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mercurytail · 6 years

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Shifting Sands Chapter 5

Chapter 5 is here!!! Thanks to @the-hallowed-lady for betaing as always, and to another personal friend.

Please Enjoy!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15223778/chapters/35578842

Shifting Sands Chapter 5

(Important: A Sōzu shishi-odoshi is a Japanese garden ornament that fills with water and then empties making a tapping sound. It is translated as ‘deer scarer’. Hanzo and Genji’s Dragon spirits are named after Shinto gods respectively; Raijin the god of lightning, thunder, and storms. Fūjin the god of wind, and Ishikori-dome no mikoto the god of mirrors and metal working.)

The sound of shifting sand blankets the air as the wind caresses the Ume leaves. Cicadas sing out into the summer heat. The Sōzu Shishi-odoshi taps its stone. A young Hanzo soaks in the peace of the gardens.

He walks in the pebbled shadow, cast by the trees, and under the bridge to the archery field. He breathes in deep, the air is crisp. Shimada castles high walls keep the city toxins at bay. A sparrow perches on a branch nearby chirping happily. He nears the rack and takes a bow in hand. He straps the yazutsu quiver to his obi.

There are three circular targets made of [spiraling] grass dented with heavy use. Hanzo takes his stance at the first. He pulls the string back, an iron-tipped arrow notched, inhaling with it. He exhales as it releases.

It misses.

Hanzo stares wide-eyed briefly. A nearly impossible to hear giggle echoes from above. Hanzo’s eyes narrow in a suspicious glare. He notches another arrow and takes aim then releases it as he did the other.

It soars toward the target dead center, however, centimeters before it hits the arrow arches. It thuds into the edge of the target. A second giggle reaches his ear.

Hanzo smirks, He positions yet another arrow. A stone-tipped arrow. As he releases he wills his breath to carry it above and over his head toward the sounding giggles.

It pierces through the wood of the overhanging terrace, “Gah!” shuffling sounds and Genji then falls to the ground at Hanzo’s feet. He rubs his head; his ankle bleeds where the arrow nicked him.

“If you have nothing better to do than make a fool of my aim, you could join me before sensei catches you sloughing off your duties…again.” Hanzo kneels and wraps his handkerchief around Genji’s ankle, knocking him on the nose as he stands.

“Cheat,” Genji punches him in the shoulder playfully. “When did you get stone-tipped arrows?”

Hanzo turns and pulls back on the bow, releasing another arrow. It hits the center of the target.

“I had them made after the last time you tampered in my training.” Hanzo looks accusingly at Genji.

Genji smiles and walks over to the rack. He collects a waist bag of shuriken and synchs it on. He returns and stands next to Hanzo facing the second target. “First to 100 bullseyes wins, loser pays at Rikimaru’s”.

Hanzo pulls back on the string, “I am never second best.”

***

Hanzo opens his eyes, his dragons stirring him awake. Hanzo’s dream having made them restless with longing to see their sister. ‘Calm, I am anxious as well. We will see them in time.’

The morning sun streaks through the windows. The far cry of car horns sound from the streets below. McCree lays sound asleep on his stomach beside him, one arm resting over Hanzo’s chest. Hanzo rests his head back and watches the dust twirl in the air.

His life had been an exception. Being an elemental was both a blessing and a curse. Only one elemental is born for every one-hundred-thousand births.

It’s often elementals do not live to see adulthood, because with their rarity comes danger. No teachers or guidance exist to show them how to control or cope with their gifts. Most cause their own deaths or deaths of others by accident or misuse before the age of ten.

It was only thanks to the Shimada’s great influence and power as a yakuza clan that saved him and Genji of the worst of the elementals existence. Elementals are heavily sought after. It’s commonplace for them to be kidnapped and sold into slave trade through the black market to the highest bidder. The ones that manage to avoid this fate do not stay hidden long. Governments require all known elementals to register and serve in organized military regimes, so they may be monitored, ‘Tested on’. If they refuse they are subject to lifelong imprisonment ‘as a safety precaution for the public’. Some cultures worship them as the next step in humanities evolution; others shun them out of fear.

