Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The cushioning of the chair wrapped the archer in a cheap, velvet cocoon. A very uncomfortable cocoon. The fabric matched the current mindset of Overwatch: cheap. They had barely any funds, which came to no surprise to anyone at all. The vast majority of the funds they managed to hoard into a small account came from D.Va, the gamer superstar that was now perched in what looked to be a very uncomfortable position. The girl always seemed to be an egotistic brat, especially on the battlefield. She once flashed a grin as she turbo-boosted in front of Hanzo, becoming his own personal, clanking shield manifesting in the  of the out of tuned melodies of war. D.Va looked too cocky for her own good, and even managed to sneak a quick snicker and offer a ‘Wow! I saved your life again today, Dragon Man!’

That night after the battle, Hanzo had taken a bottle of her Mountain Dew and used it as a doomed target for his arrows.

However, that was over two months ago, and Hanzo had arrived in Overwatch approximately two months before that. The archer basically knows the entirety of the team like the back of his hand— Well, the surface at least. He didn’t dare let himself draw close to any individual of the team. Instead, he studied each and every one of them, as if he was gazing down upon a game of chess. He took in each of their moves, in and out of battle, how they interacted, and how they responded to stress. He could probably guess each of their moves in a battle before they could do it, which came in handy for when he comes upon himself perched on a roof and responsible for eliminating anyone who dares to believe they can take a teammate from behind.

That’s how he knows that D.Va, while cocky, is one of the most selfless people on the team. She works, or games, into the early hours of the morning, and considering the schedule the heroes typically have on the base, she must barely have four hours of sleep, max. The girl then transfers the funds she made that night over to Winston, who can apply it properly to where it’s needed. Hence why half of the team was now sat in the meeting room, discussing plans for solving the financial crisis. Hanzo eventually let out a disgruntled sigh, folding his arms and leaning back into the constricting chair, his thoughts fuzzing temporarily as the monsoon of a conversation buzzed in his ears like annoying gnats.

“…What do you expect me to do? Work at the local market?” The large, burly man grouched, eyeing the primate scientist sat in the center chair. Winston had yet to look up at the German, still studying the finance papers in front of him.

“Awww, Reinhardt, lighten up! It won’t be that bad!” Lena piped up in a chirpy voice, smiling brightly as she tipped her head at the man in an over-exaggerated fashion. “We can meet all the cool people in this town! Besides, we can’t let Hana take all the glory. This should be a competition!” She practically giggled at the offer, making it impossible to believe that she was once dubbed a ghost.

D.Va immediately gasped loudly, leaping to stand in her chair, “Competition?!” She practically screeched, “You’re all going DOWN!!” She announced loudly, grinning excitedly and vibrating as if she was about to take Lena’s abilities for herself.

A long draw of silence followed her exclamation; Winston had even looked up to see if anyone had knocked out one of their teammates in response to Hana. However, Reinhardt managed one of his confident grins, suddenly standing and setting his calloused hands, palms down, to press against the now shuddering, dark oak table, “If it’s a competition you want, you’ll get one, small child!”

Brigette smiled nervously at her godfather’s response, chuckling a tad as she set her hands on her knees, “Ah.. Now you’ve got him going.”

Hanzo dully watched the conversation turn from sour to determined, clearly unimpressed. How exactly he had got dragged out of his room was completely unknown to him, he was perfectly happy sipping on his tea and flipping through his secret latest edition of the manga “Jibaku Shōnen Hanako-kun.” Yet, somehow, a man with both a metal and fleshy arm had dragged him out in an ungraceful manner to watch the shit-show of a conversation bubbling before his eyes. This man was so curious in him since day one, and for some odd reason, he protected him.

When he initially entered Overwatch, it was like he had stepped into a lion’s den. Everyone had turned to him with malicious intent. For the next few weeks, they stalked him through the long grassed of the savannah, ready to pounce on him either when given the chance or he made the wrong move toward his brother. Yet, one lamely annoying lion prowled after him separate from the rest, yet not with the intent to kill, but instead to drive off the rest of the lions.

