Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Junkrat hadn't meant to cause any trouble. He never did. But somehow, even as a young kid, it always seemed to follow him. His life before the Omnic Crisis, while he was still a young lad, took too much from him at such a young age.

He used to love the outback. While it was never a great place to live after the crisis, it was honest. It never pretended to be something it's not, and neither did he. That's just how Momma raised him. To never shy away and to be himself. He couldn't hate that.

But it wouldn't be long after that when his and everyone else's life in the outback spiralled out of control.

He would go on to lose his family, his home and any concept of safety or stability in a world constantly on the brink of collapse. With a society bleeding its morality fast. And waking every day, only seeing it grow more and more wounds as he grew older. And he was fading along with it.

Crisis after crisis led to a seemingly endless mirage of violence, pain, or suffering. And with every single one, the outside world seemed to care less and less, and over time, those living inside all seemed to either lose their sanity. Or they would lose their hope.

Most lost more than even that, if it was possible. Trauma and crime lasting far beyond generations and seemingly beyond the depths that humanity was even capable of. His father was never in the picture; he met him a few times when he was younger, but he never really mattered to the boy. His mother was a school nurse before the crisis, and became a medic during it. And one day, when he was just 10, she simply didn't return home.

But he was resilient, something she always told him. He learned to adapt, both in terms of his survival instincts, scavenging like the rest of those in the outback in the ruins of the war, and in his abilities, fighting and doing whatever rough work he could get his hands on, just like the rest of those around him.

He grew smarter, honing his natural gift at machinery and tinkering with whatever scrap metal he could get his paws on. And as he grew, he became quite known in the dangerous wasteland he called home. To some, naive yet formidable. And to most others, a brazen and reckless street rat.

These notions likely came from the likes of the situations he found himself in right now. Following a group of gangsters and thieves into a run-down oil depot between the opening of cavernous, rocky-red cliffs, which had been covered into some sort of makeshift hideout or base for a separate faction of criminals.

He thought I'd be easy, they'd be fighting or whatever, and he'd be able to get tin and steal whatever valuables were left behind or anything he could get his hands on. In and out, nobody would even notice.

As he saw the rugged band of men race toward the hunk of metal nestled in the desert, he made his way closer, following behind them as he could hear the cries of blood and screams of those in pain, and the many different explosions and crashing of metal from various distant sources.

We wandered through the rooms, finding left behind rooms for lockers, machinery, multiple operational systems and desks for work stations and even some makeshift sleeping quarters; definitely more recent as a result of its current, and likely now-very dead inhabitants.

Junkrat peeks through sleeping bags and old rusted drawers. Finding leftover papers and nothing of value. Occasionally, he found things to throw in his bag tied to his back. Loose change, silver coins, bottle caps, iron and copper, wires and computer components. Even some more valuable items like a pocket watch, a switchblade, dog tags, and a hammer. Not much, but definitely could fetch something somewhere.

He saw a few dead men, some dead for longer than he's been alive, most fresher. A stab to the back or neck, mostly a rifle shot or vicious shotgun blast, the stench of fresh blood mixing with the rot of old metal and stank dust added to his sense of caution. But Junkrat would be lying if he didn't enjoy the chaos; if anything, he thrived on it. Everyone ignores a rat when a war wages on.

And he was ignored, but he was suddenly thrown across the room with the sound of metal being torn open as the result of an explosion somewhere in a room or so. Rocking the entire structure, shitting it where it stands, metal twisting with a deafening scream.

Everything seemed to slow down, and he saw the hole in the wall, and the fire and sparks which came from it. His mind raced for anything he could do, but before he could barely stick arms out in an attempt to brace himself, he slammed into the opposite wall, and his mind shut off.

He opened his eyes only to find himself sliding across the now slanted floor. He pulled himself up with a pained groan, his back aching harshly where he was thrown into the wall, and a warmth below his nose, which, upon a quick inspection, was a trickle of blood down his chin from his nose.

But when he saw his arm that he wiped the blood on his face with, to see open gashes and the middle of his arm bent in a way it wasn't meant to, that's when he realized he was a bit in over his head.

With another violent shake of the structure, the floor shifting and junkrat sliding with it. He quickly composes himself and begins to navigate himself out of the crumbling refinery.

Navigating the rooms, looking over the same dead bodies, now warped and contorted as they've been thrown across their various rooms. He eventually manages to stumble his way out and into the blistering outback heat. Now, late into the evening, as the sun sets just beyond the horizon. He collapses just outside as the refinery shifts again, entire portions collapsing in on themselves as the sand is kicked up around the area.

He desperately crawls away from the sounds of falling machinery and creaking ruins. His arm shoots blinding flashes of pain anytime any sort of pressure is put on it, and his entire body, especially his back, aches with the feeling of tiredness that seems to grow heavier and heavier with every moment. His willingness and ability to move quickly diminish.

“Fuckin’…” he murmurs out to himself, not able to go any further, he looks up to see the crumbling building right above him, only a few moments away from collapse.

“Who the fuck are you?” a deep, gravelly voice booms from behind him.

The injured man quickly turns to see a monstrously tall man, looming in size and stature, with a wide stance, ripped clothes, a large stomach covered in various tattoos, and a leather gas mask obscuring any facial features from the outside world.

“You aren't supposed to be here.” The large man states. Staring down the other.

“Then why don't ya’ shoot me fucker?” Junkrat quickly retorts, opting for his usually sharp-witted yet unfiltered comment instead of trying anything else. If he were smarter, maybe pleading for mercy or begging for help would've been a better alternative, but Junkrat has never been very good at convincing.

Without an answer, the looming figure looks up at the danger above them both. Certainly within the Fallout of an unfolding event. The larger man seems to quickly regain himself and begins to walk away.

“Oi! I'm talking to ya’!!! Junkrat spits out. As he quickly tries to sit up further to confront the other.

Junkrat suddenly feels a wave of nausea wash over him, looking at the pig-shaped mask now turned back over towards him makes his head even more dizzy, and without a second to think, he feels his eyelids get heavy and blackness consumes his vision as he falls back into the sand with a hefty thud.

Chapter Text

Junkrat dreams of forgotten things. Usually, more often than not, his little shelter where he used to reside was outside of a shanty, scrap-filled town. And while the pile of rust was far from luxurious, compared to the rest of the outback. A radioactive wasteland dripping in remnants of the memories for those who once resided there, it was an Oasis.

The little military bunk he would spend his cold nights. The many makeshift bars or clubs that were built in the ruins of petrol stations or motels. The usual gangs occasionally come through to start trouble.

It seemed like ages ago, and the more joyous moments before that seemed even further long ago.

For a young man like Jamie, it felt like a candle slowly dimming. And the harder he tried to focus on it, the dimmer it would get. Not too far removed from extinguishing completely at the slightest gust of wind.

