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Junkrat is a liar.
Junkrat is a very, very annoying liar.
After the bar fight, Roadhog is almost in disbelief at how much Junkrat talks - it's nonstop, like water gushing out of nonexistent waterfalls.
Roadhog, of course, doesn't respond. And it's not like Junkrat cares, still prattling on about this “treasure” like it's the only thing he's ever known. Roadhog just absently flicks beer off from his hand, the one that crushed his glass stein before he started swinging.
I should've drank it, he thinks. Would've made this more tolerable.
Junkrat's still lying, weaving lies in the air like string. “…That's why it's a real blessin’, ain't it, mate - havin’ such a good pal with me now! Those Wreckers been eyein’ me ol’ treasure for, err, months? Days? 1 ger-zillion years! Ahahaha!” And then he laughs, high pitched and almost squealing, and it echoes throughout Junkertown's metal walls. An old Junker leans out of their shanty and chucks a stripped screw at Junkrat's head for the noise. Junkrat barely winces at the impact. Instead, he sticks out his tongue, yells “Cunt!”, and bends down awkwardly to pocket it.
Roadhog watches the way Junkrat fiddles with it before sticking it in his pants. There's a Tinkerer if anyone's seen one, he thinks. Who knows what he'll bloody do with it.
But then Junkrat turns to him and beams. “Why, aintchu a flatterer!”
Roadhog falters briefly in his steps.
“Hmm… maybe see if I can fix me a new screw,” Junkrat muses, going on as normal. “Screw's a screw’s a screw…” With a sudden clear look, Junkrat glances towards Roadhog's hand. It still stinks of beer. Junkrat giggles to himself. Without warning, he picks up the giant hand and deftly picks out a large shard of glass out of Roadhog's knuckle. Roadhog growls and starts, reaching for his scrap gun, and Junkrat drops it almost immediately after, waltzing a bit ahead of the older man as if he hadn't almost gotten himself shot.
“Kookaburra sits on the ol’ gum treeeeee….” Junkrat begins to sing, waving his arms in the air, still holding onto the bloody piece of glass like a prize. He's screechy and discordant. Someone else chucks another screw at him.
Ugh.
The world deserves him, Roadhog thinks, not for the first time.
-
Junkrat and Roadhog are kicked out of Junkertown, then proceed to ruin the world.
Heist after heist is born as the two jump from bank to arcade to ice cream truck, leaving an endless trail of destruction behind them, and Roadhog has… fun.
It's not as if it doesn't come with its own challenges; Junkrat is an absolute nightmare to work with half of the time, as Roadhog expected from the little liar. Sometimes he'll jump in the action and almost get his head blown off, or he'll get heads blown off too early and ruin a part of the plan. Sometimes he'll forget what he's even doing and Roadhog will have to shove him, one way or another, towards the answer. It’s like watching a screaming toddler run around in a supermarket, except Roadhog has to deal with a fully grown man. But when Roadhog gets to shoot through another suit and blast through Vishkar tech, the hateful and angry part of him, the one that's built a nest in his heart where Mako used to be, practically purrs with content. This is what the world deserves.
Throughout it all, Roadhog learns new things about Junkrat. Most of them are against his will, the natural byproduct of having to be around someone for a long time, but also because Junkrat never shuts up about himself.
If prompted, Roadhog could now list some of the following fun facts about the younger Junker:
Junkrat loves taro boba.
Junkrat likes the color orange.
Junkrat blew his own leg off and did his own hacksaw surgery.
Also, Junkrat… eats his toenails. This isn’t a fun fact. Roadhog wishes he didn’t know this one.
Roadhog doesn’t talk about himself at all. Outside of Roadhog not caring enough to talk, it’s not Junkrat’s business to know him as anything more than his bodyguard; they aren’t friends, just partners. Roadhog tries to make this very clear, although it does little to dissuade Junkrat’s weird, manically-friendly demeanor and occasionally analyzing gaze. That’s another thing about Junkrat - he can be frighteningly perceptive.
