Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The funny thing about the thrill of the chase is that it doesn’t often apply to those who are being chased. Any other time, Junkrat would be laughing into hysterics. Not so much when you’re fresh out of grenades, bombs, traps, and anything else you can carry in old tattered cargo shorts. Then the laughter just ends up nervous, scared for the inevitable.

Roadhog might have the luxury of keeping his emotions hidden behind a mask, but without any ammo or a getaway vehicle, he couldn’t help but give off the vibe of a desperate, cornered animal. Junkrat could feel it too, and it just added to his panic.

The chase had been going on for a while now, and both junkers were getting well winded. Each time they thought they could take a breather, another copper would come around the corner, sending them into a full sprint, dodging bullets that flew past their heads. They both knew it couldn’t keep going on like this, but neither would abandon the other in hopes of getting away.

They’d eventually find themselves in a dead end, surrounded on three sides by brick walls. “No no no NO NO!” Junkrat touched at the walls, fruitlessly feeling for any sort of door. He pounded his fists against the brick, soon leaving small streaks of red and orange. With the sounds of sirens getting louder, he started to pace, trying to think of a solution to get them out of this mess. “I don’t want to go back to prison! The food sucks, and it’s too crowded!” In a last ditch effort, he started to shrug off his empty harness. “Here, grab me legs, and see if you can shake anything out of me!”

Roadhog had been just watching the scene before him being acted out. There wasn’t anything he could do either. His weapon was jammed and broken, leaving just his hook and chain. He might be able to take out a few of the officers when they came around the corner, but he couldn’t act as a meat shield for very long. He started to accept their fate much faster than his boss could. And yeah, they were high and dry, but Junkrat’s suggestion wasn’t so outlandish. He’d seen the scrawny guy produce things out of thin air before. His only answer was a grunt and a nod before he reached down and pulled Junkrat’s foot and peg from under him. Ignoring the slinging of curses, he threw his boss into the air high enough that he could catch him again, upside down.

He’d just started shaking as the dozen or so armed men in uniform came around the corner, guns up and ready to fire. “Freeze! Put your hands in the air!”

Getting dizzy from the violent quakes and the rushing of blood to his head, Junkrat still couldn’t help being funny, raising his arms to his sides and giving a nervous giggle.

Roadhog looked to the officers and heaved a sigh. He dropped Junkrat and raised his own hands as well. No longer being supported by the giant hands, Junkrat fell to the cement below, head-first. Roadhog could have sworn he noticed a few of the officers wince a little. Junkrat just gave a groan and didn’t even bother standing back up. He just looked up at his buddy and gave him a sad smile. “See you on the other side, mate.”

Heaving another coughing sigh, Roadhog didn’t misinterpret his words. As much as Jamison Fawkes liked to prattle on about nothing, he didn’t always use the right words or phrases. No, he didn’t mean he was going to off himself, they were just dramatic words of defeat.

The police approached the two cautiously and carefully. Knowing the two were most likely unarmed, they were still highly unpredictable. Eventually, they closed the gap and began the arrest. When their rights were read, Junkrat started making fun of the officer, ‘blah blah blah’ing the whole time, exaggerated tongue flopping included. Roadhog noticed and wanted to just grab that tongue and yank it out; get some damned peace and quiet for once. A tongueless giggle might somehow be more annoying, though.

The two were escorted to a prisoner transport vehicle, a big crazy tank of a truck, and ushered inside with two well-armed officers, each with their weapon trained on each of the junkers. Junkrat and Roadhog both knew there would be no need for any sort of trial. They would be taken directly to a maximum security prison and processed before dawn.

Staying quiet would be the smart thing to do. Jamison wasn’t the smartest criminal. He looked about the back of the armored truck with manic glee plastered on his face. He nudged Roadhog in the side. “We could use one of these, eh? You could probably even fit your chopper in here with all the room it’s got.”

Roadhog would usually just try to ignore the ramblings that Junkrat could never keep to himself. This time, though, he noticed one of the armed officers moving to inflict some punishment. Being the one with the better instincts of the two, Roadhog decided to inflict the punishment before anyone else could react. He lifted his boot and slammed the heel down on Junkrat’s good foot.

“Ow! Oi, what’s the big idea, you big cunt!? As if I don’t limp enough as it is already!”

Ever the more silent of the two, Roadhog loomed his oppressive body over his boss and huffed an angry grunt, causing the smaller man to shrink away quietly.

The officers, seemingly pacified for the moment, sat back in a watchful position. The rest of the ride was thankfully rather quiet.

Once at the prison, the processing could have taken less time, but for all the trouble the two had given the law, it wasn’t surprising that some members of the staff took a little longer to get everything in order.

Junkrat’s prosthetics needed to be looked over for any hidden weapons or tools. It wasn’t like they were fitted with any weapons, like some other junkers got, but chances couldn’t be taken. After being instructed to remove the limbs, Junkrat skillfully removed the peg first, leaving his stump behind. It tossed it unceremoniously to the person in charge of looking it over before he got to work on his arm. Ever one for a good (or bad) joke, he waved the arm to this other person, grinning like an idiot and giggling again. After not getting the reaction he wanted, the grin faded to a pout and he just tossed the arm over.

That’s where they’d been separated. Roadhog’s chain and hook had been confiscated and stored away like any weapons that came in with the prisoners of their magnitude. It took a bit of convincing, but the mask was handed over too. The big man couldn’t help feel a little more vulnerable like that, but only a little. Not that he would ever let anyone know it.

Each of the junkers were given an orange jumpsuit and were being shown to their cells. Individual, small, no privacy. Surprisingly, even as they walked past all the other inmates, each throwing their own intimidation tactics at the duo, neither one of them reacted. Even Junkrat just continued to hobble past. Roadhog knew better. The smaller man was a ticking time bomb and sometimes he just made the timer run a little longer than others.

Nearly there, he just couldn’t keep it in any longer. Junkrat completely snapped, giving out a shrieking howl before lunging at the nearest cell and barking at the inmate inside. Before the poor man could pull away or the officers restrain the maniac, he bit down on a finger gripped around the cell bar.

“What the fuck!? Get this fucker off me!” The man tried desperately to punch Junkrat's head to make him let go, but he wasn’t letting go without that finger.

The guards eventually pulled him away, but the man was then screaming about his bleeding hand. Junkrat really had torn off the man’s finger.

Realizing this, the guards turned to Junkrat and it took the both of them to eventually pry his mouth open in a way they were sure he couldn’t bite them as well. All They could find inside were his own teeth and tongue, along with blood that probably wasn’t his.

“He… he ate it.” They stood, for only a moment longer. They finally came to their senses again and one of the guards punched Junkrat hard in the face.

He faltered for a moment, nearly losing balance, but he just looked back up at them, eyes dilated and crazed, panting from the struggle. He let out crazed laughter, as if he’d heard the best joke of his life. It took another punch to the face to get him to stop. Finally taking the hint, Junkrat shut up. Hacking in an obnoxious way, he spat out a mouth-full of blood before he turned to keep walking.

Roadhog followed quietly behind.

He knew this behavior. Knew that his boss wasn’t right in the head and being locked up didn’t make things any better. The little shit felt confined even in the vast wasteland of the Outback. He was like a wire rope that held too much tension. Before you realize it, it snaps, dismembering anyone too stupid to get too close. The other inmates were starting to realize that Junkrat wasn’t some ordinary junker from the middle of nowhere. The jeering had stopped, and everyone stepped away from their cell doors as the two walked by.

Finally they made it to their designated cells, each being prodded in by a guard before the door was shut and locked. They were instructed to bring their wrists to the horizontal hole in the bars to be uncuffed. The one that was removing Junkrat’s cuffs eyed him carefully the whole time. It wasn't until he stepped back that he let his guard down again. Which was a mistake.

A moment after he saw his opportunity, Junkrat jumped up latching onto the bars with both hands, keeping his one good foot against them to remain stable. He screamed like a monkey and laughed loudly when he got a reaction. It was only after the guard lashed out with a nightstick that he got back down. That prompted the other inmates to hoot and holler again, making the guards yell back at them to shut up.

When the guards were fully out of sight, Junkrat rushed to the toilet and jammed his fingers down his throat. It didn’t take much for the contents of his stomach to come up, spilling into the metal bowl. After a couple more heaves, he saw the finger floating there and spat down at it. Standing up again, he flushed the mess away and wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist.

Turning back to the barred wall of his cell, Junkrat casually sauntered back towards it to continue his chatter. “Did ya see the look on that wanker? Gave him a good scare! Why do ya reckon they didn't give us any blanket? Probably ran out and need ta wait for the next person ta get a good shank.” Ever the image of the lack of self-control, he let out another laugh. “We should hurry it up ourselves, or just take one of the others’.”