Hanzo had been dumbfounded when the one armed lion stepped in from of him as Mercy snapped at him over something minuscule, and when the lion provided him an excuse to back out of a meeting that had been a clear trap waiting to snap shut on his hands. The archer tried time and time again to push the lion away, claiming he didn’t need his help in such a rude manner that even Tracer would have backed off. Yet… He remained, steadily sitting in the constraining velvet next to Hanzo.
The archer studied the man’s calm exterior, bronzed with the New Mexican sun and worn with years of experience. Hanzo couldn’t help being curious himself, I mean, neither of them had really told each other anything. The man would hound him for the reason everyone was pissed at him, and yet, he never got an answer. Still, he ended up stopping a month in, so either he found the answer himself, or Hanzo had a strike of luck. Either way, the archer’s attention was suddenly jolted as he found the cowboy looking at him. He blinked his chestnut eyes before drawing his gaze away in a sharp gesture, hesitating as he realized everyone else had started looking at him. He just blinked, clearly at a blank of what was directed at him.

Reinhardt’s mood immediately darkened, letting out an insufferable groan and pinching his nose with large fingers, “You haven’t even been listening, have you?” He accused with a sharp narrowing of his brows.

Hanzo winced momentarily, falling prey to his emotions once again in front of someone he deemed would never see them. He struggled to come up with an explanation, almost beginning to squirm under the pressure of the harsh gazes.

“Yer gotta be kidding me.” McCree suddenly spoke, sitting up from his spot next to Hanzo and accusingly narrowed his honey brown eyes at Reinhardt, “Four months have gone n’ past and yer still ain’t gonna lighten up on the stray?” He blew a rough breath, clearly from the dust and cigar smoke he’s inhaled over his violent, exciting years of life. He eyed the large man with no hint of fear, yet all the same, his voice was as smooth as a much higher class velvet than what they were forced to sit on.

Reinhardt practically growled, taking a step toward the cowboy, “You wanna go kid?” He taunted, the old man clearly ready to throw punches at the youngster.

However, a rumble interrupted the scene before it could begin, “McCree, Hanzo, you two will be going on the next mission in place of Lena and Reinhardt. Please retire while we sort this funds issue out.” Winston eyed Reinhardt momentarily as he resigned him from the mission with a quick flick of his large wrist, “The mission is tomorrow, the details will be on your phones by the time you get to your rooms.” He put simply before adjusting the swiping the hologram away and focusing down upon the papers below him.

Hanzo looked appalled by the new assignment; he was supposed to have another three days until his next mission! He grit his teeth for a moment before drawing in a sharp, controlled breath and getting to his feet. Without a word, he turned and exited the wonky meeting room. The archer folded his arms as he raised his chin a few centimeters. He had the next few luxury days all planned out. Tomorrow he was going to remain in his room, relaxing with hot, preferably unflavored tea, until noon. Then, he was going to go on a run along the coast line, taking in deep gulps of the pristine, salty air. Yet, his plans were foiled, once again. He quickly masked his agitation as the familiar metallic clangs of spurs echoed down the hallway behind him. He contemplating running forward to dart around a corner and hide from the cowboy; he just didn’t want to deal with the conversation. However, as a “Hey, Darlin’, wait up!” nestled into his ears, any hope of darting away diminished into mere atoms of the neurons that were the simple building blocks of thought. He closed his chestnut eyes momentarily before pausing in his fox-silent steps, dully looking back at the overeager yet ever so calming cowboy.

McCree eyed Hanzo for a second before humming a tune that could only remind someone of smell of apple pie wafting outside to the rocking chair on the front porch. The wind chimes glittered in a fascinating fashion against the sun, humming their melodic toon along with the cowboy. Cows lowed softly in the background, the smell of fresh grass intertwining with the fresh pie to create a wonderful display for anyone’s nose who oh so luckily stumbled upon it. He was soon torn out of his temporary bliss to focus back on McCree, who was now giving him an ever so curious look.
Hanzo immediately grit his teeth and stuck his chin in the air, proceeding forward whilst folding his arms once more, “I didn’t need your assistance, McCree.” He growled under his breath, closing his chestnut eyes as he marched forward.

McCree simply flashed one of his flattering, cowboy smiles at the response, quickly following after the stubborn archer, “Well I‘ll be damned then! Sorry to have offended you, darlin’. I’ll be darned sure to keep that in my noggin’ next time the snakes spit venom a’ yah.”

The archer couldn’t help but pry an eye open as he heard his speech, eyeing the cowboy as if he had a snake of his own slithering out of his nostril, “I’ve told you to stop calling me darling.” He muttered before sniffing and focusing forward once more.

Jesse grinned and simply strolled in front of Hanzo, turning around and beginning to walk backward. He drew his hat off his head, setting it against his red chest and bowing slightly, “I’m sorry, m’ darlin’! Whatever can I do to make up for m’ sins?”

