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Hanzo slammed the door behind him.
“C’mon,” Jesse said through another mouthful of blood. He coughed hard, slamming a fist against his ribcage. Hanzo did not look, but it looked an awful lot like Jesse had spit out a tooth and raised an eyebrow at it.
Hanzo resolutely did not look.
Still tonguing the spot where the tooth had been, Jesse tried to give one of his winning grins. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“You got hit by a train,” Hanzo seethed. He threw his bow case harder than was strictly necessary.
“Okay, but--”
“You nearly drowned,” Hanzo ran right over him. “You fucking tried to fight a small army with a butter knife.”
Jesse snickered.
Bad move.
Hanzo turned on his heel and stomped up the stairs to their room. Behind him, Jesse was whining something about it being ‘hilarious’ and ‘making memories’. He did not care.
His heart was still pounding in his chest and he was going to have nightmares about the crowbar sticking out of Jesse’s gut for the rest of his fucking life. He could still hear his lover’s scream. Could still see the sizzling of flesh where the cold iron had hit. He could fucking smell the fae blood muddled with rainwater like they still hadn’t left.
It was supposed to be a simple mission. One water nymph. One. Singular.
How Jesse had managed to start not one but three separate angry mobs involving the majority of South Dakota was beyond him. Under maybe any other circumstance, seeing Jesse flee from a literal crowd of angry humans with pitchforks and torches would have made him chuckle. But his stupid, reckless, death-wish having--
“Babe, c’mon,” Jesse peered into the room cautiously. “This ain’t the first stupid stunt I’ve pulled. What’s actually eatin’ at you?”
Hanzo whirled on him, face incredulous. “Are you kidding?”
Jesse stuttered, eyebrows shooting up. “I, uh--”
“That is your first idea?” Hanzo jabbed a finger at his chest, very purposefully hitting the still somewhat open wound. Jesse recoiled. “You wish to remind me of all your other near death experiences?”
Jesse’s laugh was nervous and he was coughing up blood again. “Well let’s not be dramatic--”
Hanzo couldn’t stop the spark from flying off his skin. Jesse managed to duck before he was quite literally smitten.
“What about my reaction is dramatic, Jesse?” Hanzo snarled.
He gestured at the still bloody torso in front of him. He closed his eyes to try and calm himself and saw the metal sticking through Jesse’s ribs. Saw the twisted anguish on his face. Felt the way the ground shook when Jesse fought the cold iron piercing him with every ounce of his power. He snapped his eyes open again and could not think of any way to make himself clearer to the man smiling sheepishly in front of him.
“I’ll be fine, Han,” Jesse held up a hand to soothe him and moved slow like he was afraid he might spook the dragon. Hanzo stayed stock still.
“Ain’t nothin’ I can’t handle, alright?” He spoke softly. Hanzo wanted so badly for it to sink in. Wanted so badly to believe him.
When the hand fell gently around his shoulder, he flinched away. Actual hurt replaced the concern in Jesse’s eyes. The same hurt that Hanzo was furious he could recognize from the numerous times he’d seen on Jesse’s face when he teetered between life and death. Still there were little streams of blood mixed in with Jesse’s dark brown hair. His split lip still gushed down his chin. And while he could see the fae magic making repairs, it was a visual reminder that the reconstruction itself was necessary at all.
“Do you truly wish to die?” Hanzo asked.
That startled a laugh out of Jesse. “What? No, I don’t wish to--”
“Do you?” Hanzo interrupted. “It was one water nymph, Jesse. There was no reason for--...”
He gestured vaguely again.
“The train?” Jesse winced. “Alright that was a smidge much, I’ll admit. Thought it was gunna look a lot cooler than it did--”
“No!” Hanzo couldn’t breathe. Sparks were rippling on his skin again, and again Jesse moved forward to embrace him. Again Hanzo stepped back. “I do not know how to make you understand. I do not know what else I could say.”
Jesse frowned. “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”
Hanzo fixed him with a cold glare. “Leave.”
“Dragonling--”
“Do not call me that,” Hanzo snarled. “Do not touch me. Do not… just leave, Jesse. I need time.”
Jesse shook his head, not believing. “I can’t just leave you Han--”
Hanzo wouldn’t hear it. He couldn’t. Thinking quick, he took another step back and tugged his shirt off over his head (pointedly ignoring the soft compliments Jesse threw his way with words sweeter than honey--all bullshit). He tugged it on inside-out just as quickly.
“Dra--Er. Hanzo,” Jesse stopped himself before using the endearment. Wise choice, Hanzo thought bitterly. “Your shirt’s inside out, sweetheart.”