Junkrat would have kept prattling on, but he noticed something from the side of his barred wall. Big chunky fingers slipped through the bars, lax. This gesture calmed him and he reached with his good hand to grasp at one of those fingers. “I'm here mate. Won' be forever.”

Chapter Text

An alarm woke all the inmates at once, inspiring a chorus of groans, yawns, and curses.

Junkrat was up like a pistol, wound tight and ready to spring. He lept out of bed and grabbed at the bars of his cell. He could hear the succession of the doors clanking open, one by one. It felt like an eternity as the sound made its way to his cell. Taking a step back, he watched with wide eyes, like he did when someone was walking towards a buried mine.

But the sounds of metal against metal seemed to pass him. He blinked, and his grin fell. His expression changed to disbelief as he saw Roadhog come from around the edge of his cell and into his vision.

“What gives?! Why ain' they lettin’ me out?!”

Roadhog didn't give an answer. Not that he didn't have one. Probably because you’re being punished for having assaulted another inmate before our first day had even begun. He was lucky that they didn’t do worse, but they would be stuck there for a while. There would be plenty of opportunities for him to do something else stupid.

All he could do was go through the motions, following the crowd and ignoring the shrieks behind him. After being escorted to the head, they were all led to the cafeteria. Looking around, Roadhog noted that others seemed to be about as tough or ruthless as he did. He knew they couldn't hold a candle to the kind of trouble the two of them got into, though. The news that the two crazy Aussies, who blew stuff up and killed as they pleased, were locked up too started to spread fast. It wouldn't be long before someone tried to pull something. Roadhog was big enough that a basic prison shank wouldn't do much damage. Junkrat was another story, but he was hard to hit.

Everything they did was in a line. They were all just animals being herded this way and that. Slowly, they shifted down the line, trays of food being dished out lazily by the staff - consisting of all inmates as well. When Roadhog got his tray, it looked almost comically small for him. There was nothing for it, though. Everyone got the same amount of food as the next guy. Could bully some out of Rat later, I suppose...

“Hey! Pig man!”

Roadhog had been moving to sit at a table that was too small for him, but stopped when he heard that voice shouting at him. Here we go...

He glanced over his shoulder just to see another man, about as tall as Junkrat but twice as bulky. He was bald, shaved smooth, and covered in tattoos. The first to try to gain dominance. Maybe if he played along he could make it the last.

After he turned to face the man the rest of the mess hall fell silent. His opponent looked proud to have gotten the Hog's attention. “Your fucking rat hurt my friend! You can't expect that sort of thing to just go ignored, right?”

Saying nothing, Roadhog just grunted and stared the other man down. The blood lust wasn't there yet, but it was starting to build, and the rest if the room could feel the tension. Murmurs of bets started to float around. Animals...

The bald man looked around, trying to be brave, but he was starting to second guess his life choices. He couldn't back out now, though. Clenching his hands into fists, he let out something like a war cry and ran at Roadhog.

Roadhog didn't even flinch. He grabbed the man by the arm and pulled him closer. The other hand engulfed his face and head.

The cafeteria fell silent. Minutes seemed to pass before the bald man started screaming into the palm. Those closest to the fight could see now that Roadhog was squeezing the man's skull in his one hand.

He lowered his arm, making the other man bend down to his knees.

The screams became more frantic. He couldn't get enough air, so on top of his head being crushed, he was also starting to suffocate.

No one else dared to make a move, and none of the guards could hear the screams. Or they just didn't care.

It was a moment later that Roadhog finally let the man go, tossing him back to the concrete floor.

The man laid there, shaking and trying to catch his breath. His face was darker with red and purple bruises and his nose was running with blood. Roadhog looked over the sea of shocked faces. “I could rip each one of you morons in half without trying!” His voice was deep and booming, sending shivers through most of the other men. Those who weren't as frightened just nodded in respect.

Ever the man of few words, he sat down at a table with his tray of food. The metal underneath groaning but refused to give in.

The rest of the room returned to normal and the bleeding sobbing man was dragged away by his friends. No one dared look in Roadhog’s direction for the rest of the day. At least the quiet is nice…

He sat there quietly, prodding at his food. It dawned on him that there was little time to reflect on the past few months. Before now, at least. Every day before this it was just a matter of getting through the day. Not dying, not letting Rat get killed. They joked about it, but Junkrat really was the brains of their fucked up duo. As crazy as he was, at least he had ambitions. It seemed like every heist was 80% of the crazy kid’s idea.

Paper was always good to have around with them. Rat loved to spend his free time drawing out plans for a job or some explosives that were impossible to take into a firefight. I bet he’s going crazy without something to write on. He’d have to look into how they could get some and a pen.

With a quick glance, Roadhog noticed a couple of armed guards walking out of the cafeteria with a tray of food.

Don’t worry about him. They’ll just slide the tray in and leave him alone.

Hardly a moment had passed before he stood up again, abandoning his food at the table to follow the guards. When questioned at the gates, he would mumble something about wanting to go back to his cell. After a moment of hesitation, they simply let him pass. It wasn’t usual that a prisoner would be able to move as he wanted, but they knew it was probably better to just let him by. So long as he wasn’t trying to bring the place down, what was the harm in letting him go lay down again?

As he came closer to his cell block, Roadhog could hear talking around the corner.

“He really does look like a little rat, hunched over like that.”

“I thought he was older than he really is. Fucker’s hair makes him look like he’s in his 40’s. Fuckin’ ugly.”

“You hungry, rat? Yeah, I bet you are. One little finger isn’t going to fill that tiny belly. Maybe we should give you some more protein, huh?”

“Fuck off, ya bleedin’ cunts! Wouldn’ be talkin’ like that if I wasn’ in here!”

Both guards laughed loudly. Roadhog’s fists clenched tightly, rage seething inside. It wouldn’t do them any good if he retaliated and got sent to solitary.

The next thing he heard was the tray of food being dropped to the floor. “Wha- stop that! That’s my breakfast!” More laughter.

Unable to stop himself, Roadhog stepped from behind the corner to see one of the guards had jammed his boot into the tray of food. He stepped closer but made no action towards the guards that could be interpreted as hostile. There were still several feet of distance between them when he stopped, causing one of the guards to pause and eye him.

“What the fuck do you want?”

Junkrat took the opportunity to lunge at them, prosthetic arm flailing and just out of reach.

The men flinched, not expecting to be so nearly assaulted. “Dirty little fucker!” They both reached and restrained Junkrat’s arm, pulling him against the bars, making him cry out. A second later, they pull away with his arm, leaving the connecting base behind. “Let’s see you try that again! Next time, we’ll bring a machete!”

Junkrat slipped away, falling on his rear and pushing himself away with his boot. “Fuck! Go have fun shovin’ it up each other’s arses for all I care!”

The guards looked at Roadhog, daring him to do something about what he just saw. He just stood there, quietly remembering their faces and names on their uniforms. When the standoff went nowhere, they stormed past him, going to turn the limb over in a locked room.

The tension laxed, and the giant man stepped closer to his boss’s cell to look inside. Junkrat was huddled in a corner, hugging his legs close to his chest. “Fucking… fuck! Could you be any more useless?!”

Roadhog knew he didn’t mean that, and a few moments later there were mumbled apologies. He heaved a sigh, “We’ll take care of it on the way out.”

Junkrat nodded and slowly made his way back closer to the bars. Cautiously, as if he anticipated the guards were really going to come back with a machete, he slipped his remaining hand through the bars. “Hog… Thanks.”

A smile grew on Roadhog’s face and he reached to feel that grimy hand again. “No problem, boss. Try to behave.”

Unable to hold back a smile too, Junkrat nodded and leaned his head against the bars.

Chapter Text

For the rest of the day, Roadhog stayed in or around his cell to keep Junkrat company, only planning on leaving when the guards came and ordered him to. There was no sense in trying to fight it. Their only option was to behave and plan their escape.

Escape, which couldn’t come soon enough for Junkrat, was something he had the opportunity to think on for a while now. Plans were already starting to form in his messed up head, but there wasn’t much he could do from the confines of his cell. Ideally, he needed to land a job in either the kitchen or get janitorial. There was no way anyone was going to trust him with any machinery, but he wouldn’t pass up the chance to work with broken electronics or even doing laundry. Civvies just didn’t understand how many uses one had for a decent clothes drier.

“You need to stop lashing out at people. You’re going to end up in solitary.” Roadhog’s voice was low as if he worried that someone else might overhear them. Very little secrets actually remained secret in prison, especially when Junkrat was involved. Little shit couldn’t even keep his biggest secret from people who could, and would, kill him for it.

“No, ya drongo! I needed ta do that!” Obviously, Junkrat wasn’t as concerned about who might be listening in on their conversation. “I can’t let this mob think they can just push me around! And what are these jacks thinking?! Sortin’ us with the gen-pop…” He gave a disgusted scoff.

