How did you ask someone to touch you like they touched their bike? He surreptitiously glanced up now and again while working on a new bunch of grenades and concussion mines. Doing so almost had him blowing his other arm off.
“Oops!” He cackled as his shaking hands nearly crossed the wrong wires.
“Watch what you're doing, you maniac,” Roadhog growled.
“Oy, you leave bombs to me,” Junkrat complained, “I don't tell ya how to properly jerk off yer bike, do I?”
He almost expected Roadhog to walk over and hit him for that, but he just snorted and bent back over the engine. Junkrat beamed, he liked getting Roadhog to make that sound. It was a good sound. He hummed nonsense as he worked, losing himself to it as the hottest part of the day began and they sweat bullets while working under cobbled together shade.
“Where we goin' tomorrow mornin' anyway?” Junkrat asked, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration as he poured some gunpowder into the shell of what would soon be a grenade.
“You'd know if you'd paid attention to me last night,” said Roadhog, he was now working on the front tire, tightening bolts to stop that wiggle Junkrat had taken advantage of a few days ago.
Junkrat rubbed his forehead against his arm, clearing away sweat before he started putting the grenade together. These could always be a little... touchy. “Tha's not bein' fair,” he complained, taking his hand off his delicate work as tremors wracked his body. He quickly went back to work as soon as they stopped, “Ya can't expect me to hear everythin'! I got bad hearin', mate!”
“Bad attention span, bad brain, bad-”
“Don't be a complete wanker!” Junkrat said shrilly.
Which made Roadhog laugh, a deep booming laugh underlined by the scratchy, gravely nature of his voice. Junkrat flushed to hear it, forgetting what he was supposed to be offended by. “Roadie-” Junkrat started, when all of a sudden Roadhog went tense, head swiviling away from Junkrat to something only he could see. Or hear.
“What?” Junkrat asked nervously, sitting up after screwing together his current grenade completely, “Whatcha-”
“Shh!” Roadhog shushed him and for once Junkrat listened, shifting silently onto his knees and then his toe, ready to bolt. He couldn't hear anything, but Roadhog could. They couldn't be alone anymore. Junkrat scooped up his things as Roadhog got to his feet, scrap gun and hook in each hand.
“Gather everything you've got, we're leaving now,” Roadhog whispered behind the mask.
Junkrat nodded, he didn't trust his ability to whisper to Roadhog's probably high standards. He dumped his stuff into the sidecar, but kept his launcher and some refills in the bag on his hip. He weren't defenseless no more.
“We know you're here, fatass!” came a voice from just beyond their pile of scrap.
“Here piggy piggy piggy!” came another.
Junkrat saw red, hand tightening on his grenade launcher as he vaulted out of the sidecar, “OY WHO YOU CALLIN' FAT!” he screamed.
“You IDIOT!” Roadhog roared as bullets started to whiz around them, blasting into the dirt and pinging off scrap all around them. Junkrat yelped as he was grabbed by the scruff of his neck and tossed headfirst into his sidecar while Roadhog jumped on his bike.
“KILL ROADHOG!” Junkrat heard someone scream over the sudden roar of Roadhog's bike starting, “THE RAT HE NEEDS ALIVE!”
“Catch us if you can, wankers!” Junkrat screamed, twisting in his seat just in time to see four men round the pile of scrap, guns firing as the bike screamed forward. Time to see if this launcher worked! Cackling like a madman, Junkrat fired: once, twice, three times. Three grenades hit the ground, but instead of exploding they bounced in all directions, exploding the ground, throwing up piles of scrap, sending shrapnel in every direction. It made it impossible to know if he'd directly hit anyone, but he knew they couldn't be catching Hog on his bike with that mess to deal with!
“AHEAD!” Roadhog roared like thunder.
Junkrat whipped around, screeching to see the impromptu barrier that had been set up. Junkrat reached between his legs to grab one of the concussion mines rattling about the floor of his sidecar, whipping it like a frisbee ahead of them and hitting the detonator just in time so they merely passed through an explosion rather than crashing into a wall of junk. Junkers cursed, some of them hopping on bikes of their own to follow them as they rode into the desert.
“Kill all but one!” Roadhog ordered over the sound of the wind and the snarling of many old engines.
“Oi can do that!” Junkrat cackled, salivating slightly as the wind whipped into his face. He pulled out another concussion mine and then aimed his launcher one handed; he didn't have to be accurate, but he did only have two shots left in this magazine. POP POP! He fired into the largest gathering of motorbikes, grenades bouncing between wheels and spokes until someone hit them. The explosion had Junkrat at half-mast with a squeal of delight, bikes and body parts flying into the air among a backdrop of fire and blood.
He shuddered, eyes darting from the carnage, reluctantly, to one of the bikes that was getting a little too close for comfort. Roadhog already had a couple of sluggishly bleeding bullet holes and Junkrat didn't think he needed anymore. He chucked the concussion mine as hard as he could in front of the bike coming at them. The guy swerved around it with a sneer as Junkrat detonated it. Of course, the nice thing about concussion mines is that you didn't necessarily have to be on top of them for them to work. Junkrat hooted as the Junker and his bike flew into the air. He may not have been blasted into pieces, but once he hit the ground with a crunch, he wouldn't be getting back up regardless.
The rest of the bikes had moved to the other side of Roadhog, as far away from Junkrat's sidecar as possible. He bared his teeth in a feral snarl, standing up as wind whipped his hair and shorts. Junkrat fumbled inside the bag at his hip, pulling out grenades to re-load his launcher as quickly as possible. He couldn't fire from this angle, which was what the Junkers were counting on... but Junkrat wasn't going to be confined to this car.
Holding his launcher in one hand, he grabbed Roadhog with the other, placing his foot on the seat of the bike to haul himself up with a laugh. The Junkers looked shocked as Junkrat seemed to pop up out of nowhere, launcher firing into them and sowing delightful chaos.
“I said leave one alive!” Roadhog snapped as bikes and bodies went flying.
“There's one!” Junkrat yelled, pointing to one guy who was crawling away from the wreckage, bleeding from a head wound but otherwise looking pretty chipper for having been caught in an explosion. Roadhog wrenched the bike around so quickly that Junkrat nearly fell off, but he managed to wrap both arms around Hoggy's neck and cling. Dust billowed all around them as Roadhog roared through the desert, his hook swinging menacingly as he lined up his shot. Junkrat ground himself against Roadhog's back without thinking about it, a bit of drool dripping from between his lips to fly off his cheek in the strong and dusty wind. He was so goddamn hard it almost hurt, blood thrumming with death, destruction, and pure unadulterated need. The hook shot out and Junkrat whimpered as he watched the Junker's body fly into the air as Roadhog gave him a massive tug as he rode by.
“Get back in your sidecar!” Roadhog growled, “before you fall off!”
Now...that was easier said than done. Junkrat tightened his grip on Roadhog, slowly trying to lower his peg back into the- Roadhog hit a bump and Junkrat's foot slipped off the seat completely. He yelped and scrambled at Roadhog, hands grabbing at his mask, his shoulders, anything! Roadhog snarled, bike swerving and hitting another bump that sent Junkrat crashing onto his sidecar, arms and legs flailing as he tried not to roll under the tires. He shakily got himself back inside, erection killed.
They dragged the Junker behind the bike for a bit before Roadhog finally slowed to a stop. “Stay!” he barked at Junkrat before he reeled the bleeding, sobbing man in and lifted him with one hand around his neck, the other ripping his bloody hook free and hanging it on his belt. “Now you pass on a message, if you don't die out here,” Roadhog growled, sticking his snout right up into the Junker's bloody face, “you tell your boss that if he wants a deal then he has to come to us in person. Tell him he can find us at the place what belongs to me!”
Okay, he was getting hard again. Junkrat licked his lips as he watched Hog throw the guy as far as he could, sending him rolling over the hard desert ground leaving being spots of blood. Roadhog revved the engine and the bike shot off, Junkrat twisting to watch the Junker slowly pick himself up off the ground before he disappeared into the distance.
“Hooley Dooley!” Junkrat panted, palming himself through his shorts as he turned to look up at Roadhog. He should have tracked him down ages ago! Maybe things could have been different if he'd had such a competent bodyguard from the start. Junkrat stuffed his flesh hand down his shorts, completely unashamed as he jerked off; thinking about how those idiots had gone flying into the air, about Hoggy's hook slicing a path to the lone survivor, the growl in his voice, his wheezing behind the mask- Junkrat's head fell back against the sidecar as he came with a grunt. He wiped his hand off on his shorts, yawning and stuffing himself further into the car as he settled in for the long haul. Junkrat wasn't sure where they were going, but hey, Roadie hadn't betrayed him yet. It was probably alright to trust him.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend, after all.
As Junkrat and Roadhog continue their journey, Junkrat accidentally blows something up
They made camp at the hottest part of the day, Roadhog setting up a sort of tarp lean-to that blocked them from the sun. Junkrat's stomach grumbled pointedly, they hadn't eaten much at The Junkyard. Mostly Junkrat had munched whatever bugs or lizards had gotten unlucky enough to end up under his hand. He started to wander off, turning over rocks in search of something to eat, when Roadhog grunted and grabbed him by the belt.
“Get back here.”
“Oy, I jus' need ta eat!” Junkrat snapped, but he was dragged back regardless, “Hey! Watch the goods!” he wheezed as his canteen dug into him.
“They're probably on our trail,” Roadhog grunted, digging through one of his huge saddlebags, “can't afford to be far. Here.” He pulled out a can and punched a hole in it with a spike on his fingerless glove before handing it to Junkrat.
“Phow!” Junkrat gasped, taking it reverently as the smell of meat and spices filled his nose, “Ya got... ya got canned food!” Canned food! Only rich folks had canned food! It had flavor, they said. Rumor had it, anyway. It smelled good. Better than good. It might be the tastiest food Junkrat had ever smelled. He sniffed at the hole in the lid loudly, drooling profusely.
“It's chili, just fuckin' eat it,” Roadhog snapped with a sound of disgust.
Junkrat wiped some sweat off his brow, “Mate, I dunno wot yer smokin' but it's hot as fuck out here!”
Roadhog swore under his breath, “Eat!”
“Bottoms up!” Junkrat toasted before he threw back his head and the food slid thick into his open mouth. He moaned in ecstasy as spices burst like bombs on his tongue, and Junkrat gobbled up everything he could, unable to identify most of what he was putting in his mouth, just that it tasted like pure heaven. Some of it dripped down his chin and over his chest, but he wasn't about to let it go to waste, scooping it up with his dirty fingers to stuff it into his mouth.
Junkrat had eaten all of it in probably less than a minute, and now he felt too full and sleepy. He looked up to see Roadhog just staring at him, his mask pushed up on his face to free thick lips which were pursed into a frown. He had a slight underbite which had two sharp bottom teeth just barely poking out, like the tusks of a wild boar. “What're ya lookin' at?!” Junkrat snapped, bristling a little.
“You'll make yourself sick,” Roadhog grunted, eating at a slower pace.
“Only if I eat more,” said Junkrat. He licked his lips, salivating again at the thought of tasting more of it, “can I...have more?”
“Drongo,” Junkrat muttered, flopping over into the dirt. He curled up, finger tracing nonsense patterns in the sand until he dozed off.
He woke up stuffed into the sidecar, drooling on his own shoulder as the wind whipped his face. Junkrat yawned and stretched, grunting as his back popped. He lifted his legs out of the sidecar so they could dangle off the sides and scratched at his balls. “Where are we goin'?” he yelled over the wind.
Maybe pig-face couldn't hear him. Junkrat crossed his arms over his chest with a pout, looking out over the horizon as the bike roared across the Outback, traveling faster than Junkrat had ever gone in the last two years. He wondered what the world outside Oz was like. Junkrat had flipped through old magazines, he'd seen clean people on the dirty pages, seen them smiling and laughing. They had full faces and plump or healthy lean bodies. Junkrat had listened to Old Timers talk about banks and homes and schools.
He wanted to see all of it and then destroy all of it. No job too big no score too small. Junkrat tittered to himself. Did Roadhog know all that stuff? Did he go to a school, or have a bank, or a job? It was kind of boring to just sit in this sidecar as the sun beat down on him, but Junkrat pulled out one of his concussion mines to play with it just to give his hands something to do.
