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exothermic-filth · 6 years

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First Shot’s Mine pt. III

Part I and Part II here!

The final conclusion to this Junker!Reader x Junkrat fic :) NB-reader, I think I would call this NSFW (and include a trigger warning for the major violence/gore/torture along with the usual swearing warning)

Enjoy friends! And thank you for supporting me and my nonsense <3 I apologize for the delay as uni has started back up for me and I’ve been frantically scrambling to get back on track with my nonsense.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You wake up in a strange room. There’s a tiny window in the corner, casting a ghastly orange light inwards. You feel and hear your heat beat thumping through your skull, a tight pressure throbbing, bouncing inside your head. Hands grip the front of your shirt and haul you upwards. You recognize the face. It’s her.

“Alright, love, let’s try this one more time. What is he planning?” The Queen has your neck in a vice-like grip.

She releases so you can speak. You gasp for air. Your head is pounding. You don’t even have the energy to shake your head, “I.. don’t.. know.”

The Queen drops you on the floor like a rag doll, “Crucify ‘em. If they won’t tell me where that fucking rat is, we’re going to bait him out ourselves.”

The sentence paralyzes you with fear and you feel fresh energy course through. You buck and kick, screaming, as rough hands grab both of your arms, “No! No! NO! FUCK!”

You see a guard in the corner step forward and with a grunt drop a heavy, sun-bleached wooden cross onto the grimy floor.

The Queen watches, hands on hips, as the two guards force you down onto the ground, onto the cross.

You scream, louder than you’ve ever thought possible, but they have twice the size and strength against you. One of them gives you a swift kick right above your wounded knee and you feel all strength leave you in one sharp gasp. They easily strap you down onto the cross, securing your wrists and ankles against the dry, dead wood.

The Queen walks over, crouches down until her lips are inches from your ear. Her voice is so gentle, so soft, so sweet, “Last chance before the first nail goes in, *your name.*”

Tears stream down your cheeks, blurring your vision, you sob, “Please... I don’t know.. I swear, he didn’t tell me anything.”

She tuts, cupping your cheek in her hand, “Wrong answer, my dear. Bring the kid in!”

You can’t move your head completely, but you hear the door swing open and the sound of struggling, shuffling feet.

“*Your name!*” Dusty’s familiar voice screams.

The Queen, still crouching by your side, still stroking and petting your cheek, smiles, “Ah, Dusty. *Your name* here is being difficult. I want you to hammer the first nail in.”

You feel your breath choke in your throat.

He stammers, “W-what?”

The Queen looks at one of the guards in the corner and he steps forward, dropping three, giant spikes onto the ground.

She reaches to her side and pulls a rusty mallet off her belt, holding it out towards him, “Do it.”

He doesn’t react.

“As your Queen, I order you do it,” she repeats, an edge in her voice.

Dusty’s voice breaks, “I-I can’t... you, you promised-”

With lightning speed, she’s up in his face, “And you swore to serve me as my Royal Guard, swearing complete and utter loyalty.”

He’s crying, “I can’t hurt *your name*.”

The venom leaves her voice and she’s sickly sweet again. She places a comforting hand on his shoulder, “Oh, Dusty darling, I know. I know you can’t. You love them don’t you?”

He takes a sharp breath between his sobs, “More than anything.”

She places the hammer in his hands, “Then you’ll do them the mercy of nailing the nail in yourself, or I fucking will. And I will do it slowly. Inch by fucking inch.”

Your breathing quickens. You know what is about to happen. Your hands clench and unclench helplessly. Your close your eyes.

This is just a bad dream. This is just a bad dream.

You hear a soft thump and open your eyes to see Dusty hunched over you, crying, his tear-stained cheek brushes against your forehead as he cradles your head,��“I’m so sorry *your name.* I should’ve listened to you... I’m so sorry.”

You feel his lips brush against your forehead. You’d hold his hand if you could.

The Queen stoops down, by the two of you, “When you strike that nail into their palm, and your hear them scream, Dusty. Think about who’s fault it is.”

You sniff, stifling the whimper that threatens to come out, putting on a brave face for Dusty, “It’s okay. It’s okay, Dusty. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault.”

The Queen rolls her eyes and reaches for one of the spikes, “Crying time’s over, Dusty. Do it now.”