And when the toxic air of the wasteland slowly seeps into his mind like the rain on the cracks in a sidewalk. The haze that dilutes his judgement and his impulses. And the clouds of forgetfulness that block out his most precious memories of days gone by. And with every passing day, the clouds get thicker and thicker, so thick that he slowly forgets forgetting in the first place. Only replaced with the bitter and harsh memories of survival.

He forgets his personality and anything he has to claim for himself.

A once young and positive light of a boy, now replaced with a husk, wandering the wasteland in search of a better self, only to be disappointed by the same mistakes and violence that plagues him.

A husk.

Nothing more than a rat.

Jamie then shoots up in what feels like a bed. Somehow worse than the many he had found himself in his past. Nothing more than a thin sheet of something on a rusty metal frame.

His body aches, but it's more than that. His head splits, sharp pain shooting from the back and spilling down his spine into his body.

His back feels like the time he was hit by a baseball bat, an excruciatingly dull yet consistent ache that borders on a sharp pain.

He can feel the now rusted blood on his face, once dripping from his nostrils. He pants heavily, body weak and covered in sweat and grime. And the ever-so-present sand seemingly finding itself in every crease of him.

But before he can focus on the pain too much. He focuses on the fear instead.

The room is dark. Incredibly so. But the faintest bit of sunlight peeks through what looks like a sliver on the top of some sort of entrance on the opposite wall. Blocked by a wall of blackness, if the shadows themself.

The rust in the room stirs in the air from the harsh beam that cascades from the gap at the top of the doorway, adding to the dusty odour that permeates the confined space.

The room, if he could even call it that, seemed to be a small room, entirely made of natural, worn stone, with thick wood beams across the corners of the room and occasionally running up the walls. With piles of old rusty trash and rubbish lining the corners.

It looked like some sort of underground service room for the refinery or an old mineshaft. With remnants of old machines and tools covered in layers of sand and dust scattered around.

A rusted locker and desk sit off to the side. But that's not what caught his attention.

From the sliver of light that peaks through the doorway, in the corner sits the same man he ran into after the incident. Sitting there, his large frame sitting perfectly still with his hand at his hip and his pig mask staring back at Jamison.

His instincts reach for his firearm. Reaching his dominant hand back before he feels a tugging against his neck, and a lack of mobility in said arm.

He looked down, seeing his hand wrapped in a very makeshift sling. Made from the stripped pieces of what used to be his shorts and his belt. Cut and tied to keep his injured arm in position.

Leaving the boy weak and injured. Not a great combination, he decides. And after further inspection, his almost entirely bare frame had been plundered of any belongings or weapons he previously had on him.

Fighting is out of the question. So his body and mind resolve to flight instead, backing away quickly, scurrying to the back of the bed. Planting his back against the wall where the iron bed frame meets, eyes meeting defiantly at the other through his pained gasps.

The silence is jarring. The larger man continued to stare down at the other. “Oi!!” He yells out aggressively, "Whaddya want from me ya’ cunt!?” he says through his teeth.

The grizzled man sits on the ground, not moving an inch, but continues to stare the younger man down. The faint sound of his heavy breathing through the gas mask filter can be heard echoing throughout the space.

“Hey, I'm talking to you!!” He cries out, less immediately threatened, but still incredibly wary. His mind races about the mysterious man in front of him. He looked like a monster. Not the kind under your bed or in his closet, but the ones you realize are the scariest as you get older. When you grow up and see the people around you for what they are. For what they can be.

How did he get here? He remembers the heist, the blast and his injuries. So he knew it wasn't a complete dream. Maybe he imagined it all? It wouldn't be his first time doing something like that. He remembers stumbling out of the hideout. And then meeting this big bastard. And then…

He looks down at himself in a moment of thought, looking at his wrapped arm. And his less-clothed body. Meaning someone in his sleep, not only stripped him down, but also slung up his heavily injured limb. And the only current suspect…

Was this fuckin’ bastard?

“Wait….” Junkrat says, eyes growing wider as he looks at the other, eyes finally adjusting to the darkness of the room. Allowing him to see the makeshift setup the larger man has made. Only a few minimal tools, rounds of ammunition and scraps of rations lay out deliberately.

“Did you save me?” He asks, voice growing softer as he realizes the thought before his mind can even stop the words from leaving his mouth.

The other man, sometime in the past few moments, had forgotten about Junkrat entirely. Seemingly far more attentive to whatever task he was working on. His masked face looked down, paying little attention to the man opposite him.

“You did! Didn't ya!” Junkrat exclaims, leaning forward, pressing his hands out to inch closer to the other. Ignoring the sharp pains that shoot up his body as a result.

A huge grin forms on the man's face as he thinks to himself. So he's not a complete psycho. Or at the very least, he doesn't want to kill him right this moment, which gives him some time to work with. Much more preferable, he thinks to himself.

“Hey, thanks mate!” He exclaims before continuing, still to the man still looking down at his layer of supplies. Pulling more out and organizing it, too, as he begins to ramble on.

“I was right terrified when I saw your big lug wobbling ‘round. I mean, I was already on my last leg up there, but you did me a solid, big man!” He continues, scotching closer and closer until he reaches the opposite side of the bed, scratching the back of his head with his uninjured arm awkwardly.

“The name's Junkrat, you've probably heard of me,” he says, stretching out his words in his typical energetic and erratic nature. A signature style of speaking almost as signature as himself. Almost.

“And what am I to call my oh-so handsome saviour?” He says, stretching out his words again while gesturing dramatically to the other, still sitting man. Who now faces the other head-on.

And even through the other's mask, he can feel deadly eyes peering back at him. Wordlessly judging, which sends shivers up the other’s spine. Not good, he thinks to himself.

If I want to make it out of here, the best chances are to either kill this bastard or sneak away, both requiring more time, which requires a less chance that the monster of a man will stand up and kill him where he stands.

So, as always, Junkrat runs his mouth.

“Not a big talker, eh?” He says, acting as calmly as he can manage. “That's alright mate, cheer up! I can talk enough for both of us,” he looks back to gauge a reaction, only to find the same masked stare meeting him.

Fuck. C’mon, mate, gimme something to work with, he thinks to himself with a sigh.

“Alright, alright… I get it, at least a name, please? C'mon ya’ gotta gimme something here!” He says, throwing out his arms dramatically to the other, who, at his words, turns his attention back downwards before a deep, growling echo fills the room.

“Roadhog,” he replies tightly.

Roadhog. Wasteland name. Alright. Junkrat thinks. I can work with that.

“Roadhog. Uhh, right!” He says, getting a hold of himself, “So whatcha’ got there?” He asks, moving himself to throw his feet off the side of the “bed” and bend over to get a better look at the materials that the other seems to fixate on.

Roadhog turns to look at Junkrat, staring him down for a second longer before moving to grab the last of whatever lies in his bag out onto the hard stone floor.

