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It was too much. It was all too much. Jesse McCree knew that keeping his communicator from his days back in Blackwatch would be nothing but trouble for him down the road. He knew his damn sentimentality was going to haunt him. And sure enough, trouble found him as it always seemed to do since he was a little pup. When he resigned all those years ago, he should have cut all ties with Overwatch, no matter how much they did for him. No matter how much his cobbled family meant to him. He had left for a reason; to reserve the last remnants that remained of the redeemed man he had grown to be. McCree knew if he had stayed, no matter how heartbreaking his departure was, the corruption snaking it’s way throughtout the organization would grab hold of him, too. He would become another lost soul, used up, right back where he started when he was taken in as a stray from Deadlock. But he just had to keep that damn communicator. He did have the heart to part with it.
Then came the Recall, and here he was almost a year later, more or less heading up the special ops division of the newly reformed Overwatch (though he refused to take on the old Blackwatch name), and old ghosts and guilt have plagued him ever since. McCree couldn’t walk the halls of the watchpoint without memories flooding him from every dark corner of his mind, memories of the people he called family, the people he abandoned not long before Overwatch’s destructive downfall. All of those people he abandoned, the people he let down. And his commander…Reyes had been so good to him, had been a father he never had growing up. He was the first person the gunslinger opened up to, the first person he trusted, and honestly he prayed he would die on the battlefield before life came to spoil it like every other good thing he managed to find in his life. No such luck. McCree repaid the man he called father by abandoning him when he was needed most. It made him absolutely sick to his stomach. How could he be such a heartless monster?
But of course no one else seemed to remember the bad things (or at least dare to speak of them aloud) . McCree was welcomed back with open arms and glad smiles. They traded war stories and good times. He put on his signature smile and even enjoyed himself for a short while. It was good to see some hope where the world was starting to lose it, with Talon’s activities becoming ever more bold and a second Omnic Crisis on the horizon. But the facade soon faded away and in it’s place was the guilt, the shame of the shady things he was made to do in the end, all of those horrible thoughts he had building up inside. But Reyes wasn’t there to support him anymore, he had no one to trust and confide in. So McCree did the only thing he knew how, and that was to turn inward, and turn to the bottle for comfort. The alcohol has become his only constant.
McCree to this point had only been a casual and social drinker. He had a stint when he was in Deadlock and during his first month in Blackwatch when he took to heavier drinking, but boy was Reyes quick to stop that shit. He had to laugh at that day in the training room all those years ago, his commander standing over him, berating the gunslinger’s poor marksmanship, his sloppy posture, how antsy he seemed to be dancing from foot to foot in anxious tension. Well, that was because he was desperate for a piss, and well, the overlong lecture left him in soiled pants and shameful humiliation. Reyes had snarled with disgust and ordered him to clean up his mess and have himself a good, long think about his future and whether or not he was actually taking his place here in Blackwatch seriously. If he didn't straighten his act, he knew exactly where he would end up.
McCree remembered how he retired to his quarters after a long time spent cleaning and thinking. He saw his future slipping, a future he hadn’t realized he so desperately wanted until now, on the edge of losing it all for a life in prison. Fucking 17 and in prison. Without bothering to clean himself up, he collapsed into a ball in the corner of his sparse quarters, ugly sobs rocking his frame into near convulsions. He couldn’t remember how long he remained like that, and it’s likely he would have cried himself to sleep if it weren’t for a strong hand coming to his shoulder, grounding him back to reality. He jerked, startled, and locked eyes with his commander. He expected disgust, disappointment, anger. Instead he saw understanding, a knowing sadness as the man helped McCree up with a heavy sigh.
“Look, kid. You need help. You have potential. I’ve see that fire in you. Don’t go wasting it chasing the bottom of the bottle. You’ll never find it. Trust me, I know.”