He takes the heavy iron spike from the Queen’s hand and holds it above your hand. Breathing heavily, forcing yourself to take slow, deep breathes, opening your palm slowly. You gasp involuntarily as you feel his lips kiss your palm, soft as a prayer. The gentleness of his lips is replaced by by the cold, cold weight of the spike.

“NOW!” The Queen shrieks.

You blink. A strange hotness spreads through your palms into your finger tips, and like a whip cracking in the air, the pain snaps back and runs up through the length of your arm. You thought you couldn’t scream louder before. You’re dead wrong. Your could swear you saw bright white lights explode in your vision at the sheer agony. It is all too much. The horrible, horrible searing hotness, raging in your left palm, Dusty whispering apologies and pleas between his sobs.

The Queen walks over and shoves Dusty to the side, grasping the head of the spike in her hand, “Now, let’s do this again, *your name.* I just want a small bit of information. Just a small bit.”

You wince, “I. don’t. know. anything.”

She snarls with frustration, and jiggles the spike eliciting a scream from you, “WRONG ANSWER!”

She mounts you, putting her full weight on your diaphragm. You can’t breath.

“NO!” Dusty throws himself at her but the guards pull him back, knocking the air out of him in a few hefty punches.

“Useless piece of shit,” she spits in his direction, grabbing another spike.

She smashes it into your right hand, right through your desperately clenched fingers, the blunt end mashing, digging into the flesh, “TELL ME WHERE HE IS YOU FUCKING, WORTHLESS CUNT!”

You can only scream. She shifts her entire body weight onto the spike and you feel it break right through your flesh onto the bone. An inhuman shriek leaves your throat.

“TALK!” She grabs the mallet and strikes the spike deeper. Your bones crunch.

“I DON’T KNOW!” You wail.

“FUCKING LIAR!” She strikes the nail and drives it deeper again.

“PLEASE!” You scream.

She drives it in deeper.

“PLEASE!”

She drops the mallet and strikes you across the face. The stinging slap shocking you, clearing your vision briefly.

“You keep fucking lying to me you son of a bitch and I will crucify Dusty next. I will gut him in front of you and slice out his organs one by one until he is dog’s meat if you do not fucking tell me what Junkrat is planning,” she digs her nails into the sides of your throat, drawing blood.

You try to speak but no sound can come from your throat.

“Your majesty!!” A breathless guard bursts into the room, her chest heaving from a mighty sprint. “It’s Junkrat!! He’s at the main gate!!!”

She gets up with a grunt, and you can see her wipe herself clean of your blood, “Consider yourself lucky, *your name.* Your prince fucking charming is here.”

You manage a weak nod, something like a smile beginning to form on your lips.

The Queen sneers. She dusts herself off and stands above you, “But he’s here for me. Not for you. Think about that.”

You close your eyes. It’s time.

The Queen barks at her guards, “Alright, I want the crucifix and the fucking traitor on it hung at the gates. I want every fucking Junker here to know what happens when you betray me.”

She walks over to Dusty and roughly grabs him by the face, “Leave him here. I don’t need any more complications. I’ll deal with him afterwards.”

Dusty lunges against her grip but she tosses his easily to the side. She coos, “Aw, nice try, kid. But don’t worry. I’m broadcasting this. You’ll hear every scream as I cut *your name* up.”

“You fucking cunt,” he gasps, clutching his stomach.

“Mm,” she smiles and walks out the door, slamming it shut.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Searing, hot pain radiates from both of your hands. Strangely, your elbows crackle with static-like pain. You can barely breath with the rope digging into your neck, securing your head forehead and tightly against the cross. They secured your ankles together at the bottom of the cross and you quietly thank the heavens they didn’t nail your ankles down.

You blink. The sun is so high and so bright. A crowd gathers, watching. Gaping. Even with your blurred, dazed vision, you can make out shocked expressions. You’re grateful for the stunned silence. No one can believe it’s you. Whenever Junkers were made examples of, booing and jeering and cheering would echo through the omnium.

You catch the eye of a few regulars and manage the weakest of smiles. They turn their faces and flit their eyes elsewhere, less the Queen catch their sympathetic looks.

Finally, they prop you up, cross and all. The guards lift you with a grunt and set the cross’s bottom into a deep slot in floor. You wince and gasp as gravity takes its toll, your arms’ weight pulling down on the nails in your hands.