“Rations,” he states. The deep, rough voice echoes around the room again and drills itself into Junkrat’s ears. God, he thinks to himself. Just who the fuck is this guy?

“Right! Yeah!” He states. “Makes sense, makes sense, so… did you like… save me on purpose? Why is your voice so horrifying?” he says with glee, his usual self slipping back into place as he continues, “Why were you and that gang raiding up the hideout in the first place…” he continued, before being abruptly cut off by the other man quickly grabbing something in his pile and lobbing it at Junkrat.

“Aye!” He explains, barely ducking in time, his body contorting in pain as he avoids the item.

“What in the hell was that for?!” He yells, looking over at Roadhog. Only to be met with the large man, beginning to stand up without a word.

Junkrat's instincts kick into overdrive, immediately backing away from the side where he sat and backing up, trying to make distance between the two of them.

“Hey! Hey! Hey! Sorry, big man! I-I-I didn't mean any offence!” He says, scrambling over his words as the hulking figure stomps over across the short distance.

But Roadhog soon stopped at the foot of the bed, looking down upon the poor, injured man. As he has one arm up over his face, likely bracing for some sort of impact.

“Eat,” Roadhog’s rough voice commands.

Junkrat is positively trembling now, but as he peeks through his fingers at the words that shake his entire being. Only to see the thick belly of the man in front of him taking up his entire line of vision. Before slowly looking up to meet the masked face before him. Eyes meeting concealed eyes.

Roadhog then raises his large arm and points wordlessly behind Junkrat. And when he turns on the corner of the bed, there lies a small can of some sort of food. Heavily dented, with some of its contents spilling out onto the thin, dirty mattress.

He quickly turns his head back to face Roadhog, eyes wide in shock. “For Me?” Junkrat repeats, much quieter but still audible to the looming man.

All he received was an affirmative huff through the respirator of the mask. A wide grin crept up on the blonde's face.

“Awwwwww you do like me! I knew it!” He exclaimed with joy, quickly turning away and crawling with a few pained grunts to the corner where it lay. And quickly tore open the thin metal tin. Quickly scooping up some of the, quite frankly, foul-smelling contents inside and shoving it into his mouth.

Eating in the wasteland was as much of a luxury as anything else. Resorting to rubbish or whatever you can really get your hands on was commonplace. For someone of Junkrat’s stature, the amount the scraper consumes is certainly lacking. In opposition to the frightening size and weight of the other man, he was now moving back over to his seat. Told Jamie a few things. Either he wasn't from the wasteland, or was wealthy or powerful enough to eat more than just his fill.

And Jamie couldn't tell which one he preferred, especially now that the two had some sort of unspoken coexistence forming between them.

He still didn't trust the man. Far from it, he was quiet, strange and far too threatening to be left out of his sight, so staying alert and wary was Jamie's top priority.

But he did save his life. Probably. And he just gave him food. So maybe this could be the start of something new. He considered licking up every last drop of sustenance off of his lanky fingers.

Junkrat considered for a moment as he stared at the other, still rummaging around with god knows what. Being stuck with a frightening, unknown stranger. In a chamber of an abandoned service chamber for a mineshaft, maybe the size of a few parking spots.

Something told him he was here, not because Roadhog wanted him here. Had Roadhog thrown him in here, thinking this was the safest place for him? Was he trying to leave him behind? Did he get stuck in here with him while trying to do an act of good? Was he not as evil and menacing as he appeared?

The answer remains uncertain to Jamison. At least for now.

Chapter Text

The next few hours, or well, at least what felt like a few hours to Junkrat. He couldn't tell due to the lack of any way to tell time aside from the beam of light from the gaps at the top of the entrance. A gap which Junkrat had already scraped and tried his very hardest to pry open, rip down, bust through, and peek into from any possible angle.

Only made the injured and tired man even more worn out.

They hadn't spoken since their “meal.” But what Junkrat could determine for himself was that, sometime either directly after he had passed out, or after realizing that if he left Junkrat passed out, he would be crushed by the crumbling structure. Roadhog had decided, for some reason or another, to pick him up and seek refuge in their current confinement. And sometimes after seeking refuge, the structure came crumbling down, blocking the exit entirely aside from the finger-width gap above the entrance.

In other words, they were both completely and utterly fucked.

His body still hurts like hell, but it beats being flattened, he reasoned to himself. He peeked over his shoulder, taking a break from scratching and prying at the metal that blocked them in.

Only to see the mountainous man sitting on the floor, slightly leaning up against the stone wall in the far corner opposite from Junkrat. His head tilted slightly back against the wall as well, one hand resting on his thick stomach and the other at his waist.

For a second, Junkrat could almost believe he was sleeping. For another moment. He considered whether he'd be able to kill him.

What could he use? He was stripped of anything he had on him. And all now lie organized on the hard ground in front of this “Roadhog.”

Maybe he could grab a small rock or break off a sharp piece of something. But that's a lot of man, he could easily be overpowered. He didn't know where his gun was, but he likely knew the other was armed, likely where his other hand rested.

Also not good. Not only was he armed, but didn't trust him, which Junkrat understood logistically made complete sense.

After scanning over the room, he looked back at the masked face, the darkness of the room obscuring the other almost entirely. But especially so on the glass eye holes on his mask. Making it unknown to Junrkat if he was truly asleep or not.

He was still as stone, not moving at all except for the rising of his stomach as his lungs filled and released air. A low, constant hiss of his breaths through the respirator.

But what made Jamie nauseous was not knowing whether the man was asleep or not. And the unknowing feeling creeping up around him was the fact that he appeared to be staring Jamie down once again.

As if he knew what he was thinking. Planning. Daring him to make the move.

But he thought some more. While he may be stuck with some masked lunatic, he was alive. Injured but alive. And that's because of this masked lunatic. He doesn't know why, but at least he knows that he isn't too desperate yet.

At least until these few rations run out.

Junkrat trembles at the thought of what could happen to him if this monster is hungry enough.

But, for the time being, Jamie folds. With a heavy sigh, he carefully crouches down and plops himself onto the floor with a pained groan. The 2 men now sat facing each other across the space.

“So…” Junkrat says, stretching out his word as well as his legs, making sure to account for his still very weak body. Moving his hands behind his head to spread out, and appearing to relax casually.

“Come around these parts often?” He says, cracking a wide smile at the opposing man.

Roadhog, who has lightly perked up at the other's initial words, quickly dismisses the other with a disapproving grunt through his mask. Turning his head to the side. In an obvious “I'm ignoring you” position.

“Aww, cheer up mate! I'm just trying to lighten the mood,” Junkrat says, playing with his fingers. Now trying to avoid the awkwardness as much as he can.

Junkrat considers for a moment. If they want to get out of here alive, he needs someone to really step up and be the rational thinker here. He thinks, looking at the other.

