Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Jesse readjusts to being a wanted man. The problem is that he tries desperately to do good, but the world does not take kindly to mercenaries, and there’s not a lot of work available to him.

Angie stopped checking up on him once he made the Most Wanted list. Not because she wanted to, by any means, but because Jesse insisted any contact with him would put a target on her back. It’s much the same with Fareeha, though she roped Jesse into a dinner once a month. They agreed to change the location every time.

They’re in Vancouver this time around, mostly because Fareeha wanted to visit her dad, but also because the weather is nice this time of year. It gives them an excuse to eat by the ocean. Jesse regrets it only for the seagulls and pigeons eyeing his food.

The waves lap at the seawall while Fareeha talks about her promotion to chief within Helix Security. Jesse feels a swell of pride in his chest. In return, he tells her about the arms dealer he took out the other day. She looks mildly impressed as he recounts the story of him jumping off a three story building to escape a firing squad.

“Certainly, you injured yourself?” She asks with a smirk.

“I did no such thing. I’ll have you know I am an expert at rollin’ into my falls,” Jesse scoffs.

They miss the next month’s dinner. And the one after that. And again until it’s been a year since they’ve seen each other.

Helix keeps getting hired independently to deal with the sudden surge of Talon activity. Jesse’s been working in back alleys to try and wrangle some of the Talon members himself. Every time he goes undercover, or blows someone’s brains out, or uses less than ethical methods of gathering intel, he thinks back on Blackwatch.

HINDSIGHT IS 20/20:

Jesse can recognise that
Blackwatch was rotten to the core.
He misses it anyway.

◆ ◆ ◆

“I need a favour.” A synthetic sounding voice speaks over Jesse’s phone at two in the morning.

“Genji, is that you? It’s ass o’clock in the mornin’, what the fuck?” Jesse is sleep stricken and incoherent, but he’d still manage to recognise Genji’s voice on his deathbed.

“Yes, and I need your help.” Genji is speaking quietly, like he’s hiding.

“You don’t speak a lick to me for years and now you’re askin’ for favours?” Jesse’s back aches as he sits up, flicks the lamp on beside his bed. He’s in a dingy motel room in Montreal, with moth eaten curtains and a rock solid mattress. It’s been four years since he’s had contact with Genji.

“Please, Jesse,” Genji says, “You know what’s coming up right? In barely a week?”

“You talkin’ about your ‘anniversary’? I thought you were past that by now,” Jesse asks.

“I died and then got turned into a cyborg, I’ll never be over it,” Genji deadpans, “But that’s besides the point. I have moved on, yes, but I need you to help me get to Japan regardless. To Hanamura.”

Jesse stops. He heaves a long sigh and rubs a hand over his face.

“You gonna try and talk to your brother?”

Genji doesn’t say a thing. Jesse takes that as a yes.

“Why don’t you just go yourself. You’re a big boy, I’m sure you can get on a plane without a parent or guardian.”

There’s another extended period of silence before Genji speaks.

“Mondatta doesn’t want me to leave. Zenyatta thinks I’m ready to confront Hanzo, and I’ve been preparing myself for this for ten years, but ultimately, Mondatta is in charge and he has no intent to let me leave Nepal,” Genji says, “So I need you to book me and you a couple of plane tickets, because if I did, Mondatta would certainly find out and lock me in my rooms to stop me.”

“You realise you don’t actually have to listen to him, right? You don’t owe him any obedience,” Jesse huffs.

“I owe him respect.”

“So you’ll just go without him knowin’ instead, alright.” Jesse already has his tablet out looking for plane tickets to Japan. “What is this about a ticket for me, too?”

“I’m terrified. You’ll be there for moral support. And first aid, should I need it,” Genji laughs, voice lighter with Jesse’s lack of refusal.

“If Hanzo hurts you again, I’ll kill ‘im myself.”

“Well, aren’t you just a knight in shining armour?”

◆ ◆ ◆

Genji has always hated flying. Jesse is ready to snap, dealing with Genji’s fidgeting in his tiny plane seat. He keeps clicking the tray down and back up, and he’s turned the light above his head on and off at least a dozen times. The flight attendant is shooting dirty glances at them, and Jesse keeps mouthing “sorry” at her.

“You gotta calm down, Genji. Take a nap, darlin’,” Jesse mutters.

“I hate flying,” Genji says.

“I know, and you’re nervous as hell, I get it. You gotta get some rest, though, you haven’t got a lick of sleep in the last couple days.” Jesse grabs Genji’s fidgeting hand.

Genji looks up at him. His visor is off as per the request of airport security. His eyes are boring into Jesse’s.

“How am I supposed to sleep? I haven’t spoken to Hanzo since I was begging him not to kill me. Now, I plan to reconcile should he allow me. Who’s to say he won’t try to murder me again? Who’s to say I won’t be forced to fight him?” Genji whines, “I miss him. I know I should hate him for what he made me, but we have both suffered enough. I miss him, and I want my brother back, but who’s to say he’ll want me?”

Genji leans his head on Jesse’s shoulder. His shoulders shake, but no tears fall. Jesse watches as fidgeting fingers fall still, as Genji’s soft breathing evens with sleep. He doesn’t move for fear of jostling him awake.

◆ ◆ ◆

Genji comes back to the hotel room after his confrontation with Hanzo and he doesn’t say a word. He shuffles through the door, toward Jesse’s bed. Without warning, he falls onto Jesse and begins to cry with great, heaving sobs.

Jesse tries to soothe Genji with whispered words, and a solid hand on his back. It takes a long time for him to regain his composure. He rubs the tears from his eyes, sniffs and blinks. His cheeks are bright red under scar tissue.

“He sent his dragons after me, again. He didn’t recognise me until I sent them back,” Genji says, “I don’t think he really believed it was me.”

“You fought, then?” Jesse asks, standing to get Genji a glass of water from their hotel room’s small kitchenettes.