Roadhog drove well into the night, until Junkrat grew sleepy and hungry again, his canteen completely empty and his mouth dry. “C'mon, mate!” Junkrat complained, reaching over to tug on Hog's pants, “Stop fer th' night!”
His hand was slapped away but Roadhog turned the bike to a nearby butte and sped up a little. Junkrat had no idea where Roadhog was even taking them, but he seemed to have a specific location in mind. The question was: how far away was it? Junkrat wasn't sure he could handle several days of sitting in that sidecar doing nothing. Roadhog reached the butte and tucked the bike up behind some craggy rocks sticking out of the ground like knives just before the hill turned to a sheer wall. While Roadhog set up their tiny camp, Junkrat scouted out a little, and pissed when his bladder made itself known, finding several tiny lizards that he caught and proudly brought back to camp with him.
“Dinner!” he grinned, holding up his fistful of dead reptiles, their beady black eyes bulging from the squeezing Junkrat had given them.
“We can't have a fire,” said Roadhog.
“Who said anythin' 'bout fire?” Junkrat asked, already stuffing one of the lizards into his mouth and crunching down on it whole. He slurped up the tail and swallowed everything down almost in one piece. They didn't taste good, not like that canned stuff Hog had, but Junkrat wasn't no fool when it came to survivin' out here in the wasteland. You ate what the land gave you first, and only then did you turn to what you had a brought.
Roadhog watched him with that expressionless mask, making a short sound of disgust, “Keep 'em,” he grunted, turning to his saddlebags instead.
“Foine,” said Junkrat, slurping down another lizard, “but don't come cryin' to ol' Jamison when ya run outta fancy rich person food and gotta eat like th' rest of us.”
“I won't,” Roadhog growled.
While Junkrat munched on his raw lizards, Roadhog ate some jerky. Junkrat finished first and pawed and whined at Hoggy until he finally shared a couple bites of jerky, which was just what Junkrat needed to wash down the bitter taste of raw lizard. He refilled his canteen with Roadhog's water supply, perhaps getting a little low, then settled down onto his usual spot; Roadhog's lap.
“So how far to this place we're headin'?” Junkrat asked, arms crossed behind his head on Hoggy's thigh.
“About a weeks ride,” said Roadie, and he had his hand resting on his thigh beside Junkrat's head. A few more inches and it'd be in his hair again.
Junkrat frowned, trying to do calculations off a mental map that had huge chunks taken out of it. In the direction they were going from the Junkyard...something something... “We're headin' to the edge, ain't we?” he hazarded.
Roadhog nodded slowly, and didn't venture anything else.
“So we'll head to the edge,” Junkrat mused, licking his chapped lips, “an' then kill that worthless suit... then get the fuck out of this wasteland!” He beamed up at Roadhog, slapping him lightly on the belly, “It's a good plan if Oi do say so meself! Can't wait to rob a bank, Roadie. I wanna get huge piles o' that cash shit them omnic-lovers out there use an' roll 'round in it. What do ya want ta do first?”
Roadhog looked down at him, then up and into some distant memory that Junkrat couldn't see. That hand curled in his hair and Junkrat sucked in a sharp breath as his head was tilted back, Roadie staring down at him with bulging glass eyes, “Destruction.”
His lips curled into a wicked smile, baring his sharp teeth and wrinkling the corners of his eyes, “Fuck yeah, you magnificent cunt.”
That hand in his hair scratched slowly at his scalp, tugging gently when his thick fingers tangled around Junkrat's greasy hair. He let out short breaths and whimpers, eyes fluttering shut as the feeling of fingers in his hair traveled all the way down his spine, or dripped like warm water into his belly. Roadie had to know what he was doing, but he wasn't looking at Junkrat anymore, paying him no attention beyond the hand in his hair. The gentle hand in his hair. Junkrat didn't think Roadie would be a gentle fuck, should such a thing arise in the future, and he wasn't sure how he'd feel about such a thing anyway.
Sex was done between strangers, you fucked and then you left. Maybe you paid them, or they paid you. Maybe it was one moment of short, sharp pleasure before you went your separate ways. Junkrat would never have sex with someone he was planning to hang around with. That'd be weird, wouldn't it? To get fucked by Roadie but then look at him again and again later. He was thinking about this too hard, he wanted Roadhog all nasty-like, and it was all because of the way his hand was so gentle sometimes.
Did he ask for it? Did he tell Roadie to bring that hand kneading down between his legs? Or did he wait for Roadie to make a move? It wouldn't be complicated if they weren't partners! He should probably ask for it, he should- Junkrat fell asleep before he could settle on a decision, Roadhog's hand still idly rubbing against his scalp and through his hair.
Halfway through the night Roadhog shook him awake to keep the rest of the watch. Junkrat got up without complaint, yawning and rubbing crust out of his eyes as he stretched far enough to pop his back. He scratched his ass and hobbled to the edge of their camp to stare off into the wasteland for any sign of headlights or fire. Nothin' of course, otherwise Roadhog wouldn't have started snoring behind him. Shit with the way that guy breathed no wonder he had a mask on.
Junkrat tried to determine where exactly they were, but it was goddamn impossible. He simply couldn't remember if he'd been here before. He climbed up on one of the boulders scattered about to sit and hum to himself as he watched the horizon. That lasted for all over two minutes and then he was scrambling back down to kick rocks, pace in circles, chase bugs, and dig nosily through Roadhog's voluminous saddlebags.
Lots of canned food which Junkrat was tempted to get into, but feared the inevitable reprisal, so he left it be. Plenty of tokens scattered about the bottom of each bag as if the small fortune was worthless to Roadhog. A blanket that Junkrat took out and wrapped around his skinny body with a grin, and one saddlebag just filled with scrap for Roadhog's gun.
Strapped to the back of the bike was gas and their water supply which Junkrat used to fill his canteen again. If they really were a week out, they'd have to stop somewhere to refill the water before they got there. He pulled out his, uhg, omnic hearts, and held one of them up to his eyes. The gas in there, for it was a gas, swirled subtly and glowed gently. Roadie had said they could be made into a weapon, but Junkrat wanted to know if they could be turned into a bomb in an emergency. What would set them off? Not nuclear energy, obviously, but maybe great force? Maybe another explosion? Heat? No... not heat itself.
Junkrat pulled out one of his concussion mines and while Roadhog slept he tinkered until the sun came up. Once the heat began to rise so to did Roadhog and in short time they were driving across the desert once more, except now Junkrat had a blanket to shield himself from the sun as he sat in the sidecar and worked on his concussion mine with the omnic heart inside of it. He still had two of them, one in the bag on his belt and the other in his leg. He could afford to...experiment with one.
“Uhg!” Junkrat dropped his tools when Roadhog ran over another bump and he nearly sent them sky high. For the second time. “Can't ya drive this stupid thing smoother?”
Roadhog didn't even look over at him.
Junkrat held the blanket over his head as the hot wind rushed into his face, “So we need ta stop, yeah?” Junkrat said, and if Roadhog heard him or not he didn't really care, he just had to talk before he went crazy! “We should hit up a Scrap Dealer! They got th' good shit! Besides, I gotta reason ta hate 'em, those sons of bitches can't be trusted!” Junkrat snarled and sat lower in his sidecar.
Junkrat startled, mouth falling open, “Ya CAN hear me!”
Roadhog took his eyes off the desert to stare in Junkrat's direction, and though his mask hid all expression Junkrat got the general idea. He tittered a bit nervously, “Two different Scrap Dealers tried ta blow me head off because of me treasure.”
“Hmmm. We can find a Scrap Dealer.”
“Yeah!” Junkrat pumped his fist.
“Though who hasn't tried to kill you?”
Junkrat let out a short bark of laughter, “No one! Must be me charming personality, mate!”
Roadhog's laughter was a low, snarling chortle and it did funny things to Junkrat's gut. Some part of him still expected Hoggy to abandon him or turn on him. No one had ever stuck by Junkrat, and honestly he'd never met a man or woman who wouldn't turn on him in an instant. The only thing he had keeping Roadhog loyal was his treasure. 50/50...but if someone should offer him more... Junkrat shook his head. Who could offer more than half of fabulous treasure?
“Hey, uh, Hoggy...what did ya do before th' explosion?”
Roadhog was silent for a bit, long enough for Junkrat to figure that he wasn't gonna get an answer. However he must have been in a pretty good mood because he grunted out, “Little bit of everything, odd jobs, bouncer work.”
“Did ya ever go to a...what's it...” Junkrat searched for the word, “a school?”
Junkrat wasn't sure what that meant, but he beamed anyway. He had himself one smart bodyguard then, if he'd been to a school. Junkrat started to chatter about all the things he remembered growing up and Roadhog was silent, but now that Junkrat knew he could be heard he was happy to talk the day away.
They traveled like that for two days before some Junkertown showed up on the horizon and Roadhog turned the bike to roar towards it. Their water supply was criminally low and Junkrat had run out of things to tinker with which had made him, in Roadhog's own words, “An obnoxious cunt.”
It wasn't a Junkertown Junkrat was familiar with but they were all roughly the same. There was a bar, a scrap dealer, a medic of some kind, housing, and a general supply store hardly anyone could afford to shop at. As far as Junkertowns went, this one was in pretty good shape. It seemed a bit nicer than the ones Junkrat had grown up around and he reckoned it was because they were closer to the edge and thus closer to those types who liked to come in, gawk at poor people, and then leave feeling like they made a big difference. Er, “charity workers” they called themselves.
Hadn't been many where Junkrat lived, so far out where it was dangerous to tread, but closer to the edge meant easier to show up and leave. So the buildings weren't quite so haphazardly cobbled together, and the people had slightly nicer clothes and slightly healthier looks about them. Like they got a meal once in awhile. Junkrat hated them a little.
“Don't wander off,” Roadhog snarled when they parked beside the general store.
“Yeah, yeah,” Junkrat muttered, neck craning to look all over the place. He picked up his modified concussion mine, the little omnic heart beating in its center, and stuffed it into his bag. Just incase. Roadhog scooped out some tokens from his saddlebag and lumbered into the general store, Junkrat slinking in his shadow.
The clerk was a suspicious, unfriendly woman missing an eye and most of her teeth. She watched them like a hawk as Roadhog grabbed canned food off the shelves. He pawed at Roadhog and tried to convince him to buy some of the packaged food but he was shoved off with a grunt. Junkrat stuck out his tongue at Hog's back and limped down a separate aisle to get his dirty hands all over the bulk flour.
While squeezing it through his fingers, Roadie arguing with the clerk up front about price, Junkrat's eye was caught by a bottle one aisle over with a slightly provocative picture on it. He dumped the dirty flour, now copiously mixed with the dirt and black powder that coated his hands, back into its tub and hobbled into the next aisle. He picked it up with a muffled titter, it was lube, like the kind Marcie's girls always carried with 'em.
Junkrat shot a look at Roadhog from the corner of his eye and slyly slipped it into his pocket. It'd be shame to convince Roadie into something, only to be ill-prepared. Whistling off tune, he walked up front with his hands behind his back and the innocent look of an angel on his face.
“Knock it off!” Roadhog snapped at him as he whistled a little louder, “before I slam your face into this counter.”
Roadhog finally dumped down some tokens and gathered up his purchases to take them back to the bike. Junkrat sat sideways on his bike seat, chin in his hand as Hoggy filled up one of the saddlebags with new cans of food. He then grabbed the mostly empty giant tubs of water strapped to the bike and brought them back into the store for refills.
Well, he hadn't said to stay put so Junkrat unfolded himself off the seat and loped towards the local scrap dealer. People stared at him but Junkrat was used to the looks, every one of those idiots were probably trying to figure out why he looked familiar, like the entire goddamn Outback hadn't been chasing his ass all over the desert for the last two years. Junkrat actually hoped someone would start something, his skin itched to see Roadie in action again.
This town's Scrap Dealer was a young guy with a real nice prosthetic arm that attached to his shoulder. It made Junkrat's look homemade in comparison with its smooth, shiny metal. If he had to guess, Junkrat thought that might have come from outside of Junkertown, because nothing in these parts looked nice, new, or competently built regardless of the actually functionality. The young Scrap Dealer gave Junkrat the evil eye as he pretended to browse, hands clasped behind his back. Not a bad set up here, fairly organized, some good shit on the walls. Junkrat saw a sign that indicated this guy even had gas for sale.
