Author's Note: "Koraha" means desert in Maori. The alternate title to this fic was "The Wonderful Misadventures of Junkrat and Roadhog" but that's a mouth full, isn't it.
All jokes aside, this is just a story focusing on the relationship between the two Junkers. From their first meeting, to their trek through the Outback, their world-wide rampage, and hopefully in the arms of Overwatch in the future.
Warning again for animal death and blood in this chapter, nothing too descriptive but a good heads up never hurt anyone.
Thanks for reading!
Chapter 1: Anguish and Ambush
The Outback is a terrible place to wander in.
The beating rays of the hot desert sun burned against Junkrat's exposed back. He didn't know how long he'd been walking. Or where he was. Or where he was headed. All he knew was not to turn back, keep walking, and avoid anyone bipedal with anything resembling a weapon in their greedy, grimy hands.
While he wasn't really paying attention to the passage of time, judging by the night and day cycle, he'd escaped Junkertown about a week ago, or maybe two weeks. He'd lost count. Only about three days later after his initial discovery at the ruins of the Omnium, word had started to spread around, hushed whispers about his treasure, and people were getting angry. Sneering at him while walking on the streets, lingering just a little too close to him while he was out scavenging, and even a few physical confrontations that ended with Junkrat chucking a grenade at the cretins and speeding in the other direction.
That's what happens when you run your mouth, idiot.
The townspeople were pissed, pissed that he was keeping all the goods to himself.
He bolted the minute he saw the mob of Junkers approaching his dingy old shack, leaving town in the dead of night with only the clothes on his back, his bag of scavenged goods, and the location of the treasure embedded in his maddened mind.
He ran. He ran until the angry screams and stomping of rusted metal boots and bare feet could not longer reach his ears. He jogged until the town disappeared from the horizon. He walked until his peg leg threatened to give out underneath him. He limped until he collapsed into a small patch of brush, exhausted and out of breath. Then he was out cold. By the time morning came, the sun turned the reddish sand burning hot and illuminated his surroundings. All he saw was the same damn thing all around him; sand as far as the eyes could see. No Omnium ruins, no rusty old buildings, no scrap heaps, and, as much as he'd hated them now, no people bustling about around him.
He was alone.
A rumbling in his gut brought him back to the present, jerking his attention away from the unchanging horizon. He rubbed a soot-covered hand across his stomach, deeply regretting his choice of finishing the last of his kangaroo jerky the night before. He scanned the area for something, anything, to eat. Sand, sand, more blasted sand. He wasn't going to resort to that, at least not yet.
His eyes landed on a pygmy goanna skittering across the ground. It's light brown skin and white spots contrasted against the warm, red sand. A sly smile splayed across his cracked lips. Junkrat moved in for the kill.
He maintained a fair enough distance between him and his soon-to-be-snack, one where he can see the little bugger without startling it. He watched as the lizard scuttled towards a nearby rock and wriggled its way to the top. It sat there, perched on the smooth grey surface. Junkrat circled around it, hoping to sneak up to it from behind. He took a few steps forward, slow, careful...
The little creature twisted its head around, met with the hungry, wild gaze of the scrawny man. It tilted it's head a bit, almost teasingly. It's beady black eyes stared at Junkrat, almost daring.
He took a step forward, his peg leg creaked loudly underneath him. He quickly brought a hand up to his lips, shushing the noise, before realizing what he was doing; shushing himself. If I don't get something to eat I'm gonna go batty, he thought. Well, even more so.
The creature quickly turned away upon hearing the sound of the shushing and jumped off the rock, quickly scurrying away in the opposite direction. Junkrat stood there in shock, staring at the barren stone. Shock soon turned to anger.
"GET BACK 'ERE YOU LITTLE-"
He hobbled after the lizard, leaping over the rock and trying to catch up to it. It was damn fast, and he followed it for a good fifty metres before he started to tire out. His peg leg creaked with each step, his mouth curled into a menacing snarl, and his stomach constricted due to the stress of catching the damn thing. But he wasn't about to give up that easily.
He tried a number of different tactics. At first, he put a little more distance between him and goanna until it stopped running, then snuck up behind it like the first time. Didn't work, it got alerted by his presence and sped away. Then he tried to outrun it and cut it off but his peg leg was starting to buckle and creak and he knew that if it broke then he'd pretty much be good as dead out here. Finally, after many failed attempts, he decided to just lob a 'nade at it and blow it's legs off, despite his bomb supply being at an all time low. His is eyes lit up at the explosion, turning the already amber colour into a more fiery shade.