“I’d barely call it that. He stopped fighting back. He practically gave up.” Genji stares at the wall quizzically. “I know Hanzo, and he would never let a fight be so easily won. I had my sword to his throat and he didn’t even blink. He seemed—”

Scared. Overwhelmed. Panicked. Jesse can think of all the things he’d feel at the opposite end of Genji’s blade.

“Relieved,” Genji finishes.

Jesse hands Genji the glass of water and sits back down beside him. “So, what did you do?”

“I told him it wasn’t too late to find redemption.”

“And if there’s no redemption to be found.”

Genji’s features gather into a look of determination. “My brother and I have suffered enough. If I can find harmony, and a family, and happiness, surely he can find the same.”

“You’re talkin’ about the man who tried to kill his own brother,” Jesse says, “I think his ship has already sailed.”

“Well, I’m bringing it back to shore.”

“You know that’s not how idioms work, right?”

“It is now.”

◆ ◆ ◆

Jesse is expecting the Recall notice from Winston. His phone dings on his lap where he’s sitting in a crowded bar. He glances down and sees the message from an unknown number. He knows who it’s from without checking based solely on the few people who know how to contact him.

He doesn’t respond right away, though he thinks about it. He calls Angie, who is ecstatic to hear his voice.

“Jesse! It’s been ages, how are you doing?” He can hear her smile through the speaker.

“Same old, how ‘bout you, Ang?” He asks.

She hums something positive and Jesse gets to the point of the call.

“You get the Recall? What’re you thinking?”

“I did, yes. I’m involved rather heavily in a research project here, but I’m planning on heading out to Gibraltar as soon as my schedule allows,” Angie says, “Why? Are you not going to go back? You know it’s going to be a very different organisation this time around, right? No UN to get involved, no rivalry between Reyes and Morrison, no covert ops that go under the radar of the world. It’ll be better this time, Jesse.”

Jesse grunts in vague approval. “I just don’t know if I can do it again, Ang. I know, logically, it’ll be different, but what if it isn’t? I’m a bad luck charm, it’d be better if I stay away.”

“It’s up to you, Jesse. Just know that there will always be a home and a family waiting for you,” Angie says softly.

Fareeha calls a few hours later, overjoyed about being included in the Recall despite not ever having being a part of Overwatch. Genji also sends a message that says “I’ll see you soon, cowboy”. Jesse accepts that his friends are fully expecting him to go to Gibraltar.

He still waits two weeks before sending Winston an affirmative. It’s another week until he’s on a boat between the mainland and the island.

The sun is setting when he steps into the main area of the Watchpoint. It’s been converted into a sort of lounge, with couches and armchairs and a large television. A young girl is playing video games while Genji sits beside her, cheering her on. Angie is there, Fareeha is there. Faces he recognises.

There’s one other, someone that Jesse recalls, though he’s never actually met the man in person.

Hanzo Shimada has perched himself on the on the edge of the couch beside Genji. His legs are tucked in and his elbows are hugged close to his torso, like he’s trying to take up as little space as possible.

Genji looks up, grinning, until he follows Jesse’s gaze over to Hanzo. He’s immediately on his feet, getting in between his friend and his brother. Jesse sees red.

“Genji, I love you, I do, but you better have a damn good reason for why I don’t put a fuckin’ bullet in that bastard’s head,” Jesse growls.

Hanzo lowers his head. The girl on the couch glances over at the altercation, eyes wide. She quickly stands and leaves the room, abandoning her game. Smart move.

“Jesse, I have forgiven him, and you best do the same. If you lay a finger on my brother, there will be consequences.” Genji hasn’t sounded this livid in years.

“Why should we trust him?” Jesse yells.

It’s Angela, this time, who steps up close to Jesse, hand on his shoulder. Her voice is quiet enough only so he can hear it. “None of us are thrilled about this arrangement, Jesse. We’ll be civil for Genji, alright? We’ll just have to keep a very close eye on his brother.”

Jesse bristles, but nods. He watches Genji’s shoulders relax. Hanzo stays rigid, head still down. Good.

Genji mutters something in Japanese to Hanzo before turning back to Jesse. He strides forward and slings an arm around Jesse’s shoulders. “Well, come on, I’ll introduce you to all our newbies!”

Jesse is unceremoniously dragged away from the room, reluctantly turning his back on Hanzo.

◆ ◆ ◆

A CHARACTERISATION OF HANA SONG:

1. Hana is a force to be reckoned with
2. Hana is a quicker draw than Jesse himself
3. Hana hides all her wit and intelligence
behind  an innocent smile

Hana reminds Jesse of what Fareeha was like at nineteen, She’s loud, and abrasive, unapologetic, and utterly charming. She sits down next to Jesse at dinner on his second night at the Watchpoint and before he knows what she’s done, he’s spilling about why he hates Hanzo so much.

To give her credit, she’s got a face that boasts being a very good listener. He coughs himself to a stop halfway through the story of Genji’s recovery.

“Why the hell am I tellin’ you this?” Jesse scoffs around a mouth full of potatoes.

“I’ve been told I’m very easy to talk to,” Hana says, eyes twinkling and a smile on her lips.

Jesse laughs, “That sounds about right.”

She doesn’t ask anymore questions, so he stays silent as they finish eating. She stands and heads back into the kitchen. Jesse watches as she leaves with a plate full of food in her hands and a look of determination on her face. She heads toward the rooms everyone is staying in.

Jesse notices Hanzo isn’t at dinner and wonders just how much Hana will be able to pry out of him.

◆ ◆ ◆

The first time Jesse properly speaks to Hanzo, it is a two months after his arrival at the Watchpoint at two in the morning. Jesse is on his way to the kitchen when he collides with a solid mass of warm flesh. When he looks down, he is face to face with none other than Hanzo Shimada.

Hanzo is red and splotchy in the face, and he’s got a bottle of clear liquid tight in his hands. His eyes are wide when he sees Jesse. He flinches back, like he’s afraid of him. Jesse huffs.

“Can’t sleep?” Jesse asks.

“No. I was heading over to the cliffs. To see if that would help,” Hanzo stutters. His voice sounds much more formal than Genji’s ever did.