Now that'd interest Hoggy.
“Either show me scrap or tokens,” the Scrap Dealer finally snarled, “or get the fuck out!”
“Mate,” Junkrat gasped, placing a hand over his heart as if those words gravely wounded him, “Izzat any way to talk to Outlaw Supreme, Jamison Fawkes? Oi got the good stuff and yer treatin' me like garbage!”
The young man's eyes narrowed, widened, narrowed again, “Bullshit, you're not Junkrat,” he said, but he didn't sound sure.
Junkrat sighed, world-weary, “Oi was thinkin' of spending some of me treasure here but now I think I'll just be on me way.” He turned to leave, a wicked smile sliding onto his face as he put his back to the Scrap Dealer.
Junkrat turned around, raising one eyebrow with his best haughty expression, “You wastin' my time?” he sneered.
“No!” The Scrap Dealer said quickly, “No, mate, my apologies I didn't recognize you at first. Er, treasure you say?” His eyes darted up and down Junkrat's body as if he could spy exactly where he kept his treasure. “All the really good stuff is in the back, what are you lookin' for?”
“Gas, black powder, C4, nitro,” Junkrat barked, “anythin' that'll make a boom.”
Greed lit up the Scrap Dealer's eyes and Junkrat knew he had him hook, line, and sinker. “Right this-”
“What do you think you're doing?”
Junkrat cursed as Roadhog walked inside, footsteps practically shaking the floor as he walked over, “Fuck off, you cunt!” Junkrat snapped under his breath, “I'm makin' a business transaction!”
Roadhog pulled his scrap gun off his back, pointed it right at the Scrap Dealer's face, and pulled the trigger. Blood and brains splattered in every direction as the explosion of scrap took the Dealer's head clean off before he could even open his mouth to ask what was going on. Junkrat hollered in shock and then outrage. “Oy, I was workin' on him! He were about to pull out everythin' I needed!”
“Quit playing with your food,” Roadhog growled, putting his gun back and stomping around the counter to disappear in the back., “You'll get yourself killed.”
“I had it under control!” Junkrat complained, following him back. His foot slipped a little on the blood pooling on the wood floor but he caught himself on the wall. Holy Dooley, that scrap gun really did a number up close and personal. Junkrat felt a shiver of want down his spine but suppressed it.
The backroom was just as well organized as the front, possibly to the point of being a bit obsessive about it. While Roadhog immediately found the barrels and jugs of gas, Junkrat found a huge leather satchel and started filling it up with new tools and supplies. First the black powder, some dynamite, some nitroglycerin contained in a cold box which the label noted had been desensitized with a mixture of ethylene glycol dinitrate. Junkrat opened the box to see everything had been skillfully frozen to keep it from exploding every time it was jostled. He giggled, it had been too long since he'd had some actual nitro in his grasp. He closed the box and put it in his satchel. Next were wires and pliers and all manner of tiny tools for precision work. His old tools could be tossed out, these were way fuckin' nicer. Then he found some C4, and finally in a jar was some flash powder which could go into all kinds of fun things. With his satchel bulging Junkrat threw it over his back with a grunt, grinning up at Roadhog who had his arms loaded up with gas canisters.
“Ready?” Hog growled.
“Let's blow this joint,” Junkrat said with a laugh.
Oh, hell, why not make that literally. He pulled out his concussion mine and dropped it on the floor as Roadhog led the way out. Time to see if the heart made a single difference in the explosion. Of course, Junkrat had dropped his mine right next to the aisle of explosives so as far as tests went, it probably wasn't the best. What could he say? He was a sucker for real big booms.
Junkrat hung his satchel on the side of his car like his own explosive saddlebag then fished his detonator out of his pocket, holding it surreptitiously between his legs as Roadhog started his bike and began to rumble out of town. Junkrat twisted in his seat, drooling with anticipation as the town started to shrink behind them. He had a pretty good range on this detonator so he waited until he was sure they were out of the line of fire before pressing the red button.
The explosion was unlike anything Junkrat had ever seen in his entire life. It started with light, so bright that Junkrat had to shade his eyes from it, then the roar as if a monster had awoken just below the town. Finally a burning hot wind rushed over them so powerfully that Roadhog swerved as it pushed his massive bike around like it was a toy. Junkrat screeched but the sound was drowned out to even his own ears under that massive snarl. The scrap dealer and every building within a hundred feet of it had been vaporized, the buildings past that were flattened, and the buildings past that were debris flying into the sky.
Junkrat panted like a bitch in heat, staring from his detonator to the blue fire now spitting to the sky in the distance. With the press of a button he'd just destroyed an entire town. The bike screeched to a halt and Junkrat dropped his detonator as he was grabbed and lifted out of the sidecar. “WHAT DID YOU DO?!” Roadhog roared.
“I-I didn't know it'd do that!” said Junkrat shrilly, ears ringing. Roadhog shook him roughly and he stuttered out, “I p-put one-a them omnic hearts in a concussion mine!”
“You almost killed us!” Hoggy snarled, and Junkrat realized he wasn't really angry at him for causing an explosion, he was most terrified at how close to death they'd been.
“Oi swear I didn't know it'd do that,” said Junkrat quickly, his own heart beating like a bird's wing in his chest. He gave Roadhog a small, hopeful smile, “We're alright though, yeah? All good, no harm done,” said Junkrat as if he hadn't just vaporized a settlement.
Roadhog took one deep breath, then another, and another; finally he set Junkrat back down into his sidecar and started to drive again, leaving the destruction behind them. Junkrat twisted to watch the flames until the horizon swallowed them up.
“I'm working for a complete idiot,” Roadhog snarled when they made camp hours and hours later.
Junkrat resented that, but he didn't want to test Roadie's limited patience at the moment so he slunk out of his sidecar and made himself scarce while hunting for food. Never too far away so Hog could always see him, but also out of arms reach and hopefully soon out of mind. The explosion was never far from his thoughts as he pounced and bound after insects and lizards, always there when he closed his eyes like it had burned itself onto his eyelids.
He didn't remember the destruction of the Omnium, but he'd been raised in its bones and knew ultimate destruction when he saw it. If one of those hearts had destroyed a town then he could only imagine what the explosion of the Core had looked like. Junkrat wished he could remember. He came back to camp to see Roadhog had started a fire, when Junkrat gave him a confused look he just grunted out, “No point in being subtle after that explosion you caused.”
“Ya shoulda told me they were that powerful,” Junkrat muttered, flopping down beside the fire.
“Would it have stopped you or encouraged you?” Hoggy growled.
Junkrat chewed his bottom lip, thinking on an honest answer, “Woulda made me more careful,” he said.
Roadhog grunted, obviously still angry.
“Don't be like that, Hoggy,” Junkrat whined, “Oi won't do it again! Learned me lesson an' all that,” Junkrat beamed at him with his best innocent smile.
“Idiot,” Roadhog muttered, but he sounded closer to fond than murderous this time.
“So, uh,” Junkrat lay on his side, metallic fingers pattering back and forth over the dirt as he looked at Roadhog in the light of the fire, “been wonderin', mate, what you want to do with your half of the spoils?”
“What do you want to do?” Roadhog answered.
Junkrat perked up, “Oh, lotsa stuff, Roadie! I'm thinkin' first thing I wanna do is buy lotsa food, more food than we can eat! All kinds! Then I wanna spend a night in the fanciest place we can find and come mornin' I wanna burn it to the ground. I wanna see everything this world has to offer-”
“And blow it up?” Roadhog ventured with a low laugh.
Junkrat grinned, “Ya already know me so well, mate.”
Roadhog rumbled and shook his head, “After we have our way, sell your treasure and I have half the loot, I'm going to buy a big chunk of land and disappear. If we're not both dead before then.”
Junkrat sat up, “We won't be!” he said earnestly, “Nah, mate, no one can kill us! I've got your back if you've got mine, Roadie!” Junkrat's grin was crooked as he scoot over to lean against Roadhog's side, “Only one who gets to kill you is me, mate, and I'm not thinkin' I want ta off ya at all.”
“Comforting,” Roadhog snorted, “Now shut up and sleep, you get second watch.”
With the fire going Junkrat easily could have fallen asleep beside it, the flames warm enough to protect him from the cold desert night, but still he slipped under Hog's thick arm to lay in his lap. This was more comfortable anyway, and he liked hearing Roadhog's wheezing breath as he went under. It was a sound of safety. Junkrat wasn't sure why Roadhog never shoved him off, he could, but he never did. Maybe he liked it too, having Junkrat close meant he was easy to look after?
Roadhog was impossible to read, perhaps, but that he didn't shove Junkrat away when it was clear he didn't need the body heat said a lot more than any hidden expression.
Junkrat and Roadhog have one last stop before they get to where they're going
The days kind of blended into one another for Junkrat as they raced across the Outback to... wherever Roadhog was taking them. He still refused to say, and even if Junkrat had listened to him back at The Junkyard he probably would have forgotten by now anyway. Let the bastard be stubborn, Junkrat would learn about it when they arrived, and trying to wheedle it out of Hoggy was a pointless waste of time and energy.
They were further out than Junkrat had ever gone, ever thought he could go.
During the hottest part of the fifth day they pulled to a stop at an abandoned gas station. Junkrat jumped out of his sidecar with a back-cracking stretch and a jaw-popping yawn. He didn't like sitting still for so long, there was only so much tinkering he could handle. Roadhog could only handle so much talking, so it meant Junkrat would have to dodge an angry ham-hand between talking about... whatever.
“We'll spend the night here, head out in the morning,” Roadhog grunted, getting off his bike and wheeling it into the shell of what was once a shop. It had been gutted long ago, not a single tool remaining. That wasn't to say there weren't signs of life. Junkrat noticed that it wasn't dusty, for one, and there were scuffs in the dirty floor that hadn't come from them, nor been around long enough to get removed by time. So people had been here recently. If people had been here recently, there was probably a reason for it. Either this place was a stop for a popular road, something Junkrat wouldn't know, or someone kept a cache here.
A cache he could find.
“Set up some traps,” Roadhog grunted, which meant he was aware that this place weren't as abandoned as it seemed.
“Roight!” said Junkrat with a chipper salute, “on it, Hoggy!” It would be a great chance to use some of his new supplies!
Roadhog watched him as he buried some pressure mines in the dirt just outside the front door (“Better watch where ya step, hahaha!”) and then Junkrat set up a few trip wires around the overhang, a nearby shed, and between a few bushes. The wires were nearly invisible in the sunlight, they would be undetectable at night.
Then, as a final step, Junkrat lovingly placed a concussion mine at the back entrance. It wouldn't go off if he and Hoggy walked over it, but he could detonate it if need be. With that done, Junkrat left Hoggy to fiddle with his bike while he started sniffing around for any good stuff. If there was one thing Junkrat considered himself the undisputed king of, it was scrapping. He could find just about anything with value attached to it, and that skill had kept him alive for his two years alone in the harshest parts of the Outback. He knocked on the floor, the walls, gutted work benches, and tried to tear away anything that looked like it wasn't part of the wall.
The shop was genuinely empty, so Junkrat scurried to the overhang, but that too gave up no secrets if it had any to give. Roadhog must have been engrossed in his work, because Junkrat wandered further and further afield, circling the station in wider and wider concentric circles. He looked for signs of tampering, for something that just didn't look right. Just when he was about to admit defeat, maybe a gutted station really was just a gutted station, his eye landed on an unnatural formation of stones. Bingo.
Some idiot had literally X-marked the spot with rocks, and Junkrat threw them aside to find, under a thin layer of sand, a trap door. Opening it didn't reveal a room, but it did prove to be a small hole just big enough to hide a couple beat up old coolers. Junkrat giggled as he hauled them up, grunting at the weight of both of them. One of them was full of nonperishable food, cans and sealed bags. Junkrat shut that one then opened the second to find it was full of potable water jugs.
“Wait 'til Hoggy sees this!” Junkrat laughed, struggling to drag both coolers back with him towards the station. Maybe he'd get rewarded!