God he loved blowing shit up.
The bomb flung the lizard high into the air, and it landed on the sand with a thud. Surprisingly, it didn't lose any limbs so he had to act fast. Junkrat wasted no time and dove after it, cupping the lizard in his hands, letting out a victorious cackle. He tightened the grip around the animal as it squirmed, and quickly slid a hand around its neck and torso. The poor thing tried biting at him, tried to wiggle from his grasp, but he kept a firm hold on it. "Gave me a lot of trouble there, little guy," he giggled, his grip becoming tighter and tighter. The lizard spasmed violently as the air slowly escaped from its tiny lungs. It twitched one last time before going limp in his hands. Junkrat sighed with contentment, bringing the goanna close to his mouth, teeth bared and ready to tear into its skin. He paused. Something wasn't right...
It was too quiet.
The large mutated cicadas had stopped calling out to each other from the sparse eucalyptus trees. Those damn things were the size of his forearm and they never shut up. So naturally, the absence of their irritating buzzing made Junkrat's ears feel empty.
He didn't like this. The sun was at its highest and the bugs weren't supposed to stop their incessant noise until the sun dipped low into the horizon. Something, or someone, must have startled them away.
His neck twitched as footsteps slowly approached him. He just froze there, on his knees, clutching the goanna tightly as a large shadow loomed over him. He was starting to regret wasting that bomb to catch this thing. For damn sure he was going to need more than three bombs to finish these guys off. And, ah shit, he had used the last of his concussion mines yesterday to snatch a honeycomb from high above in the trees, so that was out of the question. He was thinking, thinking of a way to get out of this, a way to avoid using up his arsenal. Think, think, think.
A low chuckle made Junkrat's shoulders tense up, and he snapped his neck around to face the source.
He saw the glint of metal first. Makeshift metal armour, metal masks that covered their eyes, metal weapons... He gulped.
Junkers. They were goddamn Junkers. Four of them, positioning themselves so that they surrounded him like directions surround a compass.
They found him. How the fuck did they find him?
Another chuckle escaped from the man he faced, low and laced with madness, much like his own. "Fancy runnin' into you out 'ere, 'Rat." He opened and closed the garden sheers in his hand, revealing a toothy grin with missing teeth. "How's the Outback been?"
Junkrat shakily stood up from his place, his peg leg dug into the rough sand. What he lacked in strength he made up for through sheer height alone. Even with a missing calf and foot, he towered over the men. He saw a brief flash of intimidation across their faces before they contorted back into hungry, greedy snarls.
Despite his situation, Junkrat couldn't help but laugh, though there was a hint of nervousness in his voice, "Cut to the chase, mate. I know what you really want." He slowly reached into his back pocket, feeling for the familiar smooth surface of his grenade. Not yet, he told himself, not yet. Humour them.
The leader stepped in closer, exposing the blades of his weapon dangerously close to Junkrat's face. "Then get on with it, Ratboy. Tell us where the damn treasure is!"
He was only looking at the leader, but Junkrat could feel the others closing in on him.
Now.
He brought a hand up to pull off the pin of the grenade. He was just about ready to toss it right in this wankers face and make a quick getaway, hopefully avoiding the rest of his men in the process. But before the pin could be fully removed, he was struck across the back of the head.
It was hard and sharp, and only when he collapsed onto the ground did he see that it was a nail-bat, the tips of the rusty nails dripping with his own blood. He let out a long wail, only to be cut off by a spiked metal boot stomping across his chest. The air was knocked out of him, and he writhed under the force of the man holding the bat leering over his injured form.
"Nuh uh uh, 'Rat," said the leader, though Junkrat couldn't see him. He couldn't see much of anything at this point. His ears were ringing, his head felt like splitting open, and black spots danced across his hazy vision. The man spoke up again, "We'll make you talk, you pathetic excuse for a Junker, no matter what it takes."
Junkrat's head painfully lolled to the side, and he could see that a pool of blood was already forming under him. As his vision grew dark, he tried to focus his eyes on something moving in front of him.
The goanna.
It stirred from its supposed death and squirmed until it regained its footing. It's little head shot upright, it's legs positioned in a sturdy stance as it stared at Junkrat with beady little eyes. It tilted it's head again, as if to say, ha, that's what you get you lizard-killing bastard. With one last flick of the tongue, the goanna spun around and skittered away to freedom, it's little feet leaving behind dark red marks in the sand.
One more stomp to the chest, then everything went dark.
Author's Note: No lizards were harmed in the making of this chapter.