Ain't it a gentle sound, the rolling in the graves? (Overwatch, Junkrat)

[Frick]

If I was born as a black thorn tree
I’d wanna be felled by you, held by you
Fuel the pyre of your enemies
Ain’t it warming you, the world goin’ up in flames?
Ain’t it the life where you, you’re lighting off the blaze?
~ Hozier, NFWMB

 

 

Mick takes a long drag off his cigarillo, exhales a stream of smoke across the table, and studies Roadhog through narrowed eyes. “What brought this change of heart?”

Behind him the jukebox shudders and grinds out some noise that’s supposed to pass for music. Bass pulses against Roadhog’s chest, guitar chords slice his ear drums. He grinds his teeth, shrugs, resisting the urge to wave the stinking smoke away. “Guess he pissed me off one too many times.” Breathe, he reminds himself. Relaxes his fists and folds his hands over his stomach. Nothing to hide.

“As if that’s somethin’ unusual. Bloke never shuts up. He’s a fuckin’ freak.” Mick tilts back in his chair and props a bootheel on the table. He waits a beat. Two. Roadhog lets the insult pass. Doesn’t grab his rutting dirty boot and shove him to the floor. “Why now?”

Behind his mask, Roadhog bites his lip. He’d assumed Mick’d be too sidetracked by the idea of the Queen’s reward to question the why of it. Think fast… stick close to the truth, best way to lie. “He’s sick. Makes him a liability.” He lets his own pause sit, then adds, “Makes him vulnerable.”

The silence between them stretches again. Roadhog doesn’t move, even though his whole body feels guitar-string taut and ready to snap. The hair at his nape raises, but he refuses to turn and look behind him, holding Mick’s gaze steady.

Mick blinks first. He tosses back the last finger of whiskey, grimaces, and pushes up from the table. “C’mon, then.” He doesn’t even check to make sure Roadhog follows, just heads for the back of the bar and shoves through the door.

Roadhog drops money on the table - someone’s gotta pay for the drinks - and walks after. His back prickles with stares as he passes other gamblers and barflies, none familiar. Been away too long. His boot heels thud in a room gone suddenly silent. The air is heavy with the scent of stale beer and a gathering tension. Storm brewing. He keeps walking.

The door clicks closed behind him, he catches the sound of a latch turning, headlights blink on at the end of the alley blocking any hope of exit, and it’s suddenly clear just how fucked everything is.

Shoulda known, he thinks, as a knife blade flashes under the streetlight, slicing a burning line across his side. He turns to face the threat, yanking his hook free a beat too late. A second and third figure step out of the darkness into the circle of light and a blade pierces the seam in his shoulder pads, going deep. Blood trickles, warm and wet, down his arm. His hook falls from nerveless fingers, clattering to the asphalt. Fuck.

Shoulda listened to Rat - said it’s a bad idea; Rat who always rushes in, no matter what. Shouldn’t’ve been so damnable stubborn. He’d been sure, though, that he could still pull it off, the lies and subterfuge. The opportunity to take down another of the Queen’s henchmen was too tempting to let pass. “It’ll make you safer,” he’d told Rat. “I can handle it.” Make both of them safer, one less person knew what he’d done. Least Rat’ll relish the opportunity for an ‘I told you so’. If he’s lucky.

Drops to one knee, like maybe the scratches are more than ‘merely a flesh wound’… Junkrat loves that fucking movie… Shakes his head… focus, he can’t… focus. The edges of his vision blur, sparks dance in his eyes. Jesus, ain’t drunk more than a shot, not near enough to rattle him like this. He sucks in a breath, forcing himself back to center, back under control. His fingers close around the knife he hid in his boot and he surges back up, driving the blade deep into the chest of the first attacker, then jerking it back and whirling to meet the next. Breath wheezes in his lungs, sweat burns his eyes, reality warps and wavers. He goes down, but it takes more than three and he goes down swinging. Darkness swallows him.

A flashboom and Roadhog’s dropped unceremoniously back into consciousness. He blinks, ears ringing in the aftermath. Tries to push himself up, but can’t make his body work right yet.

“Well well, what the fuck do we have here? Not my bodyguard trying to hog all the fun to himself? What a terrible idea.” The giggle is grating, manic. Doesn’t even need to turn his head to know - Junkrat. Relief washes through him, leaving him limp. Clouds of smoke billow from the broken windows behind Junkrat; his hair smolders and his teeth are bared in a coyote grin.

Mick steps back, then attempts to cover his retreat with bravado. “Ain’t much of a bodyguard. He’s in the process of selling your scrawny arse out for the price of a whiskey.”

Junkrat shrugs, steps over Roadhog with barely a glance. “Hope it was decent leastways,, not the usual rotgut this shithole serves.” He positions himself between what’s left of the Queen’s men and Roadhog, back straight and unbowed. A roughness in his voice and a sheen of sweat over his skin the only hints of illness and those could be explained away with nerves.

