A Rat Out of Water
Water.
Junkrat wasn't sure when the fear started with it.
Perhaps back in Oz when the acid-rain scorched his skin and numbed his throat when he dared to drink it.
"Nah, that's not it," he mumbled to himself.
Water. His first memory had involved it.
Junkrat tentatively itched his scalp, fingers coming away with dandruff and soot.
His first memory:
He remembered being submerged in water. At first he'd chalked it up to when he was a babe in the water of the womb, but quickly he chuckled at how ridiculous the idea was.
Babies didn't have memories, at least, not of before their births.
"Or after," he again chuckled. His corn-colored teeth gnashed in agitation as he tried his damnedest to remember.
Junkrat's memory was horrid. No significant event stood out in his mind, even when he tried. All he recalled were blurry clusters of explosions, the twinkle of gold or scrap, along with the various pains brought on by Oz's outbacks.
His first memory was different, like it belonged to another person altogether.
Junkrat shivered as he entered his bathroom.
He hated this time of day: bathtime. He was stuck with the habit after every outing.
Bathtime used to be a weekly occurrence, but he hadn't gotten away with it for long.
Now that he lived on an Overwatch base with all the amenities attributed to the modern world, he had "No excuse to neglect his hygiene," the good doctor, Angela, had told him.
Many other members of Overwatch followed suit. They flinched in disgust whenever Junkrat patted them on the back, or leaned in to talk after a good mission done.
Junkrat true, was a bit crazy, but not stupid...never.
He'd caught on quick on how his teammates avoided him, staring down at his grimy, crusted fingers.
"Piece of piss, I hate this," said Junkrat, as he looked over the bathroom controls. He was given the choice between a bathtub or a shower, and he'd always picked the bathtub option.
He was mildly amused as he watched the bathroom mechanics shift and contort to his selection. An eerily simple and white ceramic tub was deposited in front of him.
The first time he'd been disappointed, expecting a
jacuzzi or a romantic-candle aesthetic to pop up after the bathroom's grand display. He certainly didn't expect a boring little tub.
Junkrat shrugged his shoulders for the upteenth time, as he patted the bathtub in reluctant comroderance. He supposed Overwatch had to take budget cuts one way or another.
However, Junkrat wasn't complaining at all, no!
"Ahh, frickin' fantastic!" He beamed as water began to pour from the ceiling; clean water!
He wasn't about to scoff at such a luxury. Growing up, Junkrat was lucky if the water he was drinking was only somewhat muddy.
It was only recently did he accept the reality that people used water for washing as well as drinking.
"Sure beats a dust-bath," he sighed as he settled into the tub, closing his eyes in bliss as the warm water touched his knotted muscles.
"Right perfect, I could stay here forever!"
Junkrat, for a moment, had forgotten why he didn't. His eyes snapped open as his skin prickled.
Instinctively, he looked to his single hand, clawing at the water.
He looked past it, seeing his reflection on the still remarkably clean surface.
His amber eyes seemed capable of evaporating the water around him, with how much anger smoldered beneath.
Junkrat hated this, he loathed it!
He again looked at his hand. It was different and had transformed.
His hand resembled that of a frog's. His fingers slowly webbed together as a thin fleshy skin grew between the digits.
Most notably, his nails grew sharp and thick, turning into black claws that took over the tips of his fingers.
His fingers felt like they were bleeding and he waved his hand in the air to subdue some of the pain.
Eventually, Junkrat let his mutilated hand flop onto his chest, having long grown indifferent to the body-horror he endured daily.
It's why he hated baths, why he hated the feel of water
It turned him into a monster, a freak…
And Junkrat knew it had to do with his first memory, being small and floating in an endless bounty of water…
Junkrat sighed, almost crying as he legs twisted around themselves. His knees cracked unnaturally, as they bent backwards.
Eventually a fish-tail of all things, had engulfed Junkrat's entire lower half.
The first time he'd transformed, had been far too traumatic to remember.
