Chapter Text
To Cole, this was the closest he’s ever been to a living hell. Here he was, 37 years young, one arm gone with the other in a sling, sulking on a medical bed as a moon gorilla argues with an angry Swedish man over said missing arm. All the while, he’s aching, bruised and just wants to go to sleep.
But no. No, he had to sit here and wait until whatever goddamn problem with his arm was fixed.
“Just—” the gorilla sighed, taking off his spectacles and rubbing the space between his eyes. “Are you able to fix Agent Cassidy’s arm or not?”
“Oh I can fix it…but not while I’m in a blasted tundra!” the Swede grouched, shaking snow out of his thick beard. “There's a stock of spares in my shop. Now it's nothin’ fancy. Bare-bones. But they’ll serve the cowboy well enough till I get back.”
“So I just gotta get the spare and I can leave?” Cole asked hopeful, yearning to hold up in his room and have his vices sing him to sleep.
“If all goes well? Yes. Thank you, Agent Lindholm,” Winston released a long-suffering sigh, cutting the call. In a deep voice, he called out for one of the labs outmoded backup staff. It was a dinky little thing; square, squat and so close to the ground it's rust covered bumper just barely grazed the tiles. The gorilla fondly patted it's rectangular head with a large paw — so gentle despite its size — and relayed his orders.
Quickly returning with the squeaking of it's wheels and a stutter of robotic gibberish the bot had collected it's prize: a rough-looking box barely taped together, holding various metal limbs in different states of repair.
Winston riffled through the box with a kind smile to the bot until three limbs were laid beside Cassidy. They were all the same: spindly, nothing more than hands, a port connector block and a slim piece of metal tubing encasing the wires that powered the limb. One was missing three fingers, and another looked to have lost a fight to erosion if the red flakes falling off the port said anything.
But the third looked perfect.
So it was a surprise when Cole went and attached the arm with a twist and a click, the limb jolted. It started jerking about unthinkingly, purple sparks sprouting to and fro. But just as quickly as it started the sparks stopped, the shakes receding and the hand falling limp. Hissing out a curse, Cole quickly disengaged the limb and tossed it on the bed.
It smoked ominously. Burnt and completely useless.
“What in the Sam Hill was that!” the cowboy yelped, ruefully rubbing at his still stinging nub.
Humming thoughtfully, the scientist leaned down and examined the limb, waving away the whisps of acrid smoke before looking at Cole’s port. “Athena,” the ceiling lit up at the call, “can you scan Agent Cassidy’s arm for me please?”
“Certainly Agent Winston,” the digitized voice echoed from above. A blue light materialized from the ceiling above the cowboy, roving over his extended arm and then onto the weapon master's prosthetic. “Scan complete.”
A transparent squares hovered in the air displaying various graphs, images and data maps popping up on the screen. The data was all gibberish to Cole, but to the trained eye of Winston, the sigh he let out didn’t exactly fill the American with confidence.
“So ah, what’s wrong with it? Ol' Torby’s work not as good as he thinks it is?" The cowboy chuckled awkwardly, trying to relieve the rooms tense air.
"Unfortunately, it is not that simple. Agent Cassidy." The scientist shifted on his feet, taking off his glasses and cleaning the lens. "I know you mentioned coming into contact with Sombra in your mission report, but I must ask…Did anything suspicious occur during this conflict? Anything at all."
The cowboy scratched his beard, trying to recall the fuzzy memories at the end of the battle. Or as Cole likes to call it, "when everything went to shit."
Bullets were flying through the air, blasters and pulse bombs were ringing like church bells, and dust clouds were blowing into eyes from both sides. Cole had been separated from the extraction team two flash grenades ago and was now running through narrow, chaotic streets. He barely saw the blur of Rein's shield from across the way light up before he ducked around a corner and pressed his back against a crumbling wall.
How did it all fall apart so fast? The hell if Cole knew.
But right now? He was more focused on saving his skin and not getting shot.
Their intel had said Reaper was seen flitting around the area, and Cole was under strict orders from Captain Tight-Ass in the Visor to keep far away from him at all costs. So slapped with babysitting the newbies, he was stuck on the other side of the battlefield, with a newly busted shoulder and a throbbing headache so bad it meant Deadeye was starting to get real twitchy.
Back pressed to a crumbing wall he could barely make out the auburn knight in training, Brigitte, yelling a battle cry as she summoned her own shield, bracing just in time to cover the skating music man bouncing around the field.
Damn kids, he grouched, heaving himself up and readying to make a break for them when a colourful building buckled under its own weight and came rushing to the ground. The rubble blocked his path and obscured his vision. Stumbling to a stop with a curse Cole saw a group of Los Muertos men appear at the end of his alley.
Shit.
At first they didn't seem to notice him, but something must have clued them in because he was immediately met with a torrent of gunfire as soon as he peaked around the corner. He ducked behind a doorway, flicking open the chamber of Peacekeeper and cursing at the two remaining bullets. His right eye stung, vision hazing red as he weighed the pros and cons.