Roadhog walked out the back as Junkrat sweated and heaved and panted, two heavy coolers straining his arms and feeling like it was going to pop his mechanical arm right off, nerve hook-up and all. His pig-mask turned in Junkrat's direction and he started walking over. “Ey!” Junkrat called cheerily, “Lookit what-”
“Where the FUCK did you go?!” Roadhog roared, startling Junkrat into letting go of the coolers and nearly face-planting into the dirt at his sudden shift in balance. He flailed his arms and stood up straight before he could get a mouthful of sand.
“Oi found a cache!” said Junkrat quickly, pointing to the coolers, “Food, water!”
Roadhog grabbed him by the arms, pinning them against his sides as he physically lifted Junkrat off the ground to press his snout against him with a feral snarl, “Do NOT disappear on me again, Jamison!” Junkrat found himself staring into expressionless glass, but the merciless grip on his arms said quite a bit.
“Were ya worried about me?” he asked.
Junkrat yelped as he was dropped, barely getting his feet by placing steadying hands on Hoggy's belly. “You hired me to keep you safe, that's all,” Roadhog growled, “now come on.” He grabbed both coolers, one under each massive arm, and started to walk back to the station. Junkrat sighed a bit dejectedly, dragging his foot as he followed just behind him. Here he had been all excited about doin' good, but that pig-face just had to be such a cunt-
Junkrat grunted as he ran into Roadhog's back, looking up to see him glancing over his shoulder, “Good job.”
Junkrat beamed, and he was walking on clouds for the rest of the day.
They ate and drank like kings, for once not worried about rationing. There was more food than they could ever bring with them, so it was important to eat as much as they could. Junkrat got a kick out of watching Roadhog eat, he could obviously pack down quite a bit. Junkrat filled up quickly, but he'd throw up outside and keep eating, not willing to stop so soon. Roadhog, however, seemed bottomless.
That evening he lay on his full belly with some scrap he'd pulled out of his satchel of explosives and was looking into making a trap. A trap for animals or for people... Junkrat wasn't picky. Roadhog had finished tuning his bike and moved it outside so it was hidden by some bushes. He was loathe to not have it in the shop with them, Junkrat could tell, but it made sense not to have their only form of getaway trapped in here should they be ambushed.
Roadhog was the expert, Junkrat let him do whatever.
His ears were ringing something awful this evening, rendering him effectively deaf until the ringing faded back to normal volume. Junkrat shook his head like a wet dingo, trying to get the tone to fade. “Oy, Roadie!” he called, “hurry th' fuck up, ya fat cunt!”
If Roadhog answered, Junkrat didn't hear him.
A foot caught him in the ribs, hard enough to crack them and flop Junkrat onto his back. He wheezed, trying to scramble up only for the foot to fall onto his chest and pin him in place. Junkrat snarled, looking up at the three men who had snuck up on him. He hadn't heard them come in, so they must have come in the back over his concussion mine because they weren't in a thousand bloody pieces.
“Cache... stole... cunt...” Junkrat could only hear bits and pieces over the ringing but he got the idea and hissed up at him, scratching at the leg on his chest, grinding into his cracked ribs and sending agony into his brain.
The guy standing on him looked at his buddies, said something, and they all laughed.
The ringing started to fade just in time for Junkrat to hear, “Let's gut him and take all that food back.”
Junkrat had his detonator out in a second, thumb hovering over the red button. Hitting it would send this building crashing down on all of them, but he hoped the guy above him would save him from- before he could press it Roadhog was there, snarling behind his mask as he grabbed main-cunt's two buddies, one in each hand, and squeezed until their necks snapped and their eyes bulged.
“What the fuck?!” Junkrat used main-cunt's shock to grab him by the ankle and twist, sending him crashing to the ground.
“Ahahaha! This rat don't work alone no more!” Junkrat cackled shrilly, watching as Roadhog planted his massive foot right on top of that asshole's chest. However when he stepped down it crushed him like a bug, Junkrat wheezed as he watched blood and bile spill from between his lips, followed by a burbling, dying wheeze.
“Idiots,” Roadhog snarled, lifting his foot. He turned to Junkrat, “You alright?”
Junkrat darted forward, jumping up to wrap his arms around Hoggy's shoulders, his legs spreading around his belly so he could cling to his front as he pressed a big sloppy kiss right against the snout of his mask. “Yer such a magnificent cunt!”
Junkrat expected to get peeled off like a tick, maybe hit or something. He'd really wanted to be smooth, handle this better... but fuck... watching Hoggy work really got his gears turning. Instead, Roadhog cupped his ass, holding him in place as he nuzzled his leather snout up against Junkrat's cheek to snarl in his ear, “About time, Jamison, you disgusting cunt.”
Junkrat panted, nails digging into Hog's back, “Let's root,” he groaned, “C'mon, Hoggy!”
He was dumped onto the ground, yelping as his ribs protested the rough treatment. Junkrat held his aching ribs with one arm and made a grabby hand at Roadhog with the other. Roadhog just shook his head, “You're hurt, not right now.” He bent down, grabbing all three corpses and lumbering outside with them.
“Oh come on!” Junkrat whined after him, sitting up on one hand with a pout, “Hooogggyyy! I wanna fuck!”
Roadhog came back in, now sans corpses, and crouched down before Junkrat, though he slapped away his hand when he reached out for him. “Close your eyes.”
“Ooo,” Junkrat cackled and squeezed his eyes shut, lips parting in anticipation for a big cock. He'd seen Roadhog piss, he knew what he was packing. Though he'd never seen him hard. Instead that sweaty, smelly leather mask was placed over his face and Roadhog's powerful gas canister released with a short hiss and a click. With a single breath Junkrat's ribs healed and the mask was removed. Before Junkrat could see Roadie's face, he was clasping the mask back on. His head spun, the high making him hornier than ever.
“Awww, why won't ya let me see yer handsome face?” Junkrat asked, sitting up and shoving Roadhog back to clamber into his lap and grasp the snout.
“You try to move this mask and I punch your face in,” Roadhog snarled, massive hands gripping Junkrat by the waist and giving a warning squeeze. Junkrat dropped his hands to Roadhog's shoulders with a nervous giggle.
“Yeah, yeah, Roadie. Well I'm all better so...” Junkrat clumsily rolled his hips, grinding his clothed cock against Roadhog's big belly, “le's cut ta the case. I want yer big cock stuffed up in me.”
Roadhog let out an exasperated sigh, fingers crawling along Junkrat's knobbly spine until he was cupping the back of his head, “Shut up. You're embarrassing.”
“I ain't!” said Junkrat, “It's dirty talk!”
Roadhog snorted, fingers starting to rub Junkrat's scalp. All the tension melted out of him all at once and he sagged against Roadhog's body with a weak little giggle, arms wrapping around his neck. “Rat,” he rumbled, “you serious about this?”
Junkrat nuzzled up against Roadhog's neck, licking just under the mask, along the leather and up to his ear. “Ya get me so hot, Hoggy. C'mon, Oi got slick an' everythin', 'm tired of pretendin' I don't wantcha ta root me raw.”
“Not very good at hiding it,” said Roadhog a little roughly, the hand not on Junkrat's scalp now rubbing up and down his back. “Fine, get me hard, Jamison.”
In all his years, Junkrat had never heard more beautiful words. He kissed Hoggy's leather snout and then slid down his body to lay out between his legs, fingers working open his big belt then fumbling at the zipper of his pants. His hands were shaking a little with excitement as he finally got Roadhog's pants peeled open, freeing his flaccid cock. Junkrat kept his metal hand clenched at Roadie's thigh as his flesh one began to stroke, enjoying the feeling of soft skin against his calloused palm, thumb rubbing over the slit.
Above him, Roadhog grunted and took his hand off Junkrat's back to rest his weight back on one hand, but he kept the other hand rubbing and scratching slowly at his scalp. Junkrat leaned in, taking a deep breath then letting it out in a breathless giggle. Roadhog stank of musk, sweat, and piss, probably exactly like Junkrat did. He slipped his tongue against the head of Roadie's cock, wriggling the tip under his stretchy foreskin then squeezing and pulling it further over his tongue.
“Fuck,” Roadhog grunted, hand clenching slightly in Junkrat's hair before he relaxed and continued petting.
He pulled back to mouth along the shaft, but his fingers kept playing along the head, pulling and pinching at Hoggy's foreskin, closing it around his head then pulling it down the shaft so he could suckle at the slit, enjoying the bitter, salty taste of Hog's flesh on his tongue. As Roadhog swelled, his foreskin grew taut and Junkrat left it alone to just focus on stuffing as much cock into his mouth as possible.
In his eagerness Junkrat scraped some of his teeth along Roadhog's shaft and got his head wrenched back with a pained yelp, “Watch the teeth!” Roadhog growled, “do that again, and we're done. I'm not having you bite my cock off.”
“Y-yeah, mate, my bad!” said Junkrat with a titter, rubbing his aching neck as Roadhog relaxed his grip.
So he moved slower from there, taking time to wrap his lips over his chipped teeth. Junkrat bobbed his head, lips aching from stretching around Roadhog's girth, jaw sore as he opened his mouth wide to accommodate the sheer size of him. Junkrat wriggled his metal hand down, groping himself through his shorts as he drooled and choked on Hoggy's cock. He loved sucking it down until the head touched the back of his throat and made him gag, Junkrat shivered every time, wondering if someday he'd be able to take Roadhog to the base.
Roadhog pulled him off with a vulgar pop, Junkrat whining at the loss as spit dripped thickly down his cheeks and chin to drip on his chest, smearing the fine layer of dirt that covered his skin. “Ain't ya a beaut,” Junkrat panted, taking in Roadie's erection with an appreciative eye, that was still watering a little from the blowjob.
“Strip,” Roadhog grunted, letting go of Junkrat's hair to sit back on both hands, breathing deep and even. If Junkrat couldn't see his cock, he may have wondered if Roadie was even aroused. He liked that, liked that steadiness he so lacked. Junkrat knew he was twitchy and shaky and full of energy that got him into trouble, but Roadhog was like a rock, and Junkrat clung to him. He shoved his shorts off his skinny hips and kicked them aside, before moving back between Roadhog's spread legs and grinding against his belly.
“So how ya want me?” Junkrat asked, bending down to mouth at the fat rings pierced through Roadhog's nipples. “On all fours? On me back? Maybe ya want me ta ride ya?” he cackled, shoving at Roadhog's shoulder.
“We're not gonna fuck,” said Roadhog lowly, groping Junkrat's ass with one hand, “but you are gonna get that lube, Jamison, and bring it over here.”
Junkrat clumsily crawled to his satchel of explosives, being careful to dig out the lube and not anything else. He knew it was a good idea to grab this! Not like anyone in that town would have use of it now... he crawled back and pressed the lube into Roadhog's palm, where it was immediately engulfed in his fist. “Ya sure ya don't wanna fuck me?” Junkrat asked, reaching between their sweaty bodies to stroke Roadhog's cock.
“But somewhere else?” Junkrat asked eagerly.
“Mmm, lay down, on your side.”
Junkrat thought he saw where this was going, and he flopped down eagerly, pressing his skinny thighs together as tightly as he could while Roadhog crawled over him, a human mountain. Hog leaned down, his wheezing breath muffled through the mask as it brushed along his ear and neck, his belly pinning Junkrat to the ground as his slippery hand shoved between his thighs. Fat fingers rubbed behind his balls and made his thighs slick with lube. Junkrat was dripping with it.
Roadhog wasn't that rough when he started to fuck between Junkrat's thighs, he seemed to be testing the waters at first, just rolling his hips slowly. Junkrat panted, hand fumbling back to grip Roadhog's ponytail, “C'mon,” he groaned, squeezing his thighs together harder.
“Impatient,” Roadhog grunted.
“Horny,” Junkrat snarled, trying to roll his hips and coax Roadhog to action.
“You're lucky I don't have time to torture you.”
Roadhog's arm curled under Junkrat's head, holding him still so when Roadhog really did thrust forward, Junkrat didn't go sliding over the dirty floor. He gasped, thighs shaking with the effort of keeping them tight, cock leaking all over his belly and dripping down to pool on the floor. He turned his head to bite at Hog's arm, muffling his cries of pleasure.