“Alright, alright, look…” he says, standing up first on his remaining flesh leg, and then on his mechanical one. His body is still aching from the previous evening's series of catastrophic events. “I know you're really into this whole mysterious mumbo jumbo business, but if we're gonna be stuck here for who knows how long, don'tcha think we should at least be acquaintances?” he says. Moving his hands out in an open manner, displaying his attempt at persuasion to the other man. Still sitting and unmoving. Eye sockets fixated on the lithe man.

For a moment, there was nothing, nothing but the sound of heavy breathing through a gas mask.

And after a beat, an indecipherable, low groan emanated from behind the mask. Before Roadhog, with a heavy grunt of himself, and slowly getting his legs under him and standing up, one again revealing his monstrous size to the other. Jamie had always been tall, taller than most, but this guy must've been the tallest he'd ever seen. He didn't even know a man could get to this size. Not only in height but in pure mass as well. He loomed over the space, dwarfing Junkrat's revenge through the darkness of the room. Roadhog's head and the white mohawk of hair on his mask brushed against the roof.

Junkrat had all but frozen. Roadhog standing only reminded him of just how outmatched the two were. It also very quickly reminded him of his current situation, with his ever-looming threat suspiciously standing up, almost as if to challenge the other, daring him.

Jamie waits, his mouth agape at the size and the feeling of intimidation emanating from Roadhog. But before he can get out another word, or take any time to make a move, the large man turns without a word or acknowledgement of the other. Junkrat follows him as he slowly walks over to the grimy bed.

He pauses for a moment once he reaches beside it before collapsing onto it, a slight grunt can be heard through his mask, but it is largely drowned out by the sound of the metal cot squeaking at the weight of the body that now lies atop it.

“Going to bed then, eh?” Jamie asks, slightly moving over toward him, squinting his eyes to try and see him clearly.

“Uhh, good idea!” He exclaims, the sound of his voice echoing throughout the room. “You take a rest! Ya’ earned it, big guy, and I'll keep a watch out here! Really hold down the fort.” He says with a smile, coming to the side of the bed to look over at Roadhog. And Junkrat just barely manages to hold back from bursting into laughter at the sight of the large man not fitting onto the very rickety and obviously now-struggling metal cot.

Eventually, after receiving no response once again. Junkrat decides to sit against the wall right next to the head of the bed. Looking at the side profile of the lying man, who stares straight up at the ceiling. He looks at him and takes in as much as he can. Now that he knows he's not being watched back, at least not directly.

He takes in the black of his mask, the dirt-worn leather of it full of the tiniest ruins and tears, each probably telling its own gruesome story. His white mohawk he can now see from the side see isn't part of the mask, but is his real hair, flattened on the sides by the brown leather straps that fix his mask in place, but spiked up in the middle. The large tattoos that dot his body, the largest on his stomach, but also those that peek through the wrappings and makeshift armour on his arms and back. His skin around them is equally scarred and dirty.

Junkrat was a strange man. He knew that everyone in the entirety of the damn outback knew that. But he'd be caught dead before admitting some of the thoughts he has as he sits there. He stares at the other. Maybe it's the silence. Maybe it's all of his mystery. Maybe it's the fact that the man could snap him and anyone, really, for that matter, like a twig. Or maybe the fact that he's all of these things, plus he's like 95% sure that he saved his life and treated his injury while he was asleep.

So, suffice it to say, Junkrat was a bit in over his head. Especially if the twitching in his tight black briefs was any proof.

He shook away the thoughts, silently burying his hand in his knees as he planted his feet on the floor and backed up against the wall. These stupid, traitorous feelings, he didn't know if they were on a “friendly” basis. Let alone on a “I, really, really wanna get into your pants” basis.

He peeked out from his little self-made cocoon to look at the other, one of Roadhog’s arms limp on the side of the bed and the other on his stomach. Right where the larger ragged pants he wore sat below. The place where Junkrat's eyes slowly wandered down to.

He really shouldn't be thinking about this. About him, especially like this, but. If everything on him was this big, logically it would be just as big down under, right? He shakes the thoughts out of his head once again, trying to ignore the currents of thoughts about the other man. And the physical sensations he can feel on himself.

He looks over at the pile of belongings Roadhog had laid out on the floor. He decides to look over them as well, if anything, to distract himself and in an attempt to ignore his raging hard-on that tents out his underwear.

He slides himself over and begins to crawl on all fours, saying that way as he begins to look over the dimly lit items. An array of bullet types, a few cans and well-expired protein bars. Crumbled mostly-empty bottles of water and a canteen. Bent nails and screws, bottlecaps, a few coins and bills, some sort of bag tied up closed at the top. And an array of other scraps like sharpened small pieces of metal, rugged clothes that look to be extra bits from what used to be Junkrat's shorts.

But what he also noticed was some of the prices that had been meticulously laid out. Separated from all the others. Some plastic, some wood, some metal. A few tiny screws and an incredibly worn-down blade, separated from everything else. Jamie's mind begins to work, despite the massive amounts of radiation that have infected and corrupted his mind over the years. He's always been gifted in building and machining. Understanding parts and sections and how they interact is one of the very few things that he hasn't lost or had been taken away from him.

Without even thinking, he begins to work, propping himself up on his uninjured arm and getting close enough to reach and assemble with his wrapped hand. He puts the screws into their holes, screwing them in with the bits of his front tooth. Moving pieces in and out slowly, carefully assembling such a puzzle was about the most joy he could get in the wasteland. Aside from blowing things up and getting into whatever chaos-fueled disorder he could cause. And for being locked into a small, dingy room with a stranger, getting to do something that reminds him of his favourite memories helped with the claustrophobia and unknowingness of his long-term survival.

And before he could even have a second thought, it was done. And the tiny, old switchblade he held in his hands barely stayed together, but lacked a small pivot screw that would hold the entire thing together. He gently sets it down and reaches over to the pile of other scraps. Rummaging around mindlessly before finding a splintering nail. And after grabbing hold of it, and a little tweaking, he managed to affix it through the hole where the pivot screw should rest, and bend it back into the wood. Holding it in place.

He moved it over to the ray of light, the same ray of light that had moved across the walls and floor as the sun moved across the sky with time.

In his hand lies a small, much smaller than normal switchblade. With the blade end almost fully rusted off, as well as the screws and rivets being damaged beyond repair. Specks of blood litter the grooves of the wooden handle, which is patterned in an extremely aged light green paint. And speckled in the same dulled pink flowers. “Hey…” Junkrat said, beginning to sit on his feet and turn back towards Roadhog.

Only to be met with the monstrous man sitting up in the bed, staring at the other, spread out in his tight black underwear, holding the fragile thing in his palms.

Oh fuck.

His mind races; that's not good. Not fucking good at all. “Hey hey hey! I'm sorry mate, I didn't know you were watching me and uh I just noticed you had this little buddy laid out and I thought I could fix it y'know?” He quickly stammers out. As terrifying thoughts of fear and dread course through him, he shrivels up in on himself, raising the small blade for him.

