Chapter Text
Getting back into Junkertown has been an event. Everybody looked at Junkrat as if he was some sort of celebrity - and he damn right was. Nobody dared to put a hand on him, not even if they were itching to get hold of his treasure - not even the Queens’ henchmen! And isn’t that a laugh! All because he managed to land the big fella as a bodyguard.
What was his name again?
He was looming behind Junkrat and his lumbering steps shook the ground as he walked - that was something to get used to, something he could get used to.
Junkrat giggled with glee.
People stepped out of the way. Some glared, some murmured about them, but most left them alone and more so, less brave junkers even turned away and pretended to not see them. They were feared, Junkrat realized, and the feeling was intoxicating.
Oh to be something big and powerful.
He could get used to this, he could live like this.
No more being pushed around - little Junkrat, running his mouth, doesn’t know where he is half the time. Well no more! He is a new man!
Junkrat looked behind him and almost had a heart attack seeing the gigantic junker behind him. He shrieked and nearly jumped a mile high.
Roadhog grunted at him annoyed.
Right, this was his buddy. Why was he so freaked out? Get it together, Junkrat!
Maybe he wasn’t in the right head-space. As if there was time to get into the right head-space in the Outback, to begin with. What was his problem? Suck it up, buttercup. Keep on moving, another day another sucker to be made short of cash and scarp and whatever else. So Junkrat just went about his way as if nothing happened.
What was he on about?
They are in a bar now. Roadhog orders, he doesn’t even need to say anything and drinks appear. He might have paid for it but Junkrat hadn’t seen any of it so it might as well have been magic at work.
Definitely. And what a lucky guy Junkrat was to have a bloke like Roadhog at his side. Truly, it’s them against the world - Junkrat and Roadhog, the one and only, the inimitable. They can do whatever they want, take whatever they want and set the world burning in a glorious, spectacular chain of explosions.
It’s a plan forming in his head, for a long, long time now.
He might have said all of that out loud because Roadhog grunts at him to shut up and Junkrat giggles and continues to prattle on. Somebody had to fill in the silence.
Junkrat might have been at it for a long time - or five minutes, who knows. He loses track of time so easily, and why should he worry about that, it’s not as if he had to be anywhere right on the clock, punctual like that. It’s all just messy numbers so who cares. That wasn’t important, what was important was that Roadhog wasn’t anywhere in sight and he was being grabbed by the shoulder and pulled off the bar stool and onto the cold, hard, grimy floor - something sharp digs into his side, luckily it was nothing nasty, yikes.
Figures tower over him blocking out the lamp light of the bar.
Their faces look familiar, vaguely familiar. Every last motherfucker looked the same around here - missing teeth, missing fingers, ugly scars and uglier mugs. It’s all a blur after a while.
But not his buddy, Roadhog! You can pick him right out of a crowd, that one.
Speaking of which, where is the big fella? His presence would be mightily appreciated about now.
On a second glance, they look like enforcers with all the armour and spikes and whatnot. And they looked very angry.
“You got a lot of nerves coming back here, Junkrat,” one of the enforcers spat at him.
Junkrat decided that staying on the ground was not the best idea. So he jumped up when he had the chance.
“Now now now, don’t get so hasty,” Junkrat managed to get it out and he wasn’t stammering so much. “We wouldn’t want to get blown to bits, or do we?”
The detonator was already in his hands, the trigger comfortably smooth against his thumb.
They didn’t even flinch at his threat, tough crowd.
The enforcers circled him and Junkrat suddenly realized that people started to leave the bar. This wasn’t a fight to get involved or gawk at - that’s bad, very bad, there is always somebody to watch the fight. Who wouldn’t want to watch a glorious battle? They don’t know what they are missing out on. He and Roadhog should swing down to arena fights. Now that’s some good fun! Would be better with some explosions, but he had a feeling people wouldn’t appreciate him throwing bombs in - that’s an idea! He ought to try it.
“You might have gotten off easy last time. The fuckers were idiots, but we aren’t messing about,” one enforcer with the most crooked teeth Junkrat has ever seen said.
He almost said something when he realized where he was. Right, he is being detained? Interoperated? Viciously beaten to death? Either way, it was all the same, they aren’t going to get his treasure, not for anything! It was his!
“I’m not telling you anything about me treasure! Not a thing!”
“Good to know that you got something in that head of yours,” Crooked-teeth said, then raided a gun pointing it straight between Junkrat’s eyes. “Let’s get straight to the point. The only thing worthy about you is that damned treasure. And you are going to tell us where it is one way or another. So let’s move this along, shall we?”
Junkrat snickered. “Or you will do what? Shoot me dead? Fat chance, bucko! You aren’t getting anything that way.”
Truly, what was this idiot thinking? Queen’s standards have dropped drastically if these are the guys she employs. Maybe she should look for more upstanding gentlemen to put onto the roster - like him and Roadhog! They could get the job done!
Oh yeah, where was Roadhog? He could use a hand right about now.
Crooked-teeth glared at him. “You think I don’t know that? What sort of idiot do you take me for?” he snarled. “What I can do is put a couple of bullets in you for good measure if you don’t come willingly.”
“Heck, maybe we will even let you live after you tell us where your treasure is,” another enforces laughed.
These do not look like the people who would graciously do what they promise! - except if it’s gratuitous bodily harm, that is. Junkrat wasn’t buying any of that shit. He didn’t survive this long in Junkertown by doing whatever the fuck people told him to do. No! He survived by being unkillable!
It’s a small space in the bar, not as if that ever stopped him before.