Hanzo felt like raising his scarred hand to his shoulder and draw the bow that laid on his bed several doors down from where he was standing; he had been cleaning it before the tea break, which then lead to the flashy cowboy dragging him out of his cocoon of solitude. Maybe the damned cowboy could repent his sins by never letting him see his snarky face again. He sighed hopelessly and let his head droop a bit, the pony tail resting atop of his head as if it was a mushroom atop a tree bending almost as if it were mocking McCree’s bow. “You’re hopeless, McCree.” Was all he muttered, just moving to walk around him once more. However, he was stopped as a metal arm extended out in front of him and thunked against his chest. He blinked his brown eyes before focusing on McCree, narrowing his eyes at him as he readied for some sort of backlash from his comment and actions. Had he finally managed to push away the last person that tried to cling onto him? That tried to care about him?

Good. I deserve this.

The cowboy eyed the archer for a good eight to ten seconds before eventually tipping his head, “Call me Jesse.” He requested easily, his honey brown eyes nothing more than caring and curious. He clearly wasn’t about to twist around and draw the pistol holstered at his right hip. Instead, he was more inviting than anything else, as if he was holding the door to the restaurant he worked at, inviting the customers in to enjoy the smells of the mom and pop, ol’ country food.

Hanzo blinked at Jesse, completely dumbfounded at his response. It looked like McCree had actually slapped him across the face, even when he had done the complete opposite. He stared for a few moments longer before glancing down, his eyes darting to his sandaled feet before quickly brushing past the cowboy.

McCree immediately winced and twisted around, “Aye! Wait, Hanzo!“ He squawked in dismay before quickly following after the man, “I don’ mean anything bad, I was just askin’ if you’d call me Jesse!” He pleaded, carefully eyeing the back of the Shimada, “Give me a chance, will yah?”

The archer grit his teeth before shaking his head, “You don’t understand what you’re getting into.” He warned harshly, not looking back at the cowboy as he strode closer towards being able to slam his door shut in the man’s face.

“I like a bit of danger, Archer Boy!” He smirked as he spotted Hanzo pause at the nickname before proceeding forward, “Besides, you can’t get pissy with me now! We’ll be stuck together on a mission come tomorrow!” He hummed, “At least lemme tag along while yah pack, you don’t even gotta look at me!”

Hanzo groaned loudly before reaching his door and glaring back at the cowboy, “Why won’t you back off, Jesse?!” He hissed the question, “I clearly don’t want you around!”
McCree immediately flashed one of his sharpest smirks at those words, leaning towards Hanzo slightly and poking his hat up with a single gesture of his index finger, “You called me Jesse.”

The archer immediately froze at that, just staring at the man with big, chestnut eyes. However, his face immediately scrunched into a scowl before he slammed the door shut, a harsh vibration following the movement, disrupting the calm environment around him. He glared at the door as he heard the faint chuckle past the thick iron and a quick “See you tomorrow, Archer Boy.”

As the small, metallic clang of the spurs on the back of McCree’s boots faded into a faint memory, Hanzo slowly slid down against his door and let out a disgruntled groan. He set his tense face in his hands, sucking in a sharp breath as he processed one of the few conversations he had in years. Even in the past few months, he had barely given a word to anyone other than his brother. He’d avoid everyone for the most part, only giving faint yes’s or no’s in response to any complex questions asked of him. Other times, he’d just shake his head to create the desired response.

So, it resulted in him be cocooned into his room for the most part. It was barren, and quite small like the other rooms. He was sure people like Winston and Reinhardt had larger rooms, but he didn’t need much. It was a dull gray, clearly metal, with a few LED lights stuck into the ceiling. The floor was metal as well, but some white carpets had been thrown into a few areas to try to combat the constricting feeling the room gave off. It was like a metal box. The bed was moderately sized, yet the comforter was more like a towel than anything else. Luckily, he had a blanket of his own that he had brought with him throughout the years he had traveled throughout various countries. It was small and mangled, but it provided a tad more heat, and more importantly, comfort.

He squeezed his eyes shut momentarily, ridding him of the suffocated feeling the social interaction had given him before climbing to his feet. He wobbled momentarily before walking over to the bed and sitting down, drawing the blanket over to gaze at the worn stitching of the blue and green dragons. They curled around each other in a protective manner, as if in a never-ending soar through the pinkish-orange sky. He eyed the small holes now dotting the green dragon, eventually sighing and flopping back onto his bed.

