#and then i sat there thinking of a tiny roadhog in overwatch. like literally the height of ana running around w a hook 😭😭😭

[unexpectedbrickattack]

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[clareguilty]

The Strongest Metal

This is a commission fic! Junkrat/Roadhog Rated: M | No warnings, injury recovery Word Count ~2400

“There’s nothing for you to worry about with me, Mr. Rutledge. To many, I am just as much of a criminal as you are. Turning you in would also result in a sentence for myself.” The voice was unfamiliar. Heavily accented. Stern but soothing. The words floated around, barely making sense.

“I can’t thank you enough. If I had been in your position, I don’t think I would have done the same.” That was Mako. He sounded tired, anguished. Jamison hated that.

He couldn’t remember what happened. He felt terrible, like he’d been on one hell of a bender.

But they had been fighting. He remembered that much. Those guys with the dark armor and the red helmets. Didn’t they know that the outback belonged to the junkers? There may have been no official law in the land, but that didn’t mean they were just going to roll over for any band of soldiers that showed up. They had been fighting to protect their natural resources since before the crisis.

And then those other blokes had showed up. He’d heard about them before. Overwatch. The pride and joy of humanity’s defenders. They’d been shut down last he heard, but he recognized them when they showed up on the battlefield.

Oh. Jamison remembered now. He had died. Been blown to smithereens. Exactly the way he’d always thought he’d go.

Was this heaven? Not where he thought he’d end up, really. But Mako was there, and whoever this lady was. An angel?

Jamison cracked one eye open, wincing at the bright fluorescent lights overhead. Oh yeah. That was definitely an angel.

Wispy blonde hair, piercing eyes, literal fucking wings. She was in all white armor and glowing gold. She looked exhausted.

And Mako was there, looking just as tired. He always looked tired, really, but not like this. He sat slumped in a chair, unmasked and hair down. Jamison had never seen him so miserable. Some sort of afterlife this was.

“Hello, Roadie,” he croaked. His voice sounded terrible. His throat was dry and scratchy. He was starting to think he wasn’t dead.

Both Mako and the angel snapped their heads towards him. “You’re awake!” the angel gasped. She immediately reached for a biotic scanner. “How do you feel?”

Jamison hadn’t really thought about it until she asked. He hadn’t really felt anything if he was being honest, and he told her as much. He was sore, disoriented, but he couldn’t really feel anything.

She frowned. “I guess that’s not the worst thing. Can you move at all?”

He raised his arm, wiggling his fingers with a grin. Then he saw his hand. 

“What the hell?! What happened to my arm?” Last he’d checked, only his right hand was cybernetic, and it certainly didn’t look like that. He looked at both of his hands, except these weren’t his hands. They were sleek, polished metal with tiny spindly joints. But they moved when he wanted them too, and he could feel them, even if they weren’t flesh and bone.

He flexed and curled the fingers in front of him. His frown only deepened as he inspected the high quality engineering. It wasn’t scrap, that was for sure. Much too fancy to be a part of him.

“Who did this to me?” He demanded. “Give me my old arm back!” He had made that arm. That arm was a part of him.

“Jamie,” Mako reached out, but he pulled his hand away before he could touch the horrible mechanical monstrosity. “You’re arm is gone. You were in an explosion. Dr. Zeigler saved you.”

“Saved me?” Junkrat looked down at his body. Where there was once flesh and blood and scar tissue, there was nothing but metal and wires and -- still quite a lot of scar tissue. “I look like a fucking omnic!” The angel winced.

“You’re alive,” Mako said. “You owe these people your life.”

“What life?” Jamison spat. “What am I now? Did you give me a fancy new leg too?” He sneered at the doctor, throwing the sheet aside to look at his legs. Thankfully, his peg was still there. And aside from some bandages, his flesh leg was still intact.

The doctor fumbled over her words. “We wanted to wait until you were fully rehabilitated, but there is the option to change your prosthesis, or even try to integrate some cybernetics.”

