Chapter Text
Twenty years... twenty years he'd spent in the outback... he'd never thought he'd see the last of it. He'd doomed the place to an irradiated wasteland rather than leave and let the bots take it, and after then he'd known he couldn't simply walk away, not after what he'd done. So he'd become just another piece of the apocalypse, another monster surviving from one kill to the next. He'd thought that was how it would always be. Wasn't like there was anything that could replace what he'd lost, nothing better that he or anyone else deserved... he'd had no reason to leave.
Until now.
He glanced across at Junkrat, who was perched up on the edge of the sidecar, slack-jawed and bug-eyed with an expression of awe as he took in the cityscape. He'd been doing better over the last few days, regaining his usual chatter and a bit of that old enthusiasm, even if it faltered on occasion, and he'd stopped picking at his remaining bandages which Roadhog took to mean his wounds were healing.
The new environment seemed like a good distraction at least. Junkrat was entirely captivated, and he didn't seem sure where exactly to look or what to say. He let out a noise that sounded almost like a whine.
“It's so fuckin' tall mate... feel like these buildin's are gonna hit the sky... how do they stay up? Why don't they just topple over and squash everythin'? It's just all... all packed in like they don't even realize, and it just goes up an' up an' up...”
Junkrat's head tilted right back as if attempting to follow the skyscrapers to their peak.
Yeah, that was right. A lot had changed since Roadhog's last visit here, but the city from his memory was familiar enough that it didn't shock him. He forgot, sometimes, that Junkrat didn't have that. He couldn't have been more than five when the omnium blew, wouldn't have remembered anything from before. He'd spent his whole life in the outback, the closest thing he knew to civilization was Junkertown - and that was a long, long way from civilization.
“Have rules for building,” he said, “use proper materials. Plans. Smart stuff. Won't fall over.”
“That right? Ya sure? Cos it looks like they're usin' glass, fuckin' glass, and that don't seem so smart to me...”
He was still leaning back precariously, and Roadhog reached out an arm to stabilize him in case his balance failed and sent him toppling to the tarmac. Junkrat flinched at the touch.
Roadhog felt a twinge of something that tasted oddly like guilt. He'd thought he was past that, at least as far as Roadhog was concerned, hadn't seen him react so severely in a while... looked like his old instincts were back in full though, and that was his own fault.
Shouldn't care, Roadhog told himself sternly. He'd saved him in the end, hadn't he? He could have left the idiot... should have, probably. Would have had the treasure all to himself and all it would have cost him was a rat...
He sighed, gently nudging Junkrat into a more sensible position so that he was seated properly in the sidecar, then returned his grip to the handlebars.
He heard the younger Junker laugh a little uncertainly. “Ta.”
“City's big, but you get used to it.”
“It all like this? Other places I mean...”
Roadhog gave a grunt, and even over the low rumble of the engine Junkrat seemed to interpret it properly.
“Yeah and nah?” he said with a slight frown, weighing this information carefully. “Well... it's bloody strange mate, bloody strange...”
He let Junkrat continue to admire the sights as they drove, keeping half an eye on him to be sure he'd stay put. He was well behaved enough, though he would still sit up excitedly when something new caught his attention, pointing and running off a string of questions, half of which seemed to be to himself. Roadhog was surprised the idiot's neck didn't snap from swiveling his head around so much. Still, he supposed it was good. Junkrat was enjoying himself. However surreal the experience was for him he appeared to be more curious than intimidated, and that was a preferable outcome.
It took Roadhog a while to find them a hotel, somewhere that looked like it wouldn't ask too many questions, and when he did he was careful.
“Keep quiet,” he warned Junkrat, “I do the talking.”
“That's a first.” Junkrat snickered, but Roadhog kept staring at him until he rolled his eyes and nodded, drawing a line across his lips as if sealing them closed. Not that it would last, but so long as he wasn't trying to ask about the air-conditioning and why there was so much carpet, or attempting to haggle, then that would do.
The man at the desk raised an eyebrow at the crumpled dollar bills that Roadhog set in front of him, but he seemed happy enough to take the money when Roadhog spelled out what they wanted. They got a room on the second floor. It wasn't luxury by any standard, pretty low grade by Roadhog's estimation, but they didn't need anything fancy, just a place to lay low.
