Work Text:
“Must be nice, seein’ me tied up like this,” the “cowboy” jokes, wrestling his bound arms against the splintered chair with a sturdy rouge rope, provided by the cloaked villain in front of him. The “samurai” only glared at him, unresponsive to his pathetic advances. He had finally captured him, the beloved hero that had been destroying nearly every plan and job he’s ever done; and here he was, sitting powerless within his grasp.
“I do not think you understand your position, cowboy”, the samurai says, emphasizing the hero’s persona name in disgust, “You have been a thorn in my side since you have appeared, and once I remove that mask and find out who you are… Well, I don’t believe I need to say further as to what will happen.”
“No, I don’t know what will happen, actually,” the cowboy clarifies, scrunching his nose against his obsidian eye mask, “and I don’t think you do either. What’re ya gonna do once you see who I am? You don’t know me now, and you won’t know me then.”
He was right, the samurai thought. He didn’t have a single plan nor did he expect to have been successful in getting this far. He was purely bluffing just to scare him off from intervening in his missions again, but even the samurai knew that wouldn’t work; he just needed an upper-hand somehow.
“You may be correct,” the samurai said, prompting a victorious scoff on the cowboy’s face which is quickly wiped off once the samurai flicks up the cowboy’s wallet between the samurai’s fingers; the key to his full, uncensored identity, “But you underestimate me, cowboy, and the things that I can do to you.”
“When the hell did you grab that?” The cowboy mutters to himself, feeling the rough ropes against his wrists tighten. He rolls his eyes before yelling out to the cloaked villain, “I’d like to see you try! I have nothing and no one that you could take away from me.”
The samurai clenches his teeth in frustration and anger, “We will have to see about that! Mr. —”
He opens the wallet and feels an icy chill down his spine as he gazes into the hazel eyes of the man plastered on the plastic driver’s license. He intakes a sharp breath as he takes in the face. He recognizes who it is. No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to be able to recognize who it is. He wishes it was anyone but the face that he’s processing right now. The name on the ID is read through tenfold, as though the letters were magically switching themselves over in a cosmic attempt of pranking the samurai into believing that the man that he had been fighting was the one person he didn’t even know he never wanted to be.
“...Cassidy?” The samurai breathed out shakily, his hands trembling as he gripped tightly onto the brown leather wallet as though it would dissipate into dust if he were to let go for even a second. This couldn’t be right. There is no way any of this is real. Perhaps the cowboy had stolen this wallet beforehand to trick him? A long-winded “gotcha” moment to clown on him once again?
The cowboy drawls, “So, you know who I am. What’cha gonna do now, darlin’?”
The samurai’s heart was racing faster than a bullet train. He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, at how he didn’t realize instantly just from the voice any sooner. How could the samurai have not known that the man he had been brawling with for the past two years, the man he had sworn to incapacitate by any means possible every single month; was his own lover?
…Did Cassidy know who the Samurai was?
The samurai looks back at the cowboy, his body drenched in sweat from head to toe as he opens his mouth to respond. His voice is dry and choked as he carefully chooses his next words to him, and in an almost quiet tone, he gives his name, “Hanzo.”
Hanzo catches the way Cassidy’s face instantly drops into an almost horrified expression before returning to its stoic state. He glances towards Cassidy’s rapid heel tapping from his left leather boot. Cassidy loves those boots. Hanzo was the one to give it to him two Christmases ago after successfully leaving work early to get the boots from the mall and arriving home in time without Cassidy noticing. He remembered the way his eyes lit up when seeing the logo on the box, and knowing exactly what was inside. Those eyes that shone stars like the golden spurs on his boots felt dirtied. Cassidy speaks quickly in response to Hanzo in a noticeably louder volume than before, “You dyslexic or somethin’? It’s Cassidy, ain’t no… whatever you just said.”
Hanzo suspires slow and heavy breaths as he repeats himself to Cassidy, trying not to crack his voice, “Hanzo. Shimada. Do you know him—”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about and why that name matters,” Cassidy utters darkly. His head is tilted downwards as he glares straight into Hanzo’s own. He used to be fearless against that gaze, but for the first time he truly felt the danger in the cowboy’s threatening aura; confirming that Cassidy indeed does not know the samurai’s true identity. Hanzo wasn’t sure whether he should be relieved or upset by this knowledge, as either outcome felt like a doomed endgame.
Hanzo opens and closes his mouth, puckering in his lips before saying carefully, “I know who he is.”
The ringing in his ears feels extensively louder than usual. The two men were frozen in their places before the sudden movement of the cowboy startled Hanzo. He watches Cassidy throttle in his chair with angered grunts and panicked breathing, and Hanzo is doing everything in his body to stop his instincts from helping the man that wants him dead.
“I don’t know who the fuck that is! I don’t know any fucking Hanzo!” The cowboy spits out as he struggles against the rope. Hanzo can’t do this, he doesn’t want to do this anymore. He can’t fight the cowboy knowing it’s Cassidy.
In an eerily calm tone, Hanzo repeats to him, “You know who Hanzo is, Cassidy. And so do I.”
Cassidy explodes on him instantaneously, “Don’t you dare do anything to him! I’ll fucking KILL you!”
Hanzo notices the ropes’ threads beginning to break and starts to stalk away hastily, ignoring as much as he could of the intense obscenities Cassidy was throwing against his back. He has to get out of here. For once in his life, he was afraid of Cassidy. Not because Hanzo was afraid of him killing him, but because he might actually let him.
“LET ME GO!” Cassidy shrieks distressingly, “COME FIGHT ME! DON’T DO ANYTHING TO HIM! PLEASE—”
Hanzo slams the warehouse door shut and begins his escape to his shared apartment space with the man he just left to believe that he was after himself. The echoes of Cassidy’s pained screams of desperation are still ringing in his ears as he treks inside his home, rushing to take off his stained uniform that felt like spikes against his skin and returning it to its proper hiding place under the boxes stashed inside his closet.
Fuck, Hanzo thinks, …Fuck.
He rinses himself in the shower as fast as he could, scrubbing away any blood or dirt left behind; the risk of being found-out of his alternate persona being increased tenfold leaving Hanzo at an all-time anxious mess. He makes his way to the living room couch with wet hair in shock, still unable to process the past half hour to himself. He had about ten— no, five minutes to collect himself before Cassidy would arrive home. He doesn’t know if he can confront his partner right now, nor does he believe he has it in him to ever do so. Right now, Hanzo knows that Cassidy would need someone, and they can’t both be dumpster fires spreading ashes throughout the city. Cassidy needs comfort more than Hanzo does, but Hanzo isn’t sure that he’s anywhere close to being in the top list of people.
The pounding on the front door followed by the rapid door handle shaking startles him along with the desperate yells of his name by the same voice that had threatened his life earlier. Hanzo carefully walks to the front door with a baited breath, unlocking it with shaking hands and slowly opening it to see a beaten down Cassidy; bloody and bruised around his wrists with wild eyes, scared and terrified like a deer in headlights.
“Oh thank god,” Cassidy sobbed out a breath, collapsing his full weight onto Hanzo’s body who was just barely able to get the door closed, “You’re okay. You’re okay.”
Hanzo’s head is pumping full of blood while his heart aches painfully. He knew this was wrong. He shouldn’t be lying like this to him, and yet he still has the audacity to ask his lover, “...What happened?”
Cassidy could barely respond, his weeping overtaking his throat as he got choked back by his tears. He answers with a tighter embrace, his body racking with howls as he could scarcely get out, “...Nothin’. Nothin’ happened.”
He lies, and so does Hanzo, “It’s okay now. I am here for you.”