His eyes widen as Roadhog swiftly turns in bed and stands up. Before walking over to stand in front of Junkrat.

And as he dares to look up, the once looming figure is now even more imposing. Impossibly so. His broad body takes up his entire range of view. And he flinched as the large arm moved over and, confusingly, nothing happened.

For what feels like an eternity, he's sat there, eyes tightly closed, as he presents this in front of him. He can feel the presence of the other, and his thick fingers touch the artifact in his lithe, pale hand.

“You fixed it.” The words boom around the room. And as they register in Jamie's ears, the large man takes the knife delicately out of his hand, his Madison fingers almost dwarfing the size of the tool entirely. He gently holds it and begins to close and open it again, looking as if to test it.

“Uhhh yeah!” Junkrat says, partially in excitement that he's not bleeding out where he sits, but also in part to the fact that he finally got the big bastard to speak. And even better. That it was a result of doing one of the only things he knows how to do. A small sense of pride fills him before he rambles on as Roadhog simply focuses on the miniature tool he possesses.

“It was right dodgy and the screws were blasted anyway, but it was easy for me, but it was missing a piece so I-I-I improvised!” He says as a large, toothy smile appears on his face as he begins to stand up. Meeting Roadhog as he still looks down at the device.

“Sorry for not askin’ first, I kinda got carried away,” he says, moving to scratch the back of his neck with his good hand awkwardly. He avoided direct eye contact with the hulking man standing in front of him.

“You didn't have to do that,” the masked man says, lower and more gravelly than ever before. Sending goosebumps up Junkrat's body, while also making something stir deep inside him. Something he quickly pushes far back before responding with a cheeky smile.

“Well, you didn't have to save me. But ya’ did,” he says, looking up at Roadhog, who now looks down at him. Junkrat's yellow eyes meet the reflective glass of the pig mask that stares back at him. Face completely emotionless and unreadable to him.

“Thank you, Rat.” The voice says, slightly softer now.

Junkrat lets out a slight chuckle. “Don't mention it, mate.”

Chapter Text

Junkrat begins to think he's finally losing it. After years of his mind melting and his sanity slipping out of grasp, he was locked in a dark chamber for what felt like weeks and what's likely only been a handful of days.

He feels like the walls are closing in on them, the bar of light through to the outside comes and goes with the passing days and nights. The cycle repeats endlessly. And as time continues to drift, the beam that shines through it slowly wraps and slowly moves around the abyss like a reversed sundial, taunting them in their inability to do anything but sit and wait.

He tries to do anything to keep his mind occupied. The scratching at his back of his brain, itching at him to do something. He talks his head off till he's nothing but a rambling mess. We walk in tight circles until he's sure that he won't be able to the day after. He tries counting over and over, how many flies he can see or particles of dust that fly by his eyes. How many birds can he hear fairly on the outside, or how many times Roadhog grumbles in his sleep.

Since their first real conversation, they've mostly remained silent. Not Junkrat obviously, but between the two of them. Nothing much more than Junkrat’s ramblings and occasionally a grunt or huff in response from the larger man. He tried prying for more information from Roadhog. Asking him anything and everything, even telling his entire life story if he needed to, anything to occupy Jamison's mind for a moment longer.

Junkrat could only handle so much.

“Oi,” Junkrat said, lying on the rickety bed. And on the floor next to him, lies a dormant Roadhog. In one of his lingering states of not moving or seemingly responding to anything Junkrat says or does.

“I think I'm like… losing my mind over here, Hoggie.” Junkrat says, throwing his hands up dramatically, sitting up before falling back onto the bed with a hard creak of the flimsy metal underneath him.

The two had grown comfortable. If that was the correct term. They weren't on good or bad terms, more like neutral. They both knew they had to coexist here for them both to survive. And they seemed to have some sort of unspoken vow to leave each other be. But if push came to shove and if one grew desperate enough, know whose what would happen.

But they were both struggling as it was. Jamison was crawling on his skin to think of some way to get out. He's checked every nook and cranny of the room, broadly a dozen times over. And has looked at the thought of any combination of tools at their disposal in order to come up with something. But they did come up with something; it was the windy season of the outback, and radioactively-charged dust storms were quite frequent, with winds strong enough to blow over entire cities. So their current best plan was to wait for something to blow through. And see if it moves or weakens whatever is blocking their exit enough to move.

But who knows how long that would take?

And not only is Junkrat crawling in his skin for an itch, of something to do. But also out of his underwear to deal with the massive hard-on he's almost constantly sprouting.

Listen, he was a young man. Barely in his 20s, and he hasn't gotten himself off in nearly a week. He had basic needs to tend to. And doing so in a room basically with a stranger was a bit too far, even for him.

What makes it worse is that the stranger he's trapped with was one of the most sexy men Junkrat has ever seen. He knew it was a bit unconventional, but god, something about Roadhog just did it for him. Scrap that, a lot of things about the large man did it for Junkrat.

He was huge, everything about him was huge, and it's rare for someone to be larger than Junkrat, simply on account of his height. So someone who not only dwarfs him in weight but also in height? Yeah, Junkrat was instantly captivated. And the further he looked, the more he saw. The tattoos and scars, the deep commanding voice that always seemed to make his mind and heart melt. His unspoken sense of strength, unyieldingness and somewhere deep underneath everything, a sense of sensuality and Softness. He knew it. He could sense it. Somewhere very deep, but there nonetheless.

Maybe it was their situation, desperation feeding into emotions he would typically suppress more often. Or maybe simply being in such proximity for almost a week straight had bonded them together by force. Maybe it's the universe telling him something. Or maybe it's just Junkrat spending too much time thinking about things that don't matter because he doesn't have anything else to do, because he can't escape this hell.

He's lucky it's so dark, because if it weren't, his bulge in his underwear would be noticed by the other man. And as much as the thought turned him on, he knew realistically it would only be a negative for the two of them and their fragile relationship, considering the situation. So, he left it to simple shallow thrusts, biting down tight as he gave a few desperate thrusts against the clothing to release some of the pressure. Never going any further than a few thrusts into the air away from prying eyes when he could. Always leading to a slight went spot at the top of the tent.

But he quickly went back to the task at hand. “You think we could just crawl ourselves out of here? I mean… think about it!! We could use your might and my brains to find the weakest spot and just… y'know! Really go at it!” He says excitedly. Sitting up in the bed and looking over the edge at the larger man layer flat out without response.

“Hey, I'm being serious here! Look, c'mere look at this!” Junkrat says quickly, leaping off the bed and wandering to the other side of the space. Right to where the entrance is blocked off, getting on his tip toes and reaching to squeeze his fingers through the small gap where the setting sun's light shines through onto them.

