Chapter Text
Despite layer upon layer of thick winter clothing, Hanzo shivered. His gear was barely enough to out the piercing chill. He rubbed his gloved hands together and buried them in his coat pockets. The rest of the team had retreated to their tents to get some sleep before their work began in the morning. Zarya volunteered for first watch.
Hanzo had tried to rest, but, much to his frustration, sleep refused to cooperate. He'd stared up into darkness listening to the tent fabric rippling in the wind. Deciding that sleep was futile, he’d pulled on his boots and wandered up the snow-clad slope of a hill overlooking the far-reaching and frozen waters of Lake Baikal. The vast lake stretched across six hundred kilometers of Siberian soil, spreading out over eighty kilometers at its widest point. There was no end to it in sight from where he stood near the northern end of the lake. A waxing moon disappeared and reappeared behind stretches of gray cloud. What he could see of the frozen landscape was stark. The silvery tundra rolled down to meet the edges of the rocky shoreline. Crumbling cliffs plunged into the ice. The only signs of life came from the twinkling pinpricks of light to the south where the nearby settlement of Severobaikalsk slept.
His eyes drifted away from the lights and turned north towards the artificial foothills of a mountain of decaying metal - a snow-covered graveyard of wrecked ships and machinery that had once polluted the lake. The moonlight dulled where it struck against the jagged and crumpled spires of metal. It glinted against the hoarfrost and the heavy white icicles clinging to the belly of a great ship. It stood out against the metal ruins. Its bow angled up, reaching towards the sky. This abandoned wasteyard was their reason for being there.
For months, the people of Severobaikalsk whispered that malevolent spirits haunted the graveyard of ships. Some claimed that they’d caught sight of inhuman figures wandering the lake, obscured by mist and fog. Rumors of the supernatural were nothing out of the ordinary. They were something thrilling to occupy restless minds trapped in the darkness of a long and bitter winter, but then people had started to go missing.
Thirteen in total had disappeared in the last month alone. The residents had banded together to ask their government for help, but no help came. Asking had turned into pleading, but Severobaikalsk was not a priority. The deep freshwater lake it looked over was once a treasure to the country and the world, but a poisonous sludge of dark oils and noxious chemicals had long since polluted its pristine waters. Now more than ever, Severobaikalsk was an insignificant and isolated settlement that only endured due to the nostalgia of its resistents and their unwillingness to give up the familiar for circumstances that would serve them better.
Overwatch had only learned of their plight when an old friend had contacted Zarya to ask for a favor. At first, Zarya had insisted that she would go alone, but that idea was shut down as soon as she’d suggested it. After a great deal of rather spirited arguing, she’d agreed to go with a team. Mei volunteered first, and Hanzo had followed suit as soon as he’d caught wind of the mission. Six months prior he’d been cleared for active assignment with Overwatch, and ever since then, he’d thrown himself at any opportunity to be of use. Cassidy had volunteered soon after, with Dr. Ziegler and Pharah rounding out the team.
They had arrived in the late afternoon with only enough time to make camp and meet with Zarya’s contact. They would set out in the first light of morning to place monitoring equipment around the site where multiple people had claimed they’d heard screams echoing from within the treacherous waste.
The biting air threatened to freeze Hanzo’s eyelashes. He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of familiar footfalls crunching up the snowy hill behind him. He made out the cowboy's silhouette - the wind tugging at the man's everpresent serape. Cassidy came to a stop next to him before speaking.
“You should be restin’ before we head out tomorrow,” said Cassidy.
“I rested enough on the transport. Why are you not asleep?”
“I heard you leave your tent, and then you didn’t come back. You been freezin’ up here all this time?”
Hanzo nodded, shifting in his boots. He’d lost track of time.
“It ain’t a surprise that they think this place is haunted. Seen any ghosts yet?”
“Not yet,” Hanzo said quietly.
Cassidy fished into an inner coat pocket and pulled out a fat cigar.
“Mind if I smoke?”
Hanzo shook his head. The habit didn’t bother him, and if anything, smoking meant the cowboy would stay with him on a hill for a while. He had come to enjoy Cassidy’s company more than he cared to admit. Over the past few months, they’d formed an acquaintanceship that was threatening to spill over into friendship. It was new territory for Hanzo, but the unpleasantness of uncharted waters was worth the cowboy’s company.
Cassidy stuck the cigar between his teeth and reached back into his coat pocket. He frowned and unzipped a different pocket. He was rummaging in a third pocket when Hanzo asked him what was wrong.
“Did you lose something?”
“You wouldn’t happen to have a light, would ya?”
“No, I do not.”
“Maybe this is my sign from the universe to quit,” said Cassidy.
“It is more likely a sign from Dr. Ziegler.”
“I’ll try to find it tomorrow. Why don’t we head back together, or are you plannin’ on turnin’ yourself into an icicle?”
“Wait,” said Hanzo. He was struck with a sleep-deprived idea that, if successful, would mean not having to walk back to camp just yet. Before Cassidy could pluck the cigar from between his teeth, Hanzo stepped into his space. He pulled the glove off his left hand and reached his hand up to where the cigar dangled from the cowboy’s mouth.
“Whatr’ye doin’?” asked Cassidy, the cigar bobbing up and down as he spoke.
“Stop moving,” said Hanzo. Cassidy let out a grunt of affirmation in response and waited.