The existence of sibling elementals was unheard of until Genji’s birth. Genji’s talent for manipulating any metal was unique even within the world of elementals. But, Hanzo himself was seen as a principally unique existence. For he possessed two elements; those with two elements are a mere eight percent of all elementals born. On top of this, His lineage as a son born from the Shimada main family also bestowed him with ‘gifts’. Those of pure blood are born with an ancient spirit. These beings reside within their companions, sharing mind, body and soul. Even rarer were those born with multiple. Hanzo harbors two great storm dragons. Raijin no migite, a female spirit of thunder and lightning, and Fūjin no hidarite, a male spirit of wind, as a child Hanzo lovingly nicknamed them Rai and Fūn. The spirits having such a strong connection with Hanzo’s own elements only amplified his talents further. Hanzo resented himself. All his ‘gifts’ were just curses in sheep’s skin, but growing up he was pompous and cocksure, flowing into how he carried himself now, in his adult life.

(Worst of all,) The clan saw these facts as entitlements; A right to take anything they desired. The elders saw Genji and himself as leverage rather than human beings. They desired the perfect heirs; ‘weapons’. They often pushed Hanzo so hard he risked injury, and on many occasions death, while mastering his powers, his lightning’s unpredictability making it especially dangerous.

His first kill was not an assassination, as is the tradition within his family. It was an accident; his martial arts sensei had pushed him to use lightning in his strikes. The result ended in a young Hanzo witnessing his forward palm strike decapitating the body in front of him.

On one occasion, the night after his mother’s assassination. His sorrow and anger had built so much in his attempts to suppress them that when a servant pushed him too far the condensed rage exploded from him. It burst from within him in waves causing the destruction of an entire wing of the castle. The fire engulfed most of the east wing killing many.

With all their focus on Hanzo, Genji was left with endless freedom, which bred a rebellious nature within him. When the time came for him to bear some responsibility, it ignited the fuse of their destruction.

The clan’s adamancy of having the brothers’ rule together is what brought upon their downfall, and Hanzo’s.

***

Hanzo moves McCree’s arm and sets up. He shakes his head to stir away his darkening thoughts. He looks down at McCree, ‘Against all odds, to think I would have met another with gifts such as mine, as well as an understanding of my strife.’

“I was thinkin’ the same thing.” McCree turns his head to face Hanzo, squishing it into his folded pants pillow.

Hanzo straightens, had he said that out loud?

McCree rises up onto his elbows and looks out the window. “It’s a fine day. What say we find a nice spot and…practice?” McCree looks at Hanzo with an honest face and raised brow.

Hanzo looks forward, his lips press into a thin line. His knuckles turn white as he grips his makeshift clothing blanket.

McCree falters in his resolve, “Hanzo…I wanna’ help ya but ya gotta give me somethin’”.

“My mother once told me, before her untimely death; ‘Strength does not come from physical capability, it comes from an indomitable will’” Hanzo turns to McCree, “If you can teach me, Jesse, I am willing to listen.”

An ear to ear smile plasters itself on McCree’s face. He pops up and begins to dress. “Mighty fine! Let’s get some grub first though, can’t work on an empty stomach.”

Hanzo stands and begins to dress. McCree pauses after zipping his pants to watch.

Hanzo raises his brow questioningly. He then makes a show of slipping on his tank and braiding his hair, down and over his right shoulder.

McCree makes a low whistle.

They pack up and emerge onto the streets.

The decrepit district of New York they chose to hold up in was indeed dirty and worn; trash litters the sidewalks, streets, and gutters. The homeless huddle en-masse in the dark alleys. But even places such as these possess true gems if one looks hard enough.

