((Note: Can be read without, but contains spoilers for my other fic 'gaining ground' so maybe read that first if you ever plan to))
Roadhog's first instinct was to kill them. He wanted to slaughter them all, because this was their fault, because they had let this happen, because if it wasn't for them then maybe none of this would have turned out like it did... but he didn't. He knew, deep down, that he was the one to blame. Not them, him. If he hadn't let Junkrat out of his sight, if he hadn't convinced him to put his trust in someone else... well, then he might not be lying unconscious in a hospital bed right now. If he died, that blood was on his hands.
There was a time when he wouldn't have cared. Roadhog had spent a long time learning not to care, to burying everything that Mako had been and becoming a new monster fit for the land he had helped to create. First time he'd met Junkrat he'd very nearly murdered him. Funnily enough the maniac had almost returned the favor shortly after... they came to an agreement though. A business transaction, nothing more. Roadhog had done bodyguard work in the past, it meant little to him, so long as the profit was worth putting up with the annoying chatterbox what did it matter?
As time passed though that changed. Junkrat's endless talking became familiar, less of an irritant and more of a constant like the drone of cicadas in summer, his odd tics and habits drew patterns he finally managed to recognize, and above all Roadhog began to realize that working with Junkrat was... well, fun. He lacked the professionalism, or cold, ruthless nature of others he'd worked for. What Junkrat had was a sort of enthusiasm that was infectious. It didn't matter where they were, he was always ready with a grin and a terrible joke, hopping about excitedly as they burned everything in their path. Roadhog didn't remember the last time he'd considered anything in the wasteland of the Australian outback to be fun. Not since Mako. It was dangerous.
He'd considered killing Junkrat himself for that. He couldn't risk Mako coming back, couldn't risk remembering what guilt and fear felt like, couldn't allow himself to care when it gave him something to lose... it would have been far safer to put an end to it right then, when he'd first realized.
He'd had the opportunity. But as he sat there thinking more and more about how he would tighten his hands around that skinny neck and squeeze, about how Junkrat would go suddenly wild-eyed with fear, clawing at him to release his grip while his legs thrashed uselessly like the limbs of an upturned beetle... the more vividly he pictured the scene, the more his enthusiasm waned. He didn't want to hurt the idiot. Fuck, he actually didn't.
By that point it had been too late.
Junkrat was a disaster waiting to happen, he had more problems than Roadhog knew how to tally without even beginning to touch upon his outright obsession with explosives. Perhaps he felt responsible.
In a different life, had the Omnium never exploded, perhaps Junkrat would have grown up like kids used to. Maybe he would have had a family, an education, probably could have gone to university... hells knew he was smarter than people thought. Wouldn't have had to have scraped by half-starved and desperate, clutching at anything that gave him an edge... but Roadhog didn't want to think about how things might have gone. That just reminded him of Mako's mistakes.
Fact of the matter was that for better or worse he'd decided he'd protect him... a challenge at times, but it was worth it for that small, selfish part of him that wanted to remember something other than emptiness. When Roadhog recalled the awe in Junkrat's expression when he'd first seen a real city, his constant fascination with every new country they visited, the way his boundless enthusiasm always seemed to outweigh his anxiety... when he thought of the thrill of each heist, the way Junkrat would lean out the sidecar with the wind streaking through his hair and whoop in delight... the time Junkrat had first discovered boba tea... well, when he thought of that, he felt like he was finally doing something right. He'd guard that with his life.
Junkrat had survived a lot in his time, Roadhog had seen him limp away from more fights than he could number, and he'd even carried the moron out of a few more when he was too busted up to manage himself... but the sight of him when they finally flew the drop ship in had stopped him in his tracks. Those weren't the sort of wounds you patched up and spent a fews days resting, those wounds would have been a literal death sentence where they were from. It took him a few seconds to process before he was shoving himself forward, using his bulk to knock aside those who tried to block him.