That day ended his binge drinking, and instead started the close relationship he had with his commander. Reyes was a good man, someone he looked up to as a father, and with his guidance McCree grew and flourished to become one of Blackwatch's most trusted agents. He thought he finally had his life together, thought he finally had a place and he would die happily knowing he’d redeemed his sinful character. Until now. Until he answered the Recall and all of these ugly feelings came back to haunt him. It was only a matter of time before he turned back to drinking. It started with just a few more drinks than usual with his teammates. He assured them it was nothing, promised that it was nothing to be concerned with.Then he started keeping a bottle of whiskey in his quarters, downing more than he needed in privacy after imbibing with the others at the end of another very long day. He saw the signs, he knew he was losing control, but McCree feigned ignorance of his condition. He might as well fall down the pit if he was already venturing down back into hell. Well, he would have gladly fallen back down into the clutches of alcohol, if it weren’t for a little arrow in his side.
McCree was sitting on the cliff at Watchpoint: Gibraltar overlooking the ocean with a hazy buzz fogging his head. He had a bottle gripped tightly in his hand, holding it close to his body as if to protect it, or hide it. Although everyone had pretty much already caught on that his drinking was becoming far more of a problem than he was trying to let on. He had just gotten back from a field operation and the news was grim. Talon was on the move, planning something big, and with their low numbers, the motley crew of Overwatch members were at a loss on how to proceed with their attack. It certainly didn't help that they were leaderless. Great fucking place to be in. He was low on hope, running out of steam. What was the damn point? McCree wasn’t so sure this Recall was worth all the trouble when they were so low on agents and resources. What good could they really do when they were backed into a corner? What was keeping them from suffering the same fate?
“Why bother…”
McCree never wanted to feel this hopeless ever again, yet here he was, gripped with a bone deep depression he just couldn't shake. He was so wrapped up in his head he didn’t even hear the quiet footsteps of Overwatch’s stoic archer approaching, not that he usually ever did even when sobered up. Damn bastard was a right ninja. It wasn’t until he went to take another swig and he couldn’t raise up the bottle that he noticed a gentle hand pressing down against it’s opening and a pair of dark, concerned eyes boring into his very soul. It was enough to make him shudder. The man always had that effect on him.
“Jesse McCree, you are destroying yourself.”
McCree snorted, giving the archer an angry glare, though it had little bite and was more or less a cry for help. Fucking Hanzo Shimada. Genji had after some time convinced his brother to join their cause, if anything to save their home from the impending crisis that could claim all that he had worked and sacrificed so much for. He mostly kept to himself even a year later, and spent a majority of his time either meditating, training, or out on recon operations. His stealth certainly worked in their favor in that regard. It wasn’t until he became a bit more compliant with the idea of teamwork that they assigned him a field partner, and of course they had to fucking choose him. They were two completely different people, absolute opposites on every spectrum of life. McCree didn’t think it would ever work out, especially when after their first mission together the bastard had the audacity to berate him for his guns blazing approach. It was certainly a far cry from where they were now.
“Ya know…shoulda jus’ insisted on getting’ reassigned. Wouldn’ have ta be dealin’ with my shit…'m holdin' you back.”
Hanzo frowned deeply in response, eyes glancing now at the bottle beneath his fingers. McCree wasn’t sure he knew what he wanted. Did he want the drink, or did he want to be saved from it? Seems the archer made the choice for him (which was probably for the best). He could feel his sweaty fingers being pried from the glass, Hanzo taking it from his reach before tossing it unceremoniously off the cliff. McCree jumped to his feet, shouting in anger before the fog in his head overwhelmed him, leaving the world spinning in a sickening haze. If it weren’t for Hanzo, he would have dropped to the ground and maybe even tumbled down the rock face into the crashing water below. But the smaller man, as always, proved a lot stronger than he looked, though he did give a grunt of strained effort when he caught McCree in his arms, since the gunslinger was a good deal larger than him.
“It’s poison to you, Jesse. It’s consuming and burning all that you are. You have allowed it to hollow you, and I cannot allow this to continue.”
