Chapter Text
“Wouldja look at this, our first job with hotel included. It’s our lucky day!” Jamison Fawkes, Junker and anarchist turned mercenary otherwise known as Junkrat, exclaimed to the huge, pot-bellied man beside him. The two of them stared up at the hotel, Jamison’s breath coming out in a little puff of fog. Roadhog, as always, gave a grunt.
Junkrat had learned to distinguish his large companion's odd noises and signals from one another. Hanging around the man for as long as he had, he'd figured out a way to communicate with the otherwise silent giant.
Aside from his library of nonverbal gestures, Roadhog had an expansive dialect of various noises. One of his deep grunts usually meant an agreement, and a strategically placed cough could be a prompt. Different hums could express different emotions, depending on the tone. A snort of air often meant he was annoyed or frustrated, and a growl was, very obviously to anyone he thought was worth growling at, anger.
Roadhog didn’t growl very often when Junkrat was around.
In the years they’d spent as companions, Junkrat had never really heard Roadhog make any happy sounds. Except perhaps when he was bashing in the skull of a particularly unpleasant individual. Or maybe the rare, brief, telltale snort of mirth when Junkrat was acting like even more like a goofy idiot than usual. Otherwise, Roadhog seemed to be made of stone, especially to people who didn’t understand his rich language of clicks and chuffs and coughs like Junkrat did.
“Yeah, yeah, I know it’s only our second contract, don’t get ya knickers in a twist. Come on, we better check in. 'Sides, it's cold out here." The blonde man gave one of his trademark wild grins to his large companion, tiny clouds of white smoke emitting from his lips with each outward breath. His arms gripped at themselves through his thin, woollen jumper.
The two of them had received a message by way of letter deposited in their campsite. Maybe that wasn’t too unusual in their irradiated homeland, if not uncommon, but in the modern society the rest of the world lived in? Letters were almost unheard of, a relic of a bygone age before technology and society grew to the point where instant messaging devices and programs were widespread and paper was a precious commodity.
Roadhog followed the skinny explosives fanatic into the hotel as the smaller of the odd pair pushed the pristine glass door with his grubby, ashy fingers, opening the door to the great hotel.
The thin man swaggered up to the receptionist. The larger man followed Junkrat’s lead. He loomed over both Junkrat and the tired-looking receptionist with his massive, heavily tattooed bulk.
Junkrat coughed, averting the receptionist’s uncertain gaze away from his companion. "S'cuse me, room reservation under…” He fiddled with the pockets of the blue hoodie he wore, pulling out a slip of paper after scrounging through the soft fabric. Passing the paper to Roadhog, the large man read out the name for him.
“...Winston."
The petite lady glanced down at her computer, fingers takking away at the keys for a few moments before she glanced up. "Ah, yes, that's a… hm. There are multiple booked rooms under that name, but they’ve all been checked into except for one. You’re taking the room with the single kingsize bed, I presume?"
Junkrat’s cheeks lit up, eyes narrowing in outrage. "What?! Oi, listen ‘ere, me an’ ‘im ain’t-” He was jolted when he felt a large hand rest heavily on his tattooed shoulder, glancing up at his gigantic companion as his anger smoldered in his belly and eyes.
The seven foot man gave a grunt and a snort simultaneously. The recoiling receptionist didn't react immediately, still worried one of the hooligans before her might be aggravated by her reaction, but the message got through to the skinny mercenary.
"No, I’m not gonna calm down! The bastard set us up! What d’you expect me to do?" Junkrat exclaimed, turning to complain to his friend, exasperated. He began to imitate a British accent, continuing on his rant. "'Good show old chap, thanks for putting me in a room where I share a bed with me best mate!’” His fake accent broke as he yelled in frustration.
Roadhog gave another, more insistent snort. The insistent noise sobered Junkrat up quickly. He began calming down, breathing out deeply and taking a moment before launching into another, much calmer, fit of rage. “That doesn’t excuse ‘em, ‘Hog!” he protested. The man crossed his arms childishly with a “hmmph!”, head turned grumpily to the side.