That may be true, but isn’t that why you hired me?

“Yeah, I keep ya around ta be the muscle, but sometimes a guy’s gotta stand up for himself, ya know?”

He always seems to know what I’m thinking…

Jamie gave a thoughtful noise, but his rambling stopped, for but a moment. It worried Roadhog when his boss was quiet. It meant he was thinking.

The two junkers had been sitting there for a few hours now, while the rest of the prisoners were off somewhere else in the compound. They’d taken to both sitting back-to-back with the bars in between them, uncomfortable though it may have been. Nothing in prison was supposed to be comfortable, it seemed.

Roadhog twisted his head around to look at Junkrat when the smaller man moved away. He saw him crawling after a cockroach on the floor of his cell. “Hello little cockie,” he cooed.

Roadhog watched as his boss folded up and squatting down. He laid his hand out to the insect, it crawling up into his palm. He seemed to study it for a moment before slipping it into his mouth, crunching it up quickly. Right, he hadn't eaten yet. Poor bastard. Surprised he's not bitching about how hungry he is.

Cockroaches were not even that high on the list of terrible things the two had to eat to stay alive. Unless you’re near even a small town, decent food is hard to come by. Prison food was not good, by any standards, but when you’re basically an outcast, you take what you can get. Roadhog knew of some more feral junkers who would kill their mothers for the kind of meals they got here. He was pretty sure Junkrat knew several more.

It was the sound of boots clicking against the floor that got their attention. Roadhog pushed himself to his feet before the guards turned the corner - different from the two that had brought Junkrat his food, he noted. Not as concerned with being seen on the floor, Junkrat was slower in standing, using the sink at the far wall to help pull himself up.

The guards stopped a few feet away from the towering man, looking to both junkers. “Rutledge, Fawkes, time for hygiene, so step back from the bars.”

That got Junkrat complaining again as if he really needed an excuse. He let out an exaggerated groan of annoyance. “I hate this part!”

Roadhog knew it had nothing to do with the water and everything with how unsafe a prison shower was. There were innumerable ways for someone to assault you. He'd be there to keep anyone else from getting close, though.

The guards ushered the two down a few halls, not bothering to cuff Junkrat since he only had his one free hand. While it was also fairly pointless to cuff Roadhog, the guards had to show some signs of control.

There were already inmates in the head, cliques standing in their herds throughout the old locker room. It smelled of cheap soap and mildew, but neither of the junkers seemed to care about that, again, having had worse experience in the past.

Junkrat stayed close to Roadhog, glancing nervously around. This behavior was normal for him, and it was a habit that wouldn't be broken easily. Being hunted like an animal will do that to a man.

They were about to start getting undressed when a guard approached. “Rutledge. Need you to come take a look at something. Think your buddy’s arm got stored away by mistake.” He talked as if he couldn't even see the disarmed man standing there along side him. “Need you to come confirm. Fawkes, you stay there.”

Roadhog could feel Junkrat's fingers digging into his arm. He wanted to insist that they both go now, or both go later, but he couldn't pass up the offer of getting the limb back. It would be better in the end if he just played along with whatever this ploy was. “I'll be back…” he rumbled and went to follow the guard, leaving Junkrat behind.

After they turned the corner, a strong hand spun frightened little Jamie around. “Hey Rat. Remember me?”

Roadhog wasn’t even a hundred feet away when screaming started to erupt from the locker room. He turned without even thinking and ran back, praying that what he feared the most hadn’t actually happened. It was easy for him to force his way through the mob, pushing and throwing those who couldn't, or wouldn’t, move out of the way fast enough. The moment he saw red on the tiles, he froze. Red, hot, fresh blood was pooling under a still body. He couldn’t hear the chatter around him.

A second later he was able to process that the bleeding man on the ground wasn't Junkrat, and life returned to its regular speed again.

The man on the ground was bleeding heavily from his neck. Smears covered the floor trailing to blood-soaked fingers. Roadhog noted the bandage already on the man's right hand, and the hasty shank fashioned from an old toothbrush inches away.

His gaze traveled away from the mess on the floor and he could see Junkrat. He was breathing heavily, but he was still breathing. Mako let himself breathe too. The usually orange jumpsuit was bright with blood at his side under fingers that gripped it tightly. His eyes were wide and angry. Roadhog could see him shaking, teeth bared and ready to attack anyone who dared come close again.

His huge hand came up to touch his face, surprised when he didn’t feel the leather of his mask. Without thinking about it, he’d instinctively reached to remove his mask to give it to Junkrat. Right… prison.

A moment later, more guards and some other people in white coats were rushing in. “Get back!” Nightsticks swung at the inmates to clear space for the old gurneys that wheeled in noisily. Realizing what was happening, Roadhog stepped aside too and watched as the dead man was lifted up and moved out before the men in white started assessing Junkrat.

He flinched when he felt unfamiliar fingers, but one look at Roadhog and his fight or flight reflex started to dissipate.

Before the adrenaline completely wore off, a doctor took out a syringe and plunged it into Junkrat’s shoulder. Two of them had to grab him by the arms to keep him from falling flat on the tile floor below. It took every bit of Roadhog’s self-control to keep from slamming the doctors away and finding a place to hide with the smaller man. He didn’t trust them, but he needed to.

Wide velcro straps pinned Junkrat to the gurney before he was wheeled out and taken to the infirmary. He must have been in shock because he could have sworn that he heard a small voice cry out for him, but he knew Junkrat was out cold.

“Are you starting to wake?”

Junkrat squinted his eyes, blinded by a white light above him. His ears were ringing. “Wha…?” He tried to look around but found that he wasn’t able to move his arms and legs.

“Relax. You are safe here.”

The voice sounded… strange. Grating and metallic. Junkrat’s eyes slowly started to adjust to the lighting and he was able to get a look around the room he was in. At least he was able to move his head.

From what he could see, it looked like he was in a… hospital? It was like the ones he’d seen on the telly from the shows that Hog liked so much, but not exactly. It was white and smelled of chemicals and plastic. But he didn’t see a person anywhere.

There were monitors for computers, so maybe it was some kind of AI that was monitoring him for the doctor? Fuck, the more he thought about it, the more his head hurt.

“The tranquilizer is wearing off. You should be feeling better soon. You were a lucky one. Most stab victims don’t fair as well as you did.”

A door swung open and Junkrat was staring nearly face-to-face with the three familiar glowing eyes of an Omnic.

“Hello, I am Dr. Worth. You may call me Vince.”

Chapter Text

It was a well known fact that most junkers, if not all, hated Omnics. Two decades prior, the end of the conflict would have left more humans without a home than Junkrat could count, and it was all the fault of the stupid bots. On their travels both he and Roadhog had dispatched their fair share of the bots, even just for the pleasure of ridding the world of one more of the bastards.

And now Junkrat was strapped down to a table with one of them looming over him.

He was helpless, unable to move. If he screamed, no one would come. Everyone here hated him, and he hated them right back. And this guy likely hated him the most.

“You're so tense, Jamison. You should relax. You're in good hands here, my friend.” The doctor's voice was sickly sweet and made Junkrat's skin crawl.

“I ain't your bloody friend! Take this shit off me and rack off!” In a stroke of brilliance, he hacked loudly and spat in the doctor's face, giggling as the loogy started sliding down his shiny face plate.

Dr. Worth sighed and turned away to grab a towel to wipe his face. “That wasn't terribly nice of you. I am only trying to help you.” The nerve of the damned robot to try to sound and act human. It was like a bad joke, and no one was laughing.

“I don't need the help of no stupid omnic. Get me a different doctor!” Junkrat tried craning his neck to get a look at what Dr. Worth was doing. He could hear metal fingers clanking against instruments and tools in a small drawer.

“A different doctor? You're hurting my feelings, Jamison. After all, I specifically asked to treat you myself.” As he turned, Junkrat could see a syringe in his hand, half filled with a clear fluid. He could guess that it wasn't just water in the thin tube.

Jaw and fist clenched, Junkrat tried to keep his body from shaking. Tremors were normal for him, but he didn’t want to show fear in front of the enemy. He tried to calculate his next question. The obvious would have to do. “What are ya goin’ ta do ta me?” His voice gave away more than he hoped it would.

Dr. Worth leaned over him slightly, assessing the stab wound that still felt very fresh. Part of Junkrat’s suit had a flap cut open to allow access to it, but no treatment had been done yet. Blood was dried where it dripped down his side. When those metal fingers parted the wound, he couldn’t hold back a wince. “I’m going to do what any good doctor would do and treat you. You want to feel better, don’t you? Now to apply the anesthesia. Oops…”

The needle should have gone in near the wound to hinder any discomfort. Instead, it went into Junkrat’s remaining leg. “Wha’cha think you’re doin’?!” He lifted his head to try to get a look, seeing the needle being pulled out of his calf.