“Why…cause you’ll get in trouble or somethin’ if your partner jus’ up an’ croaks? Sure they wouldn' hold it against ya.”
“You know very well the reason. Now, come.”
McCree allowed the archer to lead him forward, his feet scuffling haphazardly beneath him in some poor semblance of walking. He would honestly be content to just lay down on the ground right there, just pass out and let the day slip away and pass him by. But Hanzo spoke gentle words in his ear in his native tongue, words of kindness and encouragement. He hadn’t a damn clue what they meant, but it was comforting all the same. It was enough to keep him motivated to continue following along, allowing the other man to guide him into the watchpoint interior.
“Where ‘re ya takin’ me?”
“To rest. And to show you a gentler way to face your burdens. Jesse…”
Whoa. Poor guy must really be worried to call him by his first name. There were only two times Hanzo used it, and that was to express and endearment or deep concern.
“I have watched you for some time drown your sorrows in a way I am all too familiar with. I have watched you widen the chasm between us, and I feel in time I will no longer be able to reach you. You will have become lost to me.”
“Hanzo…darlin’—“
“Jesse, allow me to finish.”
Jesse bit the inside of his cheek to stave off his words, feeling a heavy weight settle in his chest. Christ he’s been a selfish brat. Before he even realized, they were entering Hanzo's quarters, the pleasant scent of his favorite incense filling his nose, bringing a small sense of comfort in the heavy haze he was trapped in. He was led to the old leather armchair he insisted the man keep in the room otherwise furnished of his traditional homeland. He always bitched about the furniture (what little of it there was) being so uncomfortable, so with initial distaste Hanzo had allowed the ugly brown thing to clutter his space. Jesse knew it had grown on the archer, even if he didn’t want to admit it. Once he was comfortably seated, sinking back against the comfortable worn in cushioning, he met eyes with the other man once more, who had taken his rough and calloused hands into his considerably more refined, soft ones.
“I have lost much in my life, Jesse McCree. I must admit, I am at much fault for my misfortune. I was blinded by my own ambition and lost sight of that which should truly matter. I have spent manner years seeking to regain my lost honor, consumed with my guilt and grief. The answers I sought were lost to me for my eyes were shut even as they looked inward, searching so thoroughly.”
McCree watched in a daze as those gentle hands removed the tattered old hat from his head, setting it aside before nimble fingers starting massaging at his scalp and the back of his neck. He hadn’t realized he’d become so tense, or that he had such a terrible ache in his head. Oh those fingers felt so wonderful. A soft hum escaped his lips, his heavy eyelids closing as that tender touch eased away some of the physical pain. Curse that damn archer. He swore he’d never allow himself to be open or vulnerable to another soul again, not after the loss of Reyes. His heart just couldn’t take it. But over the months the two worked together, an unshakable bond had been formed. McCree’s bombastic nature made him an easy target, which gave Hanzo the advantage of keeping to the shadows, dropping the enemy agents with swift accuracy. They learned how to work together with deadly efficiency, and though the archer was reluctant to say so at first, he finally admitted to finding value in their partnership. It was the closest thing to the first compliment he ever received from Hanzo.
“Jesse, look at me.”
Jesse complied, opening his heavy lids to look into those dark eyes, full of care, admiration, concern. Hanzo. This man wormed his way into his life, found the chink in the wall he’d put up after leaving Blackwatch, and reached his hand through when no one else could. He never intended to let the archer in, but looking deep down, help is exactly what he wanted. He wanted salvation, he wanted safety, he wanted to reclaim the man he thought was long lost to the world of the living. Perhaps there was still something worth saving.
“You cannot turn within and face your demons alone. To fight alone, you will be consumed in the madness. Then you will truly be lost to me.”
Jesse could pain in the archer’s eyes, his jaw clenching to fight back his emotion. Always so stoic and reserved, even in the face of emotional turmoil. But Hanzo could never hide it from him. He’s learned to read his partner like a book, and the sadness in his eyes made his heart clench.