The Queen grabs a microphone, whipping the cordage around her wrist, and speaks into it, “Loyal Junkers, I have something particularly special for you today... Not only do we have an example to be made...We have an execution.”

You jerk your head up, “No...”

“Ah, yes! We all know our favorite bartender *your name.* Well, this just goes to show that even the most treacherous snakes hide behind the most unassuming faces,” the Queen snaps with her free hand.

A guard hands her a cruel-looking blade.

“*Your name,* here has an impressive list of crimes. Harboring a fugitive, obstructing justice-” you’d scoff if you had the energy to “-lying to ME. Your QUEEN. What should I do to ‘em?”

There is a moment of silence. A voice volunteers, none too confidently, “Cut ‘em?”

A few scattered cheers of agreement pepper the air. The Queen growls, “I can’t hear you!”

“Cut ‘em!” The same voice repeats and the crowd, getting the hint, erupts into cheers.

Voices join in.

“TAKE THE EYES!”

“GUT ‘EM!”

“CHOP THEIR FINGERS OFF!!”

She cackles, turning to you, “You hear the crowd. Now, for old time’s sake, I’ll let you choose what I take first, old friend.”

You manage a bloody smile, “Take my fingers. I’m never bar-tending again with these bloody messes.”

“It’d be my honor,” her smile is so wicked, “Oh, and by the way-”

You meet her eye as the blade stands poised, barely touching your thumb pad.

“His plan failed.”

She sneers, relishing the look of sudden shock in your eyes. But you barely have time to register it all when the blade crunches into your hand. You thought you couldn’t feel any from the ruined remains, but you’re wrong. Your left palm is alight with fire anew. You scream.

The crowd roars in approval.

“WHAT NEXT?!” The Queen asks the Junkers, holding the mic out towards the crowd.

A very dominant voice stands out in the crowd, “GO FOR THE EYES!!!”

She turns to you, grinning oh-so-sweetly, “Shame, I always loved your eyes.”

And in that moment, you hated her. Up until now, she was pathetic. Powerful, manipulative, charismatic, but pathetic. Like a child, screaming for toys, screaming for attention, screaming to be noticed.

Anger fills you with vigor and you met meet eyes.

“Shame, he used to love you,” the words slip your lips before you could even stop.

She completely stops, the mic falling from her hands, half a snarl on her lips, astonishment in her eyes, “W-what.”

The speakers rumble and squeal in protest of the mic being dropped. Everyone covers their ears and groan, but you and her lock eyes.

“I know what you did, I know how you used him. I know he built you the very goddamn mech that won you your seat in Junkertown’s court, that won you the title of Queen,” the words stream forth, you’re raving, uncontrolled, “I know you promised him title of King, but left him for dead in the Outback. Hoping the fucking dogs would take care of him.”

She grips the blade so tight, you see her blood-stained knuckles strain. She says nothing.

You spit a mouthful of bloody spittle, feeling the pain fade from you as rage takes over, “Face it, babe, you’ve got the charisma but you’ve never had the talent or merit to be Queen.”

For the first time in your life, you see horror on her face. Horror mixed with revulsion and disgust. With a strangled cry, something like a scream and a sob, she lunges towards you, knife first.

You close your eyes and wait. It’s over now. There is a searing pain, so magnificent and intense like an explosive going off in your brain, in your nerves. You swear you could hear your brain implode in agony. And then nothing.

Everything is black. Death isn’t so bad. It’s just fucking hot. And sticky. And God sounds a lot like Junkrat.

You blink. Your vision hazed and blurred by the blinding sun overhead.

Jamison hovers above you, hunched over you, cradling you, whispering over and over, “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon... get up...”

You try to speak but feel your voice choked. Your throat is so dry.

You can’t see anything, but you hear the Queen’s voice. She’s gasping in pain from something, feigning composure, “Finally you show up, Junkrat. I was beginning to lose faith.”

You feel your head roll and you see her through half-hooded eyes, there’s shrapnel in her gut. She’s swaying and clutching her side. There’s blood everywhere. There’s smoke everywhere... Junkertown is on fire.

Without moving from your side, Jamison glares at her, “Woulda’ been here a lot quicker if it weren’t for your stupid fuckin’ gates.”

“It’s to keep the vermin out,” she smiles.

