Chapter Text
“Goddamn,” Jesse mutters, sinking into a rocking chair and scrubbing his face with his hands. He stays like that for a moment, letting himself believe for just a bit that this day hasn’t happened at all. The creak of the floorboards and the gentle swish of the screen door opening ruin his little fantasy. Jesse stays where he is, doesn’t move a muscle, hopes whoever decided to come out and poke at him some more gets the idea and fucks right off.
“You were such a sweet, innocent child,” Hanzo tells him, voice quiet and sincere. There’s fondness lurking right under the seriousness of it; it had taken Jesse quite a while to learn to detect it, but it was there. His hat is lifted, a hand combing gently through his hair to skate a feather light touch from his left ear down his neck. Jesse can’t help the shudder it evokes and sighs, pushing his head up to catch a glimpse of the smile gracing Hanzo’s lips. He’ll be damned if the sight doesn’t set his pulse beating just a bit faster.
“Whaddya mean ‘was’,” Jesse smirks, straightening up and pulling Hanzo in close by his hips. “I still am a sweet lil’ thing.” Hanzo rolls his eyes but lets Jesse pull him close, but does not fall to straddle his lap like the cowboy wants.
“Emphasis on the innocent part.” It’s his turn to smirk now as Jesse rolls his eyes.
“You wound me, darlin’.” Hanzo moves back, edging toward the porch door.
“Your mother asked me to let you know dessert will be served soon.” Jesse can’t help another sigh; he didn’t want to face everyone just yet but at the same time… dessert wasn’t something he ever missed. His waistline was testament to that.
“Well, fine, guess I’ll come back in,” Jesse sighs, pushing up from the rocker and following Hanzo back into the house. Back in the living room the screen is black, no more videos playing, though the photo albums are still scattered across the coffee table. Hana and Lucio are still giggling at the pictures as Jesse leans over the couch to see which ones they were looking at now.
“You made such a pretty girl Jesse,” Hana giggles and she and Lucio flip through pages of photos with a little Jesse in dresses and sloppy make-up beaming at the camera with his sisters. Hanzo peeks over his shoulder to get a look, chuckling quietly at the photos.
“Hey, now, you try and grow up with three older sisters and see if they didn’t try an’ make you play dress up with ‘em,” he growls at Hanzo.
“Also,” Jesse steps back and smirks at the three of three of them, “I was prettier than them in those dresses anyways.”
Hanzo gives him a calculating look that makes Jesse feel like he might regret that last comment, which Hana and Lucio break into a new fit of giggles. Jesse is saved from further humiliation as Reinhardt enters carrying a tray of bowls, Annabelle following with napkins and a handful of spoons. There’s a flurry of activity as the photo albums are gathered and put back on the bookshelves and the bowls are handed out to everyone.
“It’s nothing fancy unfortunately, but it was quick to whip up,” Annabelle laments as everyone digs into the bowls of peach cobbler and vanilla ice cream.
“Doesn’t matter, still delicious,” Jesse mumbles around a mouthful, a chorus of ‘mmhms’ coming from the rest of the group.
Everyone was about halfway through their bowl when they notice a sound from outside and they all turn to look toward the front door.
“Hovertruck,” Hanzo says.
“Were you expecting more visitors,” Winston asks Annabelle, who set aside her bowl and shook her head. She goes to the window beside the front door, pulling pack the curtain a smidge to peek outside. She quickly drops the curtain to fall back in place, turning on her heel and heading across the room with a stern look on her face.
“Uh, ma, what’s goin’ on,” Jesse asks as she reaches up and pulls down the old shotgun hung above the fireplace. She checks it over quickly and loads three shells from the decorative box on the mantle.
“Oh, nothing for you to worry about. Ya’ll enjoy your dessert I’ll be back in a jiffy,” she says, but Jesse can tell her cheerful tone is forced. She’s outside, with the door firmly shut behind her, before anyone can move.
“Should we go help her,” Mei asks, looking worried.
“Nah. Ma can take care of herself. Don’t let the sweet old lady act fool you otherwise,” Jesse shrugs, setting his bowl aside to go peek through the window at what was happening. Next thing he knows each window has a group around it, everyone trying to watch as discreetly as possible.
Outside, there’s a blue, newer model hovertruck parked in the driveway. Two men in cowboy hats are standing beside it, their blue jeans and plaid shirts making Jesse at first think they were nearby farmers, but upon closer inspection he can tell the shirts were ironed and looked too new to be the well-worn kind the working folk wore. Something about them seemed off.
“Good afternoon Annabelle,” the one on the right, in blue plaid, calls out.
“That’s Mrs. McCree to you,” Annabelle barks, standing in the driveway about ten yards away from the men and their truck. Her back is straight and feet planted apart, shotgun held loosely in front of her but ready to be brought up at a moment’s notice.