“If we tried to pry off this beam and the rocks here, I could squeeze right on through and get help to get you out, too!” Junkrat says with a smile. Trying to squeeze his hand through, getting caught by the tightness of the gap, not allowing him to get any further through. He turns around to look at the other, who simply stares at Junkrat. Only lifting his head off the ground far enough to peer at Junkrat through his mask. The rest of his body still lay flat out.

“C'mon, let's just give it a go!!” Junkrat says with excitement, his lithe body still stretched out along the space. Looking back for their eyes to meet.

Junkrat’s injured arm was recovering relatively well. After just a day or day, they were able to take it out of the sling, but keeping it tightly wrapped was still a high priority until they were able to escape and make sure the wounds underneath the makeshift compression wrap could be handled correctly.

So while he still had movement and could control his fingers, putting little to any pressure on his entire arm was probably the worst thing he could do in this situation.

Which is why, with a heavy, displeased grunt, the large man slowly sits up and then walks over to Junkrat without a word.

“Alright now, just give a hearty push when I tell ya’ yeah?” Junkrat says, moving himself up to one side of the blocked doorway, the wooden beams along the side and top of the doorway lay almost perfectly flat against whatever hunk of metal braces against the wall of the canyon. Junkrat observes the edges before eventually turning back to Roadhog.

“If yer’ able to push it hard enough, I might be able to squeeze on through if ya’ can budge it just a bit.” He says, looking at the fading light that peeks through the top. He presses his face against the metal blocking them in, standing as tall as he can and peers up through the crack, seeing the canyon wall and the light of the setting sun and the shadows from the canyon itself against it.

He feels a sense of urgency, desperation. Like the fading sun was a last glimpse of a chance of freedom.

“C'mon C'mon C'mon!” He said, walking over to the other side of the room and picking up the small, dainty metal chair that sat under the ruined desk in the far corner of the space. He dragged it with his good hand to the doorway and carefully stood up on it, putting his hand on Roadhog's shoulder to steady himself. The larger man simply follows him with his head as he rambles around.

Junkrat then presses himself into one of the corners, using one leg to stand on the chair and the other bent against the wooden beam, forcing himself up close against the roof of the entrance, and he presses his fingers into the slim back in a prying motion.

“Okay…” Junkrat breaths out heavily. “Get right here and when I say push yer’ gonna push as hard as ya’ can.” He says, catching his breath, and he turns to face the other.

Only to be met with a stare.

“Oi! Ya’ here me mate?” He asks, looking down at the other. Roadhog continues to stand there, eyes meeting unseen eyes through his mask, before Roadhog walks up next to Junkrat, just barely taller than him, in account of the chair and his stretched out position rather than his usually hunched-over stature. Having to duck in order not to hit his head in the doorway.

Junkrat turns back to put his attention back to getting ready to try and squeeze himself through the gap. “OK! 3… 2… 1… shove ya’ bastard!” Roadhog plants his hands on the flat wall of metal, plants his feet sturdily on the rocky ground and gives a massive shove. The piece of metal barely moves; what feels like a lifetime of pushing on manages to slightly slant the piece, making the gap slightly wider, enough to fit Junkrat's hand and upper arm through.

“Okay, okay, drop it!!” Junkrat squeals excitedly, sliding his arm back out of the gap. Shaking his body and arms, with excitement at the thought of finally getting out. “One last big shove and we'll be right out!” Jamison says, moving to focus back and moving to step up to the gap, pressing his hands inside the slit and bracing himself.

Only to be cut off by the feeling of a thick, rough hand around his ankle. And Roadhog's deep voice emanated from beside him. “No.” Roadhog's voice commands. Junkrat whips his head around to face down the other man, who, with his hand still wrapped around the other's ankle. Now staring down at one another.

“W-what? Why the hell not?!” He says, taking his hands down and throwing them out dramatically as the two now stand across from one another. Each staring another down as neither speaks for a moment. Like they're both waiting for the other to say something.

Before Roadhog's deep voice begins again. “Can't hold. Too small.” He says, removing his large hand from around the other's rather tiny ankle, and points to the gap where Hunkrat had tried to slip through. The gap that had been their only sense of time and their only glimpse of freedom for the past week. The very thing that inspired them to continue through the restless and boring days, to continue through tension thick enough to cut with a knife, their willingness to swallow dirty bottled water and the slimy, foul-smelling canned food not even fit for a dog.

“No! We moved it! I can fit through! Trust me, Hoggie!” Junkrat exclaims, looking back down at the other for some sort of response, only to be met with the same empty stare through the mask. Junkrat was pissed. He knew he was right; logistically, it was too risky, and anything could happen.

But he was still pissed. Not at Roadhog. Well, a little at Roadhog. But everything in general. It's pushing him past his breaking point.

“Fuckin Aye!!” Junkrat yells, quickly jumping off the chair before violently kicking it across the room. As it falls over and slides across the rocky floor before loudly hitting the opposite wall, it stops. The sounds of the metal crashing against the rock echo throughout. And when it stops, there's nothing left but an uncomfortable silence between the two men.

Junkrat grumbles and swears as he slowly wanders over to the corner where the chair now lies and crawls under the metal table. Lying there on the hard ground, back facing the room, as he curls up into himself. He doesn't say anything, but the silence continues to grow and grow through the space, until nothing but pure silence fills the void as night comes.

Chapter Text

Junkrat had fallen asleep pretty much instantly. It had taken a little bit to calm his nerves after his outburst, but he was too tired to fight his body.

In his sleep, living almost every night since they had been stuck in there, he dreamt of leaving. Of his escape. At that moment, he would be able to step out into his beautiful world again.

Even if it wasn't so beautiful anymore, anything would beat being stuck in here. The fresh air, the light from the sun and the wind from the breeze over the flat, desolate expanse of the outback. The sunrises and sunsets, and the ability to eat real food and sleep on something that wasn't just a face of rock.

But even as these dreams came to an end, he found himself lying there. The memories of the previous night flooded him.

He gently turned his head and looked at the opening. The room is full of complete darkness with no sliver of light peeking through. Meaning it was still night, or at least the next morning.

Their sleep cycles had been completely compromised by the lack of ability to tell what the time was or how long had passed exactly. He could have slept through the entire day, maybe it was the night or the morning after that. He didn't know. And when you're stuck with someone who won't even tell you their real name, grounding oneself was a much harder feat to accomplish.

Junkrat turned to himself with a groan. His body had grown weak with the lack of food, only eating the disgusting canned rations shoved at the bottom of the bag Roadhog had brought. Jamison was skinny already, and he was sure he had lost weight since he had been in here.

Roadhog was fine, Junkrat reasoned.

He looked through the darkness, his eyes having pretty well adjusted to the darkness, allowing him to see the other lying on his back across the bed. Just barely being able to support Roadhog's weight.

He listened to his breathing, the same one that had permeated the room for the past days. Filling Junkrat's ears almost constantly. Eventually, it became like white noise for him. Something that he could focus on when he panicked. Something that reminded him, despite everything, he wasn't completely alone.