It was fast and it was dirty. Junkrat came first, spilling all over himself and trembling in Roadhog's grip as that big cock just kept rubbing against his softening prick, sending him shooting from lazy pleasure straight into over-stimulation. Before he could beg for Hog to stop, or change positions, or anything, Roadie came with a low growl and Junkrat whimpered as he felt it, hot and sticky as he spilled between his thighs.
“Oh fuck,” Junkrat panted, going limp, “oh fuck me, Hoggy. That was good.”
“Mm,” Roadhog grunted, sitting up to gently lay Junkrat out over the floor, “stay.”
Junkrat wasn't sure he could move even if he wanted to. He sighed and stared at the ceiling, feeling quiet and content for the first time in ages. There was something uniquely steadying about Roadhog, like Junkrat could bounce off of him as much as he wanted and Roadie wouldn't budge. Junkrat looked over as Roadhog came back with a slightly dirty rag and grinned, spreading his filthy thighs and raising his hands above his head.
“Yer awfully sweet, aren't ya, pig-face? Cleanin' me all up!” Junkrat cackled then yelped as Roadhog knelt down between his thighs so his knee was crammed uncomfortably up against his crotch.
“I just know you wouldn't,” said Roadhog, moving back so he could give Junkrat a perfunctory wipe down. “Now take first watch, and don't leave the area!”
Junkrat put his shorts back on as Roadhog lay on his back, hands clasped on his belly and scrap gun within easy reach. He looked down at him, looked out the door, then flopped down to sit next to him, leaning against his side and grabbing one big arm to haul it around his waist. Roadhog huffed but flexed his arm, dragging Junkrat in closer, to his delight. Days of dreaming of Roadhog finally fucking him, and it had happened so fast. Junkrat wasn't even sure what was going on in Roadie's head, but he wasn't gonna look a gift pig in the mouth.
Instead of letting Junkrat sleep when his watch was over, Roadhog had them pack up the bike and head out, telling Junkrat he could sleep in the sidecar. Junkrat grumbled, it wouldn't be as comfortable as the floor, but he didn't complain too much. It was clear that Roadhog was antsy to get wherever they were going. Junkrat threw Roadie's blanket over his body and spread out in the sidecar, legs over the sides as he passed out in moments.
When he woke up his back was aching something fierce and the blanket had grown stuffy and hard to breathe under. He pulled it off his face, squinting in the harsh light and then turning to look at Roadhog. It had to be the hottest part of the day, but Hoggy showed no signs of slowing or stopping, so Junkrat just used the blanket as a shield against the unforgiving sun as the bike roared over the sands.
“Mate, how much farther?” Junkrat groaned, sweat dripping uncomfortably down his body.
“We'll make it by dusk,” Roadhog grunted in reply.
That was still hours away, maybe five or six if Junkrat had to guess, “We gonna stop at all?” he asked, shifting pointedly in his seat, “or you want me ta piss myself over here?”
“Piss over the side and shut up,” was Roadhog's understanding reply.
Junkrat grumbled, but sat up on his knees--one on the edge of the sidecar--and pissed downwind. It wasn't like Roadhog to just refuse to stop, either for heat or food or water or pissin'. So he had to be just churning with nerves. Junkrat zipped up his shorts and flopped back down into his sidecar with a sigh, head falling back to look into the sky. What was getting Roadie so tense? It couldn't be the suit, they'd been pursued this whole time and aside from making sure they each took a watch, it didn't seem to bother him too much. Junkrat wiped some sweat off his forehead before reaching down to take a swig of warm water from his canteen. It must be the place they were going, a place that held power over Roadhog.
What kind of place held power? Junkrat chewed his chapped bottom lip, pealing off dry skin and eating it. It was so fuckin' hot he thought he was going to die here. The wind was no relief, it was hot and dry and dusty and made Junkrat's eyes feel gritty with sand. He should find some goggles or somethin'.
As the sun started to set the heat grew more intense, to the point where Junkrat could barely stand to lift the blanket off of himself, no matter how sweltering. His canteen ran dry and he was too hot and tired to bother the balancing act of refilling it while they were on the move. No matter how much he talked or pleaded, Roadhog refused to slow or stop, and didn't respond to questions or curses.
Just when Junkrat was contemplating rolling out of the sidecar and into the dirt, no doubt causing himself serious injury, a building appeared on the horizon. Junkrat sat up, blanket curled over his head like a hood and held shut at his chest with one hand, while the metal one gripped the sidecar. It wasn't a huge building, it was only one story with a flat roof and wooden sides. A broken old fence ran in jagged lines around the edge of what Junkrat realized was property. It didn't look cobbled together, which gave Junkrat the impression that it was from the Before Time.
A shed squat to the side of the biggest building, but it had caved in on itself, spilling its guts of old rusty machines all over the dirt. A capped well, probably dry, was up front. Roadhog started to slow as they approached, coming to a full stop in front of what Junkrat realized was a house. A very old, abandoned house.
“Phoaw,” he hissed, hopping out of the sidecar to crack his aching back and stretch his poor legs, “what the fuck is this dump?”
Roadhog was looking at the house, his fists clenched at his sides as he had some kind of inscrutable staring contest with the dusty windows, which stared back unseeing like the foggy eyes of a corpse. This place did have power over Roadhog, Junkrat could read it in the tension of his broad shoulders, the curl of his fingers, the sharp wheezing behind his mask. Junkrat had never known the dead to hold tightly, but he had seen living people cling to corpses until they joined the dead themselves. He shivered as he looked around this dead place, something unpleasant crawling down his spine.
“Home,” Roadhog growled.
Junkrat and Roadhog face off against the suit
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
“You lived in this dump?” Junkrat asked incredulously, trying to shake off his feelings of discontent.
“Call it a dump again and I'll break you, Rat,” Roadhog snarled, finally breaking his staring contest with the house to turn those unseen eyes on him. Junkrat held up his hands in apology, though he still thought it was a dump, and Roadhog accepted that with a grunt. “It's not what it once was,” he admitted mournfully, a tone that neither suited nor complimented Roadhog.
“You don't live here, do ya?” Junkrat asked, eyes on the guts of the shed, some supplies so old and rusty that were close to returning to the dirt they lay in.
“Not since the explosion,” Roadhog grunted, but it sounded forced, as if he hated to say that.
“If ya don't live here, how is it home?” Junkrat asked, following Roadhog as he started to push the bike behind the house, where more tools had been left to rot in the unforgiving sun and acid rains.
“Home is somewhere you always return,” Roadhog answered gruffly, “it doesn't have to be where you live in the moment.”
Junkrat put his hands on his hips and looked around at the dusty, miserable property. He wanted to ask why Roadhog wanted to return, but for once he read Hog's body language and decided it would be best to keep his mouth shut. Roadhog huffed and sat down to work on his bike, which was a pretty effective way to end the conversation. Instead of hanging around, Junkrat went off to explore a little. From behind the house he could see a garage squatting at the far end of the property and he wanted to see what was in there.
A hundred or so feet away sat a few rusty windmills and a few piles of broken solar panels. Perhaps at one point this place had been a home. Junkrat could picture Roadhog back here, working on his bike, repairing a windmill, looking out one of the dusty windows and into the desert. But he didn't think it was still a home. It was what a home once was, sure, but people and places were once a lot of things they weren't any longer. Junkrat had once been a child, was being a child his home? He'd once returned to his Scrap Dealer again and again, was the Scrap Dealer his home? Was under Marcie's tables? Was in a hole under a bolder in the middle of the Outback?
Of course not. Junkrat had no home, he'd never returned to those places because of some emotional connection. When they died, they died.
Roadhog was tied to this place in a way Junkrat neither understood, nor appreciated. It was as dead as anything else in this miserable wasteland and Roadhog refused to cut away from the rot before it passed on to him. Junkrat shivered as he touched the splintered old door to the garage, looking over his shoulder at Roadhog's back. He didn't like that. He didn't like that at all. How loyal could a bodyguard be if his first loyalty was to some dried out old corpse of a house? Some empty, worthless property that gave him nothing but took so much.
It had to go.
Junkrat opened the door and peaked inside the garage. Like everything else, the things inside here were dead. Roadhog clearly loved his bike, and Junkrat wondered if after the explosion it had really been his most loved bike, or if it had just been the most practical. Three other bikes sat decaying in the garage, two of them still on their kickstands, but the third had fallen to the floor. Junkrat's eyes traveled from the bikes to the wall, which was coated in tools... and they were all in pretty good shape. In the garage they were out of the sun and rain, and most of them were of good enough quality to last.
Junkrat glanced back at Roadhog then slipped into the garage completely. He appreciated nice tools, always had. He pulled open the garage door to let in the light, and dust and spiders rained down on him as rusty gears rumbled in the ceiling. He brushed himself off and got to looking everything over. Shit, he was gonna take some of this with him, that was for sure. Way nicer than the stuff he'd grabbed at the Scrap Dealer's, and he'd thought that stuff had been primo. Well, it was probably best not to be seen stealing a bunch of Roadhog's tools right out from under his nose. Might wait a titch. Junkrat ambled out of the garage and past Roadhog to the sliding glass door at the back of the house. When Roadhog didn't stop him, Junkrat slid open the door and stepped inside. He was honestly a little surprised walking inside wasn't the first thing Hog did... but perhaps... perhaps he knew and didn't want to face that this place was empty.
The inside of the house was stripped, but Junkrat didn't know if that was Hog or scavengers. There was a broken rocking chair in one corner, in the kitchen there was a fridge laying on his back, the door yawning like a open mouth with a broken jaw. The sink puffed out dust when Junkrat turned the faucets. He meandered down the hallway, poking his head in the bathroom to see a destroyed sink and toilet, and a tub full of trash. Beyond that was a bedroom.
Junkrat walked in and paused, lips parting in surprise. Painted on the wall in massive, five foot letters, was “A.L.F.” The only other thing in the room was a sunken bed with a dusty mattress. Junkrat turned his attention back on the letters, they looked like they had been painted in a rush, bleeding down the floor like they were wounds in the wall. He walked up to touch them then check his fingers. The paint was dry, long dry. He noticed fading from where the dusty window let in the sun. Had Roadhog done this?
“That son of a bitch.”
Junkrat jumped with a yelp, whirling around with a hand on his chest as he tried to settle his beating heart, “Hoggy! 'Bout damn gave me a heart attack, ya drongo!”
Roadhog walked in to look at the letters, he was snarling through his mask, hands fisted at his sides, “That suit did this, that worthless motherfucker.”
“This were the, ah, the thing you was apart of, yeah? That blew up everythin'?” Junkrat said, moving to sit with a dusty bounce on the edge of the ancient mattress.
“Australian Liberation Front, we only wanted our homes back,” said Roadhog, a pain so thick in his voice that even Junkrat noticed it.
“More trouble than it's worth,” Junkrat muttered. Before Roadhog could ask him about that, Junkrat piped up with, “so what's our plan? How soon ya think he'll be here?”
“As soon as he can,” Roadhog grunted. The bed protested but didn't break when Roadhog sat down next to him, “I think we probably have at least a few days on him, but you're right, we should have something set up as soon as possible because we can't know how fast he's traveling.”
“I think we should blow it all up, and him with it!” Junkrat blurted out, making an explosion sound and spreading his arms out to indicate the size of the explosion he was thinking of. He really wanted this place turned to dust, he didn't like it, and he didn't like the hold it had on Roadie.
“Excuse me?” Roadhog growled coldly.
“Blow it up,” Junkrat repeated, but his voice broke a little.
“You want to destroy my home?” Roadhog whispered. His muscles were tense against Junkrat, and he knew he was walking on thin ice.
Junkrat wasn't good at walking on thin ice. “Fuck your home!” he spat, “burn it! Burn it all!”
Roadhog roared, grabbed Junkrat around the neck and slammed him up against the graffitied wall. Junkrat yelped and scrambled against Roadhog's wrist as he dug one foot into his belly to try and take some of the pressure off his neck. “You will NOT touch my home!”
“Ya ain't got a home!” Junkrat screeched.
“A CORPSE!” Junkrat kicked at Roadhog, head spinning with the lack of air, “It ain't shit! It's dead! Ya got nothin' Roadie! Fuck this place! An' fuck ya if ya think ya need it! Oof!” Junkrat grunted as he was dropped, face to face with Roadhog's knees.