If Roadhog were to put a list on some of the things Junkrat’s somehow learned about him, it would be:
Roadhog loves pigs and Pachimari.
Roadhog likes peach boba.
Roadhog has irradiated lung damage, and can’t breathe well without his mask.
Roadhog only learns what Junkrat knows because Junkrat will sometimes act accordingly; he’ll throw a newly stolen Pachimari plush at him, or slow down his pace when Roadhog starts breathing too heavily.
Roadhog doesn’t know how to feel about having someone around like this. Who can sometimes pause and actually look at him. How much more will Junkrat be able to sniff out?
Roadhog doesn’t know.
–
They get betrayed when they try to go legit near the end of their heist. Roadhog knows Junkrat enjoyed getting to blow up the suit that did it, but… Roadhog finally looks back. There’s something swimming in Junkrat’s eyes. Frustration. Disappointment, maybe.
Longing.
Roadhog looks away. That’s enough of that.
(He buys Junkrat a taro boba from the nearest shop, once they’ve escaped the cops.)
–
Now the two steadily push a hover-trolley, filled to the brim with gold, across the ever-familiar Oz desert.
Junkrat is giddy, hasn't stopped smiling since they landed back in Australia, and Roadhog can only sigh. Junkrat thinks this will get them back into Junkertown. Granted, it's a lure to take their revenge, but still. Roadhog doesn't even want to bother. He hates Junkertown, hates it deep in his core. Hates the Queen. In a way, Roadhog hates Australia, ignoring the remnants of Mako that still love it with a crushing fierceness.
But Junkrat looks so, so happy. And Roadhog is just his employee, his bodyguard. Junkrat is the boss.
They take a break under an outcropping of rocks that tower into the sky, shielding them from the brazen sun. Sweat drips down Junkrat's face, leaving clear lines through the soot that covers it. Roadhog plops himself down on a rock, and Junkrat follows soon after, flopping down directly into the dirt nearby, coughing when a dust cloud forms from the impact before it drifts away.
“Figure we's gonna really show the Queen the what for, ain't we, Hog? Muhahaha… hahaha!” Junkrat laughs, laughing, for some reason, like a bad impression of a supervillain. “How's me revenge laugh? That was the laugh.”
“...”
“Yer right, needs work. Uuugh,” Junkrat groans, sweat dribbling onto the ground. The backs of his arms have already become dusty. “Let's play a game! Uh… what's the sign there say? Whoever reads it first wins!” Junkrat points to a faded billboard up ahead of them, and Roadhog is reminded that Junkrat is only barely literate. During the heists, Junkrat only knew how to read whatever interested him - like the names of chemicals or the periodic table. Everything else required thorough squinting and guessing, and most of the time it wasn't enough.
“Beea-ad… aeend…” Junkrat sounds out, currently doing just that.
“Bed n’ Breakfast.” Roadhog states, and Junkrat gapes.
“How'd you do that!”
“Learned.”
“Where!”
“School.”
Junkrat's eyebrows shoot up, almost gobsmacked, and for a second Mako wants to laugh at the thought of a man not knowing what school is. It just hasn’t been long enough for people to forget that. But then, Roadhog realizes, it's not just school - it's the acknowledgement that Roadhog was once something else. Someone else. Someone who doesn't exist anymore, hasn't for a long time, but once roamed a world that Junkrat was barely old enough to see. It’s Roadhog finally offering a piece of himself.
“School… never been to no school. Fancy piece'a shit you are, huh, you ol’ drongo?” Junkrat smirks, giggling when he feels Roadhog's unamusement through the mask. “Found a video clip, though, watched it on a bust screen… that's how I learned ‘bout chemicals for me bombs.” Junkrat visibly preens, even on the ground, “That's all I need!” Roadhog imagines a grubby, Junkrat-looking tyke watching Play School or something on a broken TV set and frowns.
