Actions

Work Header

Misery, Love, and Company

Work Text:

Junkrat is quiet.

Junkrat is too quiet.  

Junkrat is too quiet for too long.  He’s been hunched down in the side car and sleeping for the past two days they’ve been on the road, moving West to East across the States.  Roadhog enjoyed it well enough the first day, figured he was just crashing from a manic fit of staying up for too long or close to his heat.  Two days is too much, though, even for Junkrat.

Roadhog pulls over when he sees a motel and gets off the hog, stretching and cracking his muscles and joints, achy from so long on the road.  Stopping will be good for both of them.  

“Stay here; gonna get a room,” Roadhog says. 

Junkrat doesn’t acknowledge him past a hoarse whine.

Roadhog stares at the pitiful lump curled into the cramped sidecar and something primal spikes in his gut.  It tells him he can’t leave him for a second.  Says he’s a piece of shit for not stopping sooner.  There’s an itch in the pit of his gut that Junkrat’s not just tired.  

His omega needed him sooner.  

This should never have happened.  

This is his fault as the alpha.

He reluctantly turns away to get the room, shoving back against the pissed off instincts clamoring around inside his head.  Junkrat’s going to be fine.  He just needs some rest and a few proper meals.  Maybe a fuck if this pseudo-hibernation is being caused by his body gearing up for heat.

He gets a two-bed room and hauls the saddle bags in before kicking the hollow metal of the sidecar. Junkrat jumps a little, but doesn’t shoot Roadhog a glare or even open his eyes at all.  He just shifts and curls tighter before mumbling, “leave me ‘lone.”

Roadhog grabs Junkrat, dragging him out of the bike— but not kicking and screaming.  Junkrat keeps his eyes shut tightly and sags in Roadhog’s hands.  Roadhog tosses Junkrat over his left shoulder and carries him into the room.  He feels like a goddamned nanny sometimes rather than a bodyguard and alpha.  And Junkrat feels hot.  Too hot. That itch plagues him again.  Something isn’t right.

Roadhog lays him down and presses the backs of his fingers to Junkrat’s forehead.  Junkrat groans and throws his arm over his eyes, clunking his prosthetic into Roadhog’s stomach.  “Fuck…” he grunts before beginning to unhook Junkrat’s prostheses.

He’s hot but he’s not sweating.  It’s not hot enough outside to warrant this kind of temperature; it’s actually pretty cool as the eastern United States heads into fall.  Roadhog doesn’t remember the last time Junkrat spoke, much less the last time he ate or drank anything.  He’d been so wrapped up in putting miles between them and their last score that he hadn’t thought to check, assumed he was taking care of himself.  Roadhog sets the prosthetic limbs down and gets a cup of water from the bathroom.

“Sit up,” he says gruffly.

Junkrat doesn’t move.

Roadhog grabs Junkrat by his shoulder and pulls him up.

“Rack off!  I’m tyin’a sleep!” he whines.

“Drink the water first,” Roadhog orders him, adding a bit of alpha firmness to his voice.

Junkrat doesn’t even hesitate at the influence.  “Don’t wanna.”

Roadhog presses the styrofoam cup to Junkrat’s mouth anyway and tips it.  Water spills against Junkrat’s cracked and dry lips.  It trickles down his chin and neck before he finally opens his lips and begins sucking in the water like it’s the last thing he’ll ever drink.

Roadhog gets him two more cups full before Junkrat just lays back and whines instead of trying to go back to sleep.

“Roadieeee... I feel like shit…” he whimpers.  

“You look like shit,” Roadhog says, walking away to get a can of soup out of their rations bag.  It’s not chicken noodle, but it’s got brown broth, some kind of meat chunks and potatoes.  It’ll be good for him.  

“This is worse than repressed heat,” Junkrat says, shifting in the bed uncomfortably.  “I’m hot and cold at the same time…” he sniffs the air as the soup heats on the small single burner in the room and wrinkles his nose.  

“You’re eating it,” Roadhog tells him.  “Want some water?”

“I might?” Junkrat shrugs and starts picking at his harness with his left hand.  “Fuck, get this off me.”

Roadhog brushes Junkrat’s hand away from the buckles and carefully picks the leather straps apart until he can drop the harness of grenades next to their saddle bags of supplies.  When he turns around, Junkrat’s got his belt undone and is thrashing weakly around trying to get his pants off.