“Genji keeps tellin’ me I gotta be nice to you,” Jesse says, pinching the bridge of his nose, “So what do you say we share that bottle you got there and learn how to be friends?

Hanzo’s eyes go impossibly wider. Jesse has a feeling he’s the first one to extend an olive branch to him besides Hana and Genji.

Hanzo nods and they leave the Watchpoint, stepping out into the warm ocean breeze. Hanzo leads the climb up the cliffs with ease, despite already being mildly intoxicated. Jesse stumbles behind him, breathing heavy as his metal arm keeps him sturdy on the side of the island.

At the top, they share Hanzo’s saké and don’t talk about Hanzo and Genji’s past. Instead, they settle on talking about Hana. Hanzo says that she’s by far the most welcoming presence in the Watchpoint, besides his brother. Jesse laments that she keeps pulling him into her livestreams just to watch him lose miserably in multiplayer games.

The sun rises and Jesse still hates Hanzo, but perhaps with a little less passion behind it.

◆ ◆ ◆

Jesse keeps a very close eye on Hanzo, he can’t help it. A decade under Gabe’s steady hand teaches a person to never let their guard down, and to know a potential threat as well as your own weapon. It’s just his training kicking in.

Jesse knows Hanzo spends most of his nights on the cliffs, drinking instead of sleeping. Jesse joins him in the midst of his own nightmares and insomnia. Sometimes they stay silent, staring up at the stars through the Watchpoint’s light pollution. Other nights, they talk. It’s a warm night in August the first time Hanzo opens up, telling a story of when him and Genji were children. He tells Jesse about going to the Sakura festival in Hanamura every year, and how Genji would always beg Hanzo to buy snacks from every vendor.

Jesse knows Hanzo prefers tea, but will drink coffee relentlessly to counter all those sleepless nights. He drowns the bitter taste and caffeine in so much sugar and cream that the coffee is closer to white than brown. He’ll finish a whole pot on his own, within a half hour of wandering into the kitchen, and by the end of it, he’ll be less hungover and more privy to holding a coherent conversation.

Jesse knows Hanzo slips up with his English far more than Genji does. Forgetting words and stuttering his way through certain sentence structures. Jesse wonders if it’s because of countless years Hanzo spent avoiding most social interaction. There’s not a lot of opportunity to practice another language with no one to talk to. If Jesse cuts down on the idioms and slang he uses when Hanzo’s around, no one has to know.

Jesse knows Hanzo is tired. Bone-deep tired, the kind of tired you can’t run from or sleep away. Jesse can see it in the way Hanzo tips to close to the cliffsides, in the bottles of alcohol he goes through like water, in the risks he takes on even the simplest of missions. When Jesse mentions it to Genji, he gets a grim sigh.

“My brother would greet death like an old friend, at this point,” Genji laments, “I’m trying to make the prospect a little less tempting.”

Jesse still hates Hanzo, but he loves Genji like hell. He decides to help where he can.

◆ ◆ ◆

Jesse is in charge of making dinner for the Watchpoint, and Hana has weaseled her way into helping him. She’s chopping jalapenos for Jesse’s pozole while he tries desperately to remember the exact ratio of spices his Ma used. Hana has had a shit eating grin on her face since she walked in.

Halfway through her pile of peppers, she opens her mouth. “I see you’ve been spending a lot of time with Hanzo, lately.”

Jesse groans, “Don’t you have someone else’s business to stick your nose in, Hana?”

“I’ll happily involve myself in everyone’s business thank you very much.” She finishes the jalapenos and moves onto the onions. “C’mon, Jesse. Give me details, we haven’t had an uncomfortably personal conversation in ages!”

“I told you a shit ton about Deadlock just last week,” Jesse says.

“Please?” Hana smiles. “Just let me know why the sudden change of heart toward him?”

“Genji was worried. If you couldn’t tell, Hanzo’s barely a hop, skip and a jump away from offing himself. I figured I’d take over suicide watch every once in awhile,” Jesse says.

Hana’s face falls. “Man, way to get morbid with it.”

“It’s the truth. I don’t really give a shit about what happens to Hanzo, but Genji would be crushed if his brother died. If keeping Genji happy means I gotta befriend his asshole, kin-killer of a brother, then so be it.”

“I didn’t know you felt that way about me, cowboy. I’m touched, truly,” A voice rings out from the kitchen’s doorway. Hanzo stands with his shoulders loose and his eyes drooping.

“Well… I—” Jesse stutters.

“It’s alright, I get it. I hate me too, you know? It is a universal sentiment at this point.” Hanzo smiles, sloppy and filled with teeth. His hair is a mess, half falling out of its ponytail.

Hanzo swings past Jesse and Hana, opening a cabinet that has a few bottles shoved into the back corner. Hanzo swipes the one that looks to have the highest alcohol content and moves to leave. Jesse blocks his path.

“Maybe you shouldn’t drink no more, Hanzo,” Jesse mutters, able to smell whiskey emanating off of Hanzo’s clothes and breath.

“I am a grown man, McCree. Let me make my own terrible decisions,” Hanzo snarls.

He pushes past Jesse’s outstretched arm, but stops in the doorway. He looks back.

“Your stew smells delicious, please let me know when it is ready to eat.”

The doorway is vacated. The pozole simmers on the stove while Jesse and Hana star in Hanzo’s wake. Hana clears her throat.

“I can’t believe he’s gonna actively stay alive for some soup,” She mutters.

“Hey, it’s fuckin’ good soup,” Jesse laughs, feeling slightly hollow.

He sends Genji a text to keep an eye on Hanzo. Genji asks what Jesse did, but he doesn’t reply.

◆ ◆ ◆

They’re on a mission to Busan, in the middle of winter. Jesse is slightly hungover from the bottle of vodka he shared with Hanzo the night before. They got over the incident in the kitchen quickly in favour of their late night rendezvous. It had ended with them falling asleep, leaning heavy on each other on the floor of Jesse’s room.  Hanzo wasn’t around when Jesse awoke, but Jesse attributed that more to the coming mission than anything else.