God damn it, the least he could do was speak to him before it was too late. To look into those bright amber eyes and tell him he was sorry he wasn't there, that he fucked up... owed that bastard that much. He'd find out who was responsible and tear them limb from limb. He'd make that a promise, get Junkrat to look him in the eyes and swear that much... he just had to reach him. To shake him back to consciousness for those few precious seconds, make something important of these last moments... he couldn't stand the idea of him just fading out, the shallow breaths of his scrawny chest growing weaker and weaker until there was nothing but a corpse. He was pretty sure Junkrat would feel the same...
Only Mercy's firm hand on his belly managed to stop him.
"Please," she said, meeting his gaze squarely, "Jamison's condition is critical but if I get him back to my ward I can attempt to save him... there isn't time for anything else. Stand aside."
There was a fierceness to her he had not seen before, a determination that brooked no argument. He wanted to believe her... he didn't want it to end like this.
With a grunt he forced himself to move back, to make way for the stretcher they carried him on. They left Roadhog standing in the loading bay, at a loss with what to do with himself as he watched his charge being taken away and knowing deep down that there was no way for him to help. Yet again, he could do nothing. It was a mistake to care. He took a few wheezing breaths. Then, dully, he followed.
It was hours later when the Swiss doctor finally permitted him in to see Junkrat, with strict warnings not to touch any of the equipment.
He looked so pitiful, so still and quiet, it was the very opposite to the excitable hurricane that Junkrat was meant to be. He was a twitchy little shit, brimming with energy and nerves, always yattering his head off and looking for trouble. Roadhog had threatened to strangle him several times just to shut him up but at that moment he would have done anything to hear that familiar high, tittering laugh.
He'd almost lost him because he was careless...
Shit, he'd thought... he'd thought Overwatch was what Junkrat deserved, the chance to be around normal people, to learn what it was like when everyone you met wasn't looking for a way to stab you in the back and steal what you had, to make up for everything he'd missed out on. If he'd allowed them to become separated it was only because he thought it might help... instead...
He couldn't even tell himself he'd been following orders, Roadhog had never followed orders he didn't feel like following, not like Mako. He could have insisted on going too, could have threatened his way onto that mission... but he didn't.
He looked at Junkrat again, ugly bruising visible on the parts of him that weren't bandaged, stitched or plastered... why did he have to look so damn fragile?
It was another three days before Junkrat woke up, and when he did he only mumbled nonsense, gaze unfocussed and movements sluggish. He'd whimpered and Roadhog felt the strange urge to reach out and touch him. To smooth his singed hair perhaps, something Mako might have done to comfort another, but he kept his hands to himself. Junkrat went limp again soon after, unconscious.
"We're trying to keep him sedated for the moment for his own safety," Mercy explained when he asked her about it, "I would be very surprised if he was coherent at all. Give it time, once his condition has improved enough I can lower the dosages. For now he needs rest."
And so he was forced to wait, to sit by the bed under the nervous gaze of the DJ and the mech pilot, and the silence that should have been refreshing was stifling.
Roadhog waited with the patience of a saint, but he knew he could not stay there all the time. Experience had taught him the basic rules – no matter how shitty you felt you needed to focus on the important tasks, and tick them off one by one. He had to eat, to sleep, to take care of himself even when part of him wanted to do nothing more than sit by Junkrat's bed for as long as it took, simply to assure himself that no more harm would come to the skinny idiot.
He wasn't sure quite how to feel when he wandered back in after dinner to find the younger Junker bright eyed and alert.
Junkrat wasn't sitting up but Roadhog knew that it wasn't by his choice. He would have done it if he could, lying down was too much of a display of weakness in his state. Even at a glance he could read the tension in his body, the sheer anxiety that manifested in the way his fingers picked desperately at the edge of his blanket or the blood leaking from his freshly chewed lip. His eyes snapped right onto Roadhog. He stared at him for a second then slowly a little of his nerves seemed to settle. He relaxed back into the bed rather than straining against his own injuries, breathing becoming more regular. And of course, there was that dumb grin, all sharp teeth and sly cheer.