They find a small shop nestled between two twelve-story apartment buildings. The two-story red brick building sticks out, like a swan amongst a flock of geese, in the concrete jungle. Its burgundy overhang guards the black foldable tables and chairs resting under it. A hand-painted “Donovan’s Café and Baked goods” is visible on the gold trimmed viewing window.

The bronze bell above the door jangles to announce their entrance. A black-haired man with a burn scar across his face, dressed in all white and covered in flour comes out from the back. “What can I get ya’?” His Italian accent is thick.

McCree bends to look into the wonderland behind glass.

Hanzo steps up and orders a large apricot jelly-filled sweet bun, its sprinkled sugar coating sparkles in the light. He requests for green tea but they do not have it. “Any tea is fine,” the man then hands him a lidded paper cup of hot black tea. McCree then points to the glass and requests a sausage and cheese empanada and a black coffee.

They walk the streets aimlessly as they eat, enjoying the city’s haze of noise. After they finish they continue to walk shoulder to shoulder. A comfortable silence rests between them.

A couple hours pass this way and soon they realize they must move on.

“Where would be a good place to hide something as bright and flashy as a firework show in July?” McCree turns and asks as they walk along a large traffic crossing.

“In the city, perhaps an abandoned building. Parks are too populated; we would be caught and reported before we even began.”

McCree considers it for a bit, then pulls out his communicator and brings up a map of the district. “There looks to be a building six blocks north o’ here. Old, concrete, and fenced.” He winks, “Let’s go.”

They walk the distance to the structure and scan the perimeter for any holes in the fence. When they find none, Hanzo scales the chain link. Unable to achieve such a feat himself, McCree melts into a tan mass of sands and slithers through the openings. The sands lift and wrap like a ribbon up and around Hanzo, lightly tickling him before they blow off into the damp dark of the buildings shadows. Hanzo laughs to himself.

Hanzo walks under the building into the forest of concrete pillars. He splashes through an oil slick puddle as he journeys further in.

It has been well over a decade since the last time he played so carefree like this. His skin tingles; He feels almost light. His fear in using his lightning is deadened in his chest as he stalks the dark column shadows, hunting for any sign of McCree - no, Jesse. Though he has not known the man for long, their mutually shared understanding and easy chemistry have drawn Hanzo in like a moth to the flame. He would dare say Jesse could be his…..his… Hanzo halts his train of thought, sensing movement just ahead of him.

Suddenly, the sand whips out from behind a pillar, aimed for his head. Hanzo bends back to dodge and retaliate with a palm strike, extending its reach with a gust of wind. The burst splits the sand in two; the left mass drops to the floor and slithers to his feet. He leaps vertically, spiraling air underfoot to raise himself higher. The right mass of sand swings like a hammer and collides with his leg shattering his balance and sending him back toward the earth. Hanzo extends all his limbs and pushes the air out to cushion his fall. He recovers immediately, sliding horizontally with the ground to dodge the sands downswing. The sand comes back together. Hanzo creates a blanket of air. He casts it to the ground trapping the sands under its immense swirling pressure. The tiny grains struggle futilely against it 'till they collapse to the ground scattering; admitting defeat.

Hanzo remains on guard until the sands begin to move, they pull upward, soon solidifying into a familiar shape.

“That would’ve really hurt if I could’ve felt it.” McCree rubs at his head.

“Can you not feel in that state?” Hanzo questions, briefly worried he might have injured the man.

“It’s not that I can’t, it's more that my senses are numbed, and the only thing that can injure me when I’m like that is hot stuff or cold stuff. Like, really hot or really cold. Extreme temperatures.”

McCree pulls the collar of his shirt back and shows the nearly healed burn, “It’s why your lightning singed me up.”

Hanzo deadens, “I did not intend to harm you.”

McCree waves it off, “I know, but that’s why we’re here.” McCree walks a few yards away. “Now, I don’t know how it works for you, but when I use my sands it’s not that I’m giving them orders. I am just giving them a direction to flow. I think that might work for you.”