Alright, fine.
He reached out to the blazing skull in his mind, the grinning face of Death, asking for its aid. And with a grin far too wide and with way too many teeth…it obliged. The sounds of the battlefield faded, an uneasy stillness hung in the air, and the gang members were dead on the dirt before they could hear the word:
"Draw."
Cole heard the bodies hit the floor as he ducked back into shelter, pressing the heel of his hand to his stinging eye socket. Blinking rapidly, the skull and red eventually left his vision clear. As efficient as Deadeye was, there was a reason Cole hated using it.
Out of his stooper, he left the doorway and paused.
The silence that accompanied Deadeye…i t was still there.
Ducking back into the alcove, Cole could hear the slow and purposeful steps of someone walking his way.
"Vaqueroooo," the teasing voice echoed around his head. He winced in recognition, ducking and rolling out of his hiding spot into a new one across the lane.
Sombra. An ill-gotten gains informant he hadn't talked to in years. And for a damn good reason.
"C'mon cabrón, I just wanna talk. Exchange a little info; we used to do it all the time before!"
The cowboy scoffed and couldn't help but snark, "yeah, and the last time we did, I was tossed inta' the back of a van and was two state lines away from bein' sent to the feds."
Feeling a presence, he peaked around the corner, but didn't see hide or hair of the violet hacker. With an opening in sight, he made a break for it, seeing his young wards a few yards away. For all the times Angela harped him about his diet, drinking habits, and cigarillos, Cole was fitter than people thought.
Had a lot of practice being on the run for the last decade. But unfortunately…he wasn't fast enough. Because just as he passed a brightly painted teal house, the end of his sprint in sight…
…the building exploded.
The cowboy was launched into the air, his already injured shoulder taking the brunt of his weight as he was slammed into a crumbling stone wall. Cole let out a pained wheeze and slumped into a red, gold and brown puddle on the ground, trying to catch his breath, willing the ringing out of his ears and spots from his eyes.
"Now that's just not fair," came a smug voice from above. Cole could only watch blankly as his hat was taken and he was face to face with a collective swarm of purple spots. Spots that turned into the enigmatic cyber witch from his past.
"Those bounty hunters had been on your tail since you took that pit stop at Six Flags."
She laughed at the stunned man, twirling his hat on her finger tips and even taunted him by slipping the bullet casings out of his hat and into one of her many pockets. She started fading in an out of focus, and the cowboy squints.
His head was throbbing something fierce, and at this point, it was difficult to parse fact from fiction.
"Just so you know, this isn't personal," echoed out of the void. The sounds of tapping, the pop of a pulled cork, and the gush of something rung in the air. He makes out Sombra's disgusted expression and the feeling of pressure on his crushed prosthetic, before all he could feel was fire.
A jolt stabs through the arm, a brand of heat setting his nerves alight and back bowing with a pained keen. Letting out a harsh, strangled cry, he barely makes out a "it's just business," before his vision begins to fully fog over, ears roaring.
His sight was blacking at the edges and his hearing became muffled and far away, Cole struggled to keep his eyes open. Trying in vain to move it was like he couldn't control his limbs. Cole could barely make out Sombra talking to someone.
A muffled thump beside him marked his hat dropping, barely in his sightlines and missing it's glint of gold. Hair in his eyes, Cole wasn't sure what he was seeing, but he would swear up and down that he saw Sombra start to walk away…and meet a figure in black that materialized on the horizon.
A sudden rush of realization swept through him. Those sounds, that feeling. Whatever it was wasn't a figment of his imagination. That pain couldn't have just been a feedback loop of his broken prosthetic to his linked nervous system.
Cole swore. "My arm," he said, lifting his stub and shaking it until the flannel covering it fell back.
Around his arm port was a ring of vivid purple; a giant, angry-looking, ringed bruise that stuck out against his tan skin. He can't believe he didn't remember it. But then again, he didn't think half of what happened was real.
"When I was talking to Sombra right at the end," Winston leaned in for a closer inspection, "I thought she was just fuckin' with me. But she musta' done somethin' more." Explaining the sounds, the feeling of her touching his prosthetic and the pain that came after, the gorillas brow furrowed deeply.
"Right." Gesturing with his large hand, the blue light returned. Phasing over Cole's limb again, this time higher, resulting in a bright red triangle jumping on the screen hovering between them.
"That uh," Cole fidgeted in his seat, "that doesn't sound too good. What's that mean, doc?"
"It seems that Sombra has infected you with some sort of virus." The gorilla clicked away at his keyboard, running further diagnostics. "Hypothetically, it would not only attack any form of technology that comes into contact with you, but may present a physical toll on your body as well."
"Is that why my arms been achin' something fierce since I came back?" As if to prove a point, the ring pulsed sharply, sending a wave of muscle-deep soreness to Cassidy's arm.