“Ain’t worth more’n a glass of piss.” Mick’s gaze flicks over him, assessing, then he smirks. “Looking worse than usual, Rat.” The words an insult on his lips.  “More like vermin. Didn’t think that was possible. Guess he wasn’t lying when he said you’re sick.”

Junkrat goes stiff, his fingers twitch, tap against his leg. “Been accused of a lotta shit ain’t true, one more ain’t gonna hurt.” His tone is deceptively light.

Mick’s still edging backward, toward the van blocking the mouth of the alley. “Lies or not, it’s ten of us to one of you.”

“Sounds like fair odds, ta me.”

“We took him down,” Mick jutted his chin toward Roadhog. “Think you're gonna give us more of a fight?”

“Oh, I guaran-goddamn-tee it, mate.” He giggles again and the sound echoes off the brick walls, but then his tone goes dark. “Ain’t no one, no one, fucks with Roadhog and walks away from it.”

“Looks like I’m walking.”

“Yeah, walking away like a fucking coward. Come on, Mick, step on up. I promise you - only one of us gon’ make it out alive and it ain’t you.” Even as he’s talking, he slips his hand into the rucksack resting against his hip.

Maybe he should back up, Roadhog realizes as there’s the telltale scratchhiss of a lighter being flicked. He shoves himself up and back, Mick turns to run and Junkrat tosses his first bomb with a high, bright peal of laughter that sounds like glass shattering and the world explodes again.

When the smoke clears, not much left of Mick and his boys. The van’s a charred metal skeleton. Bodies not much better off. At the mouth of the alley, Junkrat’s bent nearly double, coughing hard enough to gag.

“Hey, you right?”

Somehow he manages to grate out a giggle as the paroxysm slows, and if that isn’t just like him. “Guess mighta been smart to check which way the wind’s blowing before setting shit on fire.” He wipes his eyes, then his nose, against his wrist, sniffing.  But it’s clearly too late. Doesn’t even get a full breath before a fit of sneezing sends him slamming forward again. “Huh-Issh! Issh! Issh!” He shakes his head, but his eyes are still hazy, his nostrils flaring just a bit. “Huh’IIISHuh! Fucking hell.”

“Jesus, Rat. Bless you. Gonna live?”

“Jury’s still out.” He blinks, takes a cautious breath and seems relieved when his lungs do what they’re supposed to. Then, coming back to himself, he crosses to Roadhog and crouches next to him. “How bad?” he asks, eyeing the blood staining Roadhog’s arm and shirt. “Stitches I can do, or do we need the ambo?”

Roadhog shrugs with his good shoulder, trying not to wince. “Haven’t had a chance to look.” Haven’t been able to bring himself to look. Other people’s blood never fusses him, but there’s something about his own that makes him break out in a cold sweat.

Junkrat nods and, leaning closer, rips the shirt away from the wound. “Not too bad. I can fix it. Do a better job of cleaning when we get back.”  He pulls a small kit from the rucksack, swipes an alcohol wipe over the needle and begins to sew.

Roadhog shivers, tries to focus on the way Rat smells like a combination of cough drops and gunpowder. Not a combination most would find attractive, but Roadhog’s never considered himself one of most. He watches Rat’s expression as he examines the wounds. His gaze is intent and thoughtful. Soot dusts his cheeks, blurring his freckles. Roadie reaches up, brushes some away with his thumb and Rat’s eyes lock with his, the gold reflecting flames.

“You came for me,” he says. “Didn’t think you would. Thought you were too…” sick, pissed off, both?

“Course I did. Always come for you.”

Later, he’ll blame the blood loss, the likely concussion, the possibly drugged whiskey but at the moment he doesn’t care. He needs Rat, now. The kiss is as violent as the rest of the encounter. Their touches bruise and the edge of pain sharpens pleasure until it drives through him like a spike. Rat’s skin is hot, fevered and he keeps sniffling, rubbing his nose in the crook of Roadhog’s neck.

“Roadie… Think I’m gonna…” his voice is rough, words interrupted by hitching breath.

“Wait.” Command in the word and Junkrat crushes his nose against the heel of his palm, attempting to obey.

“Don’t know… if I…” his lip is slightly curled, eyelids fluttering and his breath hitches… hitches… “hih… ihhh… Ht!” He swallows the first but is quickly overwhelmed. “Ih’Rriishh!” It explodes from him. “HtCH! Ah-SHhhhuh!” The sneezes keep coming and Roadhog burns like Rat lit him aflame.

As the flames subside to embers, Roadhog slowly becomes aware of the sound of sirens in the distance.

“Better get moving,” Junkrat says, giving him a hand up, somehow already put back together as though nothing happened.

“Thank you.”

Junkrat cocks his head quizzically.

“For…” Roadhog gestures at the alley. The destruction, the fixing. The rescue. “Everything.”

Junkrat grins. “O’ course. Need my Hoggie, don’t I? After all, who else’s gonna appreciate my mess?”

 

[All Time No]

Ahh I am still not familiar with this fandom, but I am obsessed with your Overwatch fics. I love love love them!

[Tassielli]

Did I miss this???? 
 

ugh frick you are a master at the craft