Better to go out in a blaze of glory!
Junkrat couldn’t help but start to giggle at the thought of it. On instinct, the enforcers slowly reach for their weapons. Crooked-teeth cockled the safety back on his gun and took aim at Junkrat’s left shoulder.
The junker’s smile turned into a full grin. “You need me alive,” Junkrat said. “I don’t need you either way!”
A lot of things happened at the same time, Junkrat threw down one of his mines, his trigger finger already pushing the detonator before it even hit the ground. Then explosion - bang! - a cacophony of noise and screaming - everything goes white in a flash. Warmth, the heat of his own explosion engulfs his chest, his neck, his face - he is flying - back and away and straight into the wall.
Didn’t something like this happen already?
Shrapnel is cutting his flesh - cuts join burns and it might hurt enough to scream. Nerves light up with the sensation - his arm hurt, it hurts so much!
The bar is gone and for a moment all he sees is the red desert swimming in a smouldering heat mirage.
His arm is gone!
Please don’t hurt me!
Gone! Gone! Gone!
Junkrat hits the wall of the bar; the RIP-Tire somewhat cushioned the impact. Not as if he would notice it. He flopped down onto the ground but scrambled to his hands and knees soon after. His body was screaming at him to not move - it hurt too much, all over - but his blood was already boiling with the sudden rush of memories.
He grabs at his arm and for a moment he expected searing pain - a missing limb and ugly charred flesh. All he found was his broken prosthetic arm with some fingers bent backwards and the casing blown off. Junkrat touched it as if he had never seen it before. He ran a finger over the straight rod that was prodding out. He could have sworn-
“You fuckin’ cunt!”
What colourful language, Junkrat had half a thought to crack a joke about it. But he didn’t because Crooked-teeth was the one screaming this, and he was spitting out some of his teeth - a piece of his mine might have hit him straight in the mouth - oh well, it probably was better for him, a couple of golden chompers could shine up that smile.
“I’m going to fucking kill you for this!” Crooked-teeth spit blood, as if there wasn’t enough gushing out his mouth. He raised his gun and Junkrat was sure he was going to put a bullet into his skull.
Another enforcer grabbed his arm, pulling it back. “Are you daft?! We want him alive! How else are we supposed to get the treasure?”
“Fuck the treasure! I want him fuckin’ dead!”
Junkrat had a faint sense that he should be booking it. Better to get out of harm's way and live to see another day. But when was he a sensible person? If there was a chance to cause some mayhem then he was more than happy to jump in guns a’ blazing - or well bombs a’ lighting, but who cares about the details? But he was still reeling, old memories still rattled inside his brain - and his arm! He rather blow these assholes to bits.
He reached for his bombs, but before he could have grabbed any, his peg leg slipped on something and gave out under him. Junkrat fell to the side slamming his already fucked up arm, elbow first into the concrete ground.
That stopped the enforcers’ bickering.
“Let’s just grab ‘em and take ‘em in,” one said. “We can beat the treasure out of ‘em.”
Crooked-teeth growled, “I’m going to gut him. The moment we have the treasure I’m going to gut him like a pig.”
“Get in line.”
No time to think now, where are the bombs? Junkrat scrambled for his sweeties, for a moment living up to his namesake when a huge shadow loomed over him.
He looked up only to stare at the huge man’s back. His hook glistened in the buzzing lamp light.
“Rat’s with me,” he breathed out and gripped his hook threateningly.
The enforcers shared a look.
“So it is true what the rumour mill churned out,” one said amused. She had the audacity to look Hog up and down as if contemplating him as a new creature - or a good joke “Ya really did shack up with the Rat! Come on, mate, ya’re better than that.”
A round of chuckles went around.
Some curious junkers poked their head into the bar. No doubt that they were looking for some bodies to loot since nothing followed that explosion. The smarter ones ducked out the minute they saw Roadhog facing down the Queen’s enforcers. The others remained to spectate the show.
Roadhog grunted, long and slow. A fair warning.
“Anyways, we don’t want any trouble with ya,” the enforcer continued. “Ya are a good junker, there is no need to make this difficult. We just want the Rat.”
“Not gonna happen,” Roadhog simply said.
“Ya know who ya’re talking to?” she sneered.
Roadhog nodded as if he was having a casual conversation. “Helped gut the last suckers,” he shook his hook, and Junkrat had no doubt he was itching to get some action going. A giggle bubbled up in his throat at the thought.
His partner looked at him, and Junkrat didn’t need to see his face to know that Hog was glaring at him. Roadhog reached down and pulled Junkrat to his feet by his bomb harness.
“Stand.”
“Don’t need to be told twice, mate,” he grumbled still wobbly on his feet. “What’s the big deal anyways? Shouldn’t you be handling me gently? I’m fragile merchandise,” he waved his ruined prosthetic arm around, it only just occurred to himself that he has to fix it - he really hoped he wasn’t missing some bolts, those were a pain to scavenge.
“Shut up,” Roadhog truly sounded exasperated.
Junkrat only giggled maniacally.
“Alright, that’s enough!” the bartender finally arrived back, “You aren’t going to shoot up my bar twice in a week. Get the fuck out! All of you!” and just that they can be sure that he meant business he had a shotgun aimed at them.
Roadhog sighed heavily and grabbed Junkrat by the harness again. He left out the door dragging the other junker after him not even caring if he could get his feet under himself.
“Have a nice day!” Junkrat threw after himself with a wave of his prosthetic, the fingers flopping around, as he was dragged out of the bar.