Hanzo is sitting beside Jesse on the dropship. The turbulence is rough. Jesse can see Genji’s tight grip on his armrests from across the ship, and Hanzo seems to be similarly anxious. He keeps cracking his knuckles and hasn’t stopped bouncing his leg since they took off.

Jesse rolls his eyes. Fucking Shimadas. Lena’s the best pilot they could ask for.

Outside the windows it is dark and storming. Ice crystals cling to the corners of the glass, and the wind makes the whole plane rattle and shake. Angela is sitting at the small corner table, doing what looks to be sudoku puzzles. Fareeha sits beside her, reading on her tablet. They occasionally exchange a few words of conversation, soft and smiling. They both blush and stare when the other isn’t looking. Jesse nearly laughs at their predictability.

Hana stands apart from everyone else, fiddling with her MEKA, phone propped up and recording her for a live vlog. She’s got a small toolkit open beside her and is digging around under a panel in the front of the suit while she answers questions from her viewers.

“Sure hope you’re not fixin’ that thing this last minute,” Jesse calls over the roaring engines, interrupting Hana’s stream.

Hana laughs, “Not a chance. I’m seeing if I can cut the self destruct delay by a bit. Gives our enemies less time to run away.”

Jesse can see the chat on her phone blow up with even quicker questions and demands.

“It also gives us less time to run away,” Hanzo mutters.

Hana still hears the soft comment. “Well, maybe if someone was more keen on using the comm. system, they wouldn’t be caught in the crossfire so often. Honestly, it’s like you’re trying to get yourself killed.”

Everyone falls silent. Jesse shoots Hana a “what the fuck?” look, and she at least has the audacity to look guilty. Everyone’s eyes are on Hanzo. He just hums and lays his head back onto his seat. A moment passes and Hana goes back to her stream, Angie goes back to her puzzles, and Genji goes back to breaking his armrests with the force of his nervous grips.

◆ ◆ ◆

Talon is taking advantage of the disorganisation of Busan. An influx of activity from the giant omnic breaching from the ocean, as well as an omnium booting back up, has the military and private forces stretched thin. Hana caught wind of Talon readying themselves to attack during a festival being organised as a bright spot in this time of terror.

Just like Talon to try and ruin something meant to be exciting and safe.

The Overwatch team arrives a day before the festival is set to start. They’ve been hired under the guise of being a private security company in order to avoid any outside suspicions. Everyone has uniforms with fake logos ironed onto the breast pocket, baring Fareeha, who’s staying on standby in her Raptora suit should things get dicey. It helps that the suit has affiliation with Helix rather than Overwatch.

Hana disappears that night to go visit her family. When she comes back to their hotel, it’s with a wide smile and a full stomach. She says that she missed her dad’s cooking, and her mom’s hugs, and the way it feels to play Starcraft back at home.

Jesse spends his night watching whatever movies are on the hotel room’s television. At around eleven, a knock on the door announces Hanzo. Jesse lets him in and they both watch an old action film with bad CGI.

In the final act of the movie, Hanzo takes a deep breath.

“I want to thank you. You have been kind to me when you didn’t need to be. When you shouldn’t have been anything less than cruel. I came to Overwatch looking for new purpose, and redemption. I did not not expect anyone to be on my side beyond Genji,” Hanzo says, “I know you weren’t partial to me to begin with, and that the basis of our friendship is primarily built on alcohol and insomnia, but this team, especially you and Hana, has become the closest thing I’ve known of family since I was very young.”

“I—” Jesse stutters for a moment, “Hanzo, I won’t lie, I hated you for a lot of years for what you did to your brother. Watchin' him beat himself up, tear himself apart over shit he didn’t have a say in. But when you came here, I realised: Genji had time, and people to help him through all his issues. He had Angie, and me, and Gabe and Zenyatta. We were with him every step of the way. But you? You were manipulated, and abused, to the point where you were forced to kill your own brother, and you had no one waitin' on the other side for you.”

A SCENE ON THE TELEVISION:

There is an explosion.
The main character doesn’t
look at it, but his plucky sidekick
and beautiful love interest do.
Jesse McCree watches the screen
instead of the man beside him.

“I know it’s ten years too late, but you deserve to have people in your corner. People to help you through your long overdue recovery,” Jesse says, “Besides, I have a spectacular track record with Shimadas.”

Hanzo snorts. The layer of tension seems to lift from the room. Hanzo presses closer into Jesse’s side, sets his hand in the tiny space between them. He turns to gaze up at Jesse and Jesse’s heart stutters. Something about being on the receiving end of such an earnest, tender look.

There’s a calloused hand on the side of Jesse’s face, the gentlest touch on his cheek. He moves smoothly, and Hanzo moves in perfect tandem. Their lips meet. It’s chapped, and soft, and slow. Two men who have spent too long running hold tight onto a sweet kiss in a run down hotel room.

It ends. Hanzo stays tucked tight against Jesse’s side, their hands tangled together. The action movie ends and a comedy comes on next. They fall asleep together and in the morning, Hanzo is still there.

Jesse greets him with a kiss.

◆ ◆ ◆

There’s a fine layer of snow along the street. Thousands have gathered to the curb to watch the parade go by. There’s a stage set up, and street vendors every fifteen feet selling art and food and cheesy festival souvenirs. Jesse is on parade duty with Angie and Genji. Hana and Lena are in charge of watching the crowd gathered around the stage. Hanzo and Fareeha watch over the whole festival from the rooftops.

It’s a beautiful festival, too. Blue and silver lights hang from every surface, people in elaborate costumes lead the parade, confetti and glitter fall from parade floats and the stage. It’s been awhile since Jesse has seen this much happiness in one place. Angie hasn’t stopped smiling, and Genji has popped his visor off so he can catch snowflakes on his tongue.