The recoiling receptionist chose that moment to pipe up meekly in the ensuing silence. "The, uh... The room has a couch that pulls out into a bed?"
Roadhog suddenly perked up slightly, seeming to have thought of something. He removed his massive hand from the other man’s shoulder and waited until Junkrat glanced back to him out of curiosity. The large man then moved his levelled hand to his forehead, then down to Junkrat’s.
Junkrat stared at him for a few moments before it clicked. "Ah. Awlright. Well I mean, of course they gotta get you a bigger bed, you're pretty tall, ya need it. My bad. Sorry fa yellin’ at ya, lady."
His white-haired companion grunted, turning and walking off, not waiting for Junkrat to catch up and follow him up the hotel's staircase.
The blonde Junker let off an annoyed sigh. Most elevators couldn’t handle Roadhog’s pure weight and size, and he often found squeezing through the silvery mechanical doors difficult. Junkrat, on the other hand, had trouble climbing stairs with his pin of a right leg. Buildings with multiple levels were always an annoyance. “I’ll see you at the top!” Junkrat yelled, heading towards the elevator.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Ah, a room fit for a king!” Junkrat snickered. “Remember that, Roadhog? When we stole the crown jewels? King Jamison Fawkes the First returns to King’s Row once again!”
Roadhog gave a relaxed sigh at the break from walking and set down their small, shared suitcase. His loud steps and the clinking of chains rang through their room as he walked further into the accommodations, ducking his head to fit through the doorway.
The two Junkers didn't have much in the way of supplies. They packed light normally, especially when they didn’t have to carry sleeping bags. All they really had was a few spare sets of clothing, toiletries, the RIP-tire, disguises for when they needed to go unnoticed, a few luxury items, and an emergency kit for Junkrat’s prosthetic limbs.
Junkrat chuckled at his friend's sigh of happiness. "Oi mate, wanna watch a movie? They've got ‘em on the telly ‘ere."
Roadhog grunted in an agreeing sort of way.
Grinning, the younger Aussie grabbed the remote in a deft movement and began clicking through the TV's menus in order to put on something he liked. He knew Roadhog would enjoy it, no matter what it was. He was cool like that. Besides, they both liked the same old movies, so as long as the TV had those-
“Bloody hell, they don’t have any of the good old stuff!”
Roadhog gave an annoyed snort, but whether it was out of sympathy for the younger man or frustration at his taste in films was unclear.
“I know! None o’ that good ol’ explosion-filled stuff from ages ago!” Junkrat grumbled.
The huge man that had trampled over to the couch gave Junkrat a disapproving hum.
“Oi, lay off ‘em. They may be bad an’ confusing an’ have no plot, but they got explosions,” He crossed his arms. The blonde stuck out his tongue tauntingly at his companion.
With a chuff, Roadhog’s reached his massive paw down, gently pulling the remote out from between Junkrat’s hands. “Oi! I was using that!”
The giant man delicately fiddled with the buttons until he selected an old movie from before Junkrat was born. The score began to play through the speakers as the logos of film studios went through their short animations. Roadhog gave Junkrat a gentle, uncharacteristically lively elbow to the side. Even with his greater strength, the older Junker was as gentle as always with his friend.
“Heh, you’re real excited for this film, aren’tcha mate?” Junkrat flashed a lopsided grin, his oddly coloured eyes flashing to the man beside him. The huge man responded with a thumbs-up, shifting around in his seat until he settled down with a long, calm sigh of bliss.
He didn’t think he’d ever seen Roadhog looking so… relaxed. It was a strange look on Roadhog, one the younger Junker was unaccustomed to but found he enjoyed.
The blonde just shrugged at the response. “Awlright then, this’d better be good.”