“What a shame. Medicine is so tightly regulated here, I don’t think I can use any more on the wound. I’ll just have to treat it without the anesthesia. You may feel a slight stinging sensation.” The doctor turned away for a moment, soon returning with another, larger syringe that didn’t have a needle on the end. It was also filled with a mysterious clear liquid that Junkrat was very quickly able to identify once it was jammed into the gash in his side. It burned and stung all over again, like each nerve inside was screaming and on fire. “First, we disinfect with a splash of rubbing alcohol.” Thinned blood ran down his side now, helping to wash away the dried streams too.

Eyes shut tight, Junkrat allowed only the smallest of noises escape his throat. So this was his game. He was going to torture him for the things that he’d done to his kind. Not the way he always thought he’d go out, but like hell if he was going to make this satisfying.

“You were lucky,” the doctor’s voice brought him back to reality, letting go of his breath through his nose. “The wound isn’t very deep. Still, we can’t let it just stay open like this.” There was a hint of pleasure in those words, and Junkrat’s skin went cold, feeling the color run from his face. Trying to accept what would come next, he stared blankly up at the ceiling. “Now now, it won’t be all that bad. I would usually say that a stitch or two would do, but I can’t seem to find my needles.”

“Don’ ya all have detachable pricks? Could probably just use that, eh? Hard ta tell what ya got when all that’s left of ya after a good frag is a pile of scrap for my buddy’s gun.” He just couldn’t help cracking a joke.

Dr. Worth gave another disgusting sigh. “Your childish humor is wasted on me, Jamison. If I were you, I’d be saving my breath.”

“But ya don’ got any breath, ya whacka. Cut the yabber and get on with it. I ain’ got all day!”

It was that statement that got the doctor to chuckle lightly. “Oh, but you have as much time as I say you have. And I have half a mind to look harder for my needles if only to sew your filthy mouth closed.”

Even at his own expense, Junkrat couldn’t hold back the laughter. “That’s a good one! Haven’ heard that in a while. About a week, I’d say. Your delivery could use a little work, though.”

Dr. Worth made a noise as if he really was considering going through with his threat, but decided against it. Putting the syringe away, he moved out of sight once more to pull up another tool. It looked like a pen, plastic with a small metal tip at the end. He pushed a button on the side a couple of times, and a small buzzer sounded from it. “Take a breath.”

As he touched the metal tip against the wound, Dr. Worth pressed the button again. Along with the buzzing came an intense heat against the flesh. Blood and alcohol sizzled and the smell of burnt flesh soon rose up with the smoke. Junkrat tensed hard, clenching his teeth and fist once more. It felt way worse than the tattoo he’d gotten on his arm. The procedure seemed to last too long as the doctor hummed a little tune while he worked. At least his hand was steady.

It wasn’t until the tool was pulled away Junkrat allow himself to relax, slowly. Unable to hold it in any longer, he let out a pitiful whimper.

“Sweet little Jamison, your wound has been closed and it looks like our time here is done. I will call someone to come and take you to your room. You’ll be getting new clothes as well, seeing as you made this one filthy with your nasty blood.” Dr. Worth moved away to put the instrument back from where he’d gotten it. He returned a second later, but not to the side of the table. No, his attention was now at the old peg leg.

“What are ya doin’? Don’ touch that!” Junkrat tried to pull away, or move, or do anything.

The doctor ignored him and pulled the pant leg up to try and expose the base of the prosthetic. It became more of a hassle than he intended and procured a pair of scissors to simply cut the fabric away. “Made from the parts of my brethren, I assume. I don’t think you’ll be needing it.” Continuing to ignore the protests, Dr. Worth got to work on removing the leg. He set it on his counter once he had it fully off.

“Ya fuckers think ya can just take everything away from me?! I’m gonna kill ya! I’m gonna level this whole fucking place to the ground! I’ll -” His sentence was cut short with a needle to his neck, everything going black again.

Dr. Worth pulled the needle out and sighed again. “Quiet at last…”

Junkrat didn’t know how long it had been since he was out. Bright light made him blink and squint until his vision adjusted. He tried to sit up, but found that he was unable to move his arms. He remembered that he didn’t have his prosthetic at the moment, but why was he not able to move his other arm?

It took a moment of wiggling and shifting for him to sit up and really figure out what was going on. First, he noted that he wasn’t in his cell. The walls of this room were completely white and padded. There were no windows, but there was a bright light above. Seeing an outline in one of the walls, that must have been where the door was. A very boring room, but not like any solitary he’d ever been in before.

Looking down at himself, he could now see that he wasn’t wearing the orange jumpsuit he had on before. Now, he was dressed in white, and his arm was strapped down to his body. First time in a straight jacket, so he could mark that off his bucket list.

This leg was still gone, and he didn’t have a shoe anymore. His good leg still felt a little numb, so even if his arms were free, he wouldn’t be able to move around all that well. At least he had a pair of pants on.

Yep, nothing to do but sit and wait for the punishment to be over. Or, until Roadhog got an idea on how to get them out. “Now would be an awfully convenient time for a rescue, big guy…” he whispered to himself, still assessing things, trying to find anything to focus his mind on.

After about five minutes, Junkrat started to notice that something was a little off about this room. It was too quiet. Couldn’t even hear the humming of the light in the ceiling, or the rumble of an air conditioning unit. Air was still getting in somehow, so there was no need to panic about that, at least. Not that he was going to panic over anything in the span of a few minutes.

A few minutes more passed and he started to get jittery. He was tired of only being able to hear his own breathing. “This ain’ so bad… Just gotta tough it out a bit longer.” But even his own words sounded too loud and he fell quiet again. That sinking feeling in his gut was starting to become more and more bothersome. He hoped it was just his hunger.

After more indeterminate time passed, Junkrat took to laying down instead of sitting up. He was starting to hear his stomach growling at him. A couple of times he looked around the room in case someone had let in an angry beast to maul him to death, but he only found more solitude. Except for the times he swore he was starting to see shadows of people standing in there with him.

Unable to tell how long he was there for, he started to hear voices. He’d answer them a few times before lying on his side and trying to cover his ears. “Shut up shut up!” The voices didn’t stop, and they sounded too familiar.

When he opened his eyes again, Junkrat was looking up at the sun. The light was so blinding, he had to bring his hand up to shade his face. His right hand. Not even his prosthetic, but his actual hand that he was born with. Sitting up suddenly, he looked at both of his hands, dirty palms staring right back up at him. They came up to meet his face and he laughed for a long time.

“It was all just a whacked out dream?! Oi, Hog! Have I got a story for -” Junkrat looked around, but no one else was around. “- you?”

Looking around the desert more, he realized that he couldn’t see anything but dirt and the occasional bush. No signs of any town. No road. No tire tracks from a familiar chopper.

He couldn’t bring himself to stand, not that he tried.

“Hog…? Roadhog? Roadhog! MAKO!” His breath was getting harder to catch, and he started to hyperventilate.

A door opened from behind him, and the Outback fell away in an instant. Junkrat looked around in horror, realizing that what he saw wasn’t true.

He didn’t resist as two pairs of hands hoisted him up into a wheelchair. One of those people walked out and the other took to pushing him back out.

By the looks of the hallway outside the room, it looked as if he never left the infirmary

Junkrat was quiet for the rest of the ride that he got, and no one spoke to him.

They entered a cell block, but it wasn’t the one he’d come from before. Panic started to set in that he was being separated from Roadhog. He pulled against the straight jacket and tried to get a look at the person driving the chair. “W-wait! My cell is in the other block! This is wrong!” They continued to ignore him.

The three of them stopped in front of the cell door and the alarm went off to indicate that the door was going to open. One white coat opened it, while the other wheeled him inside.

“Take me back, damn it!”

“Rat?”

Junkrat stopped his fit to look to his left. On one of the beds there sat Roadhog. There was a book next to him that he’d likely put down as he heard the yelling from down the hall. Not caring about the white coats, he didn’t notice them leave shortly after putting him inside, closing the cell door again.

“Hog!” He tried to stand, but fell into a crumpled pile on the floor. In an instant, Roadhog was there to pick him up and carry him to the bed. An actual bed, with a mattress and blanket and everything. He was so overwhelmed, he almost forgot to be pissed off. “You! Some bodyguard you are! I got stabbed, tortured by a crazy doctor, and had ta spend a whole day in some fucked up room!”

Roadhog was only half listening, unstrapping the jacket so that it could be removed. He carefully pulled it off of Junkrat to assess the damage to his body. If the doctor really had tortured him, he hadn’t done much that was visible at least, save for the burn mark on his side. “You were gone for three hours.”

That gave Junkrat pause. “Three hours? No no, that felt way too long.”

