Be As You've Always Been (Overwatch, Junkrat)

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When all the worst we fear lets fall its weight
When the gyre widens on a window, wave breaks
~ Hozier, Be

 

“It’s ridiculous,” Roadhog grumbles into his mug of coffee. His voice rasps and he clears his throat irritably. It doesn’t help, and neither does the sip he takes, as the liquid burns his throat instead of soothing the ache. Fucking cold.

Junkrat shrugs, doesn’t bother responding or even looking up from where he’s stuffing a few more grenades into his rucksack.

“It’s barely a plan. And to go off without me… no backup. It’s insane."

“So ya keep tellin’ me,” Junkrat replies, clearly unconcerned. “Don’t know why ya think it’s gonna be different this time.”

“Guess I thought maybe you’d listen for once in your life.”

“An’ what fun would that be?” Junkrat zips the sack closed and finally looks over at him, eyes shining with that particular glint that means shit’s about to get lit. One way or another.

Roadhog sighs and relents. What else can he do? He doesn’t have the energy to try and hold Junkrat back now. It’s gone too far. As usual. If he could walk more than three meters without needing hogdrogen, if he could take a full breath without coughing hard enough to lose a lung, if he were well, he could protect Rat from the worst of the fallout. Since he can’t… “Promise you’ll comm if,” - when - “shit goes sideways.”

“Ain’t gonna go no ways other than what I want.” There’s an edge in Junkrat’s voice, the promise of violence. Then his mood shifts, mercurial as always, and he laughs. “But if it does, ‘course I will. Gotta give ya a chance to earn your keep, ya bloody bludger.”

Roadhog snorts. “Number of times I’ve saved your skinny arse more than makes up for the pittance you’ve given me.”

“Pig’s arse!” The door slams on Junkrat’s laughter, the sound trailing behind him.

Roadhog rolls his eyes - fucking terrible pun. Even so… even so he huffs half a laugh. He can never resist. All too quickly, though, silence swallows him. Usually the quiet left in Junkrat’s wake is a relief, a small island of solitude, a hint of before. Before he blew in like a cyclone and upended Roadhog’s life.

There’s no ease in it today. A hint of electricity in the air raises the hair on his arms and even from his seat at the table he can see the bank of cumulonimbus piling up in the west. His joints ache, like the fever just passed but deeper. Cold front. Like to be a storm. By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes… He shakes his head, pushes himself to his feet. Not going to sit and wait for it. He turns his back to the window and begins to wash the dishes.

He’s just putting the last pans into the cabinet when the storm breaks, rain lashing against the cabin. Wind howls around the building, whining down the chimney and in the edges of the sound there’s an echo of her voice calling, calling him - “Daddy! Daddy!”

He closes his eyes for just a moment, sucking in a breath and letting it out slowly. Not going to go there this time. Not going to… He leans his forehead against the wood. Stay in this time, in this place. His hands fist at his sides, nails cutting into palms. The pain grounds. Need music. Something to drown the sound of the storm. Just as he reaches out for the vid screen lightning flashes, there’s a pop in the distance, and power cuts.

“Goddamn it,” he says out loud and the hoarseness of his voice pisses him off. Fucking fuses. Now he’s going to have to go out in the rain, when he’s sick, and fix the fuse box. Damn Junkrat anyway. He should be here taking care of it, instead of pulling some stupid asinine caper by himself like a complete idiot. And what if something happened to him? What if he’s trying to comm right now but can’t get through because the power’s out? What if he’s hurt? Or worse… and he doesn’t have anyone at his back? “Damn him.”

Feels like he’s caught in one of Junkrat’s steel traps. If he had the first clue where the Rat was, he could get on the Harley and be there and fuck the consequences, but he doesn’t so he’s stuck here. In the dark. In the silence that’s too damn loud. Completely unable to settle anywhere, he paces.

 

A crack splits the sky and the concussive blast that follows nearly knocks Junkrat from his foot. He staggers for a second, but even though he can’t hear himself through the ringing in his ears, he laughs. Mine might’ve exploded a fraction of a second earlier than planned, but the resulting gout of flames catches the suits even as they flee. None left to tell tales, not even the Queen’s favorite dealer. Killing him would hit her where it hurt - an unexpected bonus, on top of the bag of dosh they’d dropped when they ran. Victory’s sweet and if he’d listened to Roadhog, he’d have missed it. Gonna give him so much shit.