The blanket had originally been Genji’s when he was younger, back in the days where Hanzo would secretly help his little brother walk under the violent glare of his father. As a child, he would most certainly be dubbed the best brother, he care so much for his brother. He always taught him the things their father believe Genji should learn himself, which may explain why Genji became the ‘Golden Boy’ of the duo. Their father thought he had learned it all himself. Hanzo frowned momentarily as he watched the metal fan rotate lazily in its permanent 360.

Hanzo would end up sneaking into his brother’s room at night, especially when he picked up on him getting stressed or frustrated during the day. It started when Genji was born actually, and ended up abruptly ending when Genji reached his rebellious teenage years. The archer didn’t exactly know what had went through his mind to change a tradition so suddenly, but neither commented on it. It became something of the past, and neither allowed themselves to think of it. It ended up with Hanzo keeping Genji’s blanket, having needed it to keep warm on the way back to his room in the cold minutes before dawn of the winter season.

Yet, to give it back to Genji now.. To admit to holding onto the dear item so long, despite the bronzed stains of blood and the mended holes dotting the surface.. Would be admitting to his emotions and weakness. He couldn’t do that, and he doubted he could ever do it without Genji stumbling upon it himself. He closed his eyes, not noticing as Echo had dimmed the lights until the room had fallen into an endless, cold abyss.

He didn’t deserve to see Genji’s smirk or cackle behind his visor when he spotted his long lost blanket. He didn’t dare to let himself have the joy of thinking of the taunts his brother would give him, the shoulder pats, or even the invite to see a possible long lost item of his own. He gripped the blanket tighter against his chest, dully opening his eyes to gaze at the looming black hole constricting him in its brilliant ability to eradicate all sign of any light particle. He wished it would swallow him whole, consume him and erase every particle of existence from the lives he impacted throughout the past few decades.


It’s what I deserve, right?


Yet, it never came. The archer laid staring at the bountiful abyss, the metal walls twisting into a suffocating cocoon of thoughts. The cold air hissed like vipers as it nipped at his skin, surrounding him and leaving him vulnerable to whatever lurks in the air vents hidden in the abyss of shadows. The blanket no longer provided any relief against the shadows seeping from Hanzo’s conscience, instead just allowing the darkness to consume the archer in his solitude.

For the next hours, Shimada didn’t move, just allowing himself to be suffocated by the metal cocoon of his own thoughts.

It’s what I deserve.

Chapter Text

The weight of the quiver rested gently upon Hanzo’s right shoulder, as if softly chirping the melodies of a near weightless song bird to bounce gently against his cochlea. His silent stride came to a halt as he inspected the deemed meeting area for all departing members: it was empty. He gave a soft sigh; Was it relief? The archer wasn’t exactly sure. Instead of pondering on his small action, he took a few graceful strides towards a bench and carefully sat back against the, yet again, cheap cushioning. Whenever this base was made, it must’ve been hasty. It wasn’t blatantly cheap, but if you looked through the lines, there was clear evidence of careless mistakes and cheap decisions.

Hanzo moved his attention towards the armor coiled around his calves, carefully adjusting it to ensure it wasn’t going to flop off like a blind, panicked fish in the midst of battle. He had to be mobile, he could be shot or lacerated anywhere on his body other than his calves and feet, and he could still manage to fight. As a long ranged to medium ranged shooter, he had to constantly be on the move to reposition himself to either benefit himself or his team. Without his legs, he would be stranded in a foiled position and be completely susceptible to any sort of attack. He didn’t care if someone drew a knife and tore it through the lining of his esophagus, letting his life end in an explosion of glorious, red precipitation. Instead, he cared about the fact that he would be dying unable to fulfill his duty, and therefore would lose all honor he held onto while he was alive. Though, what amount he continued to cling onto was quite feeble after his.. betrayal.

The archer hesitated at his own reminder to the event, temporarily freezing as he briefly recalled Genji’s desperate pleas tearing through his auditory canal and rupturing his cochlea in a permanently deafening manner. He grit his canines, his brows furrowing for a moment before repressing the memory back into its shadowed corner of his consciousness, allowing it to do nothing more than taunt him as it usually did. The Shimada eventually drew back from his armor, temporarily satisfied with its buckles and bindings, before tightening the strap on the small rucksack strung around his left shoulder. The night before had offered him ample time to get everything together, but of course, his wallowing, something he would immediately contradict, had shortened that time immensely. So, a few hours earlier he had gotten around to reading the report of the upcoming mission.