“...” Roadhog stares into the sky at nothing, already abandoning the conversation. But something tells him that it's not over yet, even as Junkrat starts prattling about something else.
-
“A.”
“Ay.”
“B.”
“Bee.”
Junkrat repeats after Roadhog as the larger man writes delicately into the dirt with a long stick. They're maybe a day or two away from Junkertown, now, and it's nighttime. The stars shine over Roadhog's neat upper and lowercase lettering. Roadhog is only entertaining this because Junkrat kept bringing it up, the fact that he could read and write, and Roadhog is tired of hearing about it. His patience is running thin. He's learned that, if he entertains Junkrat or at least distracts him, the rat will leave well enough alone eventually. So now Roadhog's teaching Junkrat the alphabet.
“Cee… dee… ee… eff… how many fuckin’ letters are there? This sucks! I'm bored,” Junkrat declares, pouting and crossing his arms, scuffing a shoe into the dirt.
Roadhog sighs and leans back. “Forget it.” Thank God, he thinks, that was quicker than I thought.
Junkrat studies a rock intently before dramatically gasping and going, “Wait! Waitwaitwait! But what about me name! I wanna write my name!”
“Hm,” Roadhog ponders, then begins to carve out JUNKRAT into the ground. “J. U. N.-”
“You spellin’ Junkrat, I'm guessin’? No, mate! My real name! Jamison Fawkes! Or, hmm, for you - Jamie!”
It's not fitting, Roadhog thinks almost immediately. It's so… normal. It's almost proper. Not fitting for Junkrat at all. Jamison. Jamie. Not fitting. Roadhog can only guess at how it should be spelled, since the man himself can't provide a real answer.
Jamison. Jamison Fawkes.
Roadhog slowly writes into the ground, eyeing a very, very eager young man.
Jamison.
(People don’t share their real names much in the Outback, anymore. Junkrat gave his to Roadhog like it was nothing.)
“J. A. M. I...”
“Jay. Ay. Em. Eye…”
-
“Shouldn’t’a done that. Bloody galah,” Junkrat swears angrily, haphazardly wrapping a dirty strip of bandage on Roadhog’s arm. They had been ambushed on their way to Junkertown; Roadhog estimates they only have about a few hours before they make it. Someone had found what the tarp on the hover-trolley was hiding, and raiders had shown up soon after.
Roadhog wants to argue that Junkrat would’ve definitely been shot if Roadhog hadn’t pulled him out of the way. Roadhog’s done it before - plenty of times, even - so he doesn’t know why Junkrat’s complaining now. It’s his job. But right now, Junkrat seems to be having very little of it, so Roadhog just sits and sighs through the throbbing pain. It's too tiring to get irritated.
“Bloody tryna piss me off, ya are, I had ‘im… damn pigface,” Junkrat utters as he tightens and finishes the bandage. It’s done sloppily enough that Roadhog knows he’ll have to fix it later. But Junkrat slaps his shoulder and goes, “Now there ya go, all good as new, mate. Don’t be a fuckwit and mess it up more, wouldya?” Junkrat grins, showing off his sharp canines.
Roadhog grumbles and gets to his feet, but amends his previous thought; he’ll fix the bandage at night, when Junkrat’s sleeping.
-
“Idiot,” Roadhog sighs as Junkrat ruins their invasion into Junkertown before it even begins. Announcing who they were, right off the bat? Roadhog isn’t paid enough to deal with this.
But, then…
“Junkrat and Roadhog?!” A female voice snarls over the intercom, after a brief period of what sounded like staticky punches and wrestling. “Get yer asses in here so I can give ya a damn bashin’!
That's an order from yer QUEEN!”
-
Roadhog and Junkrat walk away from Junkertown alive.
Well, as “alive” as “in permanent exile, forever, no take backs, seriously, lest they be executed for real this time by the Junker Queen” can get, anyway.