It began to ground him.

He stared at the other man, who, after being forced into such proximity for as long as they had, Junkrat had begun to pick up on some of his cues.

Like his current breathing was different than his normal. It was deeper, longer waits in between each other. And more consistent. Like a hollow melody that played for him. This led Junkrat to the conclusion that Roadhog was still asleep.

He wished he could see Roadhog better. He wished he could be invisible and walk over to him. Scan over his entire being up close, take in every detail without the fear of being caught.

He felt gross. He felt like a dirty pervert for feeling these things, especially for someone he shouldn't be feeling them for. But instead of that initial spark, truth be told, he had never wanted to leave his side.

The realization hit him like a truck.

When they got out. If they got out, that is. He figured they would leave together, their bond being something Junkrat thought could last past all this.

Well, he hoped it would.

But after what Junkrat did last night, he didn't know if this was even obtainable. He wished. His hopes that they could become closer than just strangers forced together had begun to fade.

He wanted to crawl up to him and just stay there. Near him, maybe it was his newfound dependency on his breathing patterns. Maybe it was his hulking size that brought him this strange sense of comfort.

It wasn't just comfort, though. Jamison knew that. Especially if his straining cock in his underwear was any indication.

He lies there, on the floor, looking at the sleeping man. The shape of his sleeping form in the darkness fills his eyes as his imagination begins to stir. I wanna see more of him. I wanna see all of 'em, Junkrat thought to himself.

He moves his uninjured hand from his side to his front. Tracing his lithe abdomen before moving his calloused fingers lower. Over the little trail of blonde hands and slips them below the waistline of his black underwear.

He moves his entire hand under the garment and slowly wraps his thin fingers around his cock. Likely much harder than it's ever been before, on account of not jerking off for almost a week, and at the images of a very nude and very exotic Roadhog that cloud his mind.

He imagines what his body would look like; he could see a good bit of it. But he imagined the rest of it without the makeshift armour he constantly donned. He imagined how big he was, how good it would feel to be full of him. How would he treat another? Would he be rough with Junkrat? Hold him down and force him to take everything he had to offer? Or would he be one of those who's surprisingly gentle.

He couldn't guess, but just the idea of one or the other left a river of pre-cum dripping from his tip. Over his hand, now slowly pumping up and down over his shaft. Spread the pre around his uncut cock.

The feeling of such hardness and the heat of his cock around his hand made him groan gently. He moved his other hand up to his mouth, covering it as he continued, attempting to stifle whatever sounds he released.

His shoulder began to ache from resting his entire weight on it, heavy against the hard rock. He turned slowly to not lying on his back, turning his head to look at the sleeping man. The steady breaths and light snores brought his mind back to focus. His palm wrapped around his length, angled so that his cock pointed straight up, tenting his underwear so far that the waistline was pushed out away from where it would usually sit on his waist. Making a gap between his skin and the underwear, even though he darkness, big enough to see the base of his cock and the blonde hair that is nestled there.

He let out a moan as he reached back for his aching erection. But as his fingers wrapped around his length again, he heard something to his right. He quickly whipped his head back towards Roadhog, where the sound that pulled him out of his delusions came from.

When he looked back at the other, only to see the larger man squirming around, occasionally his body turning or grunting heavily than others. The sound that gained his attention was the rigid creak of the metal bedframe that came from these movements.

Was Roadhog having a nightmare? Was he having a good dream? Maybe he was just about to wake up… maybe he had heard him this whole time. Was he pretending to sleep? Junkrat's mind was racing, the thoughts filling his head as his heart began to race. Meanwhile, his body was frozen in fear.

But as he saw the other grumble in his slumber a bit more. Before turning on his size, he faced the wall away from Junkrat's prying eyes. The darkness and his new position obscured most of himself from the other Junker. Junkrat slowly removed his hand from his underwear, staying as quiet as he could. And as his hard-on still helps heavy against his own body, flush against his skin from the confines of his undergarment. He began to think logically again, now that the object of his attraction was out of sight and clear from his mind.

Cumming all over himself, or even shooting his week-long load into his underwear. It would certainly be less than ideal. Even with the darkness of the room, covering and hiding all of that would be almost impossible. And it's not like he can just walk over to the corner with the crack in the corner and finish off where they had been pissing since their entrapment.

So, reluctantly, Junkrat lies back down, letting his rock-hard dick slowly soften. Clearing his mind of anything that would make it different. But as he did so, the heavy breaths and movements from Roadhog, still asleep, began to re-emerge. And the creaking of the metal underneath him began as well.

Junkrat hesitated. He watched as the large man's body and arms occasionally twitched, and the sounds that came through his mask grew louder and louder. Some sounded like grunts, some like pleas, and others like long grumbles that could be anything but words. The slightest hues of a morning sky from the rising sun began to peer through the gap in the doorway. A sense of curiosity overcame Junkrat. And hey, he's never been too good at restraining himself.

So, he slowly sat himself up and crawled over on his hands and knees to the other side of the room. Maybe he needed to give a proper apology, maybe he needed to rescue Roadhog from his nighttime terrors, or maybe Junkrat just wanted an excuse to get closer to the larger man.

Eventually, he reached right next to the other. Sitting on his bottom right at the edge of the bed. In this position, his face lined up right next to Roadhog's body as he hunched over. He could see the flat of Roadhog's back, the tattoos that littered around it on his arms and sides, and the scrappy armour weapons around his shoulders. He could hear every breath much better now, the clarity and the slightest changes with every one. And he could see the way his body moved as he occasionally moved in his sleep, or a sharp jitter from something unseen to Junkrat.

“Oi,” Junkrat whispers. Putting both of his hands on the corner of the metal frame, he peeks his head up over it to get a better view. With seemingly no reaction, he tries again, this time moving his hand and poking the flat of Roadhog's back along with it.

“Oi!” He says, a bit louder this time. “Ya’ in there mate?” moving his hand flat against his supper shoulder now, covered in padding. Before gently trying to shake the other awake. This time, for a brief moment after the movements stop, and the airy breaths through the respirators shallow out.

“What?” Roadhog's deep voice calls out. Steady and annoyed at the younger Australian.

“Oh, you're awake! Sorry, I didn't mean any offence, but you seemed… sorta’ out of it, y'know?” He said, trying to sound convincing, even if he didn't know what he was trying to be convincing of anyway. “Anyways, I just wanted to tell ya’ that… if ya’ need to talk to someone, you've got me here. Well, nobody else is here but, y'know what I mean! Ya’ can talk to me if you wanna.” Junkrat said, rambling on. Resting his arms against the edge of the bedframe, one on top of the other and hiding his face in the middle of them as he spoke to the other.

There was a brief pause. Nobody spoke, and neither moved. Junkrat held his breath. Fuck he'd messed up, didn't he? He thought to himself. But when he felt the bed rock and the grunt of the other man sitting up, his head jerked up quickly with it. Watching the other move up into a sitting position, supporting himself with his arms stuck out behind him.