Roadhog rolls his eyes and gently helps Junkrat get stripped down before he goes to get him another cup of water.  Junkrat drinks half of it before pushing Roadhog’s hand away and curling up on his side with a miserable whine.  Roadhog pets him, feeling his hot, dry skin and wishing he had a more immediate solution than fluids, food and a comfortable place to sleep.

Once the soup is hot, Roadhog makes him sit up against the headboard and puts one of the pillows across Junkrat’s lap to protect his bits from the steaming mug.  He makes sure Junkrat has a grip on the handle before he lets go and runs his hand through Junkrat’s dusty hair.  His scalp feels like it’s burning up.  Junkrat gets in a few sips of broth and one mouthful of actual soup before he leans over and sets the mug on the bedside table and weakly shifts to lie back down.

Roadhog feels his forehead again and his concern spikes.  Junkrat might be hotter than before.  That, or Roadhog’s dynamic is finally overriding his naturally pissy demeanor.  “Gonna run a cool bath,” he says.

Junkrat groans in response and shifts like he can’t find a good position.  Roadhog watches him, his instincts yelling a hundred things at him all at once.  He shoves the overpowering urge to comfort away and walks off.

Roadhog is halfway through running a bath straight from the cold tap when he realizes that he’s still wearing all his armor.  He strips down to his shorts as the bath finishes filling and then reluctantly returns to the room to collect his boss.  As soon as he’s in the same room as Junkrat, he feels an overpowering wave of shame again.  

Junkrat is having a tough time getting comfortable, and when he hears Roadhog, he scoots over like he’s expecting the alpha to join him in the bed.  Roadhog is as gentle as he can be, all thing considered.  Junkrat is fine with being picked up, but as soon as Roadhog tries to take him through the bathroom door, he has to physically wrestle Junkrat through and into the tub.  At least he has enough energy to fight Roadhog and cuss at him.

The water turns brown quickly and Roadhog allows the bath to run through a few times before finally plugging the tub and allowing Junkrat to soak in the cool water. 

“This is bullshit, Roadie,” Junkrat says, smacking the water with his hand.  “I ain’t never been sick in my life.  I feel like I’m gonna bloody die.”

“You’ve had radiation poisoning,” Roadhog points out.

“That’s just nausea and some hair loss and… okay that was pretty bad, but this is now and it sucks.”  Junkrat splashes water at Roadhog, but it’s so weak it barely reaches him.  Roadhog dips his hand into the bath and scoops water up to bathe Junkrat’s flushed cheeks and forehead.  “That’s nice,” Junkrat says, leaning back in the tub and closing his eyes as Roadhog rubs cool water on his face and through his hair.  “You always take such good care of me, Hoggy.”

Roadhog hums in response and keeps scooping cool water up onto Junkrat’s face and scalp until he appears to doze off.  

He still feels hot.  He looks pale and miserable.  Roadhog drains the tub and runs a final round of fresh, cold water.  Once Roadhog thinks Junkrat has soaked enough, he drains the water and grabs a towel to wrap him up in.  Junkrat snuggles into the towel at first, but halfway back to the bed, he starts fighting at the constraints, saying it’s too warm.  

Roadhog dumps him on the bed and rescues the mug of soup before Junkrat’s flailing arm can knock it off of the tiny table.  “Eat some more,” he instructs him, holding the mug up.  “You’re dehydrated and you need to eat to get better,” he says.

“I’m not hungry,” Junkrat says firmly.  

“I don’t care,” Roadhog replies, frustration leaking back into his tone.

Junkrat crosses his arms and narrows his eyes at him.  They glare at each other until Roadhog takes a step forward to sit on the bed.  “At least eat half of what’s left,” he says, forcing himself not to growl.  

“I don’t want it,” Junkrat says again, but it’s not as blatantly bullheaded as before.  He looks exhausted even though he’s been sleeping all day.  “I just wanna sleep, mate.”

“You can sleep,” Roadhog says, the progress pushing his voice into more gentle territory.  It is easier to be nice to Junkrat when he’s considering doing what Roadhog wants.  He rests his hand on Junkrat’s knee.  “You got a bed all to yourself.  You can stretch out and hog all the covers.  Just get half of this down.”

Junkrat takes the mug and reluctantly takes a sip of broth.  “It’s cold,” he complains.