Roadhog can’t believe the treasure was real, first off, but that… it was that. A treasure that went beyond words, beyond understanding, that had been holed away beyond the Final Door. The whole time, it was… well. A treasure. For a liar, Junkrat had actually told the truth. And now it’s gone.
Roadhog muses over this as he keeps an eye on the other man. Even though there’s still something extraordinary about how Junkrat managed to get them to escape with their lives intact at the cost of the treasure - something very, very few people could say - there’s something undeniably off now about the rat.
Junkrat incessantly giggles to himself - nothing new, per se, but the giggles come out like forced air through a tube, more squeaky than usual, and missing his manic flair. His hands can’t stay still for a second, wringing themselves over then wiping at his pants then patting at his bandolier. Over and over. Junkrat is a stuttering piston, or a sputtering faucet, his restless energy coming out strained and even more discordant. Like he’s waiting for something to fall down on him. Like he’s waiting for the end. Roadhog decides he doesn’t like it.
“Junkrat,” Roadhog grunts.
Junkrat whips his head towards the larger man, then juts his head away, eyes flickering over to the Junkertown main gate, which wanes as the two walk further and further away in the desert sun.
“Jamie,” Roadhog says, softer.
“Wha- whatsit? You said somethin’, Hoggy? Hahaha, ahaha!” He’s giggling again, as if he doesn’t know what else to do with himself. “Well- well, wasn’t it a beaut, the ol’ thing? You agree? Queenie sure loved it, she did, ooh, yes.”
“...”
“See, I knew ya’d get it! Knew ya’d -”
“Now what?” Roadhog interrupts.
“... Huh?”
“Now what?” Roadhog repeats. Roadhog rarely, if ever, repeats himself.
For once, Junkrat is quiet. His eyes are large, showing off irradiated orange irises that glint in the sun. His hands stop wringing for a second, the only movement from them being the occasional twitch of the false pointer finger on his flesh hand. It is here that it is ever so obvious what a genius Junkrat actually is, underneath the madness. Roadhog can practically hear the gears in Junkrat’s head spin, plan after plan forming and being scrapped simultaneously as he observes Roadhog in kind, like he’s dissecting his partner and putting him back together again. He might’ve been great, in a better world. Maybe. Roadhog pushes this thought back where it came from, lest Junkrat roots it out of him.
Something seems to finally click for Junkrat - for Jamison - as Junkrat lets out a small smile. It’s strange, a softness that doesn’t belong to his angular, sooty features, and disappears almost as soon as it comes. Roadhog is almost relieved. “Hehehe, well - well the spree ain’t gotta stop just cos of some treasure, ain’t it? Treasure, smeasure!” He cackles. “We’s still gotta visit, eh, I’donno - point is our worldwide heist ain’t over just yet! Where d’you wanna go?”
“You’re the boss,” Roadhog huffs, uncaring all but for very, very few things in his life, as they walk away from the place he hates the most.
-
They’re robbing a candy store on the day it happens.
Junkrat titters as he scurries from candy machine to candy machine, rummaging in them all too much like his namesake. Roadhog suspects they're here because Roadhog had grumbled one day about wanting a sweet, but one could never be sure with Junkrat. There’s two bags near Roadhog’s feet. One of them Junkrat tosses parts in, seemingly undiscerning to all but himself while he fills it with all sorts of scraps and chips and the stray chemical bottle or two. The other one is near full to the brim of sweet candy; taffy and bubblegum and toffee congeals together, and Roadhog suspects that some of the chocolate might be oozing out the bottom already from the suspiciously brown puddle forming on the tile.
“A-ha! Oooh, lookie here, Roadie!” Junkrat crows, pulling out a tube of whatever-it-is. With his other hand, he absentmindedly tosses a frag at a stray surviving Omnic mall cop. It explodes, bits flying into the air. Junkrat goes right back to his looting when Roadhog hears the sound of footsteps too soft to be Omnic and shifts into a defensive position in front of his employer.