Roadhog gave a thoughtful noise. “What sort of room was it? What did it look like?”

“It was white, no windows, and I couldn’ hear fuck all.”

“I’ve heard about something called a white room. Sounds like what you’re talking about. It’s used to torture people.”

Junkrat stared up at him blankly. “Torture? Pff, the only torture was how boring it was.” He was part bluffing, part trying to calm himself from learning the fact that he really had been tortured.

Roadhog gave a slight smile. “Sure boss. You want to lay down in your own bed?”

Looking around, Junkrat could see another bed in the cell, all neatly made up with a blanket and pillow. All crisp and hospital corners.

“... Nah, we never use two beds anyway, right? Ya don’ mind, do ya big guy?”

That roused a rumble of a chuckle from the larger man. “Sounds fine to me.”

Chapter Text

If they were going to have to spend time in prison, what was the point of not having prison sex?

Well, for one, Roadhog didn’t like it. He didn’t like fucking Junkrat when they didn’t have any proper lube on hand, and no amount of begging and whining was going to change his mind. And oh, how Junkrat whined.

‘We’ve done it so many times now, I don’t think I need lube anymore!’ ‘I miss ya. I’ll do anythin’ ya want, if ya do it.’ Just as some examples.

None of it really worked, and the younger man would often sulk and pout for a while, pretending like he was punishing Roadhog by declining to cuddle up along side him. That never lasted long though, and he’d be pushing his way between Hog’s side and arm in no time.

This time was different. Junkrat didn't beg or whine as the two of them settled down together. He curled up close to his bodyguard, hand resting against his chest. And he was quiet, just watching his hand as it rose and fell in time with the heavy breaths.

This made Roadhog worry. Junkrat was a creature of habit, and would usually be all over him at this point. He brought up a hand to touch gently at the patchy hair, noticing how some new growth was starting to show.

The familiar touch was enough to lull Junkrat, falling asleep shortly after.

Perhaps it was the feeling of being denied something that made him desire it, but Roadhog was starting to feel something stirring inside of himself. With a little hum, he shifted slightly to pull the white pants off of Junkrat. The maniac was really down for the count, not even mumbling a complaint in his sleep. The pants were discarded to the floor, landing with the jacket.

Now that he was naked, Roadhog could really see how much Junkrat had been cleaned while he was away. Nearly all of the soot and dirt was gone from his body, leaving him pale and almost vulnerable looking. He found freckles he hadn't seen for some time.

Roadhog traced a finger from his boss’s hair down to his jaw. It was almost a relief to see him like this, all calm and quiet. He didn't want to wake him, but the urge made itself known again.

Lifting the smaller body carefully, Roadhog was able to shift himself up into a sitting position. Junkrat now rested on the bed alone, curled in on himself slightly. Even without the closeness of the other, he still didn't wake. Well, at least he could take care of his growing problem without having to worry about Junkrat.

Just as he was about to stand and undo his jumpsuit, Junkrat said something in his sleep. If he didn't know any better, Roadhog would think that he heard a faint ‘Mako’ from the kid.

He only heard that name when they were in bed, or when Junkrat was in trouble. It was hard to tell if this was induced by a dream or a nightmare.

Roadhog paused, listening more closely now. Junkrat just continued to sleep quietly, unmoving save for the slow rise and fall of his chest. If it had really been a nightmare, he'd be kicking and twitching by now.

After a moment of hesitation, he reached out and caressed Junkrat’s cheek, watching carefully for any signs that the smaller man would wake. Roadhog moved his fingers further down, grazing gently along the thin neck, moving further past to reach the small jut of the collar bone.

Most people think the young junker is fragile. Hog knows better. His boss could handle a lot more than most thought. Sometimes even he would forget that and just handle him with kid gloves.

His eyes moved further down the slim body, fingers slowly following after. Reaching the boney hips, he uses both hands now. His thumbs rub over the bones under the pale skin, and Junkrat shifts in his sleep, lying on his back now. With a little effort, Roadhog has the younger man’s thighs spread apart, able to see all of him.

Fuck, he’s so damn beautiful...

With a low hum, he reached to rub a thumb along the soft shaft. It didn’t take much touching before it started to twitch and grow. Junkrat made a slight noise, not unlike a moan, but still his eyes didn’t open.

Roadhog reminded himself that he needed to take this slowly. Try to savor this. Junkrat was far too fidgety when he was awake to go this slow, and sometimes slow was nice.

Leaning down, he rested his arm against the bed and started planting kisses against Rat’s torso. His lips brushed against the stationary waves of the ribs, taking care to avoid the sensitive nipples. For now, at least. Thumbs continued to gently press and rub at the hip bones that stuck out too far to be aesthetically pleasing to the common person.

Looking and thinking about it now, Junkrat was mostly points. From his hips, elbows, and nose… It was a good thing he wasn’t too much of a poet, or he might read too much into it. Some bullshit about how only this kid was sharp enough to pierce into his chest and to his heart, or something like that. Even when he’s sleeping, Roadhog is still rolling his eyes at him and how he makes him feel.

Back to the task at hand, he’s now kissing at the taut stomach, earning him a little wiggle. He didn’t usually handle Junkrat this gently in bed, so he didn’t ever find out if he was ticklish. Probably not too much. Probably why he was so damned wreckless. His tongue slipped out and dipped into the belly button. Tasted like soap. Displeased with the taste, Roadhog just moved on.

He skipped over the pelvic region for now, still wanting this to last. Gently lifting the whole leg up, his attention started at the ankle. But he stopped halfway up to his knee. Okay, this was boring. Without the little bugger squirming and whining, this was just too… bland. Maybe it was time to start treating him a little more roughly. An ugly, cruel idea popped into Roadhog’s head and it made him smile.

Being gentle still, he got Junkrat turned over onto his stomach, almost not wanting to wake him when he nuzzled into the pillow cutely. Just almost.

Roadhog licked his right palm and brought it down on a small ass cheek with a satisfyingly loud smack. Junkrat yelped out and struggled to turn over and get a look at his assailant. His struggle was in vain, a huge hand pressing down on his back.

“Hog? What the fuck are ya doin’?! I was havin’ such a nice dream and everything…”

The hand at his back caressed slowly, soothing him in time. “Fuckin’ mental, mate. What’s wrong with ya?” He was too tired to keep the big lug company, he should realize that.

After he stopped his bitching, Roadhog grabbed him by the hips and pulled him up in a quick motion. Instinctively, Junkrat wrapped his leg around the fat neck, trying to find some security. “Roadhog!” He was facedown against the sheet, between Roadhog’s legs.

But the bigger junker had an arm around his waist securely, getting a good view of Junkrat’s junk and ass. Before he could squeal any more, Roadhog leaned down and pressed the flat of his tongue against the taut hole.

Junkrat's body shivered and his toes curled. “Oh fuck… Ya really want ta? Ya never want ta…” He’s trying to turn in Roadhog’s hands, but he doesn’t have much wiggle room.

“Do you want me to stop?” Roadhog grabbed him by the hips and lifted him up so they could see each other better. “Are you too tired?”

Arms hanging loosely, Junkrat shook his head. “No! I’m not tired anymore! Keep doin’ what ya were doin’ there. Feels good. Oh! But lemme have at ya too!”

Smiling down at his boss, Roadhog gently eased him down, so his shoulder blades were resting against the bed some. Still holding him up with one hand, he reached down to undo the lower buttons of his jumpsuit to fish out his still flaccid cock. Even if he found Junkrat sexy like this, just giving attention wasn’t enough to get him going.

Junkrat was too excited, giggling and trying to help but mostly getting in the way. When his coveted cock was in front of him, he eagerly started to stroke along the shaft, a little too quickly. After hearing an annoyed grunt, he slowed his pace and leaned in more to lick at the tip. “No biting down there…” It wasn’t a secret that the big guy wasn’t always a fan of how he gave head, but he wasn’t stopping him yet.

Not fully convinced that Junkrat was going to take it easy for a while, Roadhog waited a couple minutes until he was getting hard too. This made the younger man more antsy, letting out needy whines and whimpers. He wasn’t begging yet, but it wouldn’t be too much longer before he was.

Roadhog figured he’d done enough to torment him though, and he’d already had a pretty rough day. He drew out his tongue and continued licking at the tight hole earning him some more needy moans and more enthusiastic sucking.

This went on for a couple more minutes until he felt like they'd worked on each other long enough. Roadhog lifted Junkrat again and dropped him down onto the bed gracelessly. The younger man didn't complain. He never complained when they got rough. Head down, ass up, Junkrat wiggled and giggled as he waited for more attention.