While Roadhog set their stuff down Junkrat was already exploring, checking every corner to be sure he'd mapped it and peering out the window to size up the potential escape route. After a quick scan he wedged the door slightly ajar with a piece of spare scrap and combed through again, taking more time to peek under the beds or rifle through drawers to see if there was anything in them. He was onto the bathroom when Roadhog heard him shriek.
For a second he thought he'd hurt himself. Then Junkrat's head stuck round the door, eyes wide. “Mate, this thing pours water.”
Roadhog couldn't help it. It shouldn't be funny, it really shouldn't, if anything it should be sad, but the sheer amazement on Junkrat's pointy face was too much. He let out a wheezy chuckle, hand clutched to his belly.
“I ain't kiddin',” Junkrat insisted, “it does!”
“It's meant to do that,” Roadhog told him.
He still seemed to be struggling with the concept. “So... it just pours it out? And they let us take water from up here and then they charge us for it? Seems a might trustin' if ya ask me, could just skip out without payin' the tab, be surprised if no one does.”
“No, it's free.”
If anything his eyes only got wider. “Bloody oath! How much is there?”
Roadhog closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He'd really underestimated how much of a change this was going to be for Junkrat. There was a heck of a lot to explain that he hadn't even considered. “As much as you want. Comes from a city supply or something.”
“As much as I want,” Junkrat echoed, running a shaky hand through his hair as he tried to absorb this information. “As much... as I... want.”
“Yeah. Can even use it to wash.”
“Ain't that a waste?”
“Just told you, it's free, all you want.”
Junkrat shook his head, clearly still in some form of denial. Then he disappeared from view and Roadhog heard his pegleg skittering on the tiles, followed by the sound of the taps being turned on again, as if he had to check they were actually real. It was ten minutes later when he returned, still looking dazed. “This place is weird mate.”
Roadhog snorted, watching as Junkrat went to flop down on one of the beds. Soon he seemed to recover himself though and he sat up. “Oi, ya reckon we can find a map? Of the city? What was it called...”
“Sydney.”
He snapped his fingers at the name. “Yeah, that's it. I want a map of Sydney. Gonna need one, probably... it's fuckin' huge. Ought to get the lay of the land before startin' anythin’, right?” He was looking at Roadhog expectantly, as if waiting for confirmation. Why, Roadhog was uncertain.
Whatever the case he tipped his head slightly to indicate his agreement and Junkrat seemed to understand.
“Ripper! Let's go then, what are ya waitin' for?” he asked, bounding up.
Roadhog contemplated him for a moment, his gaze safely hidden behind the lenses of his mask. His eyes trailed over hollow cheeks, the faded bruises, scabs soon to be scars, the last remaining bandages still clinging to his lean chest. Certainly seemed like he had a lot of energy for now, but still... “Don't want a rest?”
Junkrat visibly bristled at the suggestion. The look he shot Roadhog was dirty. “I'm fine,” he spat. He glared, but almost immediately that spark of anger seemed to fizzle out and his posture slouched again, expression sour.
“Look...” he said, “I've been in the sidecar all mornin', not like I've done anythin' to wear me out, and I ain't a bloody invalid. Told ya before, I can take a beatin', it's been a week at least by now.”
Two, Roadhog wanted to say, but he didn't. Instead he just shrugged, turning away. Was easier when he didn't have to look at him. “No whining if you get tired then. And put a shirt on.”
Hide the damage.
“Mate, I never whine,” he scoffed, and Roadhog rolled his eyes, well aware the Junkrat couldn't see him doing it.
“We going or what?” he asked gruffly once his charge had pulled a threadbare tank on.
“Uh... actually yeah, just let me rig somethin' quick, right? Just to be sure.”
Roadhog nodded. He doubted anyone would bother to rob a place like this while they were out, or even set an ambush, but there was no harm in added caution. Besides, Junkrat's more technical work always appeared to settle him and this seemed like a safe way to indulge that.
He waited patiently while the younger Junker gathered the supplies he needed from his bag and set himself to the task.