Roadhog snorts and gives his leg a smack.  “Stop being a brat,” he tells him before standing.  “If half of that isn’t gone when I get out of the shower, I’m going to wake you up and force feed you.”

Junkrat sticks his tongue out at Roadhog before taking a very pointed, large, slurping gulp.

Roadhog chuckles and heads for the bathroom to get a quick shower.  Now that he’s less worried about Junkrat, his own fatigue is creeping up on him.  Sleeping in a bed without any bony elbows or knees digging into him is going to be fucking wonderful.

When he emerges from the steaming bathroom, it looks like Junkrat ate a little more soup and then passed out with the mug still in his hand.

Roadhog carefully pulls it from his grip and puts it in the mini fridge for later before lying on the untouched bed with a relieved sigh.  He falls asleep almost immediately— then wakes up a few hours later when Junkrat starts shivering and tossing and turning.

Roadhog keeps his eyes closed for a minute before sighing and getting up to deal with it.  Junkrat’s skin is cool to the touch and wet with sweat.  Maybe his fever broke— that sounds like a medical thing that happens.  Roadhog lifts him and pulls the covers down so that he can cover Junkrat up.  The blankets are cheap and scratchy, but they’re warm enough.  He tucks the blankets around Junkrat carefully before returning to his own bed.  Roadhog closes his eyes for half a second before he hears a croaky, “Roadie?”

“Yeah?” he asks.

“I’m thirsty.  I thought I got up for water earlier, but I think it was a dream.  Can you get it this time?”  Junkrat asks.

Roadhog parses through half of the nonsense and sighs before getting up.  “You hungry too or just thirsty?” he asks as he grabs the cup and walks to the bathroom to fill it from the tap.

“... I dunno,” Junkrat says, his voice soft and more than a little confused.

Roadhog returns and sits beside Junkrat.  He helps him sit up and presses the cup to his lips.  Despite being so thirsty as to ask Roadhog for water, Junkrat takes two sips before turning his head away.

“Hungry?” Roadhog asks again.

Junkrat shakes his head and wraps his stump around the thick arm supporting his back.  “Don’t leave, though,” he says. 

“You’re always bitching about not enough covers or not being able to stretch out,” Roadhog points out, but he sets the water to the side and shoos Junkrat to the side so that he can climb into the bed with him.

“And now I’m bitching that I don’t have an alpha cuddling me,” Junkrat snaps.

Roadhog wraps Junkrat up in the blanket so that his arms are pinioned and then holds him to his chest, his chin resting against Junkrat’s sweaty hair.  “Better?” he asks, his voice gruff with sleep.

Junkrat wiggles around as if he’s testing the arms around him, then snuggles into Roadhog’s chest and goes still.  Roadhog relaxes beneath Junkrat and rubs his arm and shoulder soothingly until he feels Junkrat’s breathing slow.  He follows soon after, but not before pressing a kiss to Junkrat’s bald spot.  

——

The next morning, Junkrat’s elbow is buried in Roadhog’s side and his knee jabs into Roadhog’s hip.  His skin still feels hot, but when Roadhog shakes him awake, he doesn’t whine and try to keep sleeping.

“Feeling better?” Roadhog asks.

“Not really,” Junkrat says, nuzzling into Roadhog’s neck and then pressing the rest of his too-hot body closer.  His knee digs harder and his elbow is replaced by a bony hand wiggling its way between Roadhog and the bed to cling tighter.  “Better keep cuddling, just in case.”

“I’ll get you some water,” Roadhog tells him, trying to shift away, but Junkrat still clings to him.  “Let me up.  I’ll get the soup too.”  

Junkrat groans and Roadhog sighs as the arms tighten.  He stays still for a few more minutes until Junkrat’s grip slackens.  When he looks down curiously, Junkrat’s already asleep again. 

Roadhog slides sideways out of the bed and carefully wiggles his arm out of Junkrat’s grip.  Junkrat curls tighter and Roadhog pulls the blankets firmly up around his ears.

He finishes off Junkrat’s water from last night and gets him a fresh cup of water.  He sets the cold soup next to it before realizing that he hadn’t eaten yesterday himself. He eats most of a package of crackers and leaves a few with the soup for Junkrat.  

