Junkrat Oneshot

I was listening to Fourth of July by Sufjan stevens while making this..

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-Fireworks in the dark-

You’re not sure when you fell asleep.

Maybe it was sometime after the rain started, when the wind rattled the windows and made the shadows dance. Maybe it was after the last of the candles flickered out, leaving the room bathed in darkness so complete you couldn’t tell where your thoughts ended and the silence began.

Junkrat’s coat is still wrapped around your shoulders. Heavy. Familiar. The seams worn, the fabric rough from grease and ash. You keep it close even though it smells like him, because it smells like him.

You pull it tighter and bury your face in the collar.

Outside, the wind howls, shaking the loose panes of glass. The house creaks, old bones groaning in protest. It feels like it could fall apart at any second.

Honestly? So do you.

You’ve been waiting. For a sign. For a spark. For anything to say he was more than a dream you once lived inside.

Your eyes flutter closed, but your heart refuses to rest. And then-

"Did you hear what I said?"

Your eyes snap open.

He’s there. Sitting cross legged on the floor like he never left. The firelight flickers around him, even though you’re sure there’s no fire. His silhouette glows, soft and unreal. His hair’s wild as ever, those dirty blond strands curling in all directions. His goggles are pushed up, and his eyes, gods, his eyes, are locked on yours like he’s trying to memorize you.

You don’t speak at first. You don’t breathe.

You just look.

“You’re not real” you whisper finally.

He grins that lopsided grin, the one that used to mean mischief. But tonight it’s tired. Gentle.

“Yeah, well. Neither’s half the stuff I’ve seen, love”

He leans back on his palms like he’s lounging at home. Like this house hasn’t been silent for weeks. Like your heart hasn’t been breaking since the day he vanished.

You try to move. Try to sit up, to reach for him. But your limbs feel underwater, thick and slow and full of static.

"You said you'd never leave" you breathe, hating the way your voice cracks.

Junkrat doesn’t flinch. He just watches you like he’s already sorry.

“You that night?” he asks instead, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. “Junkyard. July. Couple’a stolen sparklers and a half empty bottle of that god awful cherry soda”

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You tossed one in the engine fire and screamed ‘it’s a miracle!’ like you’d invented light”

He chuckles. “And you laughed so hard, I thought you'd fall apart.”

You did. And you think maybe you are again now.

“I kept that bottle” you say quietly. “Still smells like sulfur”

He nods, slow. Like he already knew. Like he’s seen every version of you since he left, sleeping in his coat, sitting by the door, chasing the sound of explosions just in case one of them was him.

“Why’d you leave?” you whisper.

His grin fades.

For a moment, he’s just a man. Not a demolitionist. Not a myth. Just Jamison. Sad and real and still beautiful.

“Didn’t mean to” he says finally. “One minute I’m watchin’ you laugh, the next I’m... somewhere else”

You don’t ask where. You don’t want to know if he went back to that world of war and ruin and chaos, where nothing lasts except the smoke.

"I looked for you" you murmur. "I waited"

“I know” His voice breaks. “I heard ya sometimes. When the world got real quiet. When the bangin’ stopped. I always wanted to come back”

You close your eyes. You can feel the warmth of him. The way his presence fills the space, chaotic and comforting all at once.

But something’s wrong. You can feel it.

He stands, the floor creaking under his boot and peg leg, and walks to the window. The sky outside is pitch black, starless and still.

“We’re all gonna die” he says softly. Not in the manic way he used to. No cackling. No spark in his voice. Just honesty. Heavy and calm.

You let out a breath, shaky. “Is that supposed to comfort me?”

He turns, and there’s something like sorrow in his eyes.

“Nah... Just figured you should know. ‘Cause it means we ain’t got forever. Gotta make the most of what we get.”

He walks back over. His hand hovers near your face, but never touches. Like he wants to. Like he aches to.

“You were the best part of all this” he murmurs. “All the blowin’ up, all the runnin’... none of it meant much without you”

Your heart breaks all over again.

“You’re not staying, are you?” you ask.

He smiles, small and sad. “Wish I could”

The world dims at the edges. You feel sleep, or maybe something else.. pulling you under again. You try to fight it, but it’s no use.

“Hey” he says, voice barely a whisper now. “Don’t forget the bang in the sky.”

And then he’s gone.

Not with an explosion. Not with a flash. Just.. gone. Like smoke. Like a firework that already bloomed and faded.

You wake with tears on your face.

The coat is still there. Heavy and warm and real.

And outside, just as the dawn breaks, the sky flashes with a single burst of red. No sound. Just color.

A goodbye...

You whisper his name into the quiet, and in the hush before the wind answers back, you swear you hear him laughing.