Chapter Text
Junkrat was fidgety by nature—Hog knew it was hard to grow up the way he had and not have a constant bead on his surroundings.
If something moved, Junkrat observed it, decided whether it was a threat or not and then either dismissed it or reacted to it.
Roadhog just wished he of all people could be excluded from that razor sharp observation. He also knew best of all that he shouldn’t be.
Every time he touched Junkrat, the kid flinched.
The first time, he’d actually ended up with a frag launcher waved in his face. Twitchy little cunt.
They had progressed past that now. Junkrat didn’t react so badly to Roadhog’s heavy hand settling on his shoulder or a friendly slap on the back after a good haul, but he still flinched. Still cast Roadhog a furtive glance, like he was still waiting for a punch or a forceful grab.
Lately it hurt to see the kid be as wary as he was. It hurt him personally, rather than just hurting his pride. If he was just Junkrat’s bodyguard, it would have only been his dignity, but somehow between dragging the scrappy little idiot out from a pile of rabid Junkers and sitting across from Junkrat in a British hotel counting and stacking bills, he had developed some sort of attachment to the wiry little guy. The kind of attachment he hadn’t thought he could feel anymore.
“Why’d you stop counting?” Junkrat asked, not even glancing up as bills flew between his hands.
Roadhog reached out on an impulse and the bills suddenly spilled from Junkrat’s right hand. The prosthetic clenched into a fist, and he opened and closed it a few times, as if trying to blame the flurry of bills on a mechanical malfunction.
Roadhog completed the motion, resting his hand on Junkrat’s shoulder until the young man looked up at him.
Curious, embarrassed, and annoyed, Junkrat snapped at Roadhog before the logical side of his brain could interfere, “what?”
Roadhog curled his fingers around the thick strap of Junkrat’s harness and the rest of the bills fluttered to join their mates on the table and ground.
“Hey! Easy, big guy, I take it back!”
Roadhog tugged Junkrat towards him and Rat’s hands slammed on the table. He tried to resist the pull, but his palms, flesh and metal alike, slipped on the money that covered its surface, and he was soon face to snout with Roadhog’s mask.
“Have I ever hurt you?” Roadhog asked curiously. He was a large, generally angry, man, he’d maimed people before without it really registering. He just hadn’t cared.
He cared now.
“Since you mentioned it, this kind of hurts,” Junkrat admitted, his hands rising from the table to struggle with the iron grip Roadhog had on his harness.
Failing that, Junkrat’s hands found the buckle that secured the harness to his chest and began wrenching at it.
Roadhog let out a noise of frustration, which sounded just like a garbled sigh through his mask, and released Junkrat, who scuttled almost all the way across the room before he stopped to look back at Roadhog.
“Are you impatient for your piece of the haul or something? You’ll get your half of the Omnics’ shit, no worries! Just having a bit of–”
“I’m not threatening you, Junkrat,” Roadhog told him, trying to be crystal clear. He supposed that everything he’d said up ‘til then was more than a little ominous. That was just because he was trying not to sound sappy, but instead of clearing the air between them, Junkrat looked ready to bolt from the room and take his chances back in Oz.
“If you’re not threatening me, then what’re you about, mate?” Junkrat wiped the palm of his left hand nervously against his shorts, and the tips of the fingers on his right hand twitched like it remembered a similar emotional tic.
Roadhog thought about just giving it up for the night. It would be easier to just fall back into the flighty, nervous partnership that they had had over the past year rather than try to get Junkrat to respond normally to non-violent contact. Well, Roadhog supposed that his normal wasn’t Junkrat’s normal.
That wasn’t fair.
“Come here,” Roadhog said wearily. He twisted his chair around from facing the table and pointed at the spot in front of his spread knees.
Junkrat reluctantly moved from his spot by the bed—he’d put the corner of it between them—and slunk over to stand before Hog with his lips pursed and his eyes flickering between Hog, the table, the bathroom, the small fold out couch in the corner.
He was looking for things that he could put between them.
Roadhog made a disgusted noise in his throat and resisted just grabbing Junkrat by the arms and shaking him. Yelling, “see? I’m not hurting you!” while doing something impulsive was a little… unhinged, but that’s how Junkrat made him feel. Off-balanced, unhinged, needy and weak.
Junkrat stood silently in front of Roadhog for less than a minute before he crossed his arms and his left foot started tapping.
Roadhog slowly began to move, once Junkrat’s body lost the tightly wound edge to it. He mostly resembled a spring when he was in close quarters with someone, anyone—including Roadhog.
He wondered if he could change that.
Junkrat flinched away from the massive hand that moved to rest on his shoulder.
He raised his other hand up to rest on Rat’s other shoulder and saw panic flash through his eyes.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he repeated, sliding his hands slowly down Rat’s upper arms, then back up once he felt the warm metal edge of the kid’s prosthetic.
Panic turned to confusion in an instant.
Hog wished he had removed his glove and rings, but next time. Next time.
Right then, it looked like Junkrat was trying to figure out where a left over bolt went in his hand.
Roadhog continued the slow, even motion, the corner of his lips turned up slightly beneath his mask.
“Hey, mate…?” Junkrat finally spoke up. He looked more relaxed than before.
Roadhog grunted in reply.
“What the bloody fuck?”
Roadhog’s hands paused on Junkrat’s arms, and the confusion turned to panic again before Roadhog’s hands dropped away and he gripped his own belly as laughter rattled through his ravaged chest and throat.
Junkrat moved a step back, but when Roadhog looked at him again, his lips were cocked in a half-smile, like he didn’t get the joke but wanted it explained.
Roadhog waved his hand at Junkrat, who flinched, and then the massive outlaw turned his chair back to the table.
“Don’t worry about it, kid. Let’s just get this counted and crash.”
Junkrat hesitated before moving back to his own side of the table and kneeling to collect the bills that had fallen.
Roadhog resumed counting out £1000 bundles and stacking them in the duffle bag beside them, his mind turning over again and again how he could get Junkrat to seek out his touch, rather than cringe away from it.