As promised he was quick, long fingers moving with a deftness that could only come from practice and confidence (save perhaps for the one still in its splint). There were people, Roadhog knew, who thought his general twitchiness and poor focus meant he was nothing but a liability, but he trusted him when it came to things like this. Idiot had a knack for it, never let him down. Was smarter than people thought, and the sheer attention to detail he had when it came to building something of lethal design was... almost terrifying, in a way. Even if he giggled to himself and wasted an extra minute drawing a smiley face by the door to greet anyone unfortunate enough to wander into his trap.
“Gonna have to let me go in first to disarm it when we get back, mate, elsewise you'll be bacon,” Junkrat helpfully informed him, standing up and tidying away his leftover supplies.
“Hmmm.”
He herded him out onto the street, choosing a direction that would lead them closer to the city center. The crowds Rodhog wasn’t looking forward to, but they would stand out less in the press of pedestrian traffic than skulking down empty roads by themselves. There were a lot of weird people in cities. After a while, everyone stopped caring enough to notice.
The real trouble was peeling Junkrat away from every vaguely interesting sight the moment they hit the glitz and glam of retail. Junkertown had stores, but it was all the same rust red, or the dull splash of sun faded paint - simple easy to read signs, no big flashy sales or advertisements. No artfully arranged shop front displays.
Here, there was so much colour, so many lights, so much stuff, and like a moth to a flame Junkrat was helplessly pulled to it. Dragging him from window after window quickly had to become Roadhog’s primary focus if they wanted to make any progress at all.
And of course there were the questions.
Because there was a lot Junkrat wanted to know.
Why there was so much glass. (Didn’t have to worry about stray bullets). Why none of the staff in the stores carried weapons. (Didn’t need them). Why so many stores sold the same shit. (Competition wasn’t as cutthroat as Junkertown). Why everywhere seems to have a sale on. (Got people to buy things they didn’t need). Why everyone was ignoring the birds. (Better stuff to eat).
And every answer he gave, Junkrat would frown a bit, like he was giving it some genuine thought, then nod and carry on until the next question struck him.
Eventually they passed somewhere that looked like it catered to tourists, and Roadhog ducked inside to see about getting a map. These days, most people probably used their phones, but he was absolutely not getting Junkrat a phone, no fucking way, no thank you, and there were still folk out there that preferred the tradition of paper.
Unfortunately, once he’d procured what he came for, he turned around to find Junkrat had up and vanished. He’d been sure he’d been just behind him, poking at a row of keychains. That’s what he got for taking his eyes off him for ten fucking seconds.
He wasn’t hard to find at least.
Only a handful of paces from the store Roadhog exited was a drinks cafe with a service window set in the wall, and the colourful and lavishly decorated menu had done its job of capturing a potential victim.
Junkrat’s gaze raked over each drink in turn, lips moving silently. He was literate, which made him an intellectual by the standard of younger Junkers, but he mostly used the skill to check through ingredient lists on bottles of old chemicals or to decipher the warning signs people plastered up. There were a lot of words he didn’t know, and those he went slow with, sounding them out until he was confident he had them right.
“Map,” Roadhog said once he’d closed the distance, holding it out to him.
Junkrat tore his gaze away from the menu. “Ace! Let’s have a looksie then.”
He grabbed the map with eager hands and unfurled it, holding it aloft. Turned it. Turned it again. Squinted, pulling it in close to his face. “This is all lines,” he said after another few seconds, with notably less enthusiasm. “How the hell am I supposed to know what any’ve this means?”
Roadhog held his hand out again.
Junkrat turned, angling himself so he could keep the map away from him and any attempts to snatch it back. “Not sayin’ I don’t want it, just… where’s the landmarks? The pictures? Thought these civi types were supposed to be smart, this the best they can do? I make better maps than this, mate, an’ ya know what my penmanship’s like.”
Roadhog grunted.
“Exaxtly! Seems to me like they could stand to learn a thing or two. Gimme a min, I’ll figure this shit out.”
Junkrat returned to studying the map. Roadhog had no doubt he’d figure it out soon enough, and knowing him, he’d either annotate it or sketch up his own version to better suit his needs. You couldn’t hand him anything made of paper without expecting it to be scribbled over or burnt. Possibly both.