But Roadhog got up off the bed and started going through the cubby of things the prison provided. “What the fuck are ya doin’? Get over here and fuck me already!” The demands didn't make him move any faster. He grabbed a bottle of liquid soap and returned to Junkrat’s rear. It would probably work as a replacement for a proper lube. The little fucker giggled when he saw it and shook his ass more. “Come on come on! Ya know I hate waitin’!” Roadhog grabbed him by the ass to make him sit still, using his thumb to spread his cheeks a bit farther. He flipped the cap open and dripped the gel down onto his hole. Junkrat winced a bit at the feeling. “It’s cold!”

“It’ll warm up soon.” Closing the bottle, Roadhog used his now free hand to rub a finger to spread the soap a bit more. A moment later, he was pushing into Rat, and working it inside to slick him up more.

The feeling made Junkrat bite his lip and moan contently. Then he stopped moving. “Wha- Ow! Ow ow ow! Get it out! Hog!”

Not expecting this reaction, Roadhog was a little slow to react. He came to his senses and pulled his finger out and helped Junkrat sit up more. “Fuck! It burns! Get it out!” Shit. The soap was irritating his sensitive skin.

Roadhog lifted Junkrat up and carried him over to the built-in metal toilet and turned on the sink behind it. While Junkrat was trying to use his own fingers to get the soap out, Roadhog was waiting for the water to warm up so that he could splash it down Junkrat’s back to help wash out his ass. It took them a good few minutes before Junkrat calmed down again and leaned his face against Roadhog’s belly, giving a tired groan.

“Bed. Tired. Wanna sleep now…”

Roadhog sighed and picked up Junkrat and carried him back to the bed. They both laid down, getting comfortable next to each other. Any thoughts of sex were pushed out of their minds.

Maybe prison sex wasn’t all it was cracked up to be…

The next morning they were woken by the sound of the cell door opening, two guards standing there, waiting.

Chapter Text

Both Junkrat and Roadhog had experience with being given jobs in prison, as most frequent inmates did. They never lasted long, but they needed something to do to make time pass. Junkrat was forbidden from working with any machines or electronics. Too often he had dismantled whatever was at his disposal, even without the proper tools at hand, and facilitated their escape before he could be caught. That’s what the two believed was up next for them, and would eventually lead to their escape, as it had in the past.

But this was to be different news. Less fortunate news. News that made him feel a hint of panic.

After the guards showed up, the two junkers dressed again. They felt no shame in being seen naked or exposed, even with the strangers sneering at them . Shame and embarrassment led to anxiety, which could make a guy’s performance in a fight less than ideal. So they grew numb to it, having nothing to hide.

Junkrat, however, felt somewhat weak and vulnerable without his limbs. At least around others. Some tried to take advantage of him while he was like this before. He did his best to hide his discomfort, even going so far to linger with his legs spread in the edge of the bed to give the guards an eye-full.

Roadhog helped Junkrat into the wheelchair again and pushed him out of the cell. He held the handlebars between his thumb and index finger, not exactly able to grip them like he could his hook.

Even in his vulnerable state, Junkrat still found ways to have fun. In this case, he “helped” wheel himself down the halls, hardly putting any effort in turning the outer wheel with his one good hand. It made him think how much more fun it would have been with two hands, or a motor to drive himself forward. Better yet, strap some rockets to the back. He would have been rambling all these ideas to Roadhog, but he remembered something about not talking in front of armed guards and so stayed quiet. Except for the giggling, which could never be halted, even when he was in pain or being intimidated.

In his distracted state, he didn’t notice that none of the other prisoners were jeering at them as they had done when they had first arrived. Even the guards seemed more on edge and willing to give them a wide berth as they walked - not that it was uncommon for anyone to give Roadhog a wide berth.

It wasn’t anyone’s voice, or even a change in atmosphere that brought him back to the real world, but the lack of footsteps that he passively listened to at all times that made him fall silent. Back to his senses, Junkrat focused on the man who sat on the opposite side of the desk from them. They’d come to their destination without him really knowing until Roadhog had stopped walking them and was sitting next to him.

The stranger, a Mr. Sean Pearson, was a short, fat, balding man who was starting to sweat profusely with the junkers having become the subject of his attention. He was nervous about having to deal with them, and it seemed he was dealt the short straw this day. Poor sod was in charge of seeing they were placed good and proper.

While Roadhog sat in his seat, expressionless, Junkrat was all grins. He loved how they intimidated others, even when he only had half his limbs. He also knew that Roadhog loved it, too. Probably more. Probably getting him all hot and bothered in that jumpsuit…

Turning his train of thought to a grinding, fiery collision, the sweaty man finally spoke up as he looked through his papers. “Uh, good morning, gentlemen-”

“Ain’ nothin’ “gentle” about us, mate,” Junkrat sneered, though his giggles betrayed him.

“Yes, ah, men then. As you are probably aware, I will be your counselor. Our order of business today would be finding you… suitable work during your stay here.”

Predictable almost to the point of being boring. Scratch that, it was boring. Junkrat would rather be doing something than planning on doing something. So, he let his mind wonder as the man droned on and on about nothing that even mattered. He started picking at his teeth to pass the time.

The man was interrupted by a knock at his door after a moment. Another man in a button-down shirt stepped in and whispered something into Mr. Pearson’s ear, handing him a paper. A moment later, he was gone, not wanting to spend anymore time in the company of the junkers.

Mr. Pearson looked the paper over and frowned. “Right… Uh, you can go back to your cells now.”

Junkrat could feel Roadhog tense up beside him and he sat up straight in his wheelchair, gripping the arm. “Wait, what’s that paper say? What did he say? We ain’ gettin’ jobs?” Nothing had ever happened like this before and with how his bodyguard reacted, he was more than a little on edge.

Mr. Pearson tried to ignore him and pressed a button on the phone on his desk to call a guard in so the two men could be escorted out and back to their cell.

But Junkrat had other plans. He wanted answers. Pushing himself up and leaning over the desk, he reached at the man on the other side, but fell onto the fake wood with a loud thud. Before Roadhog could stop him, Junkrat was snatching up the man’s cheap tie and pulling him closer. “Tell me! Tell me what he said!”

While he may have been damp before, Mr. Pearson was drenched, soaking in more than just his own sweat. The guards finally came in and tried to wrestle Junkrat away, to get him to let go. But he had a grip like a crocodile, and all the stubbornness of one, too. The more they pulled, the more he yanked. Mr. Pearson was babbling and crying for them to get him off. His neck was becoming a deeper shade of red, not yet at the point of strangling.

Suddenly, a letter opener came down on the tie and cut half of it, the rest ripping apart and causing both Junkrat and Mr. Pearson to go flying away from each other. The guards grabbed up Junkrat quickly before anyone tried to assess what happened.

Roadhog dropped the letter opener on the desk next to the tipped over cup of pens and pencils. One of the guards looked and glared at the giant junker. “Possession of a deadly weapon? That’s a week in solitary.”

Junkrat bucked and tried to headbutt them when he heard that. “N-no! It was my fault! He was keepin’ me from hurtin’ the poor bastard! Punish me!”

They didn't listen to him. One of them took him down one hall, and the other escorted Roadhog away down a different hall. Junkrat only stopped screaming when the guard that was walking him threatened to beat him with a nightstick. He just shrank down and giggled nervously, earning him another threat.

It was no use. He wasn't laughing at anyone but himself, mostly. He caused this, and this way his punishment, being separated from his bodyguard without his prosthetics. He was going to be murdered here. The cold concrete and steel was going to be his tomb.

Junkrat gripped the arm of the wheelchair, thinking of all the things the other inmates would do to him. Someone would probably cut open his belly, and they’d all decorate the halls with his bleeding guts. Maybe they’d stomp on his head and body, forming a line so that everyone got a shot at him. Still, it would be better than facing that doctor again. Thinking about that omnic made his skin crawl.

Breakfast was over, and the other inmates were outside in the yard for exercise. Junkrat was wheeled out and he was left there, several yards from the door. All the guards there were visibly armed, and he could see the towers where the snipers were ready and itching to take someone out for climbing the fence. None of them seemed to want to give him any attention, even as the other inmates started to take notice.

Junkrat’s head whipped around wildly, trying to see who was going to reach him first. Slowly, he started to push himself back, wanting as much distance as possible between him and anyone else.

“Well, what do we have here? Looks like the guards brought us out a new toy. Dunno how fun he’s gonna be though. Looks a little broken and used.”

Covering his mouth with a slap of the hand, Junkrat tried to stifle an ugly laugh. What had he been so worried about before? These guys may have been criminals too, but they were nowhere near as bloodthirsty as the junkers he knew. Of course he could deal with this on his own, even without his bombs.

Feeling his bravado, Junkrat stood up, keeping balance as best he could on the one foot he had. “You lookin’ for a brawl? I bet I could take ya all on at once, even like this. Ya ain’ never scraped with a junker before, have ya?” His tone was low, but it wasn’t hard for him to be heard. He could tell, because some of them were looking like they had second thoughts. “We don’ play fair. We fight to survive. Couldn’ tell ya how many drongos I offed when I was just a little ankle biter. Yeah, ya gotta look out for the little ones, too. Can’ reach the face too good, but ooooh, they don’ just bite ankles.” He laughed at his own joke like he heard someone else tell it to him.