His first memory again bounced in his mind, before he waved it off with a mutilated hand turned fin.
"No, no, no!" He cried as his spine extended. "No!" Pain shot into every nerve of his body.
Blood and spit mixed with the water as his teeth grew sharp and reduced his tongue to ribbons.
His breathing wheezed as his lungs shriveled and the flesh above his ribs sliced open to reveal a large set of gills. Another small set rested just above the shoulder line, and under his ears.
Gills. Junkrat brushed over them with his new claws, tentatively. The spots itched, but he didn't dare touch them as with every new breath, the pain intensified.
"Aww, damn it all!"
He slapped his fish-tail in an attempt at humor, which did little to distract from his overwhelming pain.
"Just look at this...beaut' right' here!" Choked out Junkrat with a smile, for the sake of his sanity.
A spasm of pain sent his tail into a violent thrashing fit. He nodded slowly as he convinced himself that the thrashing amused him, splashing water onto the ceiling and into his eyes.
"Yeah, this is a world-recording setting catch right here…"
His lungs burned as they eventually converted entirely. Junkrat's nose became plugged and flattened, as it seamlessly melted into his face.
"Rghhsk…" His voice became a slurred hiss or growl. It was non-human speech.
Ducking his head underwater was the only solution, finding his voice restored.
He thrashed up a storm, easy to do from the pain and the need to churn up water into his gills.
"Damn this! Screw this! Screw everything!" Each cry was punctuated by a string of red bubbles.
He tugged at his ears and hair, fully mad and tortured.
But he didn't find ears, nor hair. Two huge fins fanned out down to his chin, where his ears used to be. His hair was gone; instead, strings of coarse, leathery kelp-like tuffs sprouted from his scalp.
The new tuffs itched like hell. In fact his entire body did, as he itched and scratched his skin, revealing a layer of scales in a gradient of gold, orange, and green. It glistened and sheened like a polished boot.
As his new 'hair' came in, a set of fins along his elbows and lower back soon followed along with a chorus of cracks. The change seemed to break any bones he had left in his arms. The limbs hung loosely outside the tub.
"FUCK. ME. DEAD!"
Junkrat had enough! The pain was too much!
The bath was ruined. He couldn't keep clean in a tub of blood.
He attempted flailing out of the tub, only to find himself trapped. He was in too much pain to lift his fish-tail properly to get out of the water…
Junkrat could only lean back and embrace his terrible curse…
Eventually he got the will to do as he originally intended: to take a bath.
Slowly...carefully...he grasped a bar of soap with his shivering hand.
He smiled meekly. Soap was the saving grace from the horrible torture that was bathtime.
He ignored the blood, clenching the bar as he braced himself for more pain.
He eagerly worked the bar into a lather, wiping the grime from his face.
His scales burned as he worked them over, but the smell and bubbles distracted from his freshly splintered bones.
His nose, despite being more fish than man, sniffed in delight.
Junkrat had taken the habit of huffing soaps, delighting in the 'high' the strange scents gave him.
It was a peculiar habit for sure, but better him huffing soap than crack, gasoline, and glue like he used to in his youth. He found that the high numbed some of his pain.
Besides, it was the only way to survive the torture, he figured. His fish-tail tapped mockingly at the water's surface. The bar of soap twisted like clay beneath his claws. Junkrat closed his eyes, riding out his "high."
Oh boy, today was 'Beach' day.
At least once a month, a few Overwatch members gathered together for important "team-bonding" and "recreational," activities down at Watchpoint Gibraltar's beach. The base overlooked the Mediterranean, and that is unfortunately why, Junkrat hated Beach day.
Usually Junkrat took any chance to goof off and party. He hardly needed an excuse for it…
But, he was actively avoiding it today. His friends, Lucio and Hana were playing catch with a beach ball. Junkrat would've loved to join them; problem being, they were knee-deep in water.
Water. He hated it. Already he felt the phantom itch of his dormant fish-tail.