“How dare you,” Roadhog growled, but he didn't sound as sure anymore.
Junkrat scrambled up, using the wall to keep his balance as he got his peg under him. “Listen ta me, Roadie,” Junkrat begged, splaying his hands on his belly, “I been thinkin' on this! Ya ain't thinkin' straight here! Ya been looking back! Back at what it used ta be, an' I'm sorry but it's gone!”
“We're standing in it-”
“We're standin' in that!” Junkrat snapped, pointing back to the massive letters bleeding on the wall, “Yer past! Ya really think this place is ya future!?”
“With the money I can fix it up-”
“Listen ta yerself!” Junkrat screeched, frustration bubbling up inside him. How did Roadhog not see this? He was so damn smart, so strong! Why was it that Junkrat saw it and he didn't?! “Ya can't fix up a dead thing! Ya can't heal the dead!”
“A place can't die!” Roadhog said, he sounded furious, but he hadn't punched Junkrat silent either.
“Tell that ta Oz,” Junkrat said, fingers digging into Roadhog's gut. How did he make him understand? “Open yer eyes, Roadie, don't mistake a memory for a fact. If yer gonna be me bodyguard ya gotta... ya gotta let this place go. The longer ya hold onta a dead thing, the faster it kills ya.”
Roadhog reached up, hand wrapping around Junkrat's neck. Oh fuck, he was gonna get killed, he- Roadhog just shoved him away. Junkrat grunted as his back hit the wall, and he watched Roadhog silently lumber off.
Junkrat let him go.
They didn't have time for this. Junkrat had slunk out to grab his tools and start building up his supplies. Roadhog had disappeared somewhere, and Junkrat feared he'd been abandoned... but Hoggy's bike was still sitting in the backyard. Junkrat stayed in the bedroom, as much as he wanted to work in the garage he didn't want to run into Roadhog before he was ready. If he'd ever be ready. What if Roadie picked this place over him? What if he decided it'd be better to turn him over to the suit instead of blow this place up? Did Roadhog love this place more than he hated the suit? Junkrat huffed out a breath, thinking weren't his strong suit, he needed to stop before he thought himself into a tizzy.
At some point he fell asleep, cheek pressed against the dusty wooden floor with his tools and explosives scattered around him. It sucked falling asleep without Roadhog, it made Junkrat feel like he was alone again, at the mercy of the wilds. The floor rumbled beneath him, and Junkrat jerked awake, fumbling for a mine before he heard Roadhog's familiar rumble.
“Rat... what are you doing on the floor?”
“Huh?” Junkrat muttered, wiping crust from his eyes and sitting up. He sighed as big hands scooped him up and walked him to the bed, “I thought ya ran off,” he muttered a bit petulantly.
“I did. For a bit,” said Roadhog, sitting down with a squealing of springs, Junkrat cradled in his arms. “I had to think about what you said.”
Junkrat held his breath, head resting against Roadhog's shoulder. He didn't dare speak, almost afraid of what Roadhog was going to say. Was he being so nice because he wanted to let Junkrat down easy? Or maybe he wanted him relaxed before he-
“You're right,” Roadhog repeated gruffly, “about this place. It was home once, but it's bones now. I could flesh it out again... but it wouldn't breathe.”
“S-So...?” Junkrat asked hopefully.
“So I'm your bodyguard,” said Roadhog; he reached up, fingers curling around the snout on his mask. Junkrat sucked in a breath as that mask was lifted up, past those full lips, up over a broad, flat nose, and finally off completely. Roadhog had a broad face and a strong jaw under the fat. Short, patchy white stubble lined his jaw and cheeks above the seal of the mask. His eyes were so dark brown they were nearly black. His eyebrows were white and bushy, though perhaps not as bushy as Junkrat's eyebrows. Most striking was the scar that started on his forehead and sliced over one eye, along the bridge of his nose, and then into his cheek.
“Let's blow this place,” he growled, meeting Junkrat's eye for the first time.
Junkrat wasn't much thinking about explosions, for once. He reached up to cup Roadhog's face, feeling the stubble under his palms, “Roadie,” he breathed, awed, “yer so handsome!”
Without the mask, Junkrat could suddenly read his expressions, as small and controlled as they were, and Roadhog almost looked embarrassed, “You're an idiot,” he rumbled.
“An idiot with the smartest, most handsome bodyguard in the world!” Junkrat crowed proudly, beaming up at Hoggy.
“Can I kiss ya?” Junkrat whispered, fingers locking behind Roadhog's neck to haul himself up.
“Yeah,” said Roadhog, a small smirk on his face. It suited him... Junkrat wanted to see what it tasted like. Roadhog met him halfway, big hand on the back of Junkrat's head to hold him in place as they kissed.
Junkrat didn't have a lot of experience with kissing, but Roadhog seemed to and he guided him. When Junkrat came in too fast he pulled him back, when he used too much teeth, Roadhog used his tongue to get him to slow down and relax. Junkrat had always been a drooler, and he drooled even more while kissing, but Roadhog didn't seem to mind. The hand on the back of his head was starting to massage his scalp and comb through his hair, that special way Junkrat loved.
“You're so messy,” Roadhog said, pulling back for a breath and wiping some of Junkrat's drool off his chin.
Junkrat giggled, trying to pull Roadhog back down, “I c'n get messier!”
“Yeah?” Roadhog growled, twisting to drop Junkrat onto the mattress, “want to test that, Jamison?”
“Ooh yeah,” Junkrat smirked, lifting his hips so Roadhog could tug off his shorts and belt. The time constraint no longer seemed quite as important. Junkrat wasn't great at focusing on more than one thing at a time anyway, and what he was focused on right now was Roadhog's face. That suit could burst in here and Junkrat would tell him to fuck off and wait until Roadhog had root his brains out.
“Tell me what your busy mouth loves more than talking,” Roadhog ordered, hand kneading his cock through his pants as he stared at Junkrat hungrily.
“Lotsa things!” said Junkrat eagerly, sitting up on his elbows, “I like eatin' an-”
Roadhog sighed, exasperated, “just say 'suck cock'.”
“That were on my list!” said Junkrat, “real high!”
Junkrat realized he was being teased, which was a little surprising in itself, but it made him burst into laughter, “Oh! Jus' below eatin', 'cause it's you, Roadie. List is: eatin', gobbling yer cock, drinkin' some nice cold water, talkin'-”
“Alright, alright,” Roadhog said with a low chuckle, “Talking should be higher on that list, but let's see you 'gobble my cock'.”
“With pleasure,” Junkrat purred, pushing himself up to smack a big wet kiss on Roadhog's lips before he urged him to sit against the headboard of the old bed. It was honestly a shock it wasn't falling to dust beneath them. Roadhog spread his thighs and Junkrat settled comfortably between them like it was his right. He fumbled with the belt, and eventually Roadhog had to help him unclasp it and unzip his pants. He was already half-hard, which pleased Junkrat immensely. He lay out on his belly, feet kicking off the edge of the bed as he buried his face right against Roadhog's cock. Since sucking him for the first time, Junkrat had been eager to get his lips back around this fat shaft. What an amazing prick, so fuckin' big, so thick, so hot and tasty. Junkrat licked messily up and down the shaft, drawing Roadhog to full hardness before he slurped the head into his mouth. He swiped his tongue under the taut foreskin before Roadhog grunted and shoved his head back.
“You need to learn how to slow down.”
Junkrat bared his teeth in a grin, “Then teach me, ya drongo!”
“Maybe not today,” Hoggy drawled, “go get that lube.”
He slithered off the bed and dug through his bag, cackling at the thought that Hog might actually fuck him this time. No better moment than right before they might die in a fire fight. Junkrat came back with the lube clutched in his fist, but Roadhog shook his head when Junkrat tried to hand it to him. “You're gonna start preparing yourself,” Roadie ordered, “but give me a nice view while you do.”
“Hehehe,” Junkrat flopped down before Roadhog, knees under him, shoulders on the mattress. It gave Roadhog the perfect view of his skinny ass and puckered hole. Junkrat had been fucked before... but it had been years. Years and years. Not much time to get buggered when you were on the run, and people had never lined up to root with him in the first place. So he was eager, possibly too eager, because Junkrat knew he was way too close to coming.
He slicked three of his fingers but was wise enough to start with just one, after all, hadn't been anything up there in awhile. Junkrat panted against the dusty mattress, wishing he could see the look on Roadhog's face, honestly, Junkrat just wanted to always be staring at Hoggy's gorgeous face. Big, warm hands curled at his thighs, spreading him a little wider, so a calloused finger could rub concentric circles right at the base of his cock.
“Oh fuck, Hoggy,” Junkrat whined, “ya gonna make me blow my load!”
“Who says that's not what I'm tryna do?” Roadhog rumbled, pressing a little harder, until Junkrat was keening sharply.
“R-Roadie...!” Junkrat's thighs trembled, his balls growing tight as he approached orgasm.
“Go on, we both know you won't last the whole time,” Roadhog growled.
Oof, that was probably true, even if it stung a little. He couldn't help his body! Junkrat wanted to whine about that, but he was feeling a little too good to complain. Roadhog's fingers curled around his cock and that was the end of it. Junkrat yelped and gasped as he spilled over the mattress, cock jerking between his spread thighs. Roadhog milked him, and then moved his hand to just rest on Junkrat's lower back.
“Ooooh, that's good,” Junkrat murmured, melting into the mattress, finger stilling as he relaxed after his orgasm.
“Don't you stop opening yourself up,” said Roadhog, hand rubbing up and down Junkrat's back, “or you'll regret it.”
“Bossy, bossy, bossy,” Junkrat grumbled, slowly pushing in a second finger. Now that he'd come, he felt limp and pliable, and his finger slipped in nice and easy. The whole time Roadhog stroked and coddled him in silence, but it was a nice silence; a familiar silence. When Junkrat could fit three fingers comfortably into his body, Roadhog gripped his hips and hauled him up like he weighed nothing at all, turning him around and making him straddle his lap.
It was a big lap, and Junkrat's thighs ached deliciously.
“Now let's see if you can take my fingers,” Roadhog growled, heavy brow pulled down in a scowl, but it was ruined by the quirk in his lips.
“Yer so cute, Roadie,” Junkrat slurred, body feeling completely lax. He pressed their foreheads together and smooched the broad bridge of Roadhog's nose.
Roadhog snorted, rubbing a thick, lubed finger against Junkrat's asshole, “Haven't heard that one before.” He pushed the finger in, and even when Junkrat had stuffed himself full with three fingers, just one of Roadie's came with a small burn. Junkrat whimpered at the feeling, it was a finger bigger than some cocks.
“Yer big all over,” Junkrat panted, head dropping to Hog's shoulder, fingers digging into his arms.
“Now that I have heard,” Roadhog said, voice a low, amused growl. “Not too much for you, am I?”
“No!” said Junkrat stubbornly.
Roadhog laughed under his breath, nosing against Junkrat's temple so his hot breath wafted over his ear. Junkrat clung to him, breath wheezing out, gasping, moaning, praising; he couldn't be silent. Roadhog was silent, only occasionally murmuring praises as he worked Junkrat wide open, from one finger to two fingers, and then finally to three fingers.
“N-Never been stretched wider,” Junkrat groaned, sweat dripping down his face.
“Should think not,” Hog grunted.
When the fingers pulled out he whined about it, asshole gaping uncomfortably, but Roadhog didn't give him time to complain too much. The bulbous head of his cock nudged along Junkrat's thigh before Roadhog's massive hands got him just where he wanted him and lowered him down onto his cock. Junkrat caterwauled so loudly that Roadhog froze with just the head inside him.
“Don't stop!” Junkrat wailed, “why ya stoppin', ya big drongo!?”
“Jesus fuckin' christ, Rat,” Roadhog muttered, relaxing under him, “you sound like you're being stabbed.”
“Ain't bein' stabbed fast enough, if ya ask m- MMMPHH!” Two of Roadhog's big fingers shoved their way into his mouth, pressing down on his tongue and gagging him.
“Shut up,” Roadhog ordered gruffly, “the more you talk the less I want to fuck you.”