Hanzo tilts his head confused, “I do not understand.”

McCree purses his lip considering, He then smiles and holds out his arms. “Shoot me.”

Hanzo stares at the man briefly.

McCree says it again, “’said shoot me.”

Hanzo pulls Storm bow from his bag and notches an arrow. He draws back.

McCree cocks his brow with a challenging look.

Hanzo then releases, the arrow flies, it lodges in McCree’s sandy shoulder. Soon the arrow drips from the sand and clatters to the ground, McCree solidifies again. He bends down and picks up the arrow.

He twirls it in his hand; he pulls out Peacekeeper and twirls her in the other. “Just like you aim your arrows, I aim my sands. They’re heavy and fightin’ against em’ don’t get ya nowhere, they will just fall wherever is heaviest no matter what I want.” He walks back to Hanzo and returns the arrow. “I think your lightning is the same. You try too hard to control it, rather than directin’ it and lettin’ it go.”

McCree stands next to Hanzo and holds up Peacekeeper, he aims at a pillar twenty yards away.

Hanzo watches in slow motion, McCree does not pull the trigger; the gun does not click or spark. However, as the gun recoils, bullet-shaped sand drips from McCree’s cheek just below his right eye and barrels forward. It hits the concrete with a loud crack, leaving a dent.

The sand melts and returns to McCree shortly after. “Use your bow,” Hanzo moves for another arrow but, McCree stops him. “Use lightning.”

Hanzo raises Storm bow, he tries to will an arrow into the slot like he does his wind, but it cracks and fizzles out. He grunts angrily.

“Don’t think about it,” McCree lifts Peacekeeper once more, “Just aim, focus, see it in your mind, and fire.”

Hanzo looks at McCree, then to the pillar. He raises Storm bow pulling back on the string inhaling, he remembers the wind through the trees, the cicada’s choir. Genji’s shuriken as they thud into the target beside him. The Sōzu Shishi-odoshi taps, it taps again….

With the rhythm Hanzo releases his breath, the string snaps forward, a bolt of light rips into existence millimeters out from the bow.

It moves faster than either can follow, all they see is the now cracked and crumbling pillar, a black burn mark the size of a pinpoint dead center.

McCree slaps him on the shoulder and shakes him, a wide grin on his face. The corner of Hanzo’s lips upturns slightly.

McCree turns to him, “Think you could do something like this?” McCree bit by bit dissolves and reforms a couple feet away.

Hanzo furrows his brow. He closes his eyes and aims for the space adjacent to McCree.

Instantly he dissolves and flashes toward McCree in an erratic strip of light. McCree just barely dissolves out of the way to keep from getting hit. Hanzo reappears behind him, stumbling for balance.

“Hey, ya ain’t got to think on it that hard, just see where you wanna’ be and let go.”

Hanzo takes a second to calm himself. He then looks to McCree’s hand, ‘where I want to be hmm,’ he feels it in his palm. He inhales, then he dissolves again into a bolt, this time it was fluid - if you could call lightning that. It zips toward McCree.

He braces, but then McCree feels warmth next to him. Hanzo blips into the space beside him, holding his hand. A bright white smile shining on Hanzo’s face. “I…I’ve not felt freedom such as this in a very long time. It feels…good.”

Hanzo then jumps again and again around the field of concrete pillars. Light flashing faster than McCree can follow.

As the time passes, they both delve into more serious ways of use for Hanzo’s newfound abilities. Hanzo develops a lightning arrow that once it strikes, it scatters into many bolts and fills up an entire area.

McCree fires harder compacted bullets and soon they realize with help from Hanzo’s wind they can penetrate solid rock and steel.

“wanna’ try heatin’ the bullets?”

“Is that safe, are the bullets not part of you?” Hanzo inquires.

“I can use bits o’ my clothes for the test run or,” he bends over and picks up a piece of cement turning it into sand. “I can use this.” He jostles and comes to stand in front of Hanzo, back to him. “Imma’ use Deadeye, might tucker me out a bit but we got time.” McCree poses with Peacekeeper in her holster.