It was with some bitter resentment that Junkrat uncapped a water bottle and drank deeply.
He saw the reflection of Roadhog behind him.
Normally Junkrat wouldn't bother with Beach day, using the excuse that sand and water would get into his prosthetics, goofing them up with rust.
But Roadhog wanted to get some sun and to relax in the Mediterranean's atmosphere.
Junkrat could see the appeal so he leaned onto a towel. Yet, it wasn't in Junkrat's nature to sit still, to relax…
He looked up at Roadhog, who was currently snout deep in a book. He sat under an umbrella in a comically small chair when compared to his massive size.
Roadhog wasn't a man one wanted to piss off, but Junkrat cheekily smiled at the idea.
Roadhog looked too comfortable, and Junkrat needed a distraction from Lucio's and Hana's laughter, which began grinding against his nerves.
An interesting idea occurred to him, as he observed the rolling waves of the Mediterranean.
"Oi, Roadie?"
Roadhog didn't move, opting to ignore Junkrat, but that tactic rarely worked.
"What would you do if I just...went away?"
Seconds passed. Roadhog slowly looked up from his book.
"What?" Roadhog shook his head and closed his book with a huff. It was more attention then Junkrat expected.
"What did you say, Rat?" There was more bite in his tone than usual, as if hinting that he should reconsider his question.
"I said, what would yah do if I went away Roadie?"
A strange tension crept up between them. It was a simple question, wasn't it?
"Rat, why'd you ever want to do that? What brought this on again?"
"Hrm? Just wanna chew the fat with yah Roadie, is all."
"Thought you were over that…"
Over what? What? What?
Eventually what Roadhog was getting at sunk in.
No wonder the fellow looked so disturbed.
"Oh! You mean suicide?" Said Junkrat, a bit too chipper, a bit too loudly. "D'www don't get daft on me Roadie! I'm not gonna chark it anytime soon, and not by me own hand, nah…"
An uncomfortable silence settled between them. Junkrat bit his lip to keep his chuckles in check. Roadhog looked moments away from offing him himself.
"*Ahem* Nah mate, yah misunderstood! I was getting at, what would you do if I fired you? Trashed your next paycheck and scooted off into the sunset?" Junkrat leaned up, his brows bounced curiosity. "Would yah still do Overwatch Roadie?"
Roadhog took a moment to get his bearings. He rubbed the snout of his mask and sighed deeply, the kind that took careful practice.
"Damnit Rat, you had me going for a moment there."
Junkrat cackled, ducking as Roadhog sent a loose, half-hearted punch his way. His missed, but that didn't mean the conversation was over.
"So don't leave me in suspense. Yah got a plan, roight?"
Roadhog grumbled, likely obscenities Junkrat was too deaf to hear.
"I'd get a boat."
"What was that?" Junkrat cupped an ear, pretending he hadn't heard.
"Now why on Earth would yah get a boat Roadie?" Junkrat didn't like the idea. Being surrounded by water made his skin itch, in all the worst ways.
"Why, looking to be a pirate?" Junkrat paused to tap on his peg-leg prosthetic. "Afraid I have you beat in that department there, mate."
Roadhog rolled his eyes behind his mask.
"I'd retire. Go fishing. I grew up besides the Pacific, and I'll die besides it if I have any say in it."
It's the most Junkrat had gotten out of the hog in a while. Never would've pegged him as a fisherman.
Junkrat wanted to say how dumb an idea it was, how Roadhog was getting mad in his age…
But, Junkrat was crazy, not stupid. He knew when to hold his tongue.
Still...he'd almost done it then, told Roadhog his secret.
'Yah know, I'm a mermaid,' thought Junkrat.
Fortunately, his tongue was a bit smarter than his mind.
"That's a plan, alright...g-good on yah!"
Ahh, stuttering...the lie was too obvious then.
Roadhog looked him over with glaring suspicion.