Luckily, it wasn’t a large mission at all, it was a stakeout more than anything. Hanzo and McCree were just scouts for the upcoming larger mission, but in return, they got to take that day off. The two were responsible for mapping out a new Talon base that was discovered only days earlier. The idea was simpler than Genji’s strategies at chess: get in close enough for Echo to digitally map, and then, well, get the fuck out. Winston clearly wasn’t expecting the duo to run into anything that was particularly a threat, he didn’t even assign them a healer. Hanzo doubted the cowman had much experience behind a needle and thread either.

However, it turned out that the assignment was taking place in the heights of the Alps, so, Hanzo had to alter his dress wear and contents of his bag to comply to the harsh weather the mountains breathed in the midst of winter. He was dressed in a puffy, black, high-neck jacket with a faint trace of the dragons curling up his left arm. A tighter, near spandex, yellow shirt graced his chest beneath his jacket, and dark blue, thick sweats accompanied the contrasting color. A pair of gray snow boots gowned his feet and a gray Thermos full of green tea found itself pinned to his hip. Within the blue rucksack on the left part of his back resided a few MREs, just in case they were to get stranded in the mountains, a few packets of green tea, a lighter, a bag of classic trail mix, a tool kit, a water purifying kit, and a manual med kit stocked to the brim with supplies. He couldn’t warm up to the idea of having to face Dr.Ziegler to get some health packs before he left. If he got lucky, McCree would have thought ahead and done it himself, though, he had the impression that the cowboy liked to “wing” things. So, the average medical supplies would have to manage. He doubted they’d need it though, unless he got lucky and the cowboy tripped and slammed his head onto a rock.

He doubted he was that lucky either.

The archer eventually found himself getting to his feet as he heard faint footsteps echoing down the hallway that lead to his lobby. He readied himself to give the cowboy an expression mixed of disgust and annoyance, turning on his heel to watch the figure step in. As he raised his hand a bit to point harshly at the clock, he was forced to freeze as he realized that the footsteps weren’t far down the hall. In fact, they were the faint pats of his brother, who had already stopped at the door. He must’ve only heard him when he was mere yards away.

Genji was dressed in a comfy, green and gray sweatshirt and dark gray sweats, a clear indication that he had no intent of joining the duo on the mission, whenever the other half of the duo was to appear anyway. He had leaned himself against the doorframe, clearly having noticed that the man had believed he was the farther away cowman rather than the nearing assassin of the night. He smirked sharply, his mask had been removed to reveal his scarred, yet oddly young, beaming face. Hanzo had always questioned how Genji had managed to be born with those looks, and managed to keep it despite…

He cut his own thoughts off before they could finish.

The archer let his hand fall back to his side, his chin lowering a tad to sink below the raised neck of the jacket. He carefully studied his brother with sharp, chestnut eyes before turning his attention away and mindlessly adjusting the strap that held his folded bow underneath his jacket. “What do you need, Genji?” The question came out a bit harsher than intended, but he paid no mind to it.

“Can I not bid my brother goodbye?” Genji questioned, his softer, chestnut eyes not moving away from his brother. He eventually folded his arms, the slight chorus of synthetic muscles expanding to take over the following silence after the question.

Hanzo didn’t seem moved by the gesture, instead, he felt like snapping at Genji for being so kind-hearted and foolish. Yet, instead, he finished adjusting the strap and finally lifted his gaze, “I’ll be back in the early evening, there’s no need to give goodbyes. Clearly, no one believes this mission will put either of us in any harm.” He eyed his brother before glancing out to the garage, watching as Echo mindlessly hovered around the landing gear of the jet they were readying to use. “It’s senseless putting energy into this.”

The partial cyborg narrowed his gaze at that, quietly studying the back of Hanzo’s head, “The dragons state otherwise, brother.” He argued back with a sharper tone, “Something’s afoot, and it has been ever since you got here.” He continued to press, eyeing his brother for a reaction, “I’m still your brother, am I not? You shouldn’t be avoiding me like this.”

Hanzo flinched softly at the reminder of the connection their dragons shared, falling dead silent as he continued to gaze out at the garage. He seemed to savor Genji’s words on his ears, hesitating in answering as he knew once he did, those words would become the past rather than now. However, he eventually closed his eyes and blew a quiet breath, moving his gaze past Genji and to the cowboy, now lazily striding through the hall. “Hurry up, cowman. We’re thirteen minutes off track.” He grouched, temporarily glaring at McCree before turning and opening the door to the garage.