They look stupid, Roadhog surmises. A real cast of characters, just like on the telly. There’s a woman in neon orange tights and some sort of cowboy, like the ones Mako used to read about, and then a woman who dresses like an angel. It’s a small crew. Roadhog thinks how easy it would be to crush the angel’s head in his palm.
“Woah, there, pardner,” the cowboy pipes up, startling Junkrat into dropping a glass thingamabob onto the floor, where it shatters into little pieces. Before Junkrat can grab his frag launcher, the cowboy points a revolver at him, and the orange woman brings out dual pistols. Roadhog brings up his hook, and the cowboy tuts. “I wouldn’t be too hasty, now. Sniper’s above you.” Roadhog tilts his head up and sees a hunched figure through the window on a far building. Dammit. Roadhog knows that Junkrat is conniving already on how to escape this one.
Junkrat almost seems to come to a conclusion before he pauses. “Wait a min’ - ain’t I seen you lot before?” Junkrat looks to Roadhog for confirmation. “Aint’chu recognize them, Roadie? You know this yank?”
“...” Roadhog does know.
“On the tip of me tongue, it is! On the tippity tip!”
“...”
“Over-what?”
“......”
“Over-watch! Overwatch! Ooooh! Doy!” Junkrat admonishes himself, batting himself on the forehead with his fake hand. “The ones on the screens that ‘bandoned Straya! Pff-hahaha!” Junkrat laughs, and Roadhog notes how the three Overwatch agents wince. “What, you here to gimme some aid?”
“...Not exactly, pardner,” the cowboy starts again, although he falters slightly. “Figured we’d get y’all into custody for, y’know… disturbin’ the peace n’ robbery. Stuff like that.”
Junkrat bares his teeth, reaching for his launcher despite the sniper. Roadhog covers Junkrat even more with his bulk.
“But that’s only one option.”
Junkrat pauses. The woman in orange gives a look towards the cowboy, giving him a look that screams what are you doing?
“Y’all’ve been exiled from… Junkertown, was it? Can’t imagine it’s been easy, not gettin’ to go back home. Bein’ on the run.”
“Whatsit to you, yank?” Junkrat scowls, immediately suspicious. He should be. Who knows what else they know about the two of them.
“I’m just sayin’... you can either get arrested, put down” - Junkrat practically snaps at that - “or you can join us.”
A brief moment of silence.
“No way in Hell!” “Hahahaha! As if!” Junkrat and the orange girl shout at the same time before glaring at each other.
“Settle down, settle down. Now listen here,” the cowboy continues, unperturbed. “We’re - I’m only offerin’ cause we’re so low on people these days, and I see a darn good opportunity. Look - you’d be paid. A pretty good amount, if I do say so myself.” Junkrat’s eyes have turned slightly calculating, now, at the mention of money, the way they always do. “Free food, room, amenities. Materials and workshop for yer things. And we’d protect you. You’d be free men.”
Roadhog and Junkrat know this is a lie. They’d only be free as long as they submit, which the two of them haven’t done in a long time, not even to the Junker Queen. It’s against their very natures. Roadhog, himself, bristles at the clear coercion. But he watches Junkrat struggle with indecision at the second chance of going legit, of being in a place that might actually provide for him. For them, Roadhog amends, watching Junkrat occasionally look up at him. Roadhog flashes back to that longing look in Junkrat’s eyes. Despite the betrayals they’ve experienced before, Junkrat is still an idealist, still hopeful in ways that the Outback hasn’t been able to fully squash.
Roadhog has a feeling about what Junkrat wants. And deep down, Mako knows what Jamison needs. But Junkrat still looks up at him, those orange eyes piercing, and asks, “What do you think, Roadie?”