"Roight…," he chuckled nervously.
'Why don't we go out and buy a boat now, and I'd show yah!' He visibly cringed from his thoughts.
Almost, he'd snapped right then and there. A string of cusses paused on his tongue. Junkrat's amber eyes looked out to the water with unchecked hatred. He bit his tongue to blood as it floundered around his mouth. It licked over his lips, smearing blood all over.
He didn't pay attention to Roadhog's reaction.
He didn't care to, for once.
God, it was endless…
The Mediterranean stretched out before him. His eyes had dulled into a listless glare.
Perhaps from age, or his growing weariness…
Regardless, Junkrat couldn't take it anymore.
Taking a bath, transforming everyday…
It was driving him over the edge, plain and simple.
It was torture! No creature mer or man, was supposed to live in such a way.
He'd come to that conclusion only recently.
Junkrat had changed his legs too many times. The stump of his peg-leg stopped fitting right, after the first hundred or so transformations. It ended up sticking out from his hip, a condition that only grew more obvious over the years.
His other leg had no luck either. He swore the bones had micro-fractures all along its length and he couldn't wiggle his toes any longer..
He walked like a cripple, limping this way and that. It didn't matter if an enemy was on him, or merely a shadow of paranoia following behind...
Junkrat couldn't walk. Each step burned.
He couldn't do his job.
He couldn't be apart of Overwatch any longer.
One day he broke down crying from the pain, right in the middle of the base-cafeteria. It was humiliating, with everyone watching.
"Are you okay?" Many people had asked him that day. "I'm fine...fine...honest!" He'd choked out.
Of course, no one believed him while balling his eyes out like a baby.
The good doctor, Angela, had taken him in her arms, cooing sweet nothings as she held a saw above his remaining leg.
"I'm afraid Jamie, amputation is the only option. We will get you fancy new prosthetics, not to worry!"
Poor poor good doctor Angela...she figured it wouldn't be a problem. That parts of Junkrat could fall off and that she would be able to fix it all.
Of course...she didn't know his secret...no one did.
Not even Junkrat had the memories to know why he was a mermaid...
That incident was why Junkrat was staring at out the waters. No longer did he loathe it...fear it.
It was an escape now. He needed his leg and ratty stump…
It was him, his other half, that wretched mermaid tail.
The tail haunted his every moment, curdling his brain into an obsessive jelly.
He couldn't just remove it. Not after enduring the torture for so long.
His hand ran over his legs, a strange, greedy protectiveness rattled from his fingers.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," a mantra of curses flew over the waves.
Spikes and pillars of beachrock drew him in.
It was time to end it.
He'd been with Overwatch some time, perhaps a decade...at least.
Roadhog had aged as well as jam stored in an open-air container.
It just didn't work. 'Hog' didn't work.
Couldn't work...not anymore.
Junkrat saw how he tried to hide his pain and aged, limping gait. He knew all the secrets, methods, and lies...
"Roadie, I'm gonna get you that boat."
He began wading into the water, already feeling his skin prickle and burn from the scales pushing forward.
'There's no going back you know…' he told himself.
Junkrat nodded sadly. His peg-leg and arm were removed, each wet and useless.
With the last of his anger he tossed his prosthetics as high as he could into the sand dunes above.
Maybe Overwatch would find them...maybe not.
What would they think?
What would Roadhog think?
A wave pushed him over, forcing his mind into a blank state.
His leg and stump, twisted and cracked. He felt his lungs open and breathing burned with a sick familiarity.
The water enveloped him like a soothing blanket. His nerves stopped burning as he let the waves drag him out further. The pain disappeared quicker than he expected.
The sea of the Mediterranean opened up to him.
No longer was he Jamieson Fawks.
No longer was he Junkrat.
He was something better.
As his tail lashed behind him, he was baffled as to how he'd ignored himself for so long.
Suddenly Junkrat understood what his first memory had meant. Why it had been so important to remember.
This was where he belonged.