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Hanzo Shimada hated Jesse McCree.
Despised him in every sense of the word. Would rather let his own dragons consume him than spend a second in the same room, looking at that ridiculous grin, listening to his spurs tap against the ground. Every word and motion brought nothing but waves of irritation and his hand would twitch against his bow, wanting nothing more but to take aim and fire.
Except he did that, and it never worked.
It never had.
Hate like this had begun long before Genji essentially dragged him into the new Overwatch. Back when Hanzo was taking hit jobs for a living, he got one from a particularly powerful mobster. The man showed him the wanted poster, pointed to the bounty, telling Hanzo that most of it would be his if he could just bring the cowboy in, dead or alive.
And how hard could it be? A part of Hanzo was convinced the poster was something from a film advertisement as he looked at the man’s face. He almost questioned why anyone would run around wearing such an outfit. The only thing that kept him from doing so was the weird glances toward his own choice in clothing.
Then he shook off his doubt for a while, after all the man must have done something to gather such a large bounty. He did not want to make the foolish mistake of underestimating his opponent.
But it was too easy, it was too easy to underestimate him. The first three attempts, McCree managed to dodge an arrow through sheer luck. He wanted to pick up a coin, he tripped, and he got hit by a car. Hanzo almost hoped the last one killed him so this nightmare would be over.
It hadn’t.
So he changed tactics. If sniping from long range wouldn’t work he’d do it close range, but suddenly that was proving harder than he thought. The man seemed to be dead to the world when he slept but when Hanzo broke into his hotel room all that was left was a note.
“Better luck next time, sweetheart.” It said in scratchy font with a goofy doodle of the cowboy’s face.
But he didn’t give up then. He tried to catch him on a street, only for the cowboy to vanish in the crowd. And how did a cowboy do that? He tried to catch him drinking in a bar, but just when he got close enough the cowboy suddenly punched the man next to him. A bar fight broke out, and it took Hanzo ten minutes to escape from it. By then McCree was long gone.
His frustration finally turned into pure aggression. He followed and waited, waited until he knew the cowboy had no easy escape routes. He caught the man smoking in the alley behind a dumpster.
“Ryū ga waga teki o kurau!”
They rushed out, down the alley, straight towards the target who stared with wide eyes and ran for it. A foolish attempt, you couldn’t outrun the dragons.
Except when they left the cowboy was gone. Completely gone. Hanzo searched the entire town but couldn’t find a trace of him.
How? How? The man’s fate was clearly a force of nature.
He was forced to move on from the job, in the end it wasn’t worth the headache, but he never forgot it. He never forgot the name Jesse McCree. He never forgot the sight of that red serape.
So when Genji was introducing him to everyone–eager but always asking Hanzo before moving–his suspicions appeared the moment the man came into view.
“Ah,” Genji said. “This is one of my closest friends from Blackwatch.”
Something violent and familiar ran from the back of his neck to his shoulders as he approached. The serape, the hat, the clink of spurs against the floor.
Then Jesse McCree turned to look at them. Their eyes met, and he smirked.
“Well hello, sweetheart, it’s been a while.” The man had the audacity to smile, to tip his hat, and now Hanzo realized with his tone that the term ‘sweetheart’ was meant as an insult.
Anger blazed through him faster than lightning. In seconds his bow was in front of him, an arrow pointed directly at the cowboy’s throat. The smirk never left. He just held up his hands as he stared down at the tip of the weapon.
“Hanzo,” Genji snapped and grabbed his arm. “What are you doing?”
But Hanzo ignored his brother. “You. You.”
“It’s me.”
“How did you survive the dragons?”
“So you were a Shimada.” His brown eyes fixed back on Hanzo. “Didn’t think you were Genji’s brother though, if I had known that I might have chased after you instead.”
That was a threat. Hanzo gripped his weapon tighter.
“Stop it,” Genji stepped between them. “Jesse, do not make this worse.”
Jesse? Why was he Jesse? Why on earth was his brother on such friendly terms with a cowboy cut-out?
“Hanzo,” Genji’s voice was steady. “Lower your weapon. I do not know the history between you two, but you are no longer enemies.”
That was an easy thing to say, but much harder to practice. Hanzo didn’t want to be considered allies with someone like this. Someone who relied on luck to escape his fate.
But he knew a fight would upset his brother. The tension between them was still prevalent enough as it was, why make it even worse when he made the decision to make it better?
So he lowered his weapon, put the arrow away, and stormed out of the room. He could hear Genji talking to the cowboy.
“Jesse, please try to not antagonize him.”
“You got it.”
What an empty promise that was.
The next day, the very next day the cowboy had shown up while Hanzo meditated outside. The clinks of his spurs was unmistakable. The stench of cigars clouded the air and Hanzo made sure to shoot him the sharpest glare possible.
Go away. Never come back. I do not want to see your face.
“Howdy, sweetheart.” He continued to use the title. “Figured I should introduce myself proper, since all you knew of me back then was a wanted poster.”
“Who said I was after your bounty?”
“Everyone was,” the cowboy’s voice was dangerous. “Whether it was for the money or some sense of revenge, but since we didn’t know each other I have to believe it was the former.”
So he was more observant than Hanzo gave him credit for. He decided to at least take note of that.
“How did you escape the dragons?”
McCree laughed a bit, tapping the ashes off his cigar. “Sewer.”
“Excuse me?”
“I undid the manhole before you showed up, figured I might need a quick escape route. I didn’t expect the dragons but hey, worked out in my favor.”
Worked out in his favor? Just another string of luck that somehow let this man slip out of his grasp.
“There are no sewers here.” Hanzo watched him closely now, ready to move.
“Is that a challenge, sweetheart?”
It was, it was a challenge. Genji’s request be damned. If this man wanted a fight he would get one, and there was nowhere to escape to.
But the first arrow somehow missed. McCree was whooping and hollering as he ran straight back into the base. Hanzo ran after him.
He felt a shock when his scatter arrows failed. In fact, he watched as the cowboy caught three of them with his prosthetic hand. His grin made him look like a coyote, standing nearby as you gasp for air under a setting desert sun. He dropped the weapons on the floor, one by one.
“Nice trick.” McCree said.
Hanzo would have repeated the sentiment but he was far too angry.
He chased McCree up and down the halls. One of his arrows pierced the sofa in the living room, another collided with a doorway that Mei shut after screaming in terror. A third slammed into a light, breaking it, when McCree deflected it with his arm.
Hanzo summoned his dragons again, letting them tear down the hallway. This time when the cowboy vanished it was only for a few moments before he poked his head out of one of the bedrooms.
“Fancy,” he chuckled.
Hanzo would kill him. He’d kill him. He’d toss his body out the window and-
“Hanzo!”
Genji showed up to stop the fight yet again. His anger wasn’t hidden this time, showing in his gestures and the lights on his armor. Hanzo felt sorry for letting it go as far as it did, but he refused to say such a thing, especially in