“Draw!” he whips up firing off six rapid molten magma shots, all glowing red hot. Hanzo laces small sparks of lightning around each, one by one they turn white with heat.

Each bullet hits and shatters into crystalline specks of dust against the far wall. The glass sand rains down over them like a gentle snow sparkling and bending the sunlight. Both men pause in awe.

McCree looks to Hanzo, some of the dust has settled on his silken black hair and regal cheekbones. Hanzo’s expression of complete peace in that moment makes McCree’s heart flutter. He feels a sense of peace rise in his chest that has long been gone; he hopes that their time together continues. He swallows thickly, willing the tightness of his pants to dissipate. In his internal floundering, he doesn't see Hanzo wrap his hand behind his neck and pull him into a soft kiss. Though stunned for a brief second he soon melts into it, deepening it. Hanzo then pulls back, his eyes filled with uncertainty. Fear bubbles in McCree’s gut.

“What is this to you?” Hanzo says in a cold withdrawn whisper between their lips.

McCree breathes with relief, he’d fear rejection. Hanzo was quickly becoming something important to him. Perhaps faster than what was considered normal, but neither of them were normal men.

McCree steps back. He looks Hanzo in the eye and stands with confidence. “I ain’t gonna lie to ya, didn’t see you in the brightest light when the only thing I knew about you was your brother's one-sided monologue.” He turns to face the wall as the last of the glass dust settles. “But, I know now I’d like to get to know ya’.” He looks down and then turns to rest both hands on Hanzo’s shoulders, “ Hanzo, Darlin’ I feel freer and more connected with you than I have with anyone in all my years of walkin’ on this fucked up planet. I only hope you feel the same.” He then steps back, nervously rubbing the back of his head.

Hanzo considers his words and then finds his feelings are not far off. His dragons could not agree more. “Yes, I feel that this would be worth pursuing.”

‘May we meet the one you have deemed worth, master?’, ‘Yes, it has been far too long since you last let your heart feel the caress of another.’ Rai and Fūn speak up from within him. Hanzo looks to McCree; the man has a dumb grin on his face yet again. ‘I suppose it would be alright.’

His arm glows an ethereal blue, the secondary dragon tattoo on his right leg glows as well. Soon two cat-sized spectral dragons rest on Hanzo’s shoulders.

“He..hey! You got two? Genji showed me Ishiko-chan once. That lil’ green devil has a mean bite.” McCree reaches out his hand to Rai.

Each serpent looks to Hanzo and with a nod of Hanzo’s head both Dragons leap and spiral around the cowboy knocking him to the ground. The man is reduced to a bumbling ball of laughter as the dragon’s purr and tickle him.

Genji’s dragon, Ishikori-dome no Ishi; a dragon spirit of metal and reflection, had once shown him with such affection. Hanzo calls his dragons back, and they settle once more onto his shoulders. “These are Raijin no migite and Fūjin no hidarite my spirit companions. Rai, Fūn, This is Jesse McCree.

McCree tips his hat, “s’ a pleasure.”

Both dragons bow and then return to Hanzo’s skin. They then both walk to the wall to determine the aftermath of their earlier combined experiment.

There is no visible damage to the impact area. They deem it useless aside from its possible use as a distraction or as McCree adds; a theatrical party move.

*grumble*

McCree’s stomach growls, “heh, guess we did skip lunch,” He looks out toward the street, it is nearing sunset. “Hmm, we should head out. Get food and find a place to huddle down, perhaps one with an actual bed this time. Although, I can’t guarantee your back won’t hurt later.”

“Is that your idea of seduction? Implying you’ll make a man’s back ache without the assistance of a bad mattress?” Hanzo fixes him with a mischievous glare.

McCree laughs,” I mean, don’t fix what ain’t broken, right?” McCree winks at him.