“I don’t want any of your corpo bullshit tech.” 

“Jamie,” Mako scolded him. “You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Angela. She did the best she could to save you.”

Jamison glowered, but kept his mouth shut. Mako really did look like shit, and he probably hadn’t left his bedside in days.

“We’re at an old Overwatch outpost,” Mako continued. He knew Jamison would listen to him over the doctor. “Quite a few former agents have come back. They helped us in that fight against the black-suited soldiers. Apparently they come from an organization called Talon.”

“I don’t care about any of that,” Jamison waved his hand. He hated how the motion felt. “I don’t want anything to do with them.”

Mako sighed. “We don’t have a choice. It’s going to be some time before you’re healed. Angela has explained to me what you’re going to need. She has experience with cybernetics, but there isn’t a lot here.”

Jamison said nothing.

Why should he care about Overwatch? Or Talon? Or any of that shit? He wanted his body back. He wanted to be as far away from doctors and agents and civilization as possible.

But he had never seen Mako like this, not even after the worst job. 

So he sat through the doctor’s check up, begrudgingly answering her questions and letting her poke and prod at his new body. 

“How long have I been out?” he finally asked.

“It’s been nearly a week.” She was gentle, hesitant as she redressed his wounds. “The biotics have helped to heal the most severe of your injuries. But, I have limited resources, so I have to make them count. I know you aren’t… happy with your cybernetics. They’re rudimentary and certainly not where I’d like them to be. If you so choose, we can always modify or upgrade anything once we have access to proper engineering. This outpost has been out of operation since the crisis and-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jamison cut her off. “Roadie trusts you, and that’s enough for me. But I want nothing to do with your Overwatch.” He wanted to be gone as soon as possible. Back to Junkertown, back the the safety of the outback.

It was another day before they told Jamison the full extent of his condition. He slept fitfully, a combination of biotics and medication and paralyzed numbness. He hated moving in the hours he was able to. It wasn’t his body. It wasn’t him.

He had been caught in an explosion in the fight against Talon. The blast had ignited the gunpowder on his own gear. He hadn't been in very good shape when Mercy -- Doctor Ziegler -- had found him. It was through sheer luck that he had been saved by the one doctor who pioneered full body cybernetics.

The hospital at the Australian Overwatch outpost had been… lacking, but between the doctors and engineers on hand they had managed to stabilize Jamison and fit him with rudimentary cybernetics.

Jamison knew he should be grateful. He was alive because of their generosity. But he couldn’t tamp down the resentment. He didn’t ask for this. Why would they go through all that trouble just to save some lowlife junker?

But he couldn’t leave Mako. If any of the two of them was going to be left alone it was going to be Jamison, he had resigned himself to that. Maybe he would have to pull through just for the old bastard.

The doctor -- he had taken to calling her blondie just to see how much it annoyed her -- fixed the nerve receptors and recalibrated the movement on his cybernetics. He knew how tedious the process was, he had done it all himself when he lost his arm the first time.

But that had been on his terms. He had gotten himself blown up and he had fixed it. None of these battles or fancy hospitals or strange people practically dissecting him every damn day.

Every time he tried to throw a fit, Mako would shoot him a look that would guilt him into playing nice. Mako would say thank you when the doctors finished up for the day. Mako would help clean him and dress him and feed him. He felt like a damn baby.

They finally let him out of the hospital after a few days. He wasn’t perfect -- not that he was anything special before this whole shitshow. But he doubted he would ever feel right again.

He staggered down the halls to the room Mako had been staying in. The Overwatch base was nice, but it felt too sterile, too civilized. Jamison and Mako were used to their little shack in the outback, they had never needed any fancy bells and whistles.

“Roadie,” Jamison whispered, “Maybe we could slip out of here tonight. Steal one of them fancy all-terrains and head back home.” He had seen the vehicles they came in one. They would scrap for some nice parts or sell for a good bit of money.

“No,” Mako didn’t even blink. “You’re still not well. The doctors here will look after you. We’re not leaving until you’re better.”