Most of the day is uneventful. Hana gets dragged into the parade as soon as someone recognises her. Jesse and Genji watch on in amusement as she’s passed between people, taking photos and signing autographs. She never misses a beat. Jesse’s gotta hand it to her: she’s a hell of a lot more put together than he was at her age.

It’s nearing ten at night when Jesse finally clues into something off.

“Hey, Hanzo, where are you at?” Jesse asks over the comms, “Anyone heard from Hanzo recently?”

“Last I heard he was heading to a more northern vantage point. Hasn’t been a peep on his end since,” Fareeha replies.

“That was over an hour ago,” Jesse says, “Hanzo, report in!”

There’s no reply. A sudden, deafening crack rings out into the air, echoing from the rooftop Hanzo was last on. All hell breaks loose.

◆ ◆ ◆

It’s been forever since Jesse has fought beside others, but he falls into step seamlessly. Talon agents swarm into the crowd, immediately taking hostages and firing potshots toward security. Genji and Angie leap into evacuation efforts and crowd control, while Lena and Jesse start picking off enemies who aren’t holding human shields.

“Some air support would be stellar right about now, Reeha,” Jesse shouts over the comms.

“It’ll be far too much collateral if I step in now, Jesse. Let Ang and Genji clear everyone out first,” Fareeha still sounds calm and levelheaded. That makes one of them.

There’s two more piercing gunshots as two police officers crumple beside Jesse. A shot aimed for him barely misses as he rolls out of the way.

“If you get an opportunity to take out that sniper, that would be swell! Rooftop to the North-East,” Jesse says.

“Affirmative,” Fareeha states. Jesse can see when her suit launches her skyward and toward the sniper’s perch, “I’ll keep an eye out for Hanzo, as well.”

Jesse doesn’t reply as he throws a flashbang and takes out another Talon agent. He can see Hana fighting off a hoard of them in her MEKA and he turns to help her out.

The air vibrates as another sniper shot hits to his left. Another just over his head as he desperately ducks and weaves. He throws himself behind a parked car, leaning briefly out of cover to shoot the men advancing on Hana.

He doesn’t hear the approaching footsteps until it’s too late.

He looks up to see shotguns. Even in the heat of battle, Jesse would recognise them anywhere. The scratches in the pain, the letters carved into the metal. There are clawed, smoke wreathed hands on Gabe’s guns, and Jesse shudders to think where this creature found them.

The fingers twitch on the triggers, but do not fire. Black smoke creeps up Jesse’s legs, surrounds his torso, tightens around his bones. He feels ice cold and burning hot all at once. A gravely voice echoes, far too loud and ethereal over the sounds of screams and gunfire.

“I thought I taught you to watch your six, kid,” the creature growls, “You’re getting sloppy.”

Jesse, halfway into fumbling Peacekeeper into a ready position, stops. He levels the barrel of his revolver with the white mask.

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but you better call off your men,” Jesse stutters.

“You know exactly who I am, Jesse. It’s why you haven’t shot me yet.” Under the rasp, Jesse hears a familiar cadence. Jesse’s hands shake.

“Get the fuck out of here. No one else has to get hurt,” Jesse says.

“That’s not how this works, kid,” the creature says.

His arm raises. The butt of a heavy shotgun collides with Jesse’s temple. Not quite enough to knock him unconscious, but enough to throw him to the ground with blurry, disoriented vision. He writhes around for a moment, struggling to raise his arm. He aims Peacekeeper at a retreating, smoky back.

“Boss! Gabe, please,” Jesse cries out.

He watches as Gabe’s figure doesn’t turn around, gliding away until he disappears into the chaos. Peacekeeper stays fully loaded.

◆ ◆ ◆

It takes a minute, but Jesse eventually rights himself, dragging himself to his feet. He can’t stop himself from thinking about Gabe, terrifying and all wrong. Jesse swears to himself that it can’t actually be Gabe under that mask, it can’t be. But Jesse would recognise him anywhere, his voice, his guns, the way he moves through a battlefield.

“Jesse, do you read? What’s going on over there?” Hana comes in over his earpiece.

“Just a little scuffle. All good now. Any sight of Hanzo yet?” Jesse stutters.

“No go, he’s still MIA.”

Jesse sighs, keeps a hand on his remaining flashbangs, and starts moving toward the building he last saw Hanzo on. He picks off a few more Talon agents on his way over, but mostly leaves it to the others. Fareeha has joined in on the ground fight, now that the civilians are cleared out, and Jesse takes that to mean the sniper has been dealt with as well.

The building Jesse enters is a hotel, and he can see staff and hotel guests cowering behind counters and furniture in the lobby. He barely pays them any mind as he heads toward the elevator.

It’s a bizarre moment of utmost calm. He hits the call button, waits for the elevator doors to open. He steps in a rides it to the top floor, tapping his foot to the soft music playing through the speakers. As soon as the door opens, he runs forward the stairwell and up toward the roof access.

Hanzo, it turns out, is not very hard to find. A trail of blood leads Jesse to the corner of the roof where Hanzo is curled into a ball, loosely clutching at his stomach, coughing violently with lips stained red. He is barely holding onto consciousness. A woman stands over him, looking through the scope of the most high tech sniper rifle Jesse’s ever seen.

Jesse groans internally. The sniper definitely wasn’t dealt with. Thank you, Fareeha.

The woman whips around when she hears Jesse approach, his spurs not exactly the picture of stealth. She smiles at him, wry and furious, and Jesse recognises her instantly. So many pictures, so many stories, so many fruitless rescue attempts. And a bullet through Ana’s head.

“Amélie,” Jesse says, barely a whisper over the wind, “You killed Ana.”

“Amélie Lacroix is dead.” She has her gun raised.

It is a night of hesitation. Jesse refuses to make the same mistake twice.

He raises Peacekeeper, but Lacroix is quicker. She ducks away from his shot and raises her own rifle. Jesse is about to scoff at the concept of her using a sniper at this close of range, but then a hail of bullets rains down toward him, her sniper now more similar to an assault rifle. He swears and ducks behind an air duct.