With a punch to the arm or a slap to the head, those who had seemed unsure about the fight were quickly reminded of the difference in their numbers. Having enough of the games, the gang moved in and easily grabbed up the young junker, but he wasn't going to make it easy for them.

He kicked and punched as much as he could, but when it came down to it, there wasn’t much he could do with no less than 5 men grappling him.

Despite the yells, none of the guards moved to help Junkrat. Not that he was yelling out for them to help him, he just yelled in general. Mostly profanities about them, their mothers, or their dogs.

Eventually, a ring formed around them as they moved away from the guards to have this beat down. Junkrat got a good kick in against some fucker’s head, causing their grip to falter. That was all Junkrat needed to start to start really flailing and kicking. It didn't take much before everyone else dropped him to the ground.

The other inmates around them were jeering and shouting, but it was all just noise. Picking himself up, Junkrat tried to get steady. That didn't last long as someone got in a cheap shot to his face and knocked him on his ass again.

Rubbing his jaw, Junkrat laughed at the guy who threw the punch. “Oh, ya wanna lose a finger, too?” and lunged at him. He fell short, however, someone else trying to grapple his good leg. Cursing loudly, he jerked his leg free and got a few blows to the guy’s face with the heel of his foot. With that bastard out of the way, he turned his attention back to his first target who thought he could get a better angle moving around to his right side. Again, he lunged. Even missing half his limbs, Junkrat easily toppled his opponent and started wailing on him with his fist.

The tone of the crowd around them changed as more blood was spilled. He could feel bones cracking with each blow, and he still wasn't letting up. Junkrat didn't stop until the man below him wasn't moving anymore and someone else was pulling him up. He struggled until he realized the guy grabbing at him wasn't one of the guys that had pulled him away before. In fact, he was trying to help him stand up, not fight him. He was large, but not taller, darker skin than Roadhog.

The man he’d been assaulting on the ground still wasn’t moving, and Junkrat could see his nose was smashed in, making his face almost flat. He was breathing slowly, so he wasn’t dead yet.

Looking around, catching his breath, Junkrat realized the noise was mostly gone. Everyone had eyes on him and his new friend. “That's right,” he started, testing the waters of his audience. “S’ what ya get for tryin ta fight a damn cripple.”

Another cheap shot was thrown at him, but this time it hit the back of his head. Junkrat fell forward, head slamming painfully into the asphalt. The noise turned into ringing and everything was out of focus. Before he could get his bearings back, his new friend had moved to help. Not with picking him up, but with pinning down the man who had knocked him over again. Just looking at the way he had the guy on the ground told Junkrat that this guy was a skilled fighter, like in those old movies Roadhog liked to watch late at night.

Before he realized it, there was now an all out brawl going on between all the inmates. Everyone was throwing punches at somebody else. Some bald fucker with a black eye fell by him and Junkrat let out a war cry before joining the fray. It felt almost like when he fought with Roadhog at his side. Oh right, he wasn’t there to enjoy this beautiful sight. He’d have to try to remember it so that he could tell him all about it later.

Gun fire brought it all to a screeching halt. Guards were there now, trying to break up the fighting. It must not have been working all that well, so one of them came up with the idea to fire in the air to get everyone’s attention. Whatever got the job done, Junkrat could appreciate that. He dropped a torn off ear from his mouth, not remembering having bitten it off. He tried spitting to get the taste out of his mouth. There was no one around him that was holding their ear, and both of his own were still attached. Pure chaos.

Junkrat’s new friend helped him back over to the wheelchair before the guards could stop them. Anyone could tell they looked disappointed that he hadn’t been killed finally. The bleeding man on the ground was dragged out of the yard, and not gently. Junkrat didn’t want to think about him going to see the omnic doctor. No one went to check him for injuries, though most of the blood that stained his once white clothes wasn’t his own.

Then a brilliant idea - as if any other kind existed - popped in his head. “My mate’s in solitary,” he mumbled to his friend. “I need ta get him out, but the guards are dirtier than the bogs. So, you wanna help break him out?”

His friend said nothing, but gave a slight nod.

“Strong silent type, huh? I can appreciate that.” Now that he had something of a following, he needed to make a plan…

┴┬┴┤( ͡° ͜ʖ├┬┴┬

Solitary wasn’t so bad. Gave Roadhog some peace and quiet for once. He should be savoring it. He wasn’t.

Junkrat could fend for himself, and it wasn’t like the elements could kill him in here. The climate was too moderate to do any damage to anyone physically. Worse case, he might get sunburnt, or a cold. Not death.

But there were a lot of dangerous criminals in a very small space. Junkertown had been more dangerous, but there was still the chance that someone would come for blood, just for the sake of it. At least there were no other junkers here. You’d be hard pressed to find them outside of that wasteland, much less Australia.

Roadhog just had to keep reminding himself that his boss had lived this long. He could get on for another week without him there to watch his back. Bastard would probably crack a joke about docking his pay by a week, as if he really got paid at all.

There wasn’t much else to occupy the mind in the tiny cell. There were no books to read, no one to talk to. All he could hear were the moans and occasional yells from the other cells. No point in losing your mind in a place like this. Most you could do to pass the time was either sleep it away, or masturbate. Neither sounded appealing.

Clenching and unclenching his fists, Roadhog yearned to touch something or someone; either in a gentle or brutal way. Make Junkrat squeal, or pop some sad fucker’s head open. He missed his scrapgun and his hook and chain. It felt wrong to not have that familiar weight on him. Worse yet was not having his mask with him. Even if he didn’t always need it for practical reasons, it was something of a safety blanket.

While he became so independent from the rest of the world, he had also become so dependent on keeping things the same and in a routine. The feeling disgusted him, almost as much as the feeling of needing Junkrat nearby to chatter into his ear like a mosquito. Was he really a sadist, or was he just a glutton for punishment. Probably a bit of both. Not going to admit it to anyone. Ever.

The first day dragged on. The only interesting thing to happen was when meals came. Three, nasty, moldy meals. Most inmates here likely turned their noses up at it the first time it came. Roadhog knew that some junkers wished they could eat this well once a week, let alone three times a day. He ate in relative silence, ignoring the retching that came from a cell nearby.

The second day passed just like the first. No change in food or other events. Less screaming, maybe. Slept in. Felt longer.

The start of the third day was the same, but certainly didn’t continue on that same path.

From down the hall, he could hear shouting resonating against the walls. Guards and inmates yelling at each other. Which got his attention, because the guards in this section usually didn’t react at all to the inmates. There were some gunshots and the yelling stopped. Well, it gave him something new to think about now.

Roadhog could hear footsteps coming closer. They stopped once in awhile, metal sliding on metal from someone sliding the small windows in the doors to peer inside at the inmates. Eventually they came to him. It wasn’t a guard he’d seen before, but he stayed seated on his bed.

The door was unlocked with a heavy clunk, and the man pulled it open. Roadhog was surprised to see an inmate standing there instead of a guard. He tilted his head, and the inmate nodded for him to leave, turning and running back down the hall from where he came.

Ambling out of the cell, Roadhog could see guards on the ground, dead and bleeding. Bullet holes riddled their bodies. A small smile started to tease at the corner of his lips. It was a riot, and he had a feeling he knew who organized it.

Now Roadhog moved with more purpose with the prospect of escaping on the horizon. A dumbass would likely try to find Junkrat first, but in a riot it was important to be armed. Guards would be blasting away at anyone that was in orange.

Wandering the corridors, it was oddly quiet for the most part. Sure, there was the occasional prisoner running by, maybe something on fire, and plenty of dead bodies. Roadhog just chalked it up to the main event happening in another part of the prison.

Finding the armory wasn’t hard, since it had already been torn open and raided. Looking inside, Roadhog couldn’t even find his or Junkrat’s weapons or the prosthetics.

With a groan, he turned to start walking out, but stopped short when a guard stood between him and the door. He didn’t look as seasoned, but he was covered in blood and gripped his shotgun too firmly. There was a familiar look in his wide eyes. A need to survive, no matter what. Do anything you can to stay alive.

Before he could talk the man down, there was the blast of a gunshot. The guard crumpled to the floor, blood pouring freely from the new void in the side of his head, just above his ear. For the best. Roadhog was going to do something similar if they guy didn’t let him past.

While the gunshot hadn’t been nearly as surprising to him as it would have been to someone else, Roadhog was surprised to see who it came from. An omnic in a white lab coat stepped into view past the door frame, smoking pistol still in his hand.