Being this close was intoxicating to the other. He could feel how close they were. Through the dark, he could see the smallest details along with the other man. On his stomach. In his tattoos, the countless scars that cover his body and the lives' worth of stories that could be told through them. Not to mention the amount of stitching and scarring on his gear and clothing, each major rip and fix could be an entire story, yet remain locked tightly behind Roadhog's mouth. Being kept secret inside his mind.

Oh god, how Junkrat wishes he could dive inside. Just rummage through and take it all in, or even just open his mouth for longer than a word or two at a time. He feels like a memory from his lips could become more addictive than any drug ever could.

“And I ah… I'm sorry for earlier. Just got a bit ticked off at… all this,” Junkrat said, gesturing to the space they found themselves in with his arms.

“I don't blame you.” Roadhog murmurs. Turning his head to look down at Junkrat. Still resting his arms and upper body on the size of the bedframe.

“Fuckin’ sucks.” Roadhog continues, to wide-eyed Junkrat, seemingly in shock by the blatant amount Roadhog seems to be speaking into the air and the actual amount of emotion Roadhog is expressing on his own volition.

Junkrat smiles, fully embracing just how nice it felt to be able to open up to someone for once. Even if this was unconventional in practically every sense of the word. “Yeah, but I shouldn’t have been such a dick, y'know?”

“Sure,” Roadhog responds. Moving up to sit, and then turning his body to now sit against the wall that the bed rests against. Facing out toward Junkrat. “So… did ya’ have a nice rest? Get some beauty sleep?” Junkrat asks, trying to stay casual, but his prying for more information from the other was as obvious as it could be.

Roadhog makes a disgruntled groan, turning his head to look behind Junkrat. He then gestures with a large arm toward the bag discarded in the corner of the room. “Grab the metal tin.” He said, dropping his hand and now looking at Junkrat, who was now curiously looking behind him to see what the larger man was pointing at. “Uh, sure!” Junkrat responds, pushing himself up with his hands and begins to stroll over to the bag.

He bends over, lifting the hem of the small bag open, peering his eyes to see what's inside. He rummages through the scrap metal and small artifacts that reside inside, eventually his hand landing on the smooth case of the metal tin. He grabs it and slowly brings it up and out of the bag, turning over his shoulder to show Roadhog.

He's met with the man on the bed staring at him, likely for his entire venture over to it. “This one?” he asks, knowing it likely was but still wanting to make sure. Junkrat is given a small nod of approval, which makes his heart do a little flip in his chest as he begins to walk his over back to the edge of the bed.

“What is it?” Junkrat asks, handing it over to Roadhog, his smaller hand being dwarfed by the other as he takes it. Roadhog then opens the small tin can and opens it slowly, allowing Junkrat to see a small kerosene lighter, and 3 small, hand-rolled cigarettes.

“Whoa!” Junkeat explains, grabbing Roadhog's wrists before looking up at the masked face. “Do you know how rare these are?” Junkrat exclaims. Looking back down at the admittedly, not-very-well-rolled cigarettes.

Roadhog swats away the other before moving over slightly to one side of the metal frame. Making it squeak as he does so. He then takes one of the small paper-wrapped instruments in his large fingers. Using another hand to light the small metal lighter. Sparking a very tiny flame. Junkrat moves himself to sit on the other side of the bed, the small surface masking it, so that he now sits with his legs crossed, his knee almost touching Roadhog's legs. But he instead focuses his attention on the mesmerizing flame in the darkness of their confinement.

He moves it under one end of the cigarette and rolls it in between his fingers as the flame begins to lick the end. Making a smell fill the room. But before he can concentrate on it too much, he is surprised as he is handed the device by Roadhog. “Short suck in.” The voice commands, just as Junkrat takes it in between his fingers, like he had seen Roadhog do.

He moves it slowly to his lips before taking a short puff. And almost immediately, he is taken aback by the smoke filling his lungs, quickly taking it away from his face before coughing over and over. And through his pained coughs, he can hear something else. Through the tears in his eyes as he moves his gaze up to see Roadhog laughing. His hand on his chest and his gut moving with every laugh as the sound fills the room through his mask.

“Oi, that fuckin’ hurt!” He says, not being able to retain the wide grin that forms on his face at the sight of the other man laughing. Roadhog simply returns his focus to Junkrat, taking it from his hand and moving it back up to Junkrat's mouth.

“Smaller inhale. It'll make you feel good.” He says. Junkrat moves closer, slightly opening his mouth and barely rolling out his tongue to meet the other end of the blunt offered to him. He looks up through his eyelashes to meet the mask staring right back down at him. Oh fuck. He thinks to himself, I could get used to a sight like this, he thinks. He felt his dick twitch at the thoughts flooding his mind.

Junkrat moves it to his lips and closes his mouth around the end. Roadhog's thick fingers holding the middle meet his lips as he takes another shallow breath in, before Roadhog removes the blunt from his lips. “Breath out, Rat.”

And Junkrat does what he's told. Like he always does. He breathes out slowly as smoke billows out of his mouth, the stench filling his nostrils as he feels a nice feeling of euphoria wash over him. Roadhog's command simply melted his heart, while the marijuana began to take effect, melting his brain. The fuzziness begins to spread over his both as he sits there with a toothy grin.

“Lightweight,” Roadhog responds with a light giggle. This also helps Junkrat's ever-increasing serotonin. A demand did he feel nice, those nagging thoughts to do or say something seemed to be washed away. No wonder this stuff is so valuable, he thinks to himself. Roadhog offers the blunt toward him again.

“Thank ya’ mate,” he responds. Moving forward to take another hit. This time slightly bigger, the smoke fills his lungs as the feeling fills his brain. He moves his hands to lightly grasp Roadhog's wide wrists. Allowing him to get a steadier experience. Looking back up to meet their eyes together as he sucks in.

“Won't be so annoying now,” Roadhog says, laughing at the younger man, seemingly not even phased at the other's words. “You'll sleep better, too,” Roadhog says, looking at Junkrat and his more closed eyes.

Junkrat takes a few more hits before eventually Roadhog rubs the lit end against the wall, snuffing it out. “What? Ya’ don't want any?” Junkrat says, a wide grin across his face as he moves to hit against the same wall Roadhog does. The two are now seated next to each other, Junkrat looking up as Roadhog stares forward.

“You need it more.” He responds, looking down at the other, the two meeting their gaze. Junkrat's mind must be entirely gone at this point. But he scoots a tiny bit closer and leans on Roadhog, his head and dirty, blonde hair landing on Roadhog's side of his upper arm. And, to his surprise, Roadhog doesn't move or pry; not a word was spoken by him.

“Appreciate it, mate,” Junkrat offers him. Eyelids getting heavy with his hazy mind and positive attitude. “Don't mention it, kid.” He is offered in return.