He shoulders the bag and winces when the strap hits a bruise on his chest. It’s possible that Roadie might - just might- have a point about taking a job alone when he’s coming down sick, though. Brain feels slow, thoughts foggy - not good for specific trajectory calculations. Mine went off a second sooner and he’d end up short another leg. He imagines himself trying to walk on two pegs and laughs again.

Ain’t gonna mention that picture to Hoggie, though. Bloke’s got no sense of humor when it comes to things like this, for some reason Rat can’t fathom. Not the worst beating he’s taken and nowhere near bad enough to disturb the Hog when he’s just getting over being sick. Not looking forward to the walk back though, way his leg’s aching and his head, too.

Instead of dwelling on that, or the annoying tickle that’s beginning to build somewhere between his sinuses and the back of his throat, Junkrat focuses on remembering the way the flames shot up and out of the mine, the way the explosion shuddered his heart in his chest.

Every now and again a breeze kicks up, swirling tiny cyclones of dry leaves and dust. He coughs, knuckles his nose, but doesn’t look up. Lost in reverie, he doesn’t notice the gathering clouds. He misses the first the rumble of thunder in the distance, the sound fits so seamlessly into his memory.  But the first drops of rain are cold enough to startle him back to himself. He rubs his hands over his bare arms and shivers. Bollocks.

A tongue of lightning licks down from the sky and the roll of thunder that follows reverberates his chest more intensely than the mine. Fuck - Roadie’s alone in the cabin. Hadn’t even thought to look at the weather before heading out. Maybe Roadhog had… maybe that’s why he was trying so hard to call off the heist. Such a fucking idiot, just like Hog always says. Junkrat ducks his head as wind whips rain against him and, ignoring the cramp in his thigh and the building congestion, he walks faster.

By the time he finally reaches the cabin, he’s completely soaked, out of breath, and shivering hard enough that his teeth chatter. Doesn’t matter though. He’s back, he’s got the money, and he fucking did it all by himself.

The wind catches the door as he opens it and slams it back against the wall with a thud. “You’re never gonna believe what happened, Roadie,” he says, sniffling a little. “The Queen’s fuckin’ dealer was there! Blew him an’ the other fuckin’ drongos sky high, before the sky opened.” He giggles, slams the door closed and drops the bag onto the floor.

Roadhog, of course, isn’t saying anything. Just standing there in the middle of the room like a statue, watching him.

“Ridiculous,” Junkrat sniffs, yanking open the zipper to show off the haul. “Who’s ridiculous now?” He rubs his nose with his wrist, but a sudden sneeze crashes over him. “Huh… R’issshew! Shit.” There’s a spatter of raindrops on the floor.

Roadhog cocks a brow.

“Don’t even… heh R’ussshew! Fucking… say… Ahshhhuh! … anything.”

“Are you finished?”

Junkrat shrugs, both because he’s not completely sure and also because it’ll irritate Roadhog.

“Do you have any fucking idea how stupid you were?” Roadhog yanks the dish towel off its hook. “It’s one thing to rob a couple of low level dipshits pushing some penny ante dope. It’s another thing entirely to go up against one of the Queen’s people, by yourself. What were you thinking?” He closes the distance between them before Junkrat can back up and starts rubbing the shit out of his hair. “I told you…”

“Don’t you come the raw prawn to me,” Junkrat interrupts. He ducks away from the towel, and pokes Roadhog in the center of the chest. “I’ve been taking care of myself for fucking twenty years, mate. Not incompetant.”

“No?” Roadhog brushes his hand away, like it’s nothing. He crosses his arms and studies Rat. Carefully. Intently. Like he can see every bruise, every scratch, even in the dim light of the storm.

Junkrat sets his jaw, resists the urge to shiver as a raindrop traces a path down the back of his neck. He yanks the towel out of Roadhog’s hands and wipes his own head just as harshly. “If this is incompetence, I’m fucking fine with it,” he says. “I mean, what’s competence get you? Fuck all, that’s what. Sit around here on your fat date. How ya gonna pay for your fancy motorcycle parts? How ya gonna pay for the chemicals for your hogdrogen? Think all that shit just magically appears?”