Jamison scowled. “Fuck them. I don’t need them. I can build everything I need out of scrap at home. I’ll just need your help.”

Mako was unfazed. “It’s too dangerous. You barely survived as it is, and the stuff they pieced you back together with isn’t going to last very long.”

He knew that. He knew he was on a timer. Without access to any real, up to date medical equipment he was just wasting away on the temporary machinery. He wanted to say it didn’t matter, that he’d rather go out on his own terms than be strung along from one set of parts to another, but he couldn’t do that to Mako.

“I hate it here,” he said.

“That’s fine,” was all he got in response.

The room was cozy, dusty, impersonal. It had been decades since Overwatch had any real presence on the continent, something that showed in every part of the base. The dorm was small and empty, a little run down, but the bed was big enough for both of them.

There was a small pile of gear on the desk, Mako’s gun and mask, some biotic canisters. None of Jamison’s gear had survived the explosion.

“I’m going to have to build a new gun, aren’t I?” Jamison asked. He was going to have to start over on everything. There was nothing left.

Then he caught his reflection in the mirror. It was jarring, to see his own face on an unfamiliar body. The wires and the plates and the joints. He was staring at the stranger in the glass when something soft smacked him in the face. One of Mako’s shirts.

Jamison unfolded the soft, faded material. He couldn’t even feel the texture of the cotton. “I’m pretty hideous now, ain’t I, Roadie? Uglier than ever.” He pulled the shirt over his head, wincing at the ache and pull of his healing muscles. 

“I don’t care how you look, Jamie,” Mako said quietly. “As long as I have you here with me.”

Frowning, Jamison washed his face in the sink. He liked being away from the constant supervision of the hospital room. All he wanted was to be left to his misery. He didn’t care about calibration or pulmonary function or anything like that.

He flopped onto the bed, glowering at the ceiling. Mako lay beside him, sighing and resting his hands on his stomach. “You don’t have to like this,” he said.

“Good. ‘cause I don’t.”

“You should be nicer to Doctor Ziegler.”

Jamison snorted. “Why?”

“For me.”

That wasn’t fair. Jamison would have continued being an asshole with no regrets if it weren’t for those two words. Because he would do anything for Mako, even if it meant letting some doctor make him miserable every damn day.

He would survive. Just for Mako. Even if he hated what he had become. It’s not like when he lost his leg, lost his arm. That had been before he had Roadie, and he had fixed himself up on his own. On his own terms. He had still felt whole, even with a peg leg and a scrap arm.

Now he was premium alloys and advanced sensors, and he had never felt more broken. Even Mako wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t touch him. They treated him as though he was fragile, made of glass and not the strongest metal his body could carry. 

He woke in the night panting and sweating. The same nightmares that had followed him for years. Metal fingers scrabbling at the plates on his chest, the wire channels running to his neck. He needed it off.

Two massive hands closed around the thin metal joints of his wrists. Calloused fingers, chipped nail enamel. Mako.

“Jamie,” he said.

“Roadie,” Jamison croaked. They had done this before. Countless times. 

He was surprised when Mako threw his arms around Jamison, pulling him close. It was the first time he had truly touched him since he woke up in that damned hospital.

“I’ve got you,” Mako whispered. He didn’t even wince at the feeling of metal against his skin. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Jamison huffed in disbelief, but nuzzled into Mako’s chest. The familiar sound of Mako’s raspy breathing helped to ground him. “I’m the one who almost croaked. I just didn’t want to leave you with all these Overwatch weirdos.”

“They’ve been good to us.” Mako murmured. “We owe them.”

“You’re too nice. We don’t owe them shit, and the first chance I get im going to rob them.”

Mako chuckled. “They could help get rid of those soldiers.”

“I’m done with soldiers,” Jamison groaned. “I’m done with everything. I just wanna go back to the shack and drink my weight in beer.”

“We will.”