Junkrat whined and gave him a pleading look, drool dripping thickly down his chin and smearing along Roadhog's fingers. Roadhog sighed, “I didn't say I was going to stop.” Junkrat sucked on his fingers with a sloppy slurping sound.
Roadhog kept the fingers in his mouth, but he really only needed the one hand to grab Junkrat use him as he pleased, lowering him slowly along his shaft with low grunts and groans while Rat could only let out muffled whimpers and whines around the fingers. Once his ass was pressed flush against Roadhog's thighs Junkrat let out a huff through his nose, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he sagged against Roadhog's bulk.
“Mmmnnngg,” he moaned, trying to tell Roadhog how goddamn full he felt, how fucking good. Since his poor tongue was otherwise occupied, he tried to roll his hips to get the point across. Move, move, move! Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!
Roadhog seemed to get the idea. He used his grip on Junkrat's skinny waist to haul him up along his fat shaft until just the tip stretched him, then dropped him down all at once. Junkrat wailed wetly around the fingers, thighs trembling and cock swelling against the curve of Roadie's belly. It got a little fuzzy from there on as the pleasure short-circuited his brain. With every rise up and jerk down his cock was rubbed over Roadie's skin, smearing precum against his tattoo. Junkrat was completely limp in his hand, sucking and slurping messily over his fingers even as his jaw ached from the constant stretch.
It wasn't quite the animalistic rutting Junkrat had pictured when he'd imagined Roadhog fucking him; Roadie obviously cared that he didn't get hurt, stopping to apply more slippery lube every now again, pausing to look into Junkrat's eye, or take his fingers out to massage his jaw before stuffing them back in before Junkrat could say anything. Which wasn't to say it wasn't a little rough, when Roadhog really got going he bounced Junkrat over his cock so fast and hard that Junkrat screamed around the fingers in his mouth, flesh hand trying to wriggle between their bodies to jerk his poor cock.
“Don't” Roadhog snarled, “touch yourself.”
Junkrat whined and brought both hands to Roadhog's shoulders instead, nails digging into him, metal fingers leaving behind bruises wherever he grabbed. The friction against his cock felt amazing, but it never felt like quite enough to push him over the edge, especially since he'd already come once. Roadhog was huffing, wheezing, and growling right in his ear, and the sounds were like music to Junkrat's ringing ears over the sloppy wet slapping of Hog's cock fucking into him.
Without warning Roadhog pulled him up and off his cock, his fingers pulling out so Junkrat could properly wail his displeasure without being muffled. He was shoved down, the hand that had been in his mouth now tangling in his hair to bring his face down to Roadie's crotch. Junkrat parted his lips as Roadhog guided the head of his cock into his mouth, letting it rest heavy on his tongue as he jerked himself, grunting above Junkrat with every sloppy stroke. Junkrat suckled the head, the only part Roadhog would allow him to take, trying to draw out his come.
Finally Roadie snarled with pleasure and spilled into his mouth, thick hot come splashed along Junkrat's tongue and down his throat as he swallowed eagerly, eyes opening to glancing up and watch Roadhog's face as he came. Fuckin' gorgeous. Roadhog popped him off with a hiss of over-stimulation as Junkrat kept sucking even after he'd spilled every drop.
“Now me?” Junkrat asked eagerly, licking his lips as he darted in for a kiss.
Roadhog held him in place with a hand on his chest, but he did lean in to kiss him on the forehead, “Fuck into my fist, but be fast. If you're not I'll leave you to do it yourself,” he threatened, curling his fingers around Junkrat's cock.
“Mate, ain't nobody faster than Junkrat!” he bragged, hips rolling eagerly into Roadhog's massive hand.
Roadhog sighed, perhaps a bit fondly, “Not somethin' most men brag about.”
“Don't ya tell me wot I can 'n' can't brag about!” Junkrat scowled, breathless with pleasure as he thrust into Roadhog's loose fist. Roadhog let out a rumbling laugh and gave Junkrat a delicious squeeze around his shaft, which was all it took to send him tumbling over the edge. He spilled all over Roadhog's hand, panting and whining as heat pulsed through him from the tip of his toes all the way up.
“Guess you are fast,” Roadhog said, pulling his hand away to look at the mess before he wiped it all off on the mattress.
“Yeah!” Junkrat panted, flopping down to lay comatose over Roadhog's body, “told ya so!”
Despite the fact that they really needed to plan out the death of the suit, Junkrat felt Roadhog's breathing even out as he fell asleep, and Junkrat decided he'd earned a bit of a kip as well. Besides, he hadn't slept well on the floor without Roadhog beside him.
“So, ah, what made ya change yer mind?” Junkrat asked four hours later after they'd roused from their nap and put themselves back together. It wouldn't do to be caught with their pants down. Literally. Junkrat was hunkered over a pair of concussion mines he was trying to give some extra oomph, sorting through his bag of explosives and clicking his tongue every time he grabbed something then put it back.
“I went to... a place,” Roadhog grunted, he was oiling his scrap gun to prevent jamming.
“What place?” Junkrat asked, dropping one of the mines with a sound of frustration. He just didn't have the firepower to make as big of an explosion as he wanted. The only way he'd truly be happy is if this miserable place, and the suit, were wiped off the face of the planet.
“A special place,” Roadhog growled in a tone that screamed 'don't ask me about it'.
“What's special about it?” Junkrat asked, regardless.
“If you don't shut up, I'll bury you there,” Roadhog warned darkly.
Junkrat giggled a little nervously, “Ah, well... cheers then. Anyway, we've got a problem, Oi can't take out th' whole house with wot I've got. We might have ta settle fer a smaller radi-”
Roadhog dug in his pockets then held out his fist, uncurling his fingers to show the two glowing omnic hearts Junkrat had given him what felt like forever ago. Junkrat sucked in a breath, looking from them up to Roadhog. “You saw what one of them did,” he said, hand hovering over Roadhog's palm, hesitating in taking them.
“I saw,” said Roadhog shortly, “but if this place is going to go, it's going to go.”
Junkrat swallowed and slowly picked them up, they clinked together as he brought them over to him, cradling them close to his chest as they threw a blue light over the harsh planes of his gaunt face. “We c'n change th' whole landscape with two of these,” said Junkrat with a breath, “there'll be a crater a mile wide.”
Roadhog grunted and gave a shrug, “Just get to it.”
“Mate, maybe we shouldn't use two-” while Junkrat was usually eager to blow up as much as possible, he still hadn't forgotten the power just one of these hearts packed. He'd demolished an entire town with the press of a button. Roadhog's home was much smaller than a town.
“We use two,” said Roadhog in a tone that brooked no argument, “and then we use another for bait. I want it all gone. I want it vaporized. I don't want another man or woman setting foot here if I can't.”
“Who is whose boss here,” Junkrat grumbled, but he set the omnic hearts down and started to crack open the shells of his concussion mines to build them back up with a heart beating in the center. “Look, if we're gonna vaporize this dump then I ain't usin' my detonator,” said Junkrat, pulling apart wires with his tongue poking out in concentration, “it don't got a good enough range. We need timers.”
“If we wait too long that sonovabitch could get away, or we could get caught in the blast,” said Roadhog.
“I'm the expert here,” Junkrat snapped, “we use timers or we don't use the hearts at all!”
Roadhog just stared at him, brow furrowed, and Junkrat went stiff, eyes squeezing shut as he expected to get hit for being so disrespectful. Roadhog hated being disrespected. Instead there was a creak of floorboards as he walked off. Junkrat peaked open one eye to see him coming back with a cute little piggy kitchen timer.
“Can you make this work?” Roadhog said lowly, holding it out for Junkrat.
“Uhh... yeah... yeah 'course,” said Junkrat, so relieved that he laughed a little as he grabbed the pig and set it down beside the mess of wires and explosives scattered around him.
“You're the expert,” said Roadhog.
“We'll have to act normal,” said Roadhog as Junkrat worked, “or he'll get suspicious.”
“I am a master actOR,” said Junkrat, fingers splaying against his dirty chest as he stuck his nose in the air.
Roadhog snorted, “Let me do the talking.”
“Well, mate, between the two of us ya are the most chatty,” Junkrat giggled, “talk talk talk! Ya jus' can't get ol' Roadie ta shut his yap! He-”
Junkrat snapped his mouth shut with a titter. “Right, yeah, well... what's th' plan?” he was starting to wire the piggy timer to his main bomb. One would set off the other, they didn't both need to be timed.
“We lure him inside with one of the hearts,” said Roadhog, snapping his scrap gun shut and setting it aside so he could now work on polishing his hook. “He'll probably bring a force with him so we'll want to make sure they don't bother us while we escape.”
Junkrat snapped his fingers, “Oi could draw a map ta me treasure! It's wot he really wants, yeah? Won't matter who sees it, they're all getting' turned ta dust anyway!”
Roadhog nodded slowly, “Good. We'll make a bargain, our lives for the heart and the map, he's a greedy bastard, he'll probably take it and let us go.”
“Tha's a solid plan!” said Junkrat proudly, “We're real masterminds, ain't we, Roadie?”
They set the first mine under the floorboards with the piggy timer sitting innocently on top of it, but the second was buried in the front yard. Didn't matter where it was, if it was in the blast radius it would go off. The piggy could be accessed and set as soon as they saw the suit coming. They'd agreed on half an hour from the suit's arrival, it'd give them enough time to bargain and flee on the motorcycle. Once all the work was done, all their supplies packed and ready for a speedy escape, all they could do was look out the dirty windows and... wait.
It drove Junkrat up the wall. He'd given up his last omnic heart, minus the one rattling around in his peg leg, for the bait in their trap. He'd even drawn up a somewhat accurate map. They'd set both on a rickety wooden table in the middle of the living room, so they'd be the first thing the suit saw when he walked into the house. Junkrat had been willing, if somewhat reluctantly, to give Roadhog the heart in his leg, but Roadhog had gently turned the offer down.
That seemed fair, and Junkrat didn't fight it. It was his due for losing his leg to that treasure in the first place.
“I'm boooored,” Junkrat moaned dramatically, laying on the floor with his legs spread up on the window Roadhog was staring out.
“Then find somethin' to do,” Roadhog snapped. He had his mask back on and his bulbous glass eyes stared out at the desert unblinkingly. He slapped at Junkrat's legs and he twisted with a grunt until he was instead laying on his belly, blinking at the spike on Roadhog's boot.
“We could mess around,” he suggested hopefully.
“Bah,” Junkrat grumbled.
“Oh ho!” Junkrat sat up on his elbows with a smug smile, “knew ya couldn't say no ta this fine speci-” Junkrat yelped as he was grabbed and picked up off the floor.
“You skinny fuck, look!” Roadhog held him against the glass and Junkrat grumbled as he squinted through the dirt out to the horizon.
“They're here!” he gasped, perking up immediately.
Junkrat and Roadhog stood at the window and watched as an entire pack of vehicles appeared, but leading them was a massive armored car. So, the suit had taken his lackey's message to heart. Junkrat giggled with excitement, wriggling and nudging Roadhog as one by one the vehicles formed a half circle around the front of the property.
“COME OUT,” a loud speaker announced from the top of one of the trucks, “WITH YOUR HANDS VISIBLE.”
“YOU THINK WE'RE FUCKIN' STUPID?” Roadhog roared in reply, waving Junkrat off to get the piggy timer set while he yelled out the window.
Junkrat ducked down and crawled over the floor to pry up the boards and reach in, clicking the timer to thirty minutes before placing the boards back in place.
He popped back up by the window just as a man in a suit, but not THE suit, stepped out of the armored car. He looked like he had an earpiece in which he was touching with two of his fingers as he looked at them through the dirty window.
“You don't honestly expect me to be dumb enough to come out there, do you?” he asked, which confused Junkrat until he realized the suit was speaking into the earpiece and this jackass was just parroting his words. There wasn't a megaphone on the armored car.
“I told you if you want to deal, we have to be face-to-face,” Roadhog growled, his voice still loud enough to be heard through the thin glass.
“Then... come to the front door. You have my word you won't be harmed if you can prove you have no weapons on you,” said the man in the suit, speaking for the suit.
“Yeah, his worthless word,” Roadhog muttered under his breath.