“I know,” Hanzo said. He took a step towards Jesse. The man flinched backwards, stricken. “Repels fae, so I have been told.”
He watched as Jesse flicked through a series of expressions--shock, hurt, disbelief, then anger. Real, genuine anger, like the kind he’d seen when they fought the sphinx. The air in the room went cold and still.
Jesse didn’t offer a response. Just turned around and walked out.
Good, Hanzo thought.
Jesse didn’t come home that night. The twinge of panic in Hanzo’s chest was resolutely ignored. He can handle it, he thought with no small amount of fury. He said so himself.
Jesse didn’t come home that entire week.
By the end of the second week, Hanzo’s rage was starting to simmer down, but still Jesse had not returned.
His choice, Hanzo told himself resolutely. I would have felt it if something had happened.
Still, the doubt eating away at him grew stronger yet after the fourth week.
Then five weeks.
Then six, seven, eight.
The bedding pile in their shared room was beginning to feel cold. Hanzo shut his eyes and forced himself to sleep. In the morning, he would be unable to recall feeling warm tears slipping down his cheeks.
Four months.
It took four months for Hanzo’s worry to outweigh his anger.
Four months until he finally set out to find his lost fae.
It took another week to figure out where exactly Jesse had gone. It wasn’t that he had gone out of his way to hide his trail--on the contrary. It looked like Jesse had fist-fought his way through most of the supernatural community in southern Chile. Still, the wreckage was impressively vast, and it was difficult to pluck out the more recent incidents from the most brutal.
Hanzo still did not have a satisfying explanation for why an entire chain of islands had been on fire for the better part of the last month. Uninhabited islands, thankfully. He wasn’t entirely sure that was Jesse at all, but the local botanists had reported discovering a brand new red and gold mushroom after the strange “wild fires,” and Hanzo didn’t really believe in coincidences.
He was tired, and while he knew the approximate latitude of his fae, flying out across the pacific made him reminiscent of the time they’d tried to stake out a griffon’s perch for over 72 hours. Unlike his fae, Hanzo did very much value sleep.
He was tempted to turn around and just wait for Jesse to come home. He had to come home eventually.
He had to.
The first sign that he was getting close was written on the surface of the water. Smooth, glassy blue-green ocean started to look ragged around the edges. Waves started growing higher and higher, curling at the tips and crashing down mercilessly on themselves where there was no shore to break them. The spray of the ocean reached up leagues above where it should have. There were no reefs nearby to alter the current. No winds to tease the water higher into the air. But the air’s stillness was welcome to Hanzo.
The thought of returning home to that empty room made him taste bile. He couldn’t do it. He was getting closer. He had to be.
The first time Jesse spotted Hanzo, he flew away.
Hanzo didn’t want to think about the implications. So he did the only thing he could do.
He followed.
The second time, Jesse’s fingers curled wickedly in the air and tugged a wave up to impossible heights. He hurled the wave at Hanzo, who met it head on.
The wave knocked him back a few feet, but Hanzo refused to step out of the way. He scowled at his fae, rubbing a hand down his face and trying to squeeze the salt water out of his beard.
“Don’t worry,” Jesse called with a smile that no-where near reached his eyes. “Still golden.”
He flew away again.
When Hanzo rested--for just minutes at a time--he would close his eyes and stay wrapped in the obscurity offered by storm clouds. Lightning that was typically soothing to him reminded him of the times Jesse had taken him out to the vast stretches of yellow sand in the Sahara, insisting that Hanzo use his own lightning to melt the sand into spikes of glass that littered the landscape seemingly at random.
“Beautiful,” His fae had said. “Just stunnin’.”
“It is only glass, Jesse,” Hanzo had replied with a smile.
Jesse had grinned at him. “Wasn’t talkin’ bout the glass, dragonling.”
The clouds he rested in had no room for glass. Nor did they share the same glint of gold above a smile he desperately missed.
The third time he saw Jesse, the fae actually stayed where he was.
“Can I help you?” Jesse said coldly.
“Jesse,” Hanzo tried to keep his voice level. “Come home. There is no need for this.”
Jesse rolled his eyes and flitted above him. There was something angry in the buzz of his wings. The shimmering gold moved much too fast.
“That so?” He sneered. A tanned hand gestured at Hanzo broadly. “Was under the impression you wanted to repel fae.”
Hanzo looked down at his still inside-out shirt. He frowned.
“I did not expect you to abandon me for the Pacific Ocean,” he said dryly. “I was under the impression that it simply prevented the touch of the fae.”
The same coldness from before flooded Jesse’s features. “Then who am I not to grant you your wish, dragonling?”
Something about the term of endearment felt wrong and Hanzo cringed.