Jesse barked a laugh, seeming to refuse to quicken his pace, “Aww, c’mon darlin’! Give me a break, I needed my damned coffee!” He blinked as he spotted Genji, curious as he eyed the brothers before just stepping right on past him.

Genji’s eyes widened a tad as he realized that his brother had completely ignored his accusations and practically pretended Genji wasn’t there at all. Anger boiled in his chest, gritting his teeth as he took a step forward. Yet, before even Zenyatta’s words could nag at the back of his head, his brother interrupted.

The archer paused beside the doorframe, not looking back at his brother as he gazed forward, “I’ll be careful.” He stated in a much softer tone, remaining in his spot for a few moments before ripping the glue from the ground and continuing forth toward the jet. The cowboy easily quickened his pace after that, following after Hanzo with a clear eagerness to find out what happened in the lobby.

The cyborg just remained frozen temporarily, clearly moved by the simple words Hanzo had offered. He eventually cracked a smile and rested his weight further against the doorframe, “Yeah… You better.” He uttered softly under his breath before straightening up and turning on his heel, silently returning to walk the same trail as he did a few moments earlier.

︾ ︾ ︾

McCree managed a grin as he trotted up beside Hanzo, ignoring the whine of the ramp as Echo had initiated it to close. The spurs at the back of his boots kicked softly against each other, as if they were a pair of a newborn calf’s hooves, unsteadily bumping against each other as it tried to take its first few steps of life. He tipped his head, suddenly resting his elbow against the archer’s shoulder, “Sooo… What’s that all ‘bout?” He inquired, his pistol digging into his own thigh as he leaned closer.

Hanzo froze up at the touch, just fixating his gaze forward before slowly dragging his chestnut eyes to look the cowboy over. “You’re wearing cowboy boots in the Alps?” He dodged the question, dully staring at him, “You don’t even have a jacket.”

Jesse blinked, glancing over himself for a moment; Hanzo was right, he hadn’t even grabbed a jacket on the way out. He was in his typical mission outfit with a red poncho as the only thing that could bee used as protection from the wind. His remaining arm was half bare from where he had his sleeve folded and metal armor melted across his chest. He blinked before offering a grin, “I’ve only got one arm to protect!” He hummed, “Yah can’t get me for that.”

The archer gave McCree a deadpanned look before reaching forward and softly knocking against his chest plate, “Do you know how cold this thing is going to get?” He grouched, “You’ve only got a shirt under there!”

He blinked once more, just staring at Hanzo before suddenly, a cocky expression washed across his face. “I can change that, darlin’.”

Hanzo almost choked at that, forcing himself to freeze as he gazed at the man with wide eyes. He remained dead silent as he gazed at his teammate, watching as Jesse’s expression grew from cocky to nervous in the span of few seconds. Slowly, he felt his face begin to burn, but before it became noticeable, he harshly shoved McCree towards the cockpit, “FLY.” He snapped unintentionally, twisting around as he marched over to a seat and practically collapsed into it. He kept his singed scowl pointed away from McCree, tearing an arrow out of the quiver and pretending to inspect it to have an excuse if McCree asked him to look at him.

McCree offered a loud squawk in response to the sudden shove, blinking wildly as he gazed back at Hanzo. Eventually, he barked a loud laugh as he marched over to the cockpit, “Well, I’ll be damned!” He chirped before falling back into the seat. Back in Blackwatch, Gabriel had forced the then young, troublemaking gunslinger to learn how to fly a jet. It was to Jesse’s displeasure, of course. Back then, the youngster liked to keep his feet planted on the ground, and when he had command over machinery, he wanted complete control over it. He barely had ever driven a truck or car, instead taking to his ole’ red, Honda motorcycle instead. He always claimed that he could be more in-tuned with the motor when he drove, which was true, so he blatantly denied any opportunity to drive for the team.

That is until Gabe had shoved him into the cockpit with a gun to his head. On the mission beforehand, he had almost gotten the entire team killed because he refused to fly, and honestly, the poor kid was terrified to get behind the controls of such a gigantic motor. Though, after Jesse had agreed, reluctantly with terrified sweat rolling down his forehead, Gabriel had leaned down next to the young cowboy’s chair and had coached him through the operation of the mechanical beast. His guns were set far behind the duo so he would pose no sort of threat to the boy, and well, it worked. The two were soon soaring through the brilliant oranges of the sunset, whisking through clouds before settling right above the sea of altostratus clouds. It was one of the first father-son moments Jesse had ever experienced, and the feeling had yet to leave him so many years after that parting head pat.