They go back and forth for a bit. Jesse leaning out of his cover to fire at Lacroix and her doing the same to him. He catches her in the shoulder, and she just barely nicks his thigh, but neither of them are getting to any conclusions. There’s a pause of Lacroix’s side of the roof and then a soft click.

The next time Jesse looks around the duct, he is faced with a small, liquid filled explosive, newly adhered to the metal. He hears a subtle hiss before a cloud of gas enters his lungs. Through burning eyes and a hacking cough, he watches Lacroix disappear to another rooftop via grappling hook. Jesse doesn’t see where she goes after that.

Instead, he’s dragging himself over to Hanzo, still curled on the ground, surrounded by red. God, Jesse doesn’t know the last time he’s seen this much blood. Hanzo’s breath is rattling, barely even there. His skin is ashen and cold when Jesse moves his hands away from his stomach.

“Jesus Christ. Ang, I need help, right now. I’m on the roof of the hotel. Hanzo’s bleedin’ out,” Jesse yells into the comm. He presses his own hands tight on the gaping wound through Hanzo’s middle. There’s little chance he’ll survive a sniper shot from what had to have been very close range.

“Come on, darlin’, just keep breathing a little bit longer,” Jesse whispers. A whimper struggles past Hanzo’s lips as Jesse presses harder to staunch the still steady blood flow. “Just a bit longer. Ang is on her way, okay? You’ve made it this far, you’re not givin’ out on me yet.”

Jesse doesn’t see Angela approach, but he does hear the soft tapping of her shoes. There’s a golden glow that instantly surrounds Hanzo, but there are wounds that the Caduceus staff can’t heal.

“This will keep him stabilised until we get to the dropship. Help me get him out of here,” Angie says, face stern, “Hana and Fareeha are finishing up on the ground. Lena’s starting the ship.”

“Genji?” Jesse coughs.

“I’m here, Jesse,” a voice says right behind where Jesse is knelt. Genji sounds panicked and breathless. It makes sense that Genji would come to help his brother.

“Help me lift him, Genj?” Jesse looks back, desperate.

Genji nods.

Between the two of them, they make it back to the dropship. Angie keeps her staff trained on Hanzo, but the colour doesn’t return to his face. When they get to the ship, the others are already waiting. Angie sets to working on Hanzo immediately, Fareeha by her side handing over tools and doing as she’s told.

Jesse sits down heavy. Hana helps him patch the graze on his thigh. In return, he puts butterfly bandages along the gash along her arm. He wants to stay awake, make sure everyone is feeling 100%, but as soon as he puts the last bandage on Hana, he closes his eyes.

He dreams of masks and black smoke and so much blood.

◆ ◆ ◆

There is a vivid line of blue lights that shine through the back of Hanzo’s shirt. It took Angie three weeks and six surgeries to reconstruct his spine. His souvenir is the herring bone metal along the centre of his back lit up with cerulean LEDs.

“We match now, brother!” Genji laughed the first time Angela powered up the mechanics.

Hanzo squints and frowns. Lifts one arm and then the other. Angie asks him to wiggle his toes and touch his nose with his index finger, and he does just that, a dent still between his eyebrows.

“It’ll be a long recovery, and I can soundly say you won’t be cleared for missions for a good while,” Angie says while writing on her clipboard. Jesse grabs Hanzo’s hand and squeezes. “You’ll be back with me three times a week for physical therapy, and recalibration once your body readjusts to the enhancements.”

Hanzo looks mildly concerned. He keeps lifting his arms, bringing Jesse’s hand with them. His muscle mass has atrophied and his body shakes as it moves. A tight look of concentration mars his features each time his fingers convulse.

“We’ll be with you every step of the way, Hanzo,” Genji says, placing a solid hand on Hanzo’s shoulder. Hanzo flinches, but only a little bit.

He nods, makes a fist with his free hand. “Dr. Ziegler, if you would allow it, I would appreciate if I could go back to my own quarters tonight.”

Angie smiles, still rough around the edges from lack of sleep. “I suppose so. If one of your companions here would be so kind as to help you, I have a wheelchair you can use to get around the base. I’ll expect you here regularly for your physio, though. No skipping out!”

Hanzo gives a very quiet smile. “Of course, Doctor.”

Jesse and Genji help Hanzo into the chair. Jesse pushes him through the halls to the room Hanzo stayed in before his stint in medical. He expects a dusty room when he opens the door, but it’s still relatively neat.

“Huh, I guess someone was in here keepin’ your room all clean. You need a hand gettin’ into bed, darlin’?” Jesse asks, moving the chair to beside Hanzo’s rickety bed frame and thin mattress.

“I would like to be alone, I think,” Hanzo mutters.

“Hanzo?” Jesse tries to brush Hanzo’s hair back, but Hanzo flinches away.

“Please, Jesse.”

Jesse leaves Hanzo in his room, staring at the wall.

◆ ◆ ◆

There are two weeks where Jesse doesn’t see Hanzo very much. Occasionally, he’s dragged to a team dinner by Genji, and Jesse managed to catch a glimpse of him in the med bay doing physical therapy with Angie, but overall he disappears.

Fareeha sits next to him at breakfast. “You’re moping, Jesse. It’s really bringing the whole room down.”

From where they’re seated Jesse can tell that’s not true. Hana and Lucio are laughing at Lena trying to juggle oranges; Genji and Zenyatta are engaged in an animated conversation about the merits of movie and TV reboots; Winston is lumbering in with a smile and a new recruit in tow, a man with greying hair and a mask covering most of his face.

“Let me wallow in peace, Reeha. Go bug the new guy.” Jesse chugs down the dregs of his coffee. He nods at the new guy. “What’s his deal anyway? The mask is kinda dramatic, don’t you think?”

“Maybe he’s horrifically ugly and doesn’t want anyone to know,” Fareeha suggests.

There’s a shuffle behind them before Angie settles beside Fareeha.  Her eyes are still half closed and her hair is a mess. She leans into Fareeha’s shoulder as she drinks her coffee.

