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He didn’t mean to do it- not publicly at least. He didn’t mean to do it in the mess hall while everyone else was there. He didn’t mean to let anyone else see it, but it happened.
Junkrat had been ansy all day. Granted the kid was usually jumpy and shuddering like a ticking time bomb, but today he had been over the top. Well- more like the last few days. It’s not everyday when you get that overwhelmed.
He hated crying. It made him feel weak. Made him feel vulnerable- and it was something that he was taught that he wasn’t supposed to do. Those who cried in this world were nothing- and here he was: nothing. A man didn’t cry; especially a man who had grown up in the literal apocalypse. Yet here the tears stung at his amber eyes.
It started out as an anxious twist in his stomach which quickly trickled up his throat and comfortably made itself into a lump in his throat. He couldn’t swallow it down. He couldn’t stop it from coming. Don’t let it be quiet- for the love of god don’t let it be quiet- not here- not in this massive room. It should be filled with laughter- with merriment, and here the voices were dying down. He swore they were all looking at him, and they were.
Junkrat’s body was heaving as though he were going to vomit. He didn’t realize he was doing such violent actions. A strong, meaty, calloused hand was placed over his back. The heaving stopped. They tried not to stare. His face was buried in metal and skin. He couldn’t stop it from coming. The tears were hot and angry- so ...hot and angry. They nearly burned his skin as they carved rivers down his arms. His crying was ugly. Everyone’s was- but his especially. He couldn’t cry softly- it was loud, violent, and usually resulted in even more violent hiccups.
The reason for the Junker’s sudden breakdown was simple: he was overwhelmed. Overwhelmed from battle, from sleepless nights- the phantom pains, just...overwhelmed. It didn’t help that at night the base was silent. Silence never did him any good. Silence made him think; think the thoughts that he didn’t want to think. They were ugly, and almost as ugly as his crying. He wanted to steal, to murder, to go back to the life he once had but Hog had convinced him that being with Overwatch would be better. It wasn’t.
He cupped his hands over his ears to block out the silence. It was comforting to hear his own heartbeat through his pounding fingers. A surprisingly gentle yet monster of a hand took away his comfort, and held his hands in his own. Leather was pressed against his thundering temple, and a deep hum could be heard. ‘Rat fumbled with Roadhog’s fingers and muttered with a shaky breath,
“Did you bring it?”
A nod was felt against his skin and a rubix cube was placed into his quivering hands. His thumbs brushed over the stickers who had been over-loved and were falling off. The colours were mixed up again. Blues, greens, yellows, reds- all mixed up. A kaleidoscope of colours of a puzzle just waiting to be put back in order. Tears trickled down his nose as he twitched the small cube, listening to the sharp click as it was put into place. Comfort.
Junkrat blocked out everything else: The staring, the silence, the way his entire body felt overly exhausted- all of it was gone. Click. Click. Click. He wasn’t sure if it was the toy in his hands or the cogs in his mind that were making that sound. He was so distracted with the rubix cube he didn’t realize he had been placed in Roadhog’s lap.
Leather pressed against his neck this time and words were muttered into it, “Pokarekare ana, nga wai o waiapu,” ‘Hog’s voice was low and graveled as usual but he surprisingly held a good tune. The junker’s ears perked at the song that he had spent hours learning with the one man apocalypse. ‘Rat’s thin lips moved with the song, quietly hiccuping the words along with Roadhog.
“Whiti atu koe hine, Marino ana e.”
The others had gone back to their conversations for the most part, save for a few who had never seen this before. Here they were: the two most wanted men in Australia, singing a song and trying to get the smaller junker to calm down. “E hine e, Hoki maira, Kamate au,”
Another click. Another side done. His nimble fingers were working fast at the cube.
“-ie te aroha e,”
The pressing against Junkrat’s neck was stronger now. He could feel the vibrations of the man’s voice through the leather. “Tuhituhi taka rita, Tuku atu taki ringi,” He realized he had sung without Roadhog’s guidance. He knew this song by heart now. Click. Click.
“Kla kiti to iwi,” Rat began, “Raru raru ana e,” Hog finished.
More nudging, more exposed neck. Rat’s tears had stopped yet the redness in his face was still there. The lump in his throat had dissolved and the anxiousness had been digested. He was doing better. A single large hand cradled Junkrat to the man while the other was cupped over his stomach. A massive thumb stroked over his concaving stomach, over tight muscles- over his navel. Calming. That’s what this was.
Calming.
Click. Click- another side done. Another. His fingers were working harder than before and the concentration on his face was impressive. Another two clicks and he was done. He held up the completed rubix cube for the man to see, which was praised with a chuckle and a ‘kiss’ from the mask.
“Kamate au, I could die.” Rat muttered and hugged his bodyguard close. “ -i te aroha e, Of love for you.” Hog repeated those words and rubbed Junkrat’s back, glaring at those who were still staring. The small junker drew in on a shuddering breath,
“I could die, of love for you.”