Games nights became something of a routine. Well, as much as anything was a routine in the chaotic tangle that was Junkrat's life. Sometimes he forgot, or something else caught his attention, or they had missions, or he simply wasn't in the mood, but they never seemed to mind and the invitation was always there.
That helped. A lot, more than they probably knew. There was no pressure to it, gave him the choice, the ability to feel a little control over the situation rather than something he was trapped in. And it wasn't that he minded really, just that he liked knowing he could get out if he wanted to. In the literal sense as well... and they must have noticed that, because they had taken to leaving the door just slightly ajar rather than closing it once he was inside. It was a nice gesture.
Nothing could be done about his general twitchiness because that was hardwired into him but apart from that he felt relaxed. The longer he spent with them the more his brain seemed to grudgingly accept that none of this had been a trap, and the rest of him could whole heartedly invest itself in the games, in the company, in the time they spent together. It felt like there was a place for him there.
Sometimes there was more than games night too. At Hana's suggestion he had built some harmless firecrackers for them to rig teammates doors with. Seemed a waste of materials to him for such a small bang, but she'd been adamant and he admitted it was plenty fun to watch peoples reactions, all of which Hana caught on video. Naturally he got into the most trouble for it but he was used to Soldier's scolding by now, didn't pay it much mind.
Lucio asked for some feedback on the music he was working on too. Junkrat didn't really know much about music, hadn't had the chance in the outback. Closest thing to music there was when someone felt brave enough to sing, and that was rare – and when it happened it was tuneless, the singer usually drunk.
Still, he grasped enough to understand that Lucio's work was good, that the beats and notes all seemed to fit together, that they ticked little switches in his head that made him smile without quite knowing why and he figured that was what music was meant to do. Told Lucio as much and earned a laugh.
Even if he didn't have real feedback to give, the guy didn't seem to mind. When he talked about changing or adding sounds, fixing the tempo, or amping it up, Junkrat suspected he was more or less talking to himself, but he did that a lot too. Sometimes it was nice just to know someone was listening, even if they didn't understand.
It struck him at some point that he was seeing far more of the two. More than others in the base. He'd taken steps to pester everyone at some point or other, but while he fancied he'd built a few shaky bridges none of them seemed as keen to share his company on a regular basis. And he wondered if that made them mates now. Real pals, proper close. The exuberant part of him that grinned at everything on two legs wanted to declare 'yes!' and giggle with joy, but the rest of him was skeptical.
They hadn't known him that long, had they? He wasn't great at tracking time but he didn't think so. How long did it take to be friends, official like? Probably different from where he was from. There people just sort of fell in together, and if you liked 'em that was fine but they'd probably still stab you in the back if you had something they wanted. Exactly what had happened once he'd found his treasure...
Only real mate he'd had was Roadhog. First person he hadn't had to worry about stealing his shit in the night... and he loved the big lug for it, for watching his back, for taking the edge off the fear, for putting up with his non-stop chatter, for simply being there... a constant presence that kept him grounded. But Roadhog was his bodyguard. He'd hired Roadhog. Lucio and Hana were different, and he didn't know where they stood.
When his thoughts got too tangled and he found himself running in circles of uncertainty he hit his head against a wall. Set his focus on that pain, instead, and reminded himself that it didn't matter. He shouldn't be so sappy anyways, wasn't he a hardened criminal? And besides... So long as he was moving forward, gaining ground with them, then everything was fine.
Until he went and fucked it up. Junkrat supposed that was always inevitable.
When Junkrat ate, he ate fast. Couldn't help it. As soon as he'd tasted his first bite instinct always kicked in and he practically inhaled the rest. It didn't matter that he knew he didn't have to any more, he was still so used to it. For years he'd known that as soon as you had food you had to eat it as quickly as possible. The longer you left it, the more chance someone could snatch it from you, and food was a matter of life and death.
First time he'd been in Sydney - Australia's costal city, one of the few real pieces of civilization left – he'd eaten so much he was sick. He simply couldn't believe there was so much available. Since then things had gotten easier.
He remembered most of the time to eat when he needed to eat, to accept snacks one at a time so the temptation for more wasn't overwhelming. And sometimes he forgot. Forgot that there was food right there if he wanted and went hungry, or stole packages to hoard in his personal stash. But he thought he was getting the hang of it.
The first time Lucio and Hana had caught him eating they'd given him an odd look, but they hadn't said anything. As far as he could tell they accepted it as another of his quirks. They passed him sweets a handful at a time, measuring each dose carefully. And that was all fine. That wasn't the problem. The problem arose when they tried to take something from him.
It was a small mistake.
He'd managed to find a packet of chocolate biscuits in one of the top kitchen cupboards. These days the rules seemed to be that if something in the kitchen didn't have a name on it, it was free game. Since he couldn't see any writing on his prize, that meant it was all his.
He settled gleefully at the table, ready to tear it apart when Lucio wandered in, Hana following close behind, though her eyes were set on her phone. Lucio's gaze lingered longingly on the packet.
"Aw man, that's my favorite brand. Think you could share?"
Junkrat grinned. "There's more, grab your own."
"Sweet! Where?"
Junkrat's grin widened. Slowly he pointed to the top cupboard. As Lucio's expression fell he let out a loud laugh, curling in on himself as he tried to stifle it, gathering himself back under control.
"Come on, you know I can't reach that," Lucio complained.
"Guess you'll just have to find a ladder mate!" he teased, opening his own packet.
"Why you gotta be like that?"
"Don't know what ya mean," he said, though his expression said that he very much did. He attempted to control it, to look sensible for a moment, but failed miserably and before he knew it that sly grin was back in place. "I'll give ya a boost if ya like, if ya need a little help."