Roadhog has to get out of the room.  He leaves a note for Junkrat telling him to eat some of the food—at least the crackers he underlines four times and circles— and drink the water.

Roadhog dresses up in civilian clothes and leaves his armor in the room.  He always feels naked without the heft of the protective tires and metal spikes, even when he has on more layers than he’s had in years.  He pays off the morning motel clerk with more cash than he makes in a month to keep them off the grid and then walks to the corner store a block over to stock up on healthier foods than Vienna sausages and pork and beans.

He finds chicken noodle soup and crackers that have a fine layer of dust on them.  The crackers are out of date, but he doesn’t really care.  He also picks up a liter of orange juice and some kind of sports drink with electrolytes.  It’s been decades since he’s taken care of anyone sick, but he remembers making soup and crackers and someone bringing him juice while he lay in bed. 

He sees a thick, touristy hoodie touting a bird and the weird shape of the place behind it.  It looks warm, though, and like Junkrat won’t struggle it off in the middle of a nap.  He picks it up and waits in line instead of forcing his way up to the counter.  No one would stop him, but it’s an excuse not to be in the room.  

He feels useless and his conscience itches, like he could have somehow prevented Junkrat’s illness even though he logically knows that’s not true.  It’s probably just a seasonal flu.  Junkrat’s immune system isn’t wired for this country.  

He dumps his armload of shit on the counter when he gets there and stares at the medicines locked up behind the clerk.  “I need the orange one,” he says.  Probably better to get something that won’t knock Junkrat out.  At least this way they can plan their next move.  

The clerk looks Roadhog up and down and then asks, “can I see your ID?”

Roadhog stares at him.  “I’m nearly fifty,” he says bluntly.

“Company policy,” the kid says.

“Suit bullshit,” Roadhog growls and reaches for his gun— but he’s lying low and left his armor and weapons in the room. Roadhog stares at the kid and sighs.  He doesn’t have an ID.  Junkrat already blew their fake covers half an hour into Mr. John Boar and Sir Byron Sebastian Greene Esquire the Third.  “Listen, I got a sick omega at home.  He’s miserable.”  Roadhog nodded down at his soup and juice.  “This shit’s not going to cut it, he needs something to help with the fever and nausea.”

The clerk’s face softened as soon as Roadhog mentioned an omega.  He’s probably a beta or an alpha.  An omega probably wouldn’t have pushed the issue in the first place.

“Listen, the camera’s gotta see me see your ID,” the clerk says pointedly.

Roadhog pats his pockets and pulls out a punch card for boba tea out of his back pocket.  He flashes it at the clerk, then pockets it again and the man opens the medicine cabinet.

“Might as well give me two, just in case,” Roadhog says.

“Sure, man,” the clerk grabs two orange bottles and begins ringing Roadhog up.

When Roadhog returns to the room, Junkrat is halfway out of the bed and whining.  Roadhog drops his bags on the small dinette table and walks over to scoop Junkrat up.  He’s not sweating anymore.  His fever is persisting and he clings to Roadhog’s shirt when he tries to deposit him in the bed again.  

“I have to get the medicine,” Roadhog tells him.

“Don’t leave again, mate.  Been sick and left before, I don’t—“ 

Roadhog shushes Junkrat and presses their foreheads together.  “Think I’d just up and leave my omega like that?” Roadhog asks, giving up on putting Junkrat down and just carrying him to the dinette with him.

Junkrat shakes his head and presses his face into Roadhog’s neck.  “Y’scrubbed too much,” he complains.  “Can’t smell me on you, or your alpha smell.”

Roadhog sets Junkrat on the chair and uncaps one of the orange bottles.  “It’ll come back,” he promises.  

“People here don’t just wear their pheromones on their sleeve,” Junkrat complains for the fourth time—at least. “Got some notion everyone’s the same—“ he pauses when Roadhog presses a cup of medicine to his lips and gulps it down.  He makes a face and sticks out his tongue.  “Shit tastes horrible.  All fake and oily.”

Roadhog opens one of the drinks and hands it to Junkrat, then rips the tags off of the hoodie and shakes it out. “Drink at least half,” he says, when Junkrat takes a sip and makes to put the cap back on.  He wrinkles his nose and takes a gulp, then another.  The sleep seems to have helped a lot, but as soon as Junkrat chugs half of the sports drink, his eyes start to sag.  He yawns and reaches for Roadhog.