“Come home, Jesse,” he pleaded. “We can discuss it there. I am...I am not sure how much longer my strength will last in this pursuit.”
It wasn’t quite a lie. Hanzo hadn’t found rest for a fortnight now. He did not require food, but he imagined the painful emptiness that pushed its way through his bones ought to be reminiscent of it. The way he drooped where he hovered seemed to be proof enough for Jesse. For just a moment, a split second, Jesse’s expression softened. It was replaced just as quickly with stubborn hardness.
“Go home, Hanzo.” Jesse said.
“Will you meet me there?” Hanzo knew how pathetic it sounded. He didn’t care.
“Go home,” was all Jesse offered in response. When he flew away again, Hanzo didn’t give chase.
It took a week to get home.
It would take longer than a week for it to feel like home.
Hanzo wasn’t sure how long it could take, but he knew that without Jesse standing in the living room waiting for him to come back, there was no home to return to.
Bitterly he wondered if he would just have to accept the other man’s obvious deathwish.
Somewhere deep inside him, he knew it was nothing to wonder about. Knew he couldn’t.
In that same spot, he wondered instead if he would just have to accept that someday Jesse wouldn’t make it back. That maybe an empty living room now was better if it meant not having to live through Jesse’s death. That maybe he didn’t just want to avoid holding the fae as he died--maybe this had removed him entirely from the inevitability.
If Hanzo took a particularly long route home, he would eventually blame it on poor memory and exhaustion.
Jesse was there in the living room. He was there, sitting on one of the tacky cow-patterned couches he’d stolen from a human antiques store. Hanzo spotted the braid slung over his shoulder before he saw any glint of gold. And he knew from the way Jesse’s hand rubbed at his nose that he was trying to cover up the blood of a broken nose he’d received thousands of years ago.
Hanzo’s heart skipped a beat. He knew that the visage of a younger fae Jesse read badly of the other man’s emotional state. He knew that it meant his fae was hurting.
But he was just so glad not to come home to an empty home.
So glad to have returned to a home at all.
“Jesse,” he said quietly. “I… I am happy that you are here.”
The younger man huffed. “Yeah.”
Hanzo frowned, but didn’t push. “Did you want to… talk?”
There they were--gold eyes as sharp as he remembered them locking onto him like a threat. Jesse stood up and took a step towards him. The man winced, a shiver running through him, and rocked back on his heels. He gritted his jaw and stayed still.
“Yeah, Han.” Jesse spat. “I do.”
Hanzo stayed silent, and Jesse almost seemed to get angrier with the lack of response.
“You don’t get it do you?” He laughed hollowly. “All claws and scales and ‘oh lookit me, I’m the last of the dragons--’”
“Get to the point.”
“You don’t get it,” Jesse snarled. “That is the point. There is no cold iron for dragons. There’s no inside out clothing trick. No salt I can toss over my shoulder.”
Hanzo narrowed his eyes.
“It fuckin’ hurts, Han,” Jesse met his eyes reluctantly still visibly trying to stay angry. Hurt laced his features worse than when the crowbar-- Hanzo halted the train of thought before it could move forward. Jesse shook his head to focus. “S’actually fuckin’ painful to be near you when you’ve gone and done that.”
“Done what, Jesse?” Hanzo kept his voice level.
“The goddamn shirt, Hanzo!” Jesse near exploded. He swayed forward like he wanted to step closer and immediately took a step backwards with a hand pressed against his head. The wince did not escape Hanzo’s notice this time. He felt his stomach drop before he heard Jesse speak again. “The fuck did you think the lore meant by ‘repel fae’, huh? Did you think it was like receiving a polite fuckin’ letter? Gettin’ asked nicely to step off?”
“I… I didn’t--”
“Nah, you didn’t think, I know,” Jesse waved a hand dismissively. “Honestly not sure if that makes it better or worse, dragonling.”
Hanzo didn’t know what to do. He took a step back experimentally and watched in horror as relief flooded Jesse’s face. Like he’d had a hot poker held to his skin that had just finally let up. He moved fast, tugging the shirt off and flinging it away from him like it was contagious. Again Jesse’s face relaxed and Hanzo had a nagging suspicion that the distance Jesse had kept wasn’t purely for dramatic effect. He swallowed.
“That,” he paused. “That was not what I intended. For that, I am sorry.”
Jesse took a step towards him, eyes hopeful. Hanzo held up a hand to stop him and Jesse stilled.
“But I am not sorry for my reaction,” Hanzo said firmly.
Jesse looked like he’d been hit. Hanzo steeled himself.