He smiled sadly at the reminder of what fate held for his father figure, glancing down momentarily before readying the jet for take off. Of course, the jets were much more advanced than they had been when he began flying, they now literally flew themselves once they got in the air. All he had to do was get it in the skies, and that was a piece of cake. He gently inched the thrusters forward, causing the hunk of machinery to slowly roll forward. He watched as the doors to the garage opened in respond, which lead out to an incline that was used for whoever needed to take off. Once the doors had opened completely, McCree carefully eased the thrusters forward.

Once he had, the cowboy had soon sent the jet soaring through the air. He smirked sharply at the success of the take off, soon leveling it out above the clouds and setting the incognito mode to on so the duo couldn’t be seen or tracked by anyone other than Overwatch. Echo’s programming would ensure to avoid all other planes while they were in the air. Jesse gave a huff before hopping to his feet, striding over to the archer and collapsing in the seat next to him. His eyes eventually trailed down to the canister on Hanzo’s hip. He nudged the archer, who immediately stiffened and glared back at the cowboy, and nodded to the container, “What’s in that??"

Hanzo continued to scowl at McCree, eventually grumbling something in Japanese under his breath and sinking into his chair, “Green tea.”

“Green tea??” He echoed in a questioning tone, “That stuff is as gross as fallin’ face first into a cow patty!”

The archer visibly cringed at the simile, perking an eyebrow at the man, “How exactly do you come up with those words on the spot?? That is the last thing I would have thought of.”

Jesse flashed a grin and hummed, “Weeell, I’ve been talkin’ like this all mah life! I’ve used that line a thousand times over!” He actually looked to be bragging as he spoke, clearly glad to be questioned over his unusual word choice, “I like it.”

The Shimada continued to stare at him, and eventually, he closed his eyes and turned his head, “…Well, I won’t complain.” He admitted, continuing to thumb at the singular arrow in his hand.

The cowboy blinked momentarily, just gazing at Hanzo before grinning brightly and leaning back in his chair, “Good! ‘Cause I don’t wanna hear it!” After he received a final glare from Hanzo, the two fell into an oddly comfortable silence as they sailed through the skies. McCree gazed softly out at the endless sea of cotton, the sun baking the jet in an oven-like warmth while Hanzo just mindlessly looked into the abyss of his own eyelids.

︾ ︾ ︾

After about an hour, the archer had gotten up and began double-checking all of the straps holding his quiver, bow, and rucksack onto his body. Once he was satisfied, he turned his attention onto his bow, flicking it out and unfolding it both in one, simple gesture. His chestnut eyes carefully skimmed over the screws and parts of the bow. As he had just finished looking it over, beginning to draw back the string for a final check, the cowman spoke up.

“Why are yah so damned picky with that thing? Yah can just use your arrows as knives if it gives out.” He questioned, leaning forward to eye the archer once more, who was beginning to look mildly annoyed once more. His honey brown eyes gazed over him with a guarded emotion before he eventually pulled himself to his feet and strolled over to him.

Hanzo furrowed his eyebrows as he watched the man step over, eyeing the noisy spurs on the back of his boots before meeting eye contact with the man. He eventually forced a scowl to mask his slight confusion, studying McCree with a clearly analytical gaze, “Yeah, well, I’d rather have my bow and arrows rather than just an arrow.” He pointed out with a huff before glancing down at his bow.

A smirk pulled at Jesse’s lips at the retort, humming before reaching his hand around Hanzo’s hip and easily snatching the canister off of Hanzo’s side, “Well, you darn did forget the most important bit.” He hummed, gesturing to the piece of equipment still attached to the bottle, “Woulda sucked if that fell off and made yah stumble in the midst of battle, am I right?”

Shock immediately filtered onto Hanzo’s face at that, just gazing at him with big eyes before scowling harshly and snatching the bottle from him, “I was going to get to that.” He mumbled under his breath, his chin lowering a bit beneath the large neck of the jacket. How had he forgotten something so blatant?!  He adjusted the equipment before attaching it to his pants once more, not daring to look at McCree.

Jesse snickered and gave Hanzo a soft nudge, “Ah, come on, don’t get shy on me! We all make mistakes, Darlin’!” He pointed out with a tip of his head, his large hat inclining to cover a bit more of his bangs as he did so, “You’re not perfect, neither am I!”