The omnic looked down at the man bleeding on the floor and then turned to look at Roadhog lazily. Though physically impossible, he could have sworn he saw the damned thing smiling at him.

Instinctively, he reached for his gun or his hook as the robotic man fished something out of his pockets, earning him a metallic chuckle. “You should hurry before our little Jamison gets himself hurt.”

The words made Roadhog’s blood run cold. Trying to process what had just been said to him, he almost didn’t react in time to catch the keys that were tossed his way.

“I heard he’s in the mess hall, surrounded by his new friends. No doubt working on an escape plan.” The omnic scoffed again and turned to walk away, looking rather pleased with himself, even from behind.

All the pent up energy, all the rage that had been building up to that point was coming to a head. Junkrat hadn’t given him many details, but Roadhog could tell what was going on. This omnic, this… thing, it had been the cause for his boss’s recent torment.

Before it could get far, Roadhog chased the omnic down and got his giant hands around it; one at the chest and arms, one at the hips. It didn’t even have the chance to say anything before there was just the screeching of metal against metal. Roadhog threw the torn coat and legs to the ground so that he could hold the upper half in both hands.

Even when faced with death, the omnic still looked like it was smiling; looking up at him, but still somehow looking down. It even had the audacity to laugh in his face.

Roadhog dropped the hunk of metal and was going to just walk away and let its fluids drain out… but it was making the most heinous noises. Still laughing, it sounded like it was wheezing for breath, and not in a fully mechanical way.

It sounded like a dying person.

Lifting his boot up, Roadhog pressed it to the head of the omnic and gradually pressed down. The laughing soon stopped but the pained noises were more obvious. He didn’t stop until the head finally caved in and the metal was flattened.

Pulling his boot away, Roadhog was only convinced it was over when those blue lights were totally dim. The memory resonated and made his skin crawl.

He needed to snap out of it. Junkrat might be in trouble and if something happened to him, there goes his job. Not to mention his best mate.

Looking the keys over, Roadhog walked back into the armory and looked around some more. He saw a locked chest near the back, having missed it because there was a guard bleeding all over it with a hole in his chest. After moving the body off with his foot, Roadhog knelt down to unlock the chest.

Well, either that timing had been lucky, or the omnic had been watching him. Inside the chest was everything: their customized weapons, his mask, Rat’s arm and leg. There were some other specialized weapons in there that didn’t belong to them, but they didn’t interest him at the moment. A little more digging and he found their old clothes. Alright, the omnic definitely knew something was going to happen and had helped facilitate in getting their stuff back. He didn’t have time to think about it right now.

Before anyone else could find him in the room, Roadhog put his mask on and breathed deeply. Then changed out of the jumpsuit and into his overalls, discarding the offending orange fabric in a corner. Next came his vest and holsters, and finally his armor. Of course, he didn’t leave the room until he had all of Junkrat’s things tucked safely under his arm.

The dead omnic had said something about the mess hall. Even if he didn’t trust the pile of scrap, he had no other leads.

The closer Roadhog got to the mess hall, the more fellow inmates he noticed. It was becoming more and more densely populated the closer he got. When he burst into the doors, it was total chaos inside. Chairs and tables had been piled up, gangs were fighting amongst each other and with the guards. Bodies littered the floor and blood was on nearly everything. As bloodthirsty as they all were, no one crossed Roadhog. Soon as they saw him, they turned tail and looked for someone else to torment.

Looking around, Roadhog couldn’t see where Junkrat was. At least his boss was smart enough to not sit out in the open. He did notice the door to the kitchen was open and went to inspect it.

As suspected, it was picked pretty cleanly. He did notice that at least one of the ovens had been dismantled. Pretty roughly, too. Not the work of Junkrat, even with just one arm.

Walking back out, Roadhog noticed that there were quite a few larger inmates around the pile of tables and chairs. So maybe his boss was smarter than he thought.

As he approached the structure, the security of inmates took notice of him. One whispered to another and they decided not to stop him. Good choice. If Junkrat was in there like he thought, nothing was going to stand in his way.

The inmate that had been whispered to knocked on one of the tables and sure enough, Junkrat sounded off. “Did he finally rock up?! Hold on, almost finished!”

Roadhog huffed impatiently as he waited for Junkrat to finish doing whatever he was doing and get his skinny ass out from under his base of operations.

A few more bangs of metal, some cursing peppered in for good measure, and finally Junkrat was out of his nest.

Hurrying over to his side, Roadhog pulled Junkrat close and gave him his bundle of gear.

Being cheeky as ever, Junkrat grinned and threw his good arm around his bodyguard in an attempt of a hug. “Missed ya, too, mate.” As if Roadhog had ever given him that impression.

The white shirt was already gone and now Rat was chewing off the right pant leg at the knee. Still feeling pressed for time, Roadhog shoved him and just stripped the pants right off. Before Junkrat started his lewd comment, his old shorts were being shoved his way.

“Alright, alright! I get the hint! Don’ push me!” Junkrat huffed and pulled on his shorts, grunting dramatically with the effort. Roadhog refused to help.

“What’s the plan?”

Junkrat gave him a very blank stare. “What else? We blow the place up! Got a bomb made and everythin’!” He lifted up the crude device he’d been working on in the chaos of the riot. Honestly, Roadhog couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

There was a loud bang from across the room and both junkers turned to look as inmates were running to brace another set of doors. Even the ones who had been guarding the pile of tables went to help. Roadhog could only assume that could only mean more guards were on their way and likely heavily armed and armored. “Time’s running out, Rat…”

“Ok, hold on!” Quick hands worked prosthetics back onto stumps and finally Junkrat stood up on his own without fear of falling flat on his ass again. “Perfect! Just need ta set up the charge!” He ran over to a far wall that was already predetermined to lead to the outside and got to work once more. It was only seconds before he was running back and Roadhog silently wondered if it had been set properly. As if he’d said it aloud, Junkrat said, “No worries, mate! It’s all good ta go!”

They ducked behind an upturned table, both junkers leaning to brace for the explosion. “Fire in the hole!” Junkrat yelled out considerately. They couldn’t see it, but they could hear the other inmates scrambling to find shelter as well. Whoever lived might try running. Most would be back behind bars within a week.

Roadhog could hear Junkrat whisper his countdown under his breath.

5…

4…

3…

2…

1…

BRRRINGGGG!

BOOM!

Freedom.

Chapter Text

The whole thing had been a disaster. Somehow, a few inmates had been organized well enough to start an all out riot that led to multiple casualties, and even more wounded. More than half of the staff and inmates had been affected. It was all over the news and would undoubtedly go down in the history books.

Kicking a piece of rubble by his boot, Jack Morrison knew this wasn’t done for the infamy of it, or to see if it could be done. It was all very deliberate.

“Mr. Pearson,” he growled, making the man beside him jump. He didn’t even have to look at him to know he was shaking like a leaf in the wind. “How did this happen?”

The man adjusted his glasses, trying to look through a report in a file he had. “W-well, sir …” The file and the papers all fell to the ground, “Shoot!”

Looking down, Jack reached to pick up just two papers. “I told you to keep an eye on those two. Now they’re gone again. And you have no explanation?!”

Mr. Pearson flinched away from Jack. “One of them was in solitary. The other was missing an arm and a leg.”

“And despite those facts, they managed to blow a giant hole into your facility.” Jack gave him back the papers and sighed. Turning around, he looked up in the far corner opposite the blast. In bright yellow mustard was a mural of a crude smiley face with crossmarks over the eyes. The rumors were going around that these two junkers were smarter than they looked. This display seemed to cement those rumors as truth.

Jack was about to leave when he heard himself stepping on another piece of paper. Looking down he saw a familiar name. “Vincent Worth?” He picked up the paper and looked it over before handing it over to Mr. Pearson again.

“Ah, yes, Dr. Worth. Another casualty. He was a good doctor, even if he was an omnic. Or maybe because of that. He was one of a kind. The staff will miss him, that’s for sure.”

Jack took a moment to look at him, thinking about where he heard the name before. “Good luck, Mr. Pearson.” Back to keeping track of the news.

Elsewhere in the world, an AI named Eden downloaded saved files that were constantly streaming in. When the stream of data stopped, her next protocol activated. All the collected data was then uploaded into a hollow body that had nothing but basic functions in its metallic head. Once the upload was complete, the omnic woke. It made an audible gasp, a reflex now more than anything.

“Good morning, doctor. It is good to see you.” The voice of Eden, ever so calm and pleasant, resonated. “Upload fully successful. No anomalies.”

The omnic looked at his hands before pushing himself up and out of his pod. “I have a job for you to do, Eden. I’m going to give you a list of names that I want you to monitor.”

“What media outlets should I observe, Dr. Worth?”

“Television, the net, open phone lines… Everywhere. I believe I found something to occupy my attention. For now.”