“Now, now, there’s no need for any hostilities, we’re just here to talk,” the other man, in red plaid, soothes, but Annabelle does not move an inch.
“I thought I told you two gentlemen not to step foot on my property ever again,” Annabelle growls.
“Well, yes ma’am, but we’re just tryin’ to help you out,” Blue Plaid says, and Red Plaid nods.
“We know how expensive these farms are nowadays,” Red Plaid begins, but Annabelle cuts him off.
“You’ve got ten seconds to get back in your truck and get the hell outta here,” she warns. The men exchange a look before Red Plaid steps closer.
“Look, we know you’re probably barely able to make ends meet right now, and with the way market prices are dropping lately you’ll be makin’ less off each harvest. Our employer is willing to make a very good deal for your land, enough you can retire somewhere nice out in the city.”
“One, two, three, four, five,” Annabelle counts, loudly, then pumps a round into the chamber.
“A lot of your neighbors have taken our generous offer, as I’m sure you’ve noticed lately. It’s in your best interest to take it as well.” Red Plaid’s face begins to turn red as he gets angry that Annabelle isn’t listening to him. Blue Plaid tries to gently get his companion’s attention, shaking his head slightly.
“Six, seven, eight, nine.”
“Look, woman, can’t you listen to reason? You’ve got grandkids, we hear, and don’t you want to be able to dote on them? Buy them things, help pay for their college? You can’t do none of that with your farm in this economy anymore!”
“Ten,” Annabelle hisses, and suddenly the shotgun is at her shoulder and she sights down the barrel. Before either man can move she pulls the trigger and the weapon booms, sending the right-side rearview mirror on the truck flying into the air. Another round is pumped into the chamber and the two men shout and scurry to get inside the vehicle. The next shot takes out the right headlight as the engine roars to life, the antigravity unit whining loudly as they floor the gas without giving it time to warm up properly. Blue Plaid is driving, sends them barreling backwards before slamming the steering wheel to the side to make the front of the truck whip around to face the road.
“And don’t you come back ever again,” Annabelle shouts after the fleeing truck, nods to herself and walks back to the house. Everyone is still gathered around the windows when she enters, and watches her quietly as she puts the gun back on its rack above the mantle.
“Anyone want seconds,” she asks brightly.
“Actually,” Winston clears his throat, tries to shuffle away from the window. “We should probably be going.”
“Oh, don’t let those men bother you. They won’t be calling the sheriff or nothin’, I was in my right to defend my home from trespassers,” Annabelle soothes as she begins gathering empty bowls.
“It’s not that, really. Just, technically, Overwatch is still an illegal operation under the Petras Act, and I don’t want them remembering seeing our dropship on your lawn. Then they might come up with something to give you more trouble with,” he explains, adjusting the glasses on his face nervously.
“Plus, Jesse does still have that bounty on his head. Can’t let anyone get wind he’s been here,” Tracer adds. Annabelle gives Jesse a sharp look.
“Hey, now, that bounty ain’t fair, I ain’t done nothin’ to deserve it. Politicians were just pissed they didn’t get to throw me in jail after what happened in Geneva,” Jesse pouts.
“Well, when you put it that way it does make sense. I’ll just go pack ya’ll up some leftovers for the flight home,” Annabelle amends. Winston opens his mouth to decline, but Jesse shakes his head quickly at him, miming for him to stop. Winston gives him a curious look, but takes the advice.
“Um, sure, that’d be nice. Thank you.”
“It was lovely meeting you all,” Annabelle says as she helps secure a Tupperware-filled bag in the dropship. She gets a chorus of thanks and cheers from the Overwatch crew, including hugs from Hana and Lucio.
“Now, you have a safe trip back,” she tells Jesse, giving him a tight hug.
“Thanks ma, we will. You stay safe and let me know if you need anything,” Jesse mumbles into her hair. They step apart and Annabelle pulls Hanzo into another hug before he can slip into the ship without her noticing.
“It was such a pleasure to meet you, Hanzo. I’m so glad Jesse’s found such a lovely boyfriend! You make sure he stays outta trouble, you hear?” Hanzo huffs a laugh and nods before climbing the ramp into the ship. Annabelle stands back as the ramp is closing, holds her hands up around her mouth to yell over the sound of the engine.
“I’ll be expecting you both for Thanksgiving!”
The ramp closes and Annabelle retreats to the porch as Tracer throttles the engine and lifts off in a slow glide. Inside, Hanzo looks over at Jesse to see him with his face in his hands.
“Not Thanksgiving…” Jesse groans, and Hanzo cannot help but laugh at him.
“What is wrong with this, thanks giving,” he asks, the word odd on his tongue.
“Oh, you’ll see,” Jesse sighs, slumping into his seat. “You’ll see…”