“You don’t know me.” He suddenly growled, causing McCree to immediately draw back a bit, “You act like you do, but you clearly don’t.” He grouched before snatching the gun off of McCree’s waist. With a flick of his wrist, he knocked the cylinder out to the side so he could peer into each chamber that the bullets resided in. He flicked a bullet out of the chamber and caught it before it could hit the ground. Once he had, he lifted it up and showed it to the cowboy, “You put the bullet in the wrong way.”

The man squawked in disbelief, gawking at the bullet before making a move to snatch his gun back, “Hey!! That’s no fair!! You try to have everything perf—“ Jesse was suddenly cut off as the jet seemed to cry out a desperate, agonized protest of pain. The metal whined and screeched at the electricity of the ship flickered, then went out. There was a moment of complete silence before suddenly, an explosion erupted from the engine at the back of the ship.

Flames roared ferociously as the blast ate away the metal like crisps and allowed the fire to wrap its claws around Hanzo and McCree. The archer yowled out in shock as he tried desperately to process what to do; he had barely had experience in jets, considering how he traveled by foot or car for most of his life. He had no idea what to do in a plane crash; can you even do anything? However, as he was about to collapse backward and towards the windshield, the ship whined and tilted downward and a pair of arms wrapped firmly around him.

Hanzo eyes widened as his gaze shot up to look at McCree, who’s poncho was now practically wrapping around the two in a protective cocoon. “Jesse—“ He tried to protest, a useless urge for him to protect himself rather than the “undeserving” archer, yet he was cut off as the two were jolted and forced to slam straight into the metal wall.

Jesse let out a violent gasp, his eyes widening as he struggled to catch hie breath from the harsh blow, yet the jet failed to allow him to do such a thing. As Hanzo tried desperately to trade places with McCree, deafly yelling at the cowboy over the blood pouring down from his head, the two were yet again slammed into another wall. However, this time, the two had actually traded places. Hanzo’s head was slung into the metal like a punch bag, blood splattering against McCree’s face as the man grew limp in the cowboy’s arms.

Immediately, Hanzo was flung into the black abyss of thoughts. The waves tore at his face as it threatened to draw him down further and further from McCree. He knew that his partner was in trouble, that McCree was left to fall in slow motion through the swirling flames and the malicious, metal cocoon. The man was alone, and he had to do something, yet what?!

Horror flooded McCree's eyes as he spotted the large laceration erupt across the archer’s head, choking up as he drew him impossibly closer, “H-Hanzo?!” He gagged out, temporarily forgetting the danger he himself was in, “N-No— Wait, fuck!!” He snapped, moving his metal hand to press against the back of his head to protect it from any further harm. “C-C’mon Hanzo, you gotta—“ Before he was able to finish his statement, he was slammed into the wall once again. However, this time, he let out an agonized cry, choking violently for air as the warm liquid spread across his thigh. He almost dropped Hanzo in response, only barely rescuing his grip as he writhed in pain against the cold, metal wall. He gagged harshly, his rough breathing blowing harshly against the archer’s ear; was this it? Were they going to die in a glorious, twisting display of grinding metal and cackling flames? Another scream ripped through McCree's throat, tearing at his esophagus as the jet heaved and let more blood erupt from his thigh in a glorious display of red rain.

This couldn’t be it, right?

Tears sprung into the cowboy’s eyes as he weakly gazed down at the limp body in his arm, slowly shaking his head in dismay. He hadn’t even… They were supposed to have a future right? They were supposed to see through the destruction of the new Omnic crisis in Russia. McCree was supposed to see how deserving he actually was!

The ship violently shuddered as it continued to plummet toward the ground. The flames grinned and laughed at the pathetic display the two heroes offered. They licked at McCree, leaving lines of burns to scathe his arm and face as they savored his taste on their whip like tongues. Jesse grit his teeth as he shook his head and pressed his face into Hanzo’s shoulder. He continued to struggle to breathe, his chest heaving violently as he gave his teammate a squeeze.

“I’m so s-sorry, Hanzo.” Jesse croaked pathetically, his shaky arm straining to tighten around the man.

“I love you.”

He gasped the three words out as black fireworks began to explode in his vision, the shakiness in his arm beginning to fade as the jet readied to crash into the mountainside. He weakly gazed past Hanzo, watching what he would assume to be his last memory begin to fade entirely. However, suddenly, a blast of turquoise blinded the man’s vision entirely. He flinched harshly, struggling to make out the swirling colors in front of him, before his vision failed entirely. The duo was left limp against the metal wall, slumped over each other as the brilliant blue overtook the plummeting wreckage.