Two glowing wisps of cerulean light bled out from his tattoo and scampered up around his wrist, slowly swirling like fire around his fingertips. The flickering blue light illuminated their faces and shimmered out across the snow. For a few moments, he held the ethereal flame just underneath the cigar to warm it without ruining the delicate tip. Cole stood still, transfixed in blue. When Hanzo pulled his hand back, the tip of Cassidy’s cigar was smoldering.
What are you doing?
That was unnecessary.
“Well, ain’t that somethin’,” murmured Cole. He took a long drag from the cigar and exhaled a billowing cloud of smoke. “That’s impressive. Never seen you do something like that before.”
“That is because I have not,” replied Hanzo. “At least not something like that.”
“Wait. So you’re tellin’ me that you didn’t know if that would have left me with a face full of dragons?”
Hanzo scoffed and stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets, his fingers searching to tighten around something.
“No, you would not have had a ‘face full of dragons’. At worst they would have destroyed your cigar. Do not forget your lighter next time.”
“Sure thing, but I wouldn’t mind seein’ that again.” Cassidy took another drag from his cigar. He held his breath and then exhaled slowly, letting the smoke billow out of his mouth. The cloud of smoke and breath hung in the air until a freezing gust of wind ushered it away.
They stood in comfortable silence for a while, both looking out across the lake until Cassidy spoke again.
“Hanzo, “I think your dragons did somethin’ to this.” His brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed. He held the cigar out between his thumb and his index finger and examined it.
“What?” Hanzo turned slightly. The snow crunched under his shifting weight.
“Made the smoke taste sweet. Like honeysuckle.”
Honeysuckle?
“That is odd. My apologies if that has ruined it,” replied Hanzo.
“Wasn’t sayin’ it’s a bad thing. You ain’t the only one who likes a little somethin’ sweet. Though I won’t say my sweet tooth is anything compared to yours. Give it a few months and I bet my left arm that there’ll nothin’ with sugar in it left on base.”
“That is a strange and inaccurate accusation.”
Cassidy blew another puff of smoke and out of the corner of his eye, Hanzo saw a lopsided grin spread across his face. He was familiar enough with this look to know that he should brace himself for whatever in the audacity Cassidy was about to say or do next.
“You know, Hanzo, I know it was you.”
“You know what was me?”
“I know you finished off the rest of my cupcakes.”
“Cupcakes? If there was supposed to be dessert included with our meal kit I was not aware.”
“After Australia.”
“You will need to be more specific.”
He knew exactly what cupcakes Cassidy was talking about. Hanzo’s winter gear might not have been warm enough to keep out the winter chill, but the sudden rush of heat flooding his cheeks was more than enough to keep him as toasty as if he was lounging in summer sunshine.
It had been over a month ago. He’d gotten back from a mission in the early afternoon, and he’d been so exhausted that he slept through any chance of a hot meal. When he’d finally woken up, it was well into the night, and the base was quiet. He’d slipped out of his room. Every fiber of his being was focused on a singular goal. He’d stolen to the kitchens in search of something let alone anything to eat. His grumbling stomach hadn’t cared what. When he’d gotten there the first thing he saw was a plate full of cupcakes sitting on the countertop. There was a note sitting in front of the plate, and on it was scrawled:
Help yourself!
So he had. He hadn’t meant to eat all of them, but one cupcake had led to another. The last one was halfway in his mouth when he’d heard footsteps coming down the hall towards the kitchen. He’d panicked, and fled, abandoning the plate and a pile of empty wrappers on the counter.
“No use tryin’ to deny it. I know you remember.”
“You have no proof,” Hanzo insisted, cooly.
“On account of the fact that you ate that proof, course I don’t have any of it. Hold up. Think there might be some icin’ left on your mustache. Right there.” Cassidy gestured towards a spot on his mustache, and Hanzo instinctively wiped at it. When he realized what he was doing he dropped his hand.
Cassidy chuckled and Hanzo scowled at the moon.
“Besides that and the fact that you were mighty quick about disagreein’, the icin’ on the cupcake is that I saw you runnin’ out the other door. ”
Hanzo opened and then closed his mouth. So he had not left quickly enough. He should have taken the empty plate and disposed of it elsewhere. Foolish. Cassidy had won and they both knew it, but that did not mean Hanzo would give the victory any outright acknowledgment besides silence.
“Anytime you get a hankerin’ for ‘em let me know, and I’ll whip up a batch just for you,” said Cassidy. The teasing in his tone was fading to a point that it was only mildly annoying. The offer was nice, but there was no way that he would ask for them. Cupcakes were ruined for the foreseeable future.
“You made them?” asked Hanzo, his embarrassment annoyingly shifting towards something akin to guilt.
“Sure did. Made them for you. And the others who’d just gotten back, of course. I’d meant to offer you one myself, but you disappeared to your room before I could.”
One. One cupcake. Not twelve.
He would not have needed to eat so many had Cassidy baked cupcakes in a proper size. To his relief his wristwatch vibrated, signaling that it was almost time for him to take over for Zarya.
“I must go back. What a shame.”
“That’s mighty convenient timing,” said Cassidy.
“Ah, yes. How unfortunate," Hanzo deadpanned. "I was enjoying your strange methods of blackmail.”
“I’d hardly call that blackmail. Try to get some rest after you’re finished, will ya? Don’t know what we’re up against tomorrow.”
“I will. You should do the same.” He started the trudge down the hill. He was only a few paces away when he paused and added, “The strawberry-flavored were the best.”
He hurried down the hill trying to get as far away as possible before regret and the sound of Cassidy’s laughter could catch up to him.