As he pondered, Junkrat lifted his hand absently to chew on his nails.
Or, where his nails would be, if they hadn’t been torn off.
They’d grow back eventually.
The teeth wouldn’t.
“Stop that,” Roadhog told him.
Junkrat paused. His hand pulled back from his mouth a few inches, and he looked down at it with an almost puzzled expression. Then all at once the storm clouds descended. “Fuck off,” he snarled.
“You’ll make ‘em bleed.”
“I said fuck off! I don’t need ya fussin’!”
“Trying to-”
“An’ I didn’t ask ya to, so leave me be. Or ya think ya get to boss me around now, eh? That what ya want? Think I don’t know how to take care of meself?”
His raised voice was starting to draw eyes.
Junkrat had been… prickly recently. Sometimes he was all cheerful chatter and compliance, other times he was infuriating in every definition of the word. But Junkrat had always had a viciousness to the way he sulked. It was the cruel streak his humour took, it was his casual delight in every inconvenience he heaped upon those around him... and sometimes, when his mood flipped, it was his snappish response to anything he took a disliking to. When Junkrat was in a bad mood, he was determined to spread it. Usually these bouts of ill-temper were a rare occurrence, but lately he’d been all over the place.
This, of course, was understandable. It didn’t make it any easier to deal with.
Arguing with him never went anywhere productive. It was a coin flip as to whether it would work, but changing the subject sometimes did the trick. With this in mind, Roadhog guestured to the drinks menu. “Want one?”
Junkrat did a double take. His eyebrows rose, his glare shifting to suspicion, glancing between Roadhog and the menu until he said, “...a drink?”
“Yeah. Want one?”
There were a few awkward seconds of silence in which he waited to see if the man would double down on his anger or if he’d bite. Then Junkrat shrugged. “Yeah, sure. I ain’t payin’ for it though.”
“Which one?”
Junkrat pointed.
Actually looking at the menu, it appeared to offer a variety of bubble teas in colourful flavours, but the one he’d chosen was distinctly brown. Milk tea.
Roadhog snorted.
Milk was considered a luxury good in Junkertown - something only the elite had the chance to sample, not something wasted on lowly scrappers. Of course he’d pick what he perceived to be the fanciest option. Greedy fucker.
He slapped down a ten dollar bill in front of the nervous clerk and ordered. Asked for sugar too. Junkrat always struck him as the type to have a sweet tooth.
As they waited, Junkrat folded the map up and stuffed it into his satchel, moving closer so he could lean against the counter and watch the preparation with his fingers tapping against the wood. He kept glancing at the tip jar in a way that spelled trouble, so Roadhog leaned over and surreptitiously slid it away from him.
Junkrat pouted. He ‘stole’ a few napkins in a possible form of rebellion, but other than that he seemed to be on good behaviour, his previous mood forgotten.
The clerk was all to happy to push the finished drink over and be rid of them. Junkrat snatched it up, puzzling over the straw for a moment before he stuck it in his mouth.
Almost immediately his eyes went wide. He drank for a few more seconds before spitting the straw out and grinning at Roadhog with undisguised glee. “Mate! Mate, this is good stuff! It’s like… bloody oath, I dunno what it’s like, but it’s fuckin’ good!”
There was always something vivid about Junkrat - how his emotions burned so hot and close to the surface. Right now, it was as painful to look at as the sun. The warmth lingered even if Roadhog had no right to it.
He grunted to show he’d heard.
Rather than reply, Junkrat picked the straw back up and returned to drinking.
It was an oddly quiet four minutes strolling down the street.
When he’d finally slurped up the dredges, Junkrat removed the straw and licked it clean. Then the lid. Then he split the plastic cup apart so he could lick the inside too. Once he was satisfied there were no traces left to be chased with his tongue, he tossed the tattered remnants carelessly over his shoulder, very nearly hitting the pedestrian unfortunate enough to be behind him.
They spluttered out the beginnings of a protest, but Roadhog turned his head enough glare at them. Suddenly they decided it was a non-issue.
“Okay, I’ll admit it,” Junkrat said, humming happily to himself, “they got one thing right in this place.”