“Maybe he’s hiding his identity. It would make sense if he was someone well known and didn’t want anyone catching on,” She suggests between sips.

“If you don’t want someone to recognise you, you change your hair, get a few piercings, grow a beard. Make it so you blend in. Wearin' a mask just draws in more attention,” Jesse says, loud enough for the newbie to hear, “Anyway, we already have at least two internationally known celebrities.”

The man’s head tilts toward them, but he doesn’t say a word. Jesse eats his toast nonchalantly, hiding his disappointment at the lack of response. After a moment, the man turns his focus back to Winston’s in depth tour and initiation into Overwatch.

Jesse finishes his food, and as he’s leaving, Winston flags him down.

“McCree! I was wondering if you could take our new recruit down to the training rooms! I would do it myself, but I have a couple missions to organise before the day is out. You know how it is, right?” Winston belts.

Jesse looks to Fareeha and Angie in mild panic. Both of them just shrug and smirk. Helpful.

“Uh, I guess I can, yeah,” Jesse says, “C’mon then, I don’t have all day either.”

The walk with the man is painfully awkward. Not only is it utterly silent, but the man seems to have a solid idea of where he’s going without Jesse’s guidance. Who the fuck does he think he is.

“Hey, so who exactly are you? Like, gotta name? Or a call-sign, maybe?” Jesse asks, halfway to Training Facility A.

“76,” the man says. His voice is gruff and vaguely synthetic through the mask.

“Ominous, I can dig it. You ever thought about tonin' down the whole ‘rough and tumble’ dramatic thing, though? It’s gotta get tirin',” Jesse asks.

“You haven’t gotten any less antagonistic, have you?” 76 says.

“Excuse me?” Jesse stops. “Who the fuck do you think you are? You don’t know me!”

76 chuckles, “Do I not, Jesse? You’re going a little grey around the edges, but I gotta say the scruffy look definitely still suits you well.”

Jesse wracks his brains desperately for a name, for a face that would fit under the mask. He doesn’t have to deliberate long before 76 is taking his visor off.

SOMETHING JESSE THOUGHT HE’D
NEVER SEE AGAIN:

Faded blue eyes, a
straight nose and a
violent scar that marrs
his features
(that part is new)

“The mask isn’t just for show, you know? I’m mostly blind, since the Swiss Headquarters incident, and if I want to see, I gotta keep the visor on.” Jack Morrison smiles at Jesse as he puts the mask back on.

Jesse steps back, “No.”

“Sorry?” Jack says, looking confused.

“No, I’m not dealin' with this shit again. You’re dead! No one else is allowed to come back from the fucking dead, okay? Go crawl back into your grave. We don’t need more fucking ghosts here!” Jesse yells.

Morrison’s eyebrows go up, “Is Ana around, too?”

“What did you just say?” Jesse’s voice drops a violent octave.

“I guess that’s a… no?” Morrison has the audacity to look calm, “I probably shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Jesse can’t breathe. First Gabe, then Jack and Ana in the same instance. His throat isn’t working. He stumbles back, catching himself on the wall.

“Whoa, kid. Are you alright?” Morrison reaches a hand out.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Jesse spits.

He turns and runs.

◆ ◆ ◆

Genji finds him on the cliff, chugging vodka like water and chain smoking his remaining cigars. The sun has just barely set, and a red glow is cast over the ocean.

“Jack Morrison is alive. Gabriel Reyes is—” Jesse coughs, “Somethin' along those lines. Ana Amari is allegedly alive, accordin' to Morrison.”

Genji sighs, “Not allegedly, any more. She contacted Winston today during Morrison’s big identity reveal. Fareeha’s a mess.”

“God, I didn’t even think about what’d she do with this. Fuck, I should go talk to her.” Jesse moves to get up, but the world sways and Genji grabs his arm to keep him on the ground.

“I think Angela has that one covered,” Genji says.

“Oh.”

Jesse offers Genji the bottle, but he declines.

“How’s Hanzo doin’? I haven’t seen him in ages, it feels like,” Jesse slurs.

“He is—” Genji changes his mind on the offer for the bottle, taking it from Jesse’s hand. “Hanzo doesn’t very much like being useless. He came to Overwatch for a purpose and for redemption, and to be rendered incapable of basic movement has thrown him back into his previous state of emotional turmoil and self-deprecation.”

“And how are you doin’ with that?” Jesse asks.

“I am trying my best to spend time with him, to remind him he’s not alone, but he’s stubborn and evasive,” Genji says, “More often than not, I’m chasing him down just to speak to him. He locks the door to his room, and he demanded no one be present for his physio, barring Angela. He doesn’t eat with the rest of us. I would like to think he sneaks food at some point in the day, but I’m worried he’s not even putting the effort into that. When I saw him yesterday, it looked like he hadn’t slept in days.”

“Well, here’s to our shitty, dysfunctional families,” Jesse mutters, raising his cigar to the sky.

Genji lifts the bottle. “Hear, hear.”

◆ ◆ ◆

“Jesse, I’m having a crisis!” Fareeha is halfway to hysterical, tucked up at the headboard of Jesse’s bed.

Jesse hands her a blue, sparkly mug. The hot chocolate inside is piled high with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles. He presses himself right into her hip and wraps an arm around her shoulders.

She’s got tear tracks down her cheeks, and her breath is hiccoughing out of her lungs, short and sharp. It doesn’t stop her from sipping from the mug, her shoulders jumping under Jesse’s arm. After a long, sweet gulp, she squeezes closer to Jesse’s side and lets herself cry heaving sobs.

“We mourned her! I brought flowers to her grave every day that I could! I had to call my dad to tell him! I—” Fareeha shudders and buries her nose into Jesse’s shirt. He wonders how she can stand what he’s sure is the overwhelming stench of sweat and cigar smoke.

“I know, sweet pea,” Jesse mutters, rubbing a hand along her back.

“She’s been alive this whole time. How the fuck didn’t she tell me? She let me grieve and move on.” Fareeha is still crying, but her face is scrunched up in anger. “Does she think she’ll just be able to waltz back into our lives, no questions asked?”