Roadhog drinks a few sips from the bottle and then caps it and tosses the hoodie over Junkrat’s head and arms.  He looks confused when he pops through it, but once he feels how warm it is, he smiles and grabs Roadhog’s arm.  “Thanks, mate.”

Roadhog smiles—as much as he ever does, anyway—and scoops Junkrat up.  He feels tired.  Maybe it’s left over from the long drive, but Roadhog could use a nap too. He lays Junkrat in the bed and sets the drink on the small table beside it in case he gets thirsty.  “Covered or uncovered?” he asks.

Junkrat reaches for Roadhog again, but he doesn’t want a bunch of sweaty cuddling again.  Maybe once Junkrat’s temperature evens out.

“I’m napping alone,” Roadhog says firmly.

Junkrat pouts and crosses his arms.  “Some alpha you are.”

It stings, but it’s not the first time Junkrat has tried to use their dynamic to manipulate him.  Roadhog drags the covers up to Junkrat’s chin and tucks them around his body.  “Good enough alpha that you’re still around,” he says before pressing a kiss to Junkrat’s forehead and walking away to his own bed.

Roadhog lays down and stares at the ceiling for what seems like an hour.  When he’s next aware of anything, he’s hot.  Something is wet and sticky against his belly.  He raises his arm, assuming that Junkrat is laying on him and instantly annoyed that he came to invade Roadhog’s bed with his hot, sweaty, sick bullshit. The wet and sticky sensation peels away. It was his own arm.  When Roadhog opens his eyes, his head hurts.  He shifts to sit up, but the movement makes his stomach lurch and he feels dizzy.

“God… fucking damn it…” Roadhog rumbles, slowly lowering back down to the bed.

“Roadie, I’m hungry,” Junkrat says from the other bed.

Roadhog grunts and turns over.

Silence, then the thump of Junkrat hopping across the floor.  A hand touches him, and then withdraws quickly.  “Fuck, Roadie.” 

“Let me sleep,” Roadhog grumbles as his head pounds.  “I‘ll be fine.”

“What do you need? What can I do? I don’t… uhm…” the mattress lowers as Junkrat crawls onto it and Roadhog pushes at him with his foot.  He just wants to be alone and sleep.  Junkrat smacks his leg and then pets it once he realizes what he did. “Roadie, I’m feeling better, I want to help you.”

Roadhog sighs and stops pushing Junkrat off the bed.  “Let me sleep,” he repeats.  “You can help when I wake up.”

Junkrat’s hand pats him a few more times, then withdraws.  “Okay.  Get some sleep, Roadie.”

Roadhog doesn’t wake up again until Junkrat shakes him awake. He’s cold.  He reaches for the blanket beneath him and rolls and shifts to wrap himself in it.  Then he’s too hot so he shoves it off and Junkrat shakes him again.  “Let me sleep,” he grunts.  

“Mate, you’ve been sleeping.  Time for a quick nip, then you can sleep more,” Junkrat tells him.

The thought of eating makes Roadhog nauseous.  “Later.”

Junkrat makes a high, frustrated noise and grabs Roadhog’s arm.  “No, now.  Sit up and eat.  Doctor Junkrat’s orders!”

Roadhog cracks his eye open and peers at the omega yanking at his arm.  Junkrat looks better.  He also looks worried, though he’s trying to hide it with an uncertain grin.  “Orange juice,” Roadhog says.

Junkrat scrambles away and Roadhog reluctantly sits up.  Kind of.  Enough to sip the orange juice he’s given when Junkrat leaps back onto the bed.  “I’ll make some soup too.  Want some crackers?” He doesn’t give Roadhog the space to respond and moves closer, nearly in Roadhog’s lap as he wedges the pack of crackers between his knees to open them.  He digs a few out to shove in his own mouth.  “Doesn’t matter,” he says, trailing crumbs down his front.  “Eat ‘em anyway.  Need you to get back in tip-top shape!”

“Stay away from me,” Roadhog says, shoving Junkrat out of his face.  Hurt flashes across Junkrat’s expressive features as he tumbles back and Roadhog feels a pang if regret.  He rolls his eyes and grabs the crackers from between Junkrat’s knees. “I don’t want to just pass this thing back and forth,” he tells him, shoving a few crackers in his mouth.