They both turn and begin to walk out of the building.

Hanzo frowns; he looks around at the decimated columns and concrete as they pass. He feels a sense of longing well up in his chest, not yet ready for their time here to end. The progress he has made with his lightning here in a single day has been more than he has accomplished in his lifetime and it is purely thanks to the man at his side. He is so ready to be rid of this weakness, but he will not let his eagerness cloud his judgement. His…and Jesse’s safety is of the highest priority. Being out in the dark slums of the city at night is a risk he will not take.

The turmoil under his skin must have been visible, because the next thing he knows, he is wrapped warmly in McCree’s large arms in a crushing hug. McCree lays a soft kiss on the top of his head. It's quiet for a moment.

McCree then raises Hanzo’s chin with his natural warm hand. “Thank you for letting me in. I know with death constantly hanging over our heads, men like us don’t let their guard down easy.” A single tear breaks from McCree’s eye. “It means a lot.” Hanzo reaches up and wipes it away.

***

They pull out Hanzo’s holo-tablet and quickly search up the closest motel. Thankfully, it isn’t one of those that charge by the hour. Before they turn in for the night they scour the grotto for a suitable eating establishment. Around the corner from the bakery they had frequented earlier that morning sat a small family owned Italian restaurant. The server seats them in an olive-green booth in the back corner of the restaurant. The table has a white lace frilled tablecloth with a plexiglass cover over it; a single white jar candle decorates the shiny surface.

They order their waters and wait for the server to return. A few minutes later the server brings them their drinks and takes their orders. Hanzo chooses white wine and spinach pasta, while McCree gets two orders of crabmeat cannelloni and fried ravioli from the appetizer menu.

McCree rests his elbow on the table and settles his face in his palm. “Today was nice.”

Hanzo nods, “Yes, however, we have business to attend to.”

McCree purses his lips, “Yeah… well, I’ll step out and call up Charlie. Let um’ know we’re comin’” McCree stands and walks to the front entrance. Hanzo watches him as he goes.

Outside, McCree takes out a cigarillo and lights it. He draws at it, exhaling the smoke out exhaustedly.

“Always moving but never gets anywhere.” McCree huffs to himself, “least’ I got someone to share it with.”

McCree has always been moving, a bastard child of a rape victim, born to a mother high on opioids. His mother never really showed him any affection. Probably due to the memories he dredged up every time she looked at him. She only did the bare minimum, so he wouldn’t starve. He thinks she did it out of guilt. “The child didn’t ask to be born.” When he was four, his ‘mother’ hung herself from the rafters of their home. Two days later, Old lady Shawl found the body, and little Jesse just playing in the hot house all alone.

From then on Gran’ma Shawl raised him. She was merciless, made him tough.

“The world ain’t a kind place ya’ hear me? Ain’t nobody gonna’ care about a drowned rat like you. So you got to take care a’ yourself.” She used to say that to him a lot, He likes to think it was her way of sayin’ she loved him.

At five, he got his sands. He started using um’ to float cookies to his room under Gran’ma Shawls nose. When she found out, they moved out to the desert. “Being out in the desert has its advantages. No one cares, and no one comes lookin’”. He remembered that, for when it came time to pick a place to call home.

When he was nine, he nearly drowned in a lake. He hadn’t quite gained an understandin’ on how his sands worked. Another kid had thrown a rock at his head, and he’d turned to sand to avoid the blow. The lake water quickly soaked him, causing his sandy mass to sink to the bottom. After he solidified he had no air and the water felt like bricks on his lungs. He nearly blacked out before he could make it to the surface. It left him with a deathly fear of water.

At age eleven, Gran’ma Shawls died to lung cancer. One too many cigarettes. He figured out quick how to survive on his own. He started stealing and getting by anyway he could. His sands made it easier.

He hated it though. He had a kind heart and taken’ from people who were only a bit better off than himself hurt him deeper than anything physical had. Luckily, the elderly people would often take him in for a night. He’d do chores or errands for them and they’d feed him for a while, give him a place to stay. It made him feel like he was paying it back in a way.