Roadhog squeezed in beside him, arm resting comfortably on the back of the couch above the blonde. He seemed to be more focused on seeing if Jamie enjoyed the movie, but it was hard to tell for sure through that mask of his. The warmth from his arm, even though it wasn't touching his skin, radiated off of him like the Outback sun over Junkrat's cold back. The relief from the cold of England was a welcome sensation in his humble opinion.
The story was boring to Junkrat. Needless details to make the action make sense. All so dull and lifeless-looking. The people all looked the same to him, but then again he was used to seeing odd folk in odd clothes. It usually took him about at least a half hour into a movie before he could tell the different characters apart, and even then he could only tell the main characters apart.
His eyes switched onto autopilot as his mind began to wander. Idle daydreams of what the next day would bring invaded his thoughts. Who was their new employer? How long would they be on their contracts? If the job paid as much as he thought it might, what’d the two of them live like after?
Well, it didn’t really matter, long as they were together.
…
But what if they weren’t?
What if Roadhog left with his cut of the pay and the two never saw each other again?
Just like that, Junkrat’s mind locked down into a state of stressed, anxiety-fueled panic that made his chest burn and sting.
Dangerously morbid thoughts of what could happen to him without his best mate, bodyguard, and partner in crime swirled around his head. Why did Roadhog need to stick with him anymore, anyway? With all of the extra stress Jamie was sure he brought Roadhog just because he was around, what with his mechanical bits and mental issues and all the effort that keeping him in check was, why wouldn’t Roadhog leave? He’d probably leave the moment he realised hanging around Junkrat had screwed him over and wasted his t-
He was violently pulled out of his stupor by a familiar, huge hand on his shoulder. Junkrat’s eyes darted towards the face of his companion, or at least his mask. Whenever Junkrat’s mind disappeared, Roadhog would always bring him back.
‘But if he leaves what’ll happen if I begin panicking and he’s not-’
A gentle shake of his shoulder and a low rumbling hum reminded him of the concerned giant waiting for a response.
“‘Hog?” His voice was uncertain as he steeled himself to open up about his woes.
‘You sound so scared, you wuss. Roadhog’ll definitely leave if he thinks you’re wea-’
Another prompting shake from ‘Hog. Junkrat had never felt as scared as he did now. Amongst all of the threats of growing up in the wastes of Australia, between the vicious packs of wild dogs and the deadly acid rain, losing his best and probably only mate was the one that filled him with pure, unadulterated, all-encompassing fear.
“I’m… scared. Don’t jus’ up and leave?”
Roadhog gave a gentle nod and sat back down, considerably closer to Junkrat than before. He could feel the huge man’s side pressed against his own, but found that he didn’t mind the physicality of the gesture. The giant man gave no visible negative reaction when Junkrat hesitantly grabbed his arm with both of his for comfort, watching cautiously for a reaction, as they both turned back to the last 45 minutes of the movie.
As the two watched, Junkrat’s mind began to absorb some minor points of the story, smothering his earlier anxieties. Before long, his panicked breakdown was forgotten.
Some point during the film, the exhausting day of travel must have caught up with Junkrat and he must have drifted to sleep. He didn’t remember actually falling asleep, but he’d just woken up. What other logical explanation was there?
He felt a heavy weight resting over him and a warmth wrapped around him. He lay content for several moments, enjoying the comforting feeling and his hyperactive brain whirring in the lowest gear it would allow. Junkrat couldn’t remember the last time he woke up so calm. Waking up before the crack of dawn because of the juddering of his ever-alert brain kicking into gear was more common, but when he glanced out of the nearby window, the sun had already cast its glow over the land.
Junkrat didn’t think the living room had a window. And what was with this weird, warm, heavy… whatever it was?
Wait a second…
His eyes snapped open fully, darting to the source of the heat. Roadhog, wearing only his pyjamas (which was to say, his underwear and mask), had tucked Junkrat close to his broad, muscled chest in a gentle hug. The two of them lay on the hotel room’s only bed, huddled together beneath the covers.
"Augh! Roadhog, what're you doing?"