Couldn't eat snake eggs if you weren't willing to stick your hand into a bunch of random holes, so they walked to the front door and opened it, Junkrat bounding out first with his hands over his head while Roadhog towered behind him, palms out to show he was unarmed as well. Instead of getting gunned down, the suit actually opened the door to the armored car and stepped out, smoothing down his fancy outfit as he shot them a smug look.
“See? We're all civilized here.”
“Fuck off, ya cunt!” Junkrat spat.
The suit frowned over Junkrat's head to Roadhog, “Control your animal, or I'll have him put down in front of you.”
“Rat, shut up,” Roadhog hissed.
“Can't put me down,” Junkrat taunted, bringing his hand down to stick his tongue out and make a face at the suit, “ya need me, dontcha?”
Roadhog grabbed him and threw him behind him, Junkrat grunted as he hit the door frame then spun and slammed into the floor in a tangle of limbs.
“There, now the adults can talk,” Roadhog said lowly.
“Indeed,” said the suit, “what are you doing, Mako? Running off with this unstable idiot?”
“You destroyed our home,” Roadhog growled, “why would I ever work for you? You're going to use the hearts to make a pulse-”
The suit laughed. Laughed! Junkrat rolled to watch him from between Roadhog's legs, seeing him wipe tears of amusement from the corners of his eyes. “Oh, you always did have a good sense of humor, Mako. You think those things are still used in omnic production today? You should know how dangerous they are, your idiot Rat destroyed an entire town! I can no more make a weapon of omnic destruction out of them than I can out of a sack of potatoes and batteries.”
That looked like it was news to Roadhog, if his shift in body language was anything to go by. He moved over Junkrat, hands lowering slightly, “Then... what do you want with them?”
“The same thing that little idiot wants,” said the suit, nodding down towards Junkrat, “money. I already have a buyer lined up. Let me guess, Jamison Fawkes promised you a cut of the spoils when he sells them? How much? 30%? 40?” there was a sly pause and Junkrat's heart jumped into his throat as that suited cunt purred, “50%?”
Junkrat whimpered, he didn't like where this was going.
“Who would a filthy little Scrapper even sell to? I'll make you a deal, Mako,” said the suit, “you give up Junkrat, or if he has told you the location already, you join with me and I'll give you 45% of the spoils. The guaranteed spoils. The only thing Jamison “Junkrat” Fawkes can guarantee you is a nice big hole in the ground for your, ah, sizable corpse.”
“Roadie,” Junkrat whispered, tugging on his pants, “Roadie, mate, don't listen ta him. We're mates, right? Yeah? Yer me bodyguard, me pal. Come on, he's just some lying suit-”
Roadhog jerked his foot back and it connected with Junkrat's face, breaking his nose in a spray of blood and sending him rolling back with a cry of pain. He snorted and sobbed, holding his face as blood and snot poured out between his fingers to drip onto the floor. He could hear the soft tick tick tick of the piggy timer just under the floorboards beneath his head.
“Mako would have happily taken that deal,” Roadhog growled, and Junkrat sobbed to hear it, feeling his heart clench in his chest as if Roadie had reached in and grabbed it, “but Roadhog has something different in mind.”
“Do tell,” said the suit a bit sourly.
“I don't want anything to do with the A.L.F, you, or the hearts. Fuck all of it. Here's my deal. You let me and Rat go and you'll get a heart as a sign of good faith, and a map to the treasure. In return all pursuit of us stops and we're allowed out of the Outback. We never see each other again. Junkertown is your territory now.”
“You can't be serious,” said the suit suspiciously, “you turning down money? So much money you could turn this place into a castle if you so desired, eating only the finest foods, puttering around this dusty property? This was the only thing you fought for back then, it's the only thing you've lived for since.”
Junkrat looked up at Roadhog from his place on the floor, hope blooming in his chest.
“And that hasn't gotten me shit,” Roadhog growled, “I'm tired. I'm old. I'm done. Take your fuckin' hearts and leave us alone.”
Junkrat whimpered, sitting up with his bloody hand pulling away from his nose to wipe tears away from his eyes. Ain't no one ever stuck their neck out for him before, and now Roadie was givin' it all up for him.
“Leave Fawkes with me.”
Junkrat sucked in a breath, choked on some blood, and coughed powerfully over the floor.
“That wasn't part of my deal,” Roadhog snarled.
“How do I know the map is accurate? You could be fooling me,” said the suit coldly, “I get the heart, the map, and Fawkes. Then you, Roadhog, are free to leave, go wherever your heart desires.”
“Rat comes with me,” Roadhog snapped, “or you get nothing at all!”
“Oh, come now, why do you even care?!” the suit said in reply, he sounded frustrated. “What is he to you? Nothing! Without the treasure he can't pay you, he can't uphold his end of the bargain!”
Roadhog looked over his shoulder, and Junkrat looked up at him with wide eyes, blood streaming down his face and throat, making a complete mess of him. What did Roadhog see when he looked at him? Something worth saving. Junkrat teared up again. Roadhog huffed and looked back out at the suit.
“He's a brainless moron, but what I need with him is my business. Take it or leave it. If you leave it, we kill every single one of you.”
Junkrat sobbed, “Tha's th' nicest thing anyone's ever said ta me!”
“If you fight you'll both die.”
“Die now or die later, it's all the same to us.”
There was a prolonged period of silence but for the tick tick tick that only Junkrat could hear as he kneeled on the floor with his watery eyes glued to Roadhog's back.
“Fine,” said the suit bitterly, “take the idiot and get out of here, but if that map is fake, I'll hunt you both down and you'll wish you'd died here!”
“Give us five minutes to leave,” Roadhog growled, taking a step back into the house, hands still over his head, “and for Rat to draw the map. We don't want to see you again, we don't want to hear from you again.”
Roadhog slammed the door then hurried over to Junkrat, picking him up off the floor with a sound of disgust at the sight of his face, “Why did you put your face right under my foot?” he grumbled, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe away the blood and snot and tears that streamed over Junkrat's face. “We'll have to wait to give you some of the gas, you'll just have to deal with the pain.”
“We ain't got more than ten minutes,” Junkrat said, voice still thick from all the blood he'd swallowed, “we gotta hurry if we ain't wantin' ta get blown out too!”
Roadhog nodded, “We have to wait, or he'll know somethings up, he thinks you're drawing the map right now.”
“Foine, but we wait in th' motorcycle!” Junkrat waved goodbye to his last omnic heart, but he weren't too broke up about it. He still had his whole treasure under the Ominum... and he had Roadhog. Roadhog and Junkrat, about to start their worldwide tour of crime! It were a dream come true!
Roadhog set him into the sidecar and then sat on his bike, hands hovering over the key. They waited. In silence.
Roadhog got the bike roaring and Junkrat twisted in his seat to look back as Roadhog's home started to shrink behind him. They drove past what looked like a pile of old wooden grave markers but when Junkrat turned to ask Roadie what they were he got a subtle shake of the head in response.
For once, Junkrat didn't.
As the time counted down Junkrat couldn't tear his eyes off Roadhog's house, so tiny in the distance. Everything, the house, the land, everything in probably a mile radius was going to disappear. The crater would be... enormous. Junkrat salivated a little, nose twinging painfully when he rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. Burn, dead place, burn. It was time to release Roadhog from your clutches!
Junkrat braced himself for the explosion, shoulders rising to his ears as he clenched his teeth together and squinted in preparation for the sudden burst of light-
That never came.
“Stop! Roadie!” Junkrat grabbed Roadhog's thigh and shook it, “Stop stop stop!”
Roadhog squealed to a stop in a puff of dust, “What's wrong?” he growled. He turned around then looked back at Junkrat, “Why isn't it going off!?”
“Oi don't know!” Junkrat wailed, reaching up to clench his hands in his wild hair, “th' timer must not of properly sparked the mine! Oh fucking, shit, cunt-! I have ta use the detonator!”
“You said the range wasn't long enough!” Roadhog roared, “you're gonna get us killed!”
Junkrat fumbled his detonator off the floor of the sidecar, sweat starting to drip down the side of his face, “I...I know but... mate that map isn't actually good enough ta lead him right ta th' treasure. He'll come rioght back after us!”
“You stupid motherfucker,” Roadhog swore, turning the bike around and speeding back towards the house.
“Look!” Junkrat yelled over the sound of the wind, “Oi'm gonna hit this as soon as I can, then ya whip around an' we outrun th' blast!”
Roadhog's house rose in the distance as Junkrat kept pressing the button on his detonator again and again, sweat making his thumb slip and nerves making his arm tremble. When they were probably half a mile away the detonator finally beeped, showing that it had made a connection.
“TURN TURN TURN!” Junkrat screamed.
Roadhog whipped around so fast that Junkrat nearly tumbled out of the sidecar, only saving himself at the last minute by latching onto the sides and sinking down in his seat. Just like last time the first thing there was was a flash of light, which put the hot desert sun to shame, turning the landscape around them an eerie blue and white for a few seconds. When the flash faded came the roar.
“FASTER!” Junkrat wailed, hunching over with his arms over his head.
The bike roared like a beast as Roadhog pushed it to its very limit, but Junkrat could feel the heat starting to lick at his back, and the pressure was popping his ears. They were still too close, too damn close! He looked up at Roadhog desperately, it was all up to him and his bike to save them. He didn't want to turn around, didn't want to see the baying hounds of fire catching up with them. They licked at his back, raising violent burns and blisters.
The bike's engine was starting to smoke as the heat of the explosion got to them, but Roadhog didn't stop, didn't slow. Junkrat whimpered, all he could smell was their flesh burning, all he could hear was the roaring of the explosion. By all accounts this was how he'd dreamed of dying, but he didn't want to die right now, he wanted to escape Oz, cause chaos, destruction, and die with money raining down over him.
Just when breathing started to get difficult they seemed to pop out of the bubble of the explosion. Junkrat wheezed and gasped, even the barest shifting causing the burn blisters all over his skin popping and leaking. He twisted around to see the massive crater behind them... just behind them. The earth was scorched to the bone, and beyond that, at the epicenter... well... from here it was hard to tell how deep it went. All signs of those cars, the armored vehicle, the house, the shed, the garage, the graves... it was all gone. Dust. Ash. The sky was blighted out above them, a great cloud of dust and debris that brought in an early twilight.
Roadhog finally stopped the bike and the engine gave a cough of protest before dying. He too was covered in blisters, all the way down his broad back and over his muscled arms. He took out a can of his gas and huffed it in, and all those burns and blisters disappeared, leaving behind freshly healed skin.
“You know,” said Roadhog lowly, taking off his mask to place it over Junkrat's face and give him a good huff as well, “if you ever get caught in an explosion, won't the heart in your leg do the same thing?”
Junkrat breathed in through his mouth, feeling his nose crack back into place and all his burns and blisters fade away to nothing. The mask was taken away and he flopped back against the sidecar, head spinning with his high. “I s'pose,” he slurred, staring up into the ashy sky above them.
Roadhog tested the engine and it reluctantly came back to life. It sounded like it needed a tune up, but if Roadhog trusted it to run than Junkrat would too. He turned his head to see Roadie putting the mask back on, tightening the straps on the back of his head.
“Roadie,” Junkrat whispered, “ya didn't even consider turnin' me over fer th' money?”
Roadhog paused, turning his head so that pig-face was looking right at him, “Nah,” he said lowly, “that doesn't sound half as much fun as what we have planned, does it, Boss?”
Junkrat laughed shrilly, eyes slipping shut as his smile stayed firmly plastered on his face, “'Course not,” he murmured, “Junkrat and Roadhog, criminals extraordinaire. We're gonna take th' whole world, ain't we, Roadie?”
“We're only gonna take what it owes us.”
“An' what's it owe us?”
“Everything.” Roadhog said darkly.
He kicked the bike into gear and they rode off towards the coast, Junkrat's wild laughter piercing over the sound of the engine.
Thank you all so SO much for reading, commenting, and kudo-ing this work!! It was SO much fun to work on, but ya'll really made it a blast!
If you want to see more from me you can find me on tumblr as ohgodsalazarwhy.
Extra special thanks to my beta fabulousmerchant Danke danke danke! Ya'll the best, I can't wait to write more Roadrat! If you enjoyed the story, let me know! xoxoxo