At thirteen he’d had enough of leeching. He was headstrong and stubborn. Deadlock came along and picked him up. They gave him his first gun at fourteen. He was a natural good shot and only got better. He never missed a shot. He killed his first man at fifteen. His buddy had got caught, he raised his revolver and next thing he knew three bodies all hit the floor.

After that, with his sands, aim, and his abundance of natural wits, he rose through the ranks pretty fast. In the height of their day, he was Deadlock's third in command.

At eighteen, deadlock got hit hard. They’d just successfully pulled off a heist on a global bank in California, the deadlock name was a subject worldwide, and they paid the price for it.

Overwatch came for em’, or rather, Blackwatch did. No mercy was shown. Right after the single exchange of “surrender and no one gets killed” and “fuck off” it was a hellfire of bullets. McCree was tangled up in the battle and was forced to hole up in the back of a warehouse; once the dust settled only three agents remained. Deadlock was dead.

McCree takes another draw and exhales it, he laughs to himself. The memory of what happen next bringing a smile to his face.

He’d slithered over behind the last agent, while the other two left the warehouse. He came up quick and got the tall dark-skinned man in a choke hold but, before he could fire off a killing shot the man snapped his head back, breaking McCree’s nose and sending him sprawling. He realized the shotgun the man wielded had raised for a killing shot and turned to sand just in time to avoid the hail of pellets. His sandy figure raised his gun and levelled it at the man's face. The pellets dripped out of him as he solidified with a cocksure grin on his face. Surprisingly, the other man just smiled.

Suddenly, the butt of the shotgun came down hard on McCree’s chest, knocking the wind from his lungs and sending him to the ground. The man then overturned a canister of oil that just so happened to be nearby, the sludge soaked McCree.

The man then pulled out a lighter, the flame waved in the draft of the warehouse. The shotgun returned to his face. McCree knew he was screwed. If he turned to sand he’d be slowed by the oil, he’d burn to death before he’d get ten feet away. He’d been outplayed.

The man then smirks and walks away as the other agents return. “Bring him in,” is all the agent says before disappearing. McCree is escorted to a shower and then an air-conditioned carrier cell.

Later, that same agent comes back. “Gabriel Reyes,” He shakes McCree’s hand. “And you are?”

McCree just levels an angry glare at him.

“Alright look, I like ya’, you’re hard, smart, and talented. Not to mention those sands. I’m a guy with just enough power to get what I want, and I want you. So, I’ll give you a choice. You come work for me and make something of yourself, or you get to visit the lovely maximum security elemental prison just down the road.”

McCree wasn’t an idiot; he saw the opportunity and took it and it was the best choice he has ever made.

His years in Overwatch had been the best years of his life. He felt a sense of purpose that he hadn’t had in all his years in deadlock. Did well for his kind heart too. His relationship with Reyes was the closest thing he’d ever had to a father. Even if they didn’t see eye to eye near the end. Ana was the mother he always wished for. Together they forged him into the man he was to this day. Strong, smart, and willing to do right no matter the cost. On his twentieth birthday, Ana gave him Peacekeeper. Everything about the weapon was tailored to him, the weight, the design, the choice in metal, and even its ammunition. It was and still is his most prized possession.

His relationship with Genji was probably the closest thing he’s ever had to a friend. Heck, Genji probably still is the only actual friend he’s got. No one else really wanted anything to do with the ex-yakuza murderous cyborg or the ‘got in free’ ex-criminal. So, they ended up together. They trained together, got out their frustrations. It was a quiet understanding, and they liked the company.

Overwatch was his family.

Once on a mission in the Philippines, they were forced to escape an exploding facility through the jungle. Their carrier was hidden just offshore on an island and they needed to swim for it. McCree wouldn’t’ do it. His fear blinded him to the danger and that night he nearly got him and four other agents killed including Reyes.