"There ya are mate! Startin' to think ya didn't care, been real quiet here without ya... well, probably would've been quiet with ya but I still could've used the company since the others pissed off. Ya miss me, huh, Hoggy?"
Roadhog didn't move. Words swirled around his skull, thick and clogging, getting caught before they could make their way out. It often took him a while to speak, he'd always preferred to take his time, to pick through all the pointless drivel to get to the heart of what needed saying.
It took him a moment before he had anything coherent worth sharing. When he did, he pointed a warning finger. "Don't ever do that again."
Junkrat knew what he meant. Somehow along the years he'd picked up an uncanny ability to tell, to read exactly what Roadhog wanted to convey from his scant words or grunts. Sometimes he didn't even have to say anything, the bastard still knew, and that was as much of a curse as it was a blessing.
Junkrat's grin widened and he laughed, then winced suddenly, glowering at the pain. After a brief huff he smiled again, eyes dancing up to Roadhog's mask. "Ain't plannin' on it mate, ain't plannin' on it," he said ruefully. "Think I might just have learned me lesson this time round."
"Good," Roadhog said. Having concluded that he lumbered over to one of the seats by the bed, taking up his usual post and picking up his battered paperback. He thumbed through the pages, finding where he'd left off.
"Doc's got me on some pretty hard stuff," Junkrat said distantly. "Ain't sayin' I'm an expert or nothin' but it makes things kinda fuzzy, hard to focus and shit... like me head's got a weight on it, ya know?"
Roadhog grunted.
There was a pause, then Junkrat continued in a quieter voice. "Think I might just pass out again..."
"I'll keep watch," he promised without looking up.
Junkrat let out a shaky breath. "Thanks mate..."
He didn't speak again and Roadhog focused on his book, churning through the last chapters. He'd already read the thing through once during his wait but there was something good about reading, a certain serenity he'd never been able to describe. He'd tried once, when Junkrat had asked, but while words seemed easy on paper they'd never worked well for him out loud. Junkrat wasn't the type to enjoy reading anyways. For him it was a tool, a trick he could use to find the information he needed or to mark his plans down so he wouldn't forget them, not an art. He thought all good stories needed to be told by way of mouth, with plenty of exaggerated gestures and silly voices. The beauty of prose was lost on him.
For Roadhog though it was a pleasant distraction. When he read he could escape, however briefly... he didn't have to be Mako, didn't have to be Roadhog either... he just let the words take him where they wanted.
When he finally set the book down Junkrat was well and truly out. He looked almost peaceful, chest rising and falling steadily to the bleep of machinery. He would live.
Somewhere inside him a small piece of Roadhog relaxed at last. This time he didn't have to lose anyone.
((I think that some people seem to believe that Roadhog's positive influence on Junkrat is entirely one-sided, but I've never seen it that way... I mean, it's canon that Mako was part of the group responsible for destroying the Omnium, and after that he put on a mask and became Roadhog, and a lot of people (myself included) think that he may well have had a family before which he lost due to his actions.
Roadhog was a way to bury that. A way to survive. He didn't want to feel, he didn't want to hurt, so he became a remorseless killer since it was the only way he could cope. For twenty years he roamed the outback, and all that mattered was food, money, and whoever he had to shoot to get them.
Then somehow Junkrat managed to chip away at the shield he'd built around himself. Because of him he finally left Australia, the home he'd helped nuke rather than let the omnics take, and set off on a crime spree across the world with a partnership that very much opposes the 'one-man-apocalypse' theme. Honestly... I think it's given him an opportunity to remember what it's like to really live. It's not healthy to close your heart off entirely, to enjoy nothing but the satisfaction of another enemy slain and another day survived...
Whether you interpret it as platonic, romantic, or anything in-between, I like to think Junkrat is a positive influence in allowing Hog to open up again, however tentative he is about it. The only scary thing about doing so is knowing how much it could hurt him, because people are very fragile...
Didn't mean for that to turn into an essay, but yeah...))