“What, is it like green lung?” Junkrat asks, moving close again, but not touching Roadhog.

“It’s close enough,” Roadhog says.  “Probably the flu.” His grimaces and pushes the drink away.  “Done.  Let me sleep,” he says.

“Wait!” Junkrat flails off of the bed and grabs the orange bottle of medicine.  “Take some of this.  I’ve been taking it all day and it’s loads of help!”

Roadhog knows he should, but the thought of staying awake for a second longer to take the medicine makes him unreasonably angry.  “Fuck off and let me sleep,” he snaps.

Junkrat frowns and pours him a cup of the medicine.  “Nah, mate.  Take this first.”

Roadhog grabs Junkrat’s arm and the medicine spills a little, but Junkrat stares him in the eye earnestly, unconcerned with the giant, angry alpha holding his arm in a vice like grip.  “Take the medicine,” Junkrat says firmly.  Omegas aren’t forceful by nature.  Alphas compel others to do things with the strength and physicality of their dynamic and omegas oblige alphas and betas with their own unique influence.

Junkrat imitating Roadhog’s alpha voice shatters through Roadhog’s mood.  Roadhog’s shoulders sag and he slides his hand down Junkrat’s arm to take the cup instead of breaking it.  Junkrat’s teeth flash in a wide grin and he leans forward for a kiss, but Roadhog shoves him back.  “No touching,” he says.  “And don’t drink after me.”

Junkrat frowns and sits back on his heel.  “For how long?” he asks.  His fingers pick at the sleeve of his sweatshirt.  It’s already beginning to fray.  He’s probably been picking at it the whole time Roadhog slept.

“Few days,” Roadhog says.  “Maybe a week.”

Junkrat whines and falls backward off the bed.  

Roadhog scoots back down and closes his eyes. When he opens them again, the room is dark and he feels thin fingers clutching his own. “No touching,” he mumbles. 

“Fuck you and your no touching,” Junkrat replies before popping his head over the edge of the bed.  His furrowed eyebrows soften and he lets go of Roadhog’s hand to drag himself up onto the bed.  The medicine is on the small bedside table.  He pours some for Roadhog to take and then hops off of the bed to hobble over to the small single burner and open a can of soup.

Roadhog’s eyes shut again.  When he opens them, there’s cold soup on the side table and a note.  

Out for food.  Tried to wake you.  Don’t be pissy.

Roadhog’s head aches at how “pissy” he immediately is.  He rubs his temples and lays back again as a wave of dizziness and instincts floods him.  His omega is gone and he’s too sick and miserable to protect him properly.  He never should have gotten sick in the first place.  

Roadhog passes back out without eating the soup.

“Hog…”

“Hoggie…”

“Roadieeeee…”

Roadhog turns over and opens his eyes to see Junkrat leaning his elbows on the bed, still clothed in the hoodie, though it looks considerably dirtier than when he last saw Junkrat.  Roadhog grabs Junkrat and drags him into the bed.

“Hey!  No touching!” Junkrat reminds him, though he’s not really resisting the arms wrapping securely around him.

“Don’t leave again,” Roadhog replies, holding tighter.

“I just went for more juice!” Junkrat laughs, but there’s a wheeze behind it and it turns into a phlegmy cough. 

Roadhog squeezes Junkrat and presses his face to his neck.  He smells like gas and dirt.  “You’re still sick…”

“Roadie… really, mate, I’m fine.  You need to eat something and take medicine,” Junkrat says.  

“Just a few more minutes…” Roadhog mumbles.  Junkrat feels so good, so cool and dry and better.  The cough is still worrying.

“Roadieeeee, Roadieroadieroadie, Roooooooadie…” He must have drifted off.  Junkrat’s jabbing him in the gut with his elbow.  When Roadhog’s arms loosen slightly, Junkrat twists his head to look at him out of the corner of his eye.  “Roadie, c’mon, let go, the soup’s nearly done and you’ll be a brat if it’s burned,” Junkrat says.

Roadhog tries to pinch Junkrat’s stomach as a punishment for the comment, but any fat he had packed on since they left Australia is gone.  His alpha instincts wail in anguish and Roadhog’s arms sag open, releasing Junkrat.  He feels like utter shit.  “When did you last eat?” Roadhog asks.

“Uh… real recent,” Junkrat lies.