[jakallx]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Overwatch (Video Game) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison/Reaper | Gabriel Reyes Characters: Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Hana "D.Va" Song, Junkrat | Jamison Fawkes, Roadhog | Mako Rutledge Additional Tags: Beach Holidays, Speedos, everyone drags Jack, Gabe still loves him though, Post-Recall

Gabriel Reyes just wants to lie on the beach and relax after a mission. Too bad for him he has an embarrassing husband who has a new-found love for Speedos. 

Reaper76 Week Day 4: On Holiday

Overwatch was a Mistake

The scream cut through the air, slicing the world in two and throwing Gabriel Reyes out of his blissful nap and into high alert. Instincts and years of training kicked in as he leapt up off the sand, turning to face the threat—

Well… he tried to. Something in his back went ‘crick’, and he found himself clutching his spine in excruciating pain, and wishing he wasn’t so damn old.

Blinking away the tears in his eyes, he finally managed to see what had caused the scream.

It was Hana, her youthful face twisted in horror as she pointed at a man who had his hands on his hips and a thoroughly unimpressed look on his face.

A pasty white man.

An old pasty white man.

An old pasty white man in speedos.

That left absolutely nothing up to the imagination.

Gabriel almost added his own scream to the terrifying scene unfolding on the popular Australian beach. Instead, he channeled his intense embarrassment of his husband into something more constructive and laughed in Jack’s face.

“Oh come on. Not you too,” Jack’s gravelly voice seemed unsuited to anything except barking orders, but he hadn’t done much of that in the last couple of years. Neither of them had.

After Gabriel had been brought …back, and those who had caused Overwatch’s downfall had paid for their crimes, they had both decided to stay on and help the transition of the new Overwatch. But it was no longer their Overwatch. Sure, they occasionally tagged along on a mission, but most of the time Gabriel guarded his semi-retired status like a rabid dog. He only accepted missions that came with perks like this particular one. He and Hana had conspired to have it completed several days earlier than expected and of course, Hana had simply neglected to inform Winston of this fact. And so the team found themselves lazing on the beach and soaking up the Australian sun.

And of course, he only took missions that Jack was also assigned to. He had vowed to never let that man out of his sight again.

He wholeheartedly regretted this decision as Jack gave him the finger and stalked over to where their towels were laid out on the beach (though Gabriel had to admit that the speedos showed off his ass quite nicely). Jack grumpily sat down on his towel, wiggling his butt in the sand to get comfortable.

Gabriel was still caught off-guard by how much Jack didn’t act his age sometimes. The grouchy old man visage would slip off and underneath was the beautiful, youthful and socially-awkward butterfly he had fallen in love with all those years ago. Gabriel shrugged at Hana and grinned as he sat down next to his husband. Old man Jack wasn’t all that bad, but he was painfully embarrassing sometimes. Not like Gabriel. Out of the pair of them, he was definitely still the cool one.

“I did not sign up for this,” said Hana, averting her eyes.

“No, you signed up to be a hero,” Gabriel replied in a serious voice. He caught Jack nodding along in agreement. “And sometimes, being a hero means suffering through other people’s fashion choices.”

Jack’s face goes slack and he slowly turned to Gabriel. “I will not take a fashion insult,” he said, voice deadly quiet, “from a man who spent six years wearing Hot Topic’s clearance rack.”

Gabriel stared down at Jack for a moment before letting the smile creep onto his face again. He shrugged and lay back down on his own towel, stretching out in the sunlight, feeling it infuse his cold bones, the last side-effect left over from the resurrection. He’d made peace with that part of himself. And besides, Reaper had looked fucking awesome, and Jack was a fool for thinking otherwise.

“How come Roadhog gets to wear speedos and nobody says anything?” Jack was sulkily watching Junkrat and Roadhog as they built a sandcastle down by the shoreline.

Gabriel sat up again and gave Jack a look that said, do you really want to be the one to question Roadhog about his love of speedos?