So, following that near miss, Reyes required him to attend regular swimming lessons, taught by Reyes himself. It helped after he got over the initial stubborn streak, he learned to swim and do everything he HAD to. But, he never got over having his head go under. Anytime he went completely under he’d black out due to his panic. He was grateful to Reyes nonetheless.

Near the end, when Overwatch was a shadow of its former self. He’d just had enough. Gabe wasn’t the same. Ana was dead, and Genji had already left. So, twelve months before the Swiss base explosion he left. He went out on his own. For the past seven years, he’s doled out justice where he sees fit.

It’s thanks to that he has as many ‘friends’ as he does now. Charlie was a good guy, a good father; he just got absorbed in his work. Lil’ Tabby was just playing near the sea cliffs near the take-off strip and she’d slipped. McCree just so happened to be camping on the nearby beach and saw the little girl fall. He’d caught her before she struck the sharp rocks, broke his leg doing it. After that, Charlie paid for the medical expenses and promised to repay him. Guess it was time he collected.

McCree crushes the cigarillo stub under his heel and pulls out his communicator. He pulls up Charlie’s number and hit the dial button.

“Hello, Charles speaking.”

“Howdy”.

“McCree? O’ my god, you son of a gun. What’s the occasion?” the man is jolly on the other end.

“Well, I figured it’s about time I call in that favor. Ya’ see me and a buddy could use some help getting across the Atlantic.”

Charles laughs heartily, “Well, alright! Come on down here then. I think I got a carrier due to leave for Numbani in a day.”

“Thank ya’ sir, we will see you then.”

“Take Care.”

McCree hangs up and pockets the device. He then walks back in and returns to the table. Their food having already arrived.

Hanzo looks up from his pasta at McCree as he sits.

“Charlie says he has a carrier flying out to Numbani tomorrow. We’ll want to get there by then.” McCree picks up his fork in one hand scooping up a whole cannelloni and a fried ravioli in the other.

Hanzo’s face sours, but it melts away returning to his neutral glare before he takes another bit. “Very well.”

McCree disregards it; He dives for another ravioli downing it in one big bite.

After they leisurely finish their meal they sit and share a bottle of wine at Hanzo’s request. The vintage 1995 Grenache is of a surprisingly high quality for a slum restaurant. Hanzo merely raises a glass to the owner and smiles. The owner nods back; an all too smug smile on his face. McCree wonders just what Hanzo did while he was out smoking.

They see themselves out as the doors close for the night. It is relatively late, as they walk back to their lodging. Hanzo leans just a bit too hard into McCree to be considered sober. ‘You’d think a man who constantly carries a flask with him would be able to handle his alcohol a bit better’; McCree finds it endearing. He has to help Hanzo in through the door.

Their room is simple; the walls are a faded dark blue with yellowing white trim at the top. There is a row of three windows on the far wall covered by brown blinds. A single full size bed sits against the right wall. There is a single side table with an old electric lamp on the far side of the bed. The on-suit bathroom is right inside to the right of the entryway. McCree locks and deadbolts the door.

Both men go about dressing themselves for bed. McCree chooses a pair of grey sweats, while Hanzo slips on a pink tank and his black briefs.

Hanzo lies down first, gliding under the thin sheet and blanket. He lies on his left side cradling his head in his hands, knees bent. McCree lifts up the edge of the blankets and jostles in behind him becoming the big spoon. “This alright?” he asks.

“It is fine,” ‘more than fine’. Hanzo melts into the other man as he settles. McCree pulls Hanzo in closer with the arm he wraps around his waist.

The room is dark, only the silver strips of light poking through the windows. The city outside blazes on in its night chorus. They both listen to each other’s heart beat slow and rhythmic. Soon both men slowly fall into a deep dreamless sleep.

#mchanzo #mchanzo au #hanzo shimada #hanzo #mccree #jesse mccree #shifting sands #my writing

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