Lucio rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. By now they'd grown used to Junkrat's way of teasing, knew that there was no malice behind it. Some of the base still hadn't got their heads round the concept but they, at least, accepted his personal brand of humor. If anything they encouraged it.
"You're lucky," Hana interrupted without bothering to look up from her phone, "that he doesn't have a short-temper."
This time Lucio groaned. "You're just as bad as he is."
Junkrat was too busy snickering to argue, and Hana just stuck her tongue out.
"Come on man, just give me one at least," Lucio begged.
Junkrat just wiggled his eyebrows. "Ya askin' for a small favour?"
"Seriously," he said between laughs, "come on-"
He snatched for the packet and something snapped in Junkrat's head. Suddenly this wasn't a game anymore. Someone was trying to take his food. Instinct won out and before he knew it he shoved the other man back, curling around the packet protectively as he bared his teeth. "Mine," he snarled.
He hadn't meant to. Hadn't even thought about it, that was the problem.
Then everything sank in and he remembered that this wasn't then anymore, that this wasn't there, that this was Overwatch. That Lucio was staring at him with a sickening sort of fear, that Hana had dropped her phone. And it was all too much. His appetite was gone.
He stood up hastily, almost losing his balance.
"Changed my mind, you can have 'em," he muttered awkwardly, turning and lurching away. Maybe they called after him, he didn't know, didn't care really, he just had to get away.
He wanted to destroy something. Wanted to make things explode and revel in it, the way the sound filled everything, thrummed through him and removed all else from the equation until there was only fire and smoke and nothing would matter any more. He could lose himself in that. And he did. The training range shook with the sound of explosions, and the sun was just beginning to set by the time Junkrat put his frag launcher aside and considered the carnage.
He'd burned through more bots than the monkey would probably be happy with, had burned through far more of his personal ammunition than was wise too, but that wasn't the problem. The problem was that he couldn't quite seem to forget. That as the fires burnt down to embers there was no lingering satisfaction. The memory was etched into his mind too brightly, and it prickled at him like an itch that wouldn't go away, and when he tried to deal with it that only made it worse.
They'd been frightened of him. He'd made them frightened of him. And it was stupid, so stupid that when everything else could slip his mind that this remained, wouldn't go away. Kept bugging him.
His stomach felt hollow, and not just with hunger. He should have known this would happen sooner or later. No matter what he did, he didn't really belong here. He was a Junker at heart. A bleedin' mess held together with spit and instinct, and that didn't fit with this cushy lifestyle. Maybe that was why people seemed to keep their distance, maybe they should. He couldn't get what he wanted. Couldn't squeeze himself into this life, with these people, this place. He was wonky, misshapen, a piece of jigsaw that wouldn't fit. Could never fit.
He didn't even realize his hand was tugging at his hair until someone reached out to stop it. He flinched away from the touch, but when he turned to look it was only Roadhog.
"Heard the noise. You okay?"
"Wot? Nah, I'm fine mate, just gettin' a bit of practice in. Can't say me aim doesn't need work, ay?" he said quickly, dropping his hands to fiddle with his canteen so they had something to do.
Roadhog's grunt was unconvinced.
Junkrat took a drink, screwing the cap back on slowly. His eyes didn't quite seem sure where to go. "Well alright, maybe I've got some shit on me mind then," he said eventually, when the meaningful pause grew too much. "It's just... ya ever miss home, Roadie? Australia I mean..."
Roadhog didn't reply. Junkrat listened for a while to his labored breathing, a familiar sound that reminded him that he wasn't alone, that someone was still paying attention. His eyes finally settled on the sky, and he took a breath, words spewing out fast like they always did. "I hate it, ya know? Place was a god damn shit-hole, nothin' good ever happened there, saves meetin' you maybe... I bleedin' hate it... but... I miss it too, ya know?"
He wasn't sure how to phrase it, and he chewed on his blackened nails for a moment while he thought. "Was familiar, right? Home. Knew what to do there, how to get by, how it all worked... we fit... belonged... now 's all different."
"Can't go back," Roadhog said, "people want you. Your treasure."
He laughed weakly. "Ain't sayin' I want to go back mate, just... ya get it, right? Ya get what I'm sayin'?"
There was a pause. "Yeah."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," Roadhog said again, and that seemed to settle the matter.
"Sorry for bringing us here," Junkrat added.
Roadhog sighed. There seemed to be a lot to say in that sigh. A certain fondness, exasperation, a little impatience. Junkrat had learned how to read all that.
"Oi, alright, sorry for tryin' to apologize then ya great lug," he retorted, crossing his arms in an exaggerated sulk. Roadhog nudged him, pointed back toward the base. Reluctance swept over him in a wave. Could drown in that feeling. Still couldn't quite shake the memory.
"Think maybe we should blow this dump? Been long enough, bet there's other stuff we could be doin', less of this hero drama. Could start with a heist. Kinda miss the old crime spree. Was fun, don'tcha think?" He looked up at Roadhog expectantly, pegleg beginning to tap at the ground. It didn't want to stop.
Roadhog's reply was slow, gruff. "Think you should get something to eat first."
"And then?"
"Then some sleep."
"And then?"
"Maybe."
Junkrat bit his lip. He stared out at the sunset one last time, then his shoulders slumped in defeat. "Alright," he said softly, bending to pick up his empty frag launcher. "Alright."
He followed Roadhog inside, back into the cold, enclosed space of headquarters and tried not to think too hard about the memory. About the almost accusing way those fearful eyes had looked at him.
((I imagine Junkrat is a mess of bottled instincts and sometimes it gets the best of him. Still, it's possible to salvage this situation.
Anyways, if you have any comments or feedback to give I'd love you for it. Don't have anyone to proof read and I only did a quick skim over so I'm sorry if there are some stupid typos, you can always point them out and I'll fix them.))