“Go get the food.  Two separate bowls,” Roadhog emphasizes.

“Yeah, sure, that’s what I was planning on!” Junkrat says as he scrambles off of the bed.

Roadhog takes the time to lever himself into sitting up.  He can’t tell if he’s too hot or too cold anymore.  Where the blanket’s on him, he feels hot and where he’s exposed, he’s chilly.  This is bullshit and he just wants to go the fuck to sleep.

Junkrat makes two trips.  The first one is to hand Roadhog his soup and the second, he comes back with his own bowl to sit beside him.  Roadhog turns his head to cough, barely avoiding coughing over Junkrat.

This is miserable.  He can’t let Junkrat get sick again.  He can never get sick again.  

Junkrat rustles the cracker package and tosses a few into the soup before patting Roadhog’s hand.  “Eat up,” he encourages.  “Then you can sleep again.  Uhm… want a bath? That helped me, I think?”

Roadhog takes a sip of scalding soup and winces. He sighs and blows on it before taking another sip.  It’s still hot but it’s more bearable.  “You need to bathe,” he tells Junkrat.  “Because you’ve probably got germs all over you from being in my bed,” he clarifies when Junkrat sniffs himself and then opens his mouth to argue.

“Oh.”  Junkrat nods and dips a cracker in his soup.  Roadhog finally gets his soup to the right temperature for gulping and tries to finish it as quickly as he can so that he can get back to sleep. “This sucks,” Junkrat says, taking his time with his own soup.

“You can probably eat normal food,” Roadhog points out.  

Junkrat kicks him and scrunches up his nose.  “I’m not talking about the food, ya cunt,” he snaps.  Roadhog raises a brow at Junkrat.  The omega stares back before dropping his eyes and shrugging.  “You keep pushing me away.”

“So that you won’t get sick again,” Roadhog points out.

“Don’t mean it don't hurt.”

Roadhog sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose.  He’s too tired to deal with omega feelings right now. “We can talk later,” Roadhog says.  “Go take a bath.”

Junkrat dumps the rest of his soup down his throat and shoves a cracker in his mouth before vacating the end of Roadhog’s bed and putting the crackers and dirty mugs over with their supplies.  He doesn’t look at Roadhog again on his way to the bathroom and shuts the door pointedly.

“Omegas,” Roadhog rumbles loudly as he settles down in the bed again.  He starts with his covers off, then pulls them up, then flings them off again.  It takes him until Junkrat’s bathed and working on something loudly across the room to fall asleep.

When he wakes again, Junkrat has medicine and soup.  He sleeps and wakes to orange juice and crackers.  Junkrat forces him to take a cool bath and washes his hair for him.  He falls asleep in the bath, and Junkrat runs it a few more times so that he can bask in the coolness.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been sick, or whether Junkrat has left the room again in the meantime.  He has control over nothing and is at the mercy of fever and fatigue.  

When the illness breaks, he is alone.  He feels achy and exhausted, but drags himself out of the bed for a hot shower.  There’s clean clothing at the top of his pack.  His own bed smells like sweat and absolutely reeks of weak alpha.  Junkrat’s is significantly cleaner.  He tosses his barely-used blanket over Junkrat’s sheets and lays down.

When he wakes up, there’s a warm body pressed against his stomach, clinging tightly.  He smiles and wraps his arm around Junkrat.  “How do you feel?” Roadhog asks.

“Better now,” Junkrat replies.  “You?”

Roadhog shrugs.  “Better now,” he agrees.

Junkrat giggles and snuggles closer to Roadhog’s chest.  “Think we should take a day before we run again,” he said.

Neither of them like stopping for long, but Roadhog wouldn’t mind some more sleep.  He cuddles Junkrat closer and dips his head to kiss him.  “Sorry if I was a piece of shit,” he says.

Junkrat shifts and wiggles up to get closer to Roadhog’s face.  Once he’s got better access, he kisses Roadhog and gives him a wide grin.  “Come to expect it from ya.  Big bad bastard of an alpha that you are.”

Roadhog snorts and pets Junkrat’s back.  He tucks his face into Junkrat’s neck and breathes in the omega’s scent.  As he slips away, he feels fingers pet his hair. Some “big bad bastard” he is, falling asleep with Junkrat petting his hair.  “That’s me,” he mumbles as his eyes sag closed.