"That and possibly more. It theorize that Dr. O'Deorain had a hand in constructing this. Who knows what surprises she could have added. I'll send a report to Dr. Ziegler," the gorilla said, shooting a copy of the medical data to the Swiss doctor. "And we'll start working on a treatment."
Pulling out a new screen, Winston let out a sigh. "But for the time being, you'll be assigned someone to assist you until her return."
That made the cowboy pause. "Now hold on a second. Yer assigning someone to baby me? I don't need no sitter, I'm a grown ass man."
"Agent Cassidy, please," the scientist hadn't even looked up from his report. "You don't have use of either of your arms. I can't in good conscious leave you to fend for yourself. Besides, it's only a week. I'm sure you can manage."
That was fair.
Cole couldn't raise his flesh arm past his chin, and Sombra's meddling wouldn't let him have a prosthetic for who knows how long. Maybe it would be nice. He had been on the run for so long that, well, he hadn't really had the time to rest and relax. Sure, he was a twitchy bastard who needed to roam, but it wasn't like he could argue with Winston.
"Alright, fine. But only till Angie gets back. Then she can sort this whole thing out," he huffs, getting up from his bed and frowning when he realizes he couldn't even put on his trusty hat.
Taking pity on the cowboy, Winston carefully lifts the worn accessory and places it on the cowboy's messy oaken locks before patting the man's shoulder with a heavy hand. With a faux nod to the gorilla, the agent leaves the med bay.
As the door swings Cole can hear the scientist yell, "rest well Agent Cassidy! Agent Shimada has been alerted of the situation and will be waiting at your dormitory."
Cole mused what Winston had said as he walked tiredly to his room. Agent Shimada. That meant that Genji was back from the monastery! Cole had no idea how he survived with all that "zen," but it seemed to do the man well.
He had a total 180 transformation from the kid he used to be during their Blackwatch days, and Cole has never been prouder.
Maybe this wouldn't be as bad as Cole thought. He missed the little shit, and hadn't been able to spend a lick of free time with the green ninja without his kin-killing shadow of a brother hovering nearby.
Dios Mio, Cole hated that man. With his smug punchable face, stupid spiky ponytail and damn bow. Walking around base like he was a fuckin' king among serfs. Taking over the range, the gym, even his favourite balcony spot! (How the hell did he even find it in the first place!)
Genji told him to be civil, and he's trying, really he is. But dammit does that man make a fury burn in him like he's a puffed toad over an open fire.
And speak of the devil, when Cole rounded the corner to the dorms, he saw that same stupid spiky ponytailed smug son of a gun leaning against the wall beside his dorm.
"Hey!" the cowboy called, striding over, causing the archer to look up blankly. "The hell are ya doin' hanging 'round my room? Winston said Genji would be waitn' for me."
The man blinked slowly, like those pompous Persian puffballs. "No, Genji will be with the Shimbali until the end of this week. Agent Winston alerted me that you needed assistance due to your…incident. It is my duty to take this assignment as I am the only other agent on base."
Cole burned. Assignment. Like he was nothing but a damn chore for this dick.
"Well I don't need yer help, an' I don't need yer care," the cowboy snarled, turning back to his door and looking blankly at the passcode lock in front of him. Sparing a glance at the archer, he seethed at the smug look the archer had given him. Prick.
"Athena," Cole called to the ceiling, "be a dear an' open my door fer me."
"Certainly, Agent Cassidy." The door slid open silently, and he gave the archer a look of smug satisfaction at his sour look. "See, I don't need ya. Now if ya don't mind, I'm gonna get some shuteye."
Without hearing the other man's answer, the cowboy went into his dorm and it swiftly closed behind him. Cole stood still for a moment, smirking as he effectively slammed the door in the other man's face. He missed the good, loud slam, but it served its purpose.
"I'll be coming back to bring you your dinner Agent Cassidy," he could hear from behind the door causing Cole to scoff.
"Pendejo," he muttered, kicking his boots off to a corner of the room and knocking his hat onto his desk. After the whole ordeal, all Cole wanted to do was smoke a cigar, drink half a bottle of whiskey and sleep for a week.
Tumbling into bed, he didn't even bother changing. The pounding of his head had been slowly growing ever since he saw the other Shimada outside his room. Besides, the roiling of his stomach stopped him from getting very far, so he simply sunk into the mattress with a low groan.
He just couldn't believe Winston was making Hanzo fucking Shimada take care of him. Everyone on base knew they didn't get along; he was pretty clear on his stance with the other brother since the first day.
And besides Cole was feeling fine. He didn't need a nanny, and he wasn't thrilled that he was being handled by his best friend's murderer.
So it was decided.
If Cole was gonna be saddled with Mr. Short, Mean and Broody for a week, he was gonna fight him. Fight him tooth and nail. He wasn't the type to roll over, and he certainly wasn't going to let the bastard get the chance to cut his throat in his sleep. Or poison him; that seemed more fitting. It's a coward's way to kill for a coward of a man.
So if Hanzo Shimada was going to be taking care of him, Cole was going to make his life a living hell every step of the way.