His hand moves and you hear the click-ka-thunk-click of his grenade launcher.

“Oh, now, Jamie, we both know you’re not going to do that,” she tuts.

“You’re not fuckin’ allowed to call me that,” he growls.

“Allowed? I’m Queen, babe. I can do whatever I want,” she laughs, an unpleasant leisureliness in her tone.

“You fuckin’ crossed me, cunt. You took everything from me-”

“You fucking took everything away from yourself. I fucking spared you,” she eyes him coolly. “You should’ve left Junkertown when I gave you the chance.”

“You left me to die,” he hisses.

“And you came back, for me. What did that accomplish, Jamie?” She laughs, coldly. “You lost your arm last time. You lost your little pet this time.”

You strain to make a noise, to let Jamison know you’re alright. But you’re so weak. All you can do is force your aching body to take in shallow breaths.

The Queen strolls towards the two of you, “Face it, Jamie. No matter where you go. What you do. It’s me that you keep coming back to. And you keep paying the price for it. No matter what it is. How does it feel?”

Jamison breaths out slowly, clutching you tighter to his body.

She scoffs, “I figured. You don’t love *Your Name.* You never did.”

“You don’t know nothin’!” He shouts.

There’s a bitter edge to her voice, “You never loved anyone or anything, Jamison. You’re not fucking here for them. You’re here for me. For revenge. And that’ll be the death of you, love.”

“Don’t fucking talk to me like that,” he pulls the trigger and launched an explosive at her.

She deftly dodges it, despite being injured, moving in closer with her knife, “Oh what’s wrong, love? Stings doesn’t it?”

“SHUT UP!” He screams, launching a volley of bombs.

The Queen ducks and dodges them expertly, closing the distance between you two. She screams back, “YOU’RE NOT FUCKING CAPABLE OF LOVE, JAMISON!”

She launches herself at Jamison and rams her shoulder right into his side. He staggers and drops you, stumbling back to keep himself upright. She kicks his hand, knocking the concussion mine from his hands and slams a fist into his jaw for good measure.

“You don’t KNOW what I’m capable of, mate,” he spits, slamming a new clip of bombs onto his launcher.

“I know you’re a monster,” she laughs, bordering a cackle, “Face it, babe. The reason we worked so fucking well together was because you and I, we’re bad. We’re Junkers.”

“You’re wrong,” he begins to straighten up, positioning himself in front of your prone form.

“We’re fucking Junkers. We’ll never be anything better,” she laughs, incredulously, “You went on a fucking international heist to get my attention, love. You’ve schemed, murdered, robbed, destroyed... just to get here. Just to get revenge on me. Face it, Jamie. You haven’t changed one bit.”

He doesn’t say anything, but you see his hands move for the last concussion mine in his pack.

The Queen spreads her arms open and wide, “Do it. Kill me, you fuck.”

“Oh, gladly, you piece of shit,” he snarls.

You summon every ounce of energy in your tattered, broken body to say something.

“Jamie,” you manage the softest of protests. He can’t hear you. But she can see you. Her expression changes, shock before hardening again.

Jamison whips around and scoops you back up, his voice breaking, “Fuck, I thought I lost you...”

“I don’t feel good,” you murmur.

“I know, love,” he brings you closer to him, “Let’s... let’s get you outta’ here.”

“What?” The Queen hisses. “No. You’re not fucking going anywhere.”

“Piss off, cunt!”

“No!” She shrieks. “You’re here for me! So finish the goddamn job!!”

You can see the frustration in his face, the snarl still hanging on his lips. You wish you could cup his face, tell him it’s alright. You try, but your limbs are lead.

“Jamie,” you rasp.

His expression softens instantly, while her expression sharpens, “Love! Talk to me..”

You manage the brightest smile, “You’re better than this...”

“I’m... I’m better than this,” he whispers back, planting a firm kiss on your forehead.

The Queen lunges at you both. Junkrat pulls back deftly, just in time.

You try reaching for his hand, but the world spins. He seems to understand and grasps your hand for you, delicately. You pull a face and almost retch at the pain, but force the words out, “You’re a good man, Jamie.”

The fire in his eyes cools down, and his stance grows more confident, but his brows knit together. He takes a deep breath, buries his face in your neck, he growls, “Babe... I just... she needs to die.”

You want to speak, tell him it’s okay. But the black edges shrouding your vision grow stronger, his face is fading.