-
The two Junkers stick out like a sore thumb in the proper civilization Overwatch offers. Roadhog only manages because he actually remembers what it’s like to live in one. It’s like flexing an old muscle, remembering that it’s not okay to threaten and shoot his way through all his problems, the ghost of Mako dragging his hand away from his holster more than once. But Junkrat is a bulldozer, snapping and laughing and dirtying up every surface he comes across. He’s like… well… a bomb. And it’s obvious that no one knows what to do with it.
He finally explodes when he comes across an Omnic on base.
It’s some floating one, and Roadhog tenses and reaches for the scrap gun he’s left behind in their shared dorm when he sees it. It attempts to introduce itself to Junkrat, claiming its name is “Zenyatta”. Only by its quick snapping kick does it deflect Junkrat’s frag in time, the frag exploding the nearby window into pieces. The orange woman nearby screams and blips towards Junkrat to disarm him. Junkrat is spitting, fingers clenching, peg leg stomping angrily on the ground. Footsteps thump into the room, and Junkrat is dragged off without preamble.
“Ya bloody fruit loops! Dipsticks! Shit for brains! Lemme go! That thing’s gonna kill us!” Junkrat raves.
Roadhog follows closely, hackles rising as he sees the many grabbing hands at Junkrat’s wiry limbs, the angry muttering and reprimanding they do as if he’s truly out of line. At some point, he tries to intervene, only to be held back by a man his size with a missing eye. Roadhog, obviously, starts to fight him.
What did these people expect, Mako thinks, indignant like he was in the Junkertown bar. It feels like forever ago. When they picked up two Junkers, two people torn apart and pieced together again because of those things, what did they expect? No one had told them about this. No one told them there would be a bunch of damn robots on the base, being treated like they were people.
Roadhog is ready to crush these people under his fist. He knows Junkrat wanted this, but Roadhog will make the decisions for him if it comes down to it. Roadhog will keep Jamie safe.
It’s his job.
-
Junkrat is let off easily. Well, “easily” isn’t totally true - plenty of chores, multiple warnings, and other disciplinary actions put Junkrat in a terrible state for a few weeks - but it shocks the two that Junkrat wasn’t simply… Roadhog doesn’t know. Sent off to the slammer. Tortured, maybe. Killed. Even after Junkrat tries to kill Zenyatta a second time, he says his worst punishment was scrubbing the workshop head to toe with a toothbrush and having to talk about his feelings to the angel.
And everyone knows that Junkrat doesn’t clean.
Junkrat, in fear of whatever the “asshole gramps with the visor” will make him do next, now just quietly seethes whenever he sees one of the Omnics nearby. Zenyatta doesn’t seem to take it personally at all. If anything, the Omnic just acts more friendly. Roadhog suspects the damn thing has been taking it as a challenge, underneath the heavy layer of peace and tranquility it presents to everyone.
But it’s a start, Mako thinks, watching Junkrat take a veritable clusterfuck of pills. He complained constantly about them, saying they tasted bad - but, in Roadhog’s opinion, it was Junkrat’s fault that he dry-swallowed them all at once. That’s another thing: Overwatch actually seems to care about their health, feeding them properly and forcing Junkrat to get vaccines, even when he runs away and screeches about getting needles poked in him. It doesn’t have to be just Junkrat wrapping Roadhog in a soiled bandage anymore, but a real doctor giving Roadhog treatment for his lungs. Roadhog can already see the difference in the way Junkrat’s hair has been growing back slowly, and wonders again what Junkrat would have been if he always grew up in a place like this. But here, seeing him obligingly take his meds, maybe Roadhog can see a little glimmer of that alternate Jamison, underneath all the soot.
–
Roadhog sees more and more of that Jamison as time goes on, he finds.
It starts when Junkrat makes his first real friend on base - some short, dreadlocked guy named Lúcio - and then suddenly Junkrat is actually, properly socializing. He comes back to their shared room each day with new stories about all of his adventures, and it’s only through these stories that Roadhog finally bothers learning everyone’s name, if only to follow along. He hears about a “snooty priss” (Satya), “the snow lady” (Mei), and “a lil’ gaming sheila” (Hana), just to name a few, and Roadhog wonders if Junkrat knows that more than half of the people he talks about don’t actually like him all that much.