“Jesse, I wish not to lose anyone else precious to me. I am not sure I could survive it. This bond we share is rare, and not something I anticipated to ever find. It was never important, although father wished to see me lead the family with someone strong at my side.”
“Mmmm…not sure an American southern boy is uh…what yer pa had in mind…”
“That matters not, Jesse. For those as lucky as we, a soul mate is not chosen. They are destined, and if the two are fated to meet, they should hold on tightly, and never allow themselves to be parted. And I, Jesse McCree, oaf as you are, do not intend to let you go.”
Jesse could feel the emotions bubbling forth, and before he could reign it in, he broke into loud sobbing, hands gripping desperately at Hanzo’s clothing, as if he would vanish from his life as all of the other good things have. The soft mumbling of Japanese filled his ears again, the archer’s arms wrapping securely around his shaking frame. He really has been a damn fool. He hadn’t even stopped to think how his destructive behaviors would hurt the person who meant so much to him. He hadn’t realized he was becoming so afraid of letting someone in and losing them that he started to shut down again. He was collapsing inward and shoving Hanzo out. Jesse finally came to the realization that’s the last thing he wanted to do, because without Hanzo, he would certainly, inevitably, perish.
“Jesse, if you will let me, I can show you a gentler way through your pain. The pain that ails you I can help shoulder, if you will allow me. You are not in this alone, coyote.”
“Please…Hanzo…I…I need ya. I need ya. I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”
“Hush. Husshh…”
It took some time for Jesse to come down from his distressed cries, but finally he slumped forward against Hanzo, exhausted and spent from his day of drinking and emotional upheaval. Hell, he didn’t even think he could make it to the bed at this point. He'd rather not move an inch. Blessedly the archer seemed to sense this, and pushed Jesse back into the armchair, reclined it back, then climbed up to join him, curling up close against his body. He let out a content sigh, pulling the man close, nuzzling into his soft hair which now hung down freely. Christ how did he smell so good?
“Darlin’, thought you found us both bein' up here to be a might bit uncomfortable.”
“I will remain here with you until you go to sleep."
Jesse couldn't help the small smile that tugged up his lips, sniffling softly as he enveloped the smaller man in his arms. He savored moments like this, moments when nothing existed outside Hanzo and himself. It would be easier to remain in this safe space, where the hell outside couldn't reach them. But they were both free spirits who don't do well when caged. He couldn't hide forever. He had to face his pain, his fears. And now, he didn't have to do it alone.
"Thank you my darlin' dragon...for lookin' out for me..."
Jesse woke up the next morning with a monster of a hangover, but his dear archer was already sitting on the floor before him with a cup of coffee and water at the ready. After being given time to wake up and work out the kinks in his stiff muscles, Hanzo suggested he meditate to help clear his mind. Jesse reminded him that he just wasn't made for sitting still for so long, but that answer was anticipated. He was told that he didn't need to sit in order to benefit from meditation, that a good walk would work just as well. So walk he did, wandering around outside, the cool sea breeze flowing around him. He didn't allow his mind to wander. Instead, he observed his surroundings, allowed the peaceful world soothe out his nerves. It was quite liberating. Huh, maybe there was something to this meditating thing after all.
Jesse did better to keep away from alcohol to drown down his pain over the next month, instead going on a walk each morning when Hanzo locked himself away for his morning meditation. It wasn't to say that he didn't have slip ups. On the worst days, he would reach for the bottle again, nerves frayed, the craving too much to ignore. But each time he started to fold back in, the archer was there, ever patient and without judgement. He would take the bottle and dispose of it as he had done before, then whisper words of encouragement as worked out the knots in Jesse's muscles, the touch bringing the same sense of peace he found on his morning walks. Things weren't perfect, far from, but Hanzo's gentler way of living was finally bringing a smile back to his face and happiness in his life. And in the midst of all of this chaos and uncertainty, he really couldn't ask for anything more.