“Junkrat…”

“So yeah, I’m a little banged up. Little sore. But so the fuck what? I got what we need and not only that, but I fuckin’ stuck it to that bitch. She ain’t gonna be quite so,” he snags a gasp on a sudden need to sneeze again. “Huh… R’issshew! Usshhew!  At’chhh!” He tries to cover but is shivering too hard to do a proper job of it. God damnit; hard to prove he’s not a mess when he keeps acting like one.

“Rat...”

He sniffles, trying to stave off another set of sneezes. Gotta get it together. “Don’t start. I’m fine. Ju…just… Hut’chhuh!  Isshh!  Huh-at’sshuh!  Just cold,” he manages to say. “Ain’t gonna cark it.”

“Jamie.”

There’s an unusual warmth in Roadie’s gravelly voice and it startles Junkrat into silence.

“Did a good job.” He wraps a blanket around Junkrat and it’s surprising enough that Rat just stands there and lets him do it. He’s still gaping when Roadie takes the towel from him and dries his hair again, but gently. “Just… shoulda been there for you.” His tone is still weird, a little shaky.

“Sound like you were the one freezing yer sack off out there,” Junkrat says. “What’s…”

A flash of lighting illuminates the cabin, thunder claps simultaneously, Roadhog flinches, and Junkrat suddenly understands. “I ain’t that bad off,” he says, more quietly. “And ya said it yourself, it’s my own stupidity, rushing in when I’m a little…” He sniffs, then sneezes harshly into the blanket. “It’s not your fault.”

“Shoulda…”

“Shoulda nothin’. Everything ain’t under your control, Hog. Strong as you are, can’t stop some shit from happening. Just the way of the world, fucked as it is.” Junkrat shrugs. He tugs a jacket over himself, blanket and all, and heads for the door. “I’ll have the fuse fixed in a tick an’ you can make dinner. ‘M starved.”

 

Roadhog lets him go back out into the storm just long enough to get the electric back up. He knows it’s Rat’s way of apologizing. And for his part, by the time Junkrat returns, he’s got the shower running hot. He scrounges up enough ingredients for a halfway decent chicken noodle soup that Junkrat appreciates, even though it’s barely better than the tinned shit his daughter loved when she was sick. For a second, he wonders whether Junkrat’d ever had someone to make him soup - back when he was always Jamie. And whether he’s thinking of them when he gazes blankly into the steam curling up from the bowl.

A silence hangs between them. Rain hammers against the roof. Thunder still rumbles, though farther away now. The room feels full of unspoken presence. The hair at his nape prickles, his shoulder muscles tighten anticipating a touch, even though Junkrat’s sitting right across from him at the table. “Rat,” he says, even though he doesn’t know exactly what he wants to ask. His voice sounds near as strangled as when he’s wearing his mask.

“Huh-isssh! Isssh!  Ah-shhuh!” Junkrat sneezes suddenly, and even though he manages to cover with the blanket he’s got draped around his shoulders again, it’s loud enough that Roadhog startles. Which, of course, cracks Junkrat up so he’s giggling even as he’s gearing up for another set of sneezes. “Jumpy,” he says, when he can finally catch his breath.

“Well you sneeze louder than the fucking storm.”

“Fair point,” Rat says and slurps the last of his soup, then yawns. “Bloody knackered.”

“It’s early yet.” Roadhog wants to unsay the words even as they leave his lips. He sounds too fucking needy and he hates it. But if Rat goes to sleep now, he’ll be alone in the silence again. He grabs the empty bowls and takes them to the sink.

Junkrat hums a considering noise. “Heard they’re streaming the mech battles tonight. Think Wrecking Ball’s gonna be fighting. Wanna watch?”

The excitement of the battle keeps Junkrat awake long enough to watch Wrecking Ball demolish the other competitors, though his cheering is somewhat muted by the hoarseness of his voice. As the night wears on, he slowly fades until he dozes off, head pillowed on Roadhog’s lap. The rhythm of his snoring is oddly comforting and Roadhog finds himself relaxing as the rain slows to a steady patter. He picks up his novel and begins to read.

Maybe he dozes too, because a whisper threads through him. Not your fault. Can’t control everything… and when he blinks, there are tears on his cheeks.

 

 

 

 

 

[Tassielli]

Ugh they’re too effing cute. 

[Reader]

Yes, this was such a cute one! Your writing is amazing as always! 

[Frick]

@Tassielli @Reader - thank you both! Your comments have given me life. (I really do appreciate it. It's always so good to know people read and enjoy.)