Roadhog shakes his head at himself. He doesn’t care. Roadhog really, truly doesn’t care about anyone on the base, and that wasn’t a lie. They were just people he had to work with. Junkrat, on the other hand, seems to care almost too much. So of course Roadhog happened to notice these things.
But Junkrat, in his socialization, in his care, comes back to their room later and later. He spends more and more time away from Roadhog, and for the first few days, Roadhog is happily content to finally get breathing room to himself. At least, he thinks so. There’s only so many days he can sit calmly, drinking tea quietly with Ana before he starts to feel… a lack. Of what, he’s not sure. There’s a weird growing feeling in his belly, like a monster rising from a tidal wave. Or a bear creeping out from its den. Like he wants to squeeze something, or someone, until its eyes burst.
Tonight, Junkrat comes back very, very late. He’s twitching and muttering quietly as he opens the door, giggling periodically before he notices Roadhog sitting at the little desk near the beds.
“Roadie!” Junkrat greets. “Yer not sleepin’?”
“...”
Roadhog stays quiet. For once, Junkrat scrunches his brows, like he can’t actually understand what Roadhog’s not saying. It makes the weird feeling in the latter’s stomach grow.
“You, uhhh…. You gonna sit there all night, then, mate?”
“.....”
Junkrat creeps closer to Roadhog until he’s right beside him. They’re almost the same height like this. Junkrat peers at Roadhog like a specimen, even cupping his hands in front of his eyes like a telescope so he can peer through one of Roadhog’s lenses before Roadhog pushes him away with a large hand. Junkrat chortles and then gasps dramatically.
“Aha!” Junkrat proclaims, and then crawls onto Roadhog’s lap and sits there like he owns the place. Roadhog just sighs. “Mate, mate, look at me, mate. Look at me,” Junkrat orders the larger man. Roadhog can’t find himself to look away, so used to appeasing Junkrat’s whims that it’s practically second nature. Junkrat merely grins, wrapping his arms around Roadhog's belly, his cheek resting just above the pig tattoo.
“Yer a damn jealous fucker,” Junkrat laughs into Roadhog's skin, and Roadhog finds that the writhing monster withers the longer he feels these dirty arms around him. “You bitter ol’ cobber!”
Roadhog grunts, never willing to verbally admit to anything of the sort.
The two sit there in the dark for a few beats before Junkrat begins to squirm. Roadhog lets him go - when had he put a hand on Junkrat's back? - and the two start to go to bed. Junkrat wriggles his way into Roadhog’s, chucking his prosthetics on the floor, and Roadhog wordlessly lets him in without any grumbling. Just for tonight. Junkrat's not actually a pleasant person to sleep with, with his penchant for moving around and drooling everywhere, but the two have done it often enough that it's not hard to adjust back to the feeling. There had only been one bed back in their Junkertown base, after all.
Junkrat burrows himself under the covers and curls into a weird little ball. Roadhog thinks he's already drifted off before his voice pipes up, “Night, Hoggy.”
“.....Mako.”
For a second, there's no response.
“...”
“...”
“...Awright,” Jamie breathes, giddiness dulled by exhaustion but a smile still ever present in his voice. “Night, Mako.”
-
It is warm in Roadhog’s bed where the two of them lay. For whatever the world might deserve, the truth is that Mako knows he doesn't deserve this.
He'll clutch onto it with all the blood congealed under his fingernails.
The monster falls asleep.
-
“See, see! That's why you're me best mate!” Junkrat crows, watching Roadhog let go of the man he's just choked to death only a day into their new partnership. There's viscera on Roadhog's fists and on Junkrat's peg. “That's what I've been sayin’ - you ‘n me, we're gonna take care o’ each other.”
Roadhog snorts. What a load of bullshit.