“You cannot expect me to just be ready for you to die, Jesse,” the words fell out of him with just as much anger as he had initially felt. “Dragons… Dragons can live on if nothing happens to them. But you cannot ask that of me. You cannot expect me to just be fine with--”
“What the hell are you talkin’ about?” Jesse looked baffled.
“You, Jesse. I am talking about you stealing an iron train and carrying it for miles. I am talking about the blood that flowed from your arms by the time you arrived with it, how you faltered and fell under its weight,” His voice shook but he didn’t care. “I am talking about the way you goaded those mobs, how you handed them the iron weapons and told me it was so they had ‘a fightin’ chance’.”
Jesse stood still, listening to every word. Hanzo breathed in deep. He let his eyes shut and again saw the metal crowbar. Again heard Jesse’s cry. Just as he had since Jesse had left.
“You cannot ask me to sit idly by as you stand toe to toe with death--and for what?” Hanzo asked desperately. “What could you possibly hope to gain from it? Do you think it impresses me?”
“Han, that’s not--”
“No,” Hanzo cut him off again. “Do you have so little to live for that your life is worth risking?”
The question sat heavy in the air. Hanzo swallowed again. So many more barbed words sat on his tongue, but he held them back. Choked them back when he saw the man before him again was his Jesse. The wild brown locks cut short, his beard in disarray, and his broad shoulders caved in where he stood abashed.
“Honestly hadn’t thought about it much,” Jesse said quietly. Hanzo had to literally bite his tongue to remain silent. “Died once before. Didn’t really stick. Guess I just assumed…I dunno. That I’d be fine.”
“Well you might not be!” Hanzo shouted. Jesse flinched. “Have you considered what you would be asking of me? To live out the rest of my life without you? I cannot--I could not.”
Jesse looked at him sadly. “Yeah. You’re right, dragonling. That ain’t fair.”
Hanzo nodded sharply. He huffed out a breath, anger sitting heavy on his heart.
“But I ain’t your plaything,” the danger crept back into Jesse’s eyes. Hanzo was almost relieved. He didn’t know what to do with a cowed Jesse. “Might be in your hoard or whatever, but. You don’t own me. Y’don’t get to just…”
“You don’t get to hurt me to make a point.” Jesse levelled his gaze and held his ground.
Hanzo winced.
“Never again, Jesse,” he said quietly. He allowed one of the tips of his fingers to curve into a claw, and drew cuts in the shape of an X over his heart. The sting barely registered. “You have my word.”
Slowly, slowly relief sank into Jesse’s features. His shoulders pushed back and he looked less afraid to stand up straight, to take up space. Still he shuffled where he stood, not moving any closer. Hanzo ached to reach out but he didn’t want to physically harass the man into contact he didn’t want. Didn’t want to again give him the impression that his existence earned anything but respect from the dragon.
“Can I, uh…” Jesse gestured to the space between them. “You still need time? I can leave, if you--”
Hanzo rushed forward and wrapped his arms around his fae, his fae, tucking his nose into the crook of Jesse’s neck and holding on tightly. He breathed in the scent that had been fading from their shared bedding and tried to ignore the way his breath came in short stutters. Tried to ignore the stinging from the skin on his chest, and the sting at the corners of his eyes.
“No,” Hanzo hissed. “Don’t you dare.”
Jesse returned the embrace slowly, a hand coming up to the back of Hanzo’s head, smoothing out his hair. The man bowed into the embrace, sinking down to his knees and taking his dragon with him. Hanzo shook in his fae’s grasp, trying to control his breathing. Jesse pulled away just enough to press kisses to Hanzo’s face, peppering them across his cheeks where traitorous tears gave him away and pressed desperately against his lips.
“M’yours, dragonling,” Jesse whispered, leaning his forehead against Hanzo’s and staring. “No fight’s ever gonna change that, a’ight?”
“I had thought--I feared you had--” Hanzo swallowed down a hiccup.
Jesse hushed him again with gentle kisses. “S’long as you want me, I’m here. Alright?”
Hanzo nodded, leaning his weight against Jesse. Letting himself be held.
“Just promise me,” Hanzo whispered. “Promise that you will--”
“--be careful, I know, I know, dragonling,” Jesse reassured. “I will. No more trains.”
“Or mobs.”
“Or mobs,” Jesse agreed with a little laugh. “Though in my defense, that bit wasn’t intentional.”
Hanzo snickered. “Perhaps you should refrain from setting human settlements on fire for a while. Maybe avoid setting whole island chains--”
“Listen,” Jesse pulled away, grinning again. “I was goin’ through some shit, alright? And hey, they weren’t populated or nothin’ so--”
Hanzo shut him up with another kiss.