Jack pouted his lips at that. Fair point. He popped open a tube of SPF50+ sunscreen to begin rubbing it onto his arms.

Gabriel snorted and glanced back down to the shoreline about to lie back down on his towel, finally able to relax. The skinny arsonist was decorating his sandcastle towers with what looked like fireworks…

—fireworks?! Gabriel bolted upright again and squinted down at the two Australians in dismay. They really did have fireworks. Well, Junkrat did—Roadhog was using delicate seashells to decorate his half of the castle. Godamnit. Gabriel had no idea how the little fucker managed to get a hold of illegal explosives at literally every opportunity he was left unsupervised, but somehow he did. He sighed and rubbed a hand down his reconstructed face, feeling his scars stretch and pull under his fingertips. He couldn’t have a moment of peace, could he? Just one minute to lie down in the sun without dealing with embarrassing husbands or letting insane pyromaniacs blow up half the beach.

Hana was still hovering about, clearly torn between the desire to drag Jack some more, and the need to never look in his direction again. She was the leader on this mission anyway. And you know what—Gabriel was suddenly struck with the realisation—she could do her job. Take responsibility for her subordinates and the safety of the civilians with which they were sharing the beach with.

“Hana,” Gabriel got her attention and then gestured down to the shoreline where Junkrat was crowning the top of his castle with a particularly big rocket.

Hana’s eyes bugged out and she cursed. She turned back to Gabriel and Jack but managed to get a particularly horrific eyeful of Jack’s speedos since he was rubbing sunscreen into his thighs.

“Oh my god. Why?” she dragged her hands down either side of her face in despair, while trying to look anywhere but at Jack. It was a look Gabriel was familiar with, having made it many times himself over the years.

Then she put steel in her eyes and hunched her shoulders forward. “Overwatch was a mistake,” she gritted out before she marched off down the beach to deal with Junkrat.

“I’ll have to warn the others before they accidentally gouge out their own eyes by looking this way.” Her parted mutterings were just loud enough for Jack to hear.

Jack sighed and looked down at his legs. “You don’t think I’m embarrassing, do you?”

He sounded so defeated that Gabriel’s heart broke just a tiny bit. Oh god, he had to patch this up, so he patted Jack on one of his blindingly white thighs and said, “Babe, you make having eyes again worth it.”

Jack’s face went a little red than it already was.

Honestly, Jack was such a dork. Gabriel shook his head at his husband, feeling the tug of the smile at his lips.

Jack noticed and raised an eyebrow at him. “What?”

He shrugged, almost not willing to answer, but at the same time he was curious. “Just thought you would have been the first one to be down there, sorting that out.” He vaguely gestured to where Hana was now in a loud argument with Junkrat, both of them shouting and gesturing wildly at the fireworks on the sandcastle. Junkrat was losing fast in this particular match-up, his composure withering as Hana gave him a thorough dressing down.

Jack snorted, fixing him with his piercing blue gaze. “Like you can talk. You were ready to jump up and go down there to deal with it yourself.”

Gabriel looked away, caught out. He was almost surprised with how much they had both changed. And also how much they hadn’t. It wasn’t the same as it was before, they could never go back to that, but both of them had never been that good at moving on from each other. Or from the job.

Gabriel watched the scene down at the shoreline come to an abrupt conclusion when a particularly aggressive wave on the incoming tide completely wiped out the sandcastle and all the fireworks atop it. Junkrat dropped to his knees with a wail, shaking his fists at the sky while Hana loomed over him with her hands on her hips. Roadhog quietly began picking his seashells out of the ruined castle.

Gabriel couldn’t have stopped the grin from creeping onto his face if he had tried. He picked up his pair of sunglasses and slid them on. “You know,” he turned back to Jack who was watching him with his own little smile, his scarred lips quirking up. “I would have once. But then I remembered.”

“Remembered what?”

Gabriel lay back down on his towel and finally let the sunlight soak into his old bones.

“That I’m semi-retired and it ain’t my fucking problem anymore. I’m on holiday.”