“Jamie,” you gasp, feeling your limbs turn cold. But he can’t hear you.

A tingle, like you’re sinking into gritty sand, envelops you. You blink and your chest heaves.

Jamison sets you down, kissing you deeply as he does. You feel your breath leave you as his lips part. Everything is so cold. Why is everything so cold?

“Alright, bitch, just you and me now,” he stands.

The Queen laughs, a merciless cackle, her lips contorting into something like a smile, “Just how I like it.”

She launches herself towards him and rams the knife into his metal arm. He angles it just in time to avoid the blade plunging into the sensitive joint. He grabs her by the forearms and tosses her to the side. She flies against the railing and drops the blade with a cry.

You feel your tired, tired body is forcing your eyes shut. Your lungs refuse to take in deeper breaths. Your mortal shell knows it’s spent, but you refuse.

Junkrat is on her, throttling her with his metal hand and trying to claw her eyes out with his flesh hand. She has a firm grip on the flesh hand, struggling against it with her other hand pries at the death grip on her throat.

“How’s it like to die like the pathetic animal you are?” He tightens his grasp.

She smiles, that sickly sweet smile, eyes rolling into the back of her head.

Junkrat snarls, “What, bitch?!”

The Queen gasps the words out, “I knew you’d never change.”

“What?”

She suddenly lets go of his hand and pulls sharply to the left, throwing him forward to the ground and clumsily escaping from his grip. She heaves for air, making small gagging noises as her lungs can finally fill again.

The Queen picks up her knife and grins, rubbing her throat, “Missed that... though I never loved you, you were always a good fuck.”

He makes an inhuman noise, throwing himself at her. The knife catches his cheek but he’s stronger and slams her wrist against the railing, knocking it out. She screams but kicks back, slamming a boot right into his gut.

You feel so heavy. You’re sinking right into the ground. You feel... hurt? You just want Jamison to stop. You’re bitter. She’s taking your last moments on earth from him. You feel a tinge of anguish, so intense you let out a wracking cough...

Goddammit Jamison...

You feel warm hands cradle your head. A shadow cast over you, shielding you from the burning sun.

“*Your name*?” His voice tremors.

You don’t have the energy to look surprised. You whisper his name, “Dusty?”

“Oh, thank god, you’re alive,” he chokes, breaking down into sobs. “I’m gonna’ get you out of here.”

You close your eyes, feeling him pick you up. You breathe in the smell of him, grounding yourself. Willing the life to stay in your limbs.

“Where do you think you’re going?!” The Queen’s demands.

You feel Dusty halt, then bolt. His footsteps are like thunder in your ears.

“OH NO YOU DON’T!” She screams, throwing her knife.

Dusty cries out, his step falters, but he keeps running.

“NO, NO, NO!” You hear her screaming still, but her voice is fading.

You only hear Dusty’s labored breathing. You only feel consciousness slip away.

Jamison... where the fuck are you, Jamison?

Then.

Black.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“There’s a good fighter, that’s the *your name* I know,” Mick’s familiar, rumbly tone draws you back.

“Mick?” You blink. You’re lying on a battered mattress. The room is unfamiliar, filled with boxes and crates and broken down cars. It’s quiet.

You’re burning hot and cold all at once. You notice the rough bandages wrapped around your limbs.

“Dusty got you here just in time,” Mick held a cup to your lips.

You drink the stale, warm water. You swallow, “Is he.. is he alright?”

“He’s sportin’ some nasty wounds, but he’ll live.”

Your voice cracks, “Thank you, Mick.”

“Anything for a friend,” he smiles.

“And Jamison?”

Mick’s quiet.

“Mick, please,” you feel tears well in your eyes.

You hear Dusty speak up, “He left.”

“What?”

“He fucking left,” Dusty’s tone is bitter.

You feel the world spin, “Jamison... left?”

“Had his fight with the Queen, decided to fucking try and detonate himself and her off the face of the fucking planet,” Dusty spits out the words.

Mick offers a sympathetic tone, “Junkrat blacked out from his injuries... word is his partner Roadhog retrieved him and left.”

“But he’s alive?” You feel the tears roll down your cheeks, stinging your cuts as they go.

Dusty practically screams, “What does it matter? He fucking left you to die!!”

Your mouth is dry.