Jesse refrains from telling her that he would probably welcome Ana with open arms. Wrong place, wrong time. Fareeha takes a furious sip of hot chocolate and it clings to her upper lip.

“If she shows her face, she’s gonna get what’s coming to her,” Fareeha growls, but uncertain as if she doesn’t quite know what that is.

Jesse hums at Fareeha’s anger and sadness in all the right moments until she finally falls asleep, mug of hot chocolate mostly done and head squished between Jesse and the headboard.

◆ ◆ ◆

It is a torrential downpour when a woman in blue, with a braid peeking from her hijab, stumbles into the kitchen of Watchpoint: Gibraltar. The rush of dinner stops, all chatter and clinking of silverware and plates dying in the wake of the new stranger.

Or not so stranger.

ANA AMARI, MANY YEARS LATER:

Captain Amari has let her hair go
completely grey, and her eyes
go completely soft.
There is still bite in her teeth
and claw to her nails, but
she carries with her the
softness of a freshly overturned,
empty grave.

Jesse stands, and so does Fareeha. But where Jesse moves toward Ana, Fareeha storms out of the cafeteria, followed close by a very worried Angela. Ana has the thoughtfulness to look guilty as her eyes follow her daughter out the door. She wrings her hands, but does not dare be the first to break the silence.

Jesse moves up close. He takes in the slope of her shoulders, the ridges of laughlines in her face, the glow of her eyes, the tiny smile gracing her lips. He’s utterly furious at her (for leaving them behind, for letting him think she was dead, for bringing so much pain to Fareeha) but he still hugs her with the careful ferocity of a grateful son.

Ana is warm and solid and so very alive. There is a pulse through her veins, and her lungs expand and contract as she fights the beginnings of tears. Jesse doesn’t bother to resist his own, instead letting himself cry freely into her scarf.

Greetings are shared all around and eventually, the cafeteria returns to its previous liveliness. Fareeha and Angela do not come back, and Jesse doesn’t see them again until morning. When he does, Fareeha is still red-rim-eyed, and Angie refuses to detach herself from Fareeha’s hip. Their fingers tangle on the bench at breakfast, and Fareeha’s grip tightens when Ana walks in.

Jesse pretends not to notice.

◆ ◆ ◆

Jesse finds himself in the smallest training facility on the Watchpoint a week later, eager to let off some steam from the mounting stress and tension around the base. He is surprised to find someone already there, using the barely equipped room to practice.

Hanzo is in the middle of target practice. Jesse watches him struggle to pull his bowstring back to its full draw, miss the target, and yell out in frustration. His face is red. He throws Stormbow to the ground, but even that doesn’t have the power it would have before his injury. He sullenly goes to retrieve the bow, trying yet again to draw an arrow.

Jesse takes a deep breath and walks into the room. “You know, Angie’d have a fit if she saw you in here tryin’ to use your bow.”

“And what say you?” Hanzo pants, glaring down at the floor.

“I say you should at least be usin’ a weapon that’s a little less strenuous. You know we got no shortage of guns and ammunition, right?” Jesse tries to smile, but Hanzo still looks miserable and wan.

Hanzo scoffs. “If I wished to use a gun, I would be using one. I’m trying to test myself.”

“Darlin’, you don’t gotta ruin all your progress to try and prove a point. We just want to see you recover, and you’re kinda takin’ a step in the opposite direction.” Jesse moves forward, places a soft hand on Hanzo’s shoulder.

He can see as Hanzo relaxes, unwinds into the tips of his fingers. His shoulders slouch and tremble. His clenched fists tense and release, Stormbow clattering to the ground. Hanzo’s eyes close as he heaves a crackling sigh.

He does not cry, but when Jesse pulls him close, he slumps into a solid chest and breathes with rattling lungs. Jesse is kind and stays utterly silent through the whole ordeal. By the time Hanzo pulls away, gathering himself back together, the sun has begun to set and a red glow is cast through the high windows of the room.

“When was the last time you ate, ‘Zo?” Jesse asks, oh-so-soft in the dim, evening light.

He watches Hanzo’s brow furrow. He shrugs.

Jesse sighs. “Well, c’mon then, let’s get some food in that belly of yours. I think it was Hana and Lucio cookin’ tonight, so it should be something good. You always like how spicy Hana makes her bibimbap.”

Hanzo smiles, tiny and weak, but it’s the first glimmer of hope Jesse’s seen since Hanzo’s injury.

“I would like that,” Hanzo says.

Jesse reaches out a hand and Hanzo grips it tight.

“I thought you would.”

◆ ◆ ◆

“Do you ever just feel—” Hanzo stares up at the stars, tracing Cassiopeia with his eyes, “Exhausted? With everything?”

Jesse is chain smoking his good cigars, and Hanzo has opened his most expensive bottle of saké. They spent most of the day with Genji and Zenyatta, in a weird, morose celebration of Genji’s not-death. Zenyatta said it would help Genji and Hanzo come to terms with their renewed relationship. It was mostly awkward, but Genji made ramen and everyone left feeling a little bit lighter.

“I used to,” Jesse replies, “But it got better, eventually.”

“I think I want to do that.”

“Get better?”

They don’t talk about the alcohol at Hanzo’s fingers, or the way his feet dangle over the cliffside with reckless abandon. The same way they don’t ever talk about how Jesse’s self sacrificial nature and the smell of smoke on his clothes. Jesse takes a drag from his cigar, long and tasting like tobacco and citrus.

“I think I want to get better.”

Jesse remembers a scrawny kid with a revolver and blood on his hands, he thinks of a girl with braids in her hair and big shoes to fill, he thinks of a boy filled with anger and built half out of metal and half out of blood. Jesse thinks of too many people with pasts to make up for and futures they built with their own calloused hands.

Jesse thinks of a man with enough regret to fill an ocean and a death wish that isn’t going away anytime soon.

“I think better is a pretty good goal, darlin’,” Jesse says.

They stay on the cliffsides until sunrise.