Dusty balls his fists, “I am fucking SICK of you risking your life for this piece of shit!”

Tears keep falling.

“I watched him set you DOWN just to get at HER. YOU. WHILE YOU WERE BLEEDING, CUT, AND DYING,” he screams.

You look at his face and finally notice the bloody bandage over his left eye. There’s a nasty, nasty scabbing cut on his jaw. He looks so tired.

You curl up a bit on the bed.

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE! *YOUR NAME*! HE DOESN’T CARE ABOUT YOU AT ALL! HE FUCKING CAME HERE FOR REVENGE.”

Mick reaches out, “Dusty, maybe-”

“NO. *YOUR NAME* KNOWS IT. WHO THE FUCK WOULD LEAVE SOMEONE THEY LOVE TO DIE WHILE THEY PURSUE A GODDAMN FUCKING VENDETTA?”

The tears keep rolling. The words barely leave your lips, “He’s... he’s a good person.”

Dusty gasps in sarcastic disbelief, “Junkrat? A good person? He fucking LEFT YOU TO DIE.”

You shake your head, voice breaking, “He’s a good person, Dusty.”

Dusty is by your side, clutching your face, forcing you to look him. His voice breaks though his eyes are full of hurt and anger, “How the fuck is he a good person?”

You feel yourself break down into sobs, “Dusty. If I don’t believe in him, who will?”

Dusty looks stunned and lets you go. He sets himself down besides you and pulls you in, holds you closer. You feel yourself break down completely. The sobs and bawling consumes you.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You must’ve blacked out because when you jerk awake, the room is pitch black save for a gas-lamp Mick left. He’s no where to be seen, but Dusty is by your side, snoring gently.

The wavering flame makes the shadows in the room dance. Somehow stacks and piles of crates look so terrifying at night.

There’s a gentle sound, and he steps into the light.

You pull yourself upright and nearly pass out again, “Jamison!”

He staggers to you. He looks like shit. His metal hand is busted at the wrist, his torso covered in bloody scratches.

You waste no time, pulling him in, kissing him so deeply, daring not to let go lest this be a dream. He pulls you in and holds you close and tight.

When you finally part, you look deep into his eyes, “Babe, we need to get out of here.”

He doesn’t meet your eyes, “I... I can’t.”

Your heart drops, “Jamison, you promised.”

“I said I needed to finish this,” he holds you closer.

Something fills your chest, like dread, “Jamie...”

“Please, *your name*, please...” he’s asking for permission, touching his lips to your bandaged hands.

You shake your head, your tone growing cold, “I... I lost my dad’s bar for you.”

He’s silent.

“I lost my hands... for you,” your voice wavers. “And you. You can’t do this for me?”

“That’s not fucking fair, babe,” he lets your hand go. “You know why I need to do this. How much she fucking hurt me!”

“How much she’s fucking hurt US.”

He looks stunned for a moment.

You continue, “Jamison Fawkes. You’re not the only person who’s lost something or someone because of this goddamn fucking she-devil but I swear to God I rather kill you than let her have you too... because she’s fucking right. This revenge? This fucking plan of yours? She owns you. You’re consumed by her.”

He backs up, the look on his face like he’s just tasted something sour, “So.. this, this is how it’s going to be?”

“Jamison!” You’re crying. “I love you.”

His expression softens, and a trace of guilt flashes in his eyes.

“I love you so much, but fuck you! FUCK YOU! If you think that I’ll fucking stand around and keep giving more of myself to a man who will keep chasing after revenge.”

“...you don’t believe in me, anymore? You don’t think I can do it?”

“Jamie, you can. I know you can,” you feel your head ache, “But you’ll fucking die to do it. And that scares me.”

There’s a quiet moment as he thinks, unable to meet your eye.

“Jamie, please. Please. I just want to leave. I want to leave and be with you. Have a life with you.”

He growls and begins pacing the room.

“But.. that bitch needs to pay!”

“Junkertown is burning... and she loves this, Jamie! She loves that you’re obsessed with her-”

“I’m not fucking obsessed with her! I just want her to die!” He snarls.

You shake your head, “That’s what she’s betting on. She loves that you still care.”

He screams, “I DON’T FUCKING CARE! I JUST WANT HER DEAD!”

Dusty shifts from his sleep and bolts up, dagger in hand, “Whatthefuck?”

Jamison rolls his eyes, “Great... you.”

“YOU!” Dusty growls, up on his feet immediately.

“Fuck off, kiddo,” Jamison sneers, “Nice job getting roped in by the Queen’s lies.”

“Rich, coming from you,” Dusty narrows his eyes.

“Whatever kid, call me when your balls finally drop,” Junkrat scoffs.

“Jamison,” you say sternly.

“What? Oh you’re gonna’ defend him now?” He says, disgust dripping in every word

The words leave your mouth before you could stop them, “At least he saved me.”

Jamison’s eyes widen and he takes a step back. He bites his lips and he nods. There’s an odd calm in his body language, “You’re right. He did.”

“Jamison... We can’t stay here. She’s going to find us and kill us. We are in no position to fight at all.”

Jamison looks at Dusty, “Mate, I know we fight a lot but we care about the same thing.”

Dusty looks hesitant, “Right...”

“Take care of *your name*,” Jamison takes a step back, away from you.

“Jamison, no!” You stagger towards him.

He catches you in his arms, his eyes full of sadness, straining not to cry, “I... I can’t choose. I need to do this.”

“No you don’t! You don’t!” You ball your fists.

“Way I see it, love... I’m no good for you. I’m not giving up on this, but I can’t get you killed either,” he kisses your forehead. “Least I can do is let you be and let you live your life.”

“Jamison, no...” The tears rush down your face.

“Thank you, for believing in me. Loving me. Thinking I’m a better man than I really am,” he kisses you.

“But you are... you are.”

“You can’t believe in what’s not there,” he whispers.

You bawl, “I fucking hate her. I fucking hate you. Is she really worth this Jamison?”

“I’m not going to stop until she dies. But I won’t risk you either.”

“Then don’t... just leave, Jamie, please,” you’re begging.

“I love you, *your name*,” he leans in, touching his forehead to yours. “You made me believe that I could love again.”

“Jamison, you fuck,” you sob, “You realize this means you don’t love me enough to choose me?”

His voice breaks and tears stream down his face, “I love you enough to let you go.”

“Jamie,” you cry.

“Good-bye, *your name*,” he kisses you one last time.

He turns and leaves. Not even looking back.

You didn’t know you were capable of crying that much, or making such inhuman wails. You cry until exhaustion forces you to close your eyes and sleep.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“*Your name*?” Dusty calls to you. “Truck’s packed, let’s go.”

“Yeah... yeah,” you cross your arms. It’s been a few months since the incident. Junkertown is a mess. A smoking fortress in the distance.

You stare at your hands. Flexing the crude prosthetic fingers, hating the way they remind of him. There’s so much burning in the air that when you close your eyes, you can almost smell him again. Like he’s there by you.

Dusty comes up next to you, nudging you, “Hey, you okay?”

“No,” you grimace, holding yourself, feeling the metal against skin, “But I’m ready.”

Dusty grasps your hand and pulls you towards the car, “Let’s get out of this hell hole.”

You speak softly, “Let’s go.”

Dusty opens the door for you, attempting a smile, “I hear Mexico’s a beautiful country. Great food, sunshine and beaches.”

“That sounds lovely,” you smile back.

Dusty starts the car, “Just think, you and me, cold beers on the beach.”

You nod, still staring at the burning city.

Dusty looks at you with his good eye, “I’m sorry. I should’ve never gave you up.”

The comment twinges and you take a deep breath, “It wouldn’t have changed much. Whether you told the Queen or not, Jamison was never going to give up.”

“I.. I cost you your hands,” Dusty takes your hand in his, squeezing it. You can’t feel its warmth anymore.

“I cost myself them,” you shrug. “It’s alright, Dusty. Let’s go.”

He revs the engine and you begin driving away. Smaller and smaller, Junkertown shrinks.

You close your eyes. The smell of smoke clears. He’s gone.

You lean back in the seat, “You know they make great margaritas in Mexico.”

“Oh yeah?” Dusty grins. “Too bad I don’t like mixed drinks.”

You smile a bit, “You offering to buy then?”

The orange dust of the Outback plumes behind you. Leaving a trail as you finally leave.

Dusty chuckles , speeding up, “First shot’s mine.”

#ugh #this hurt #reader x junkrat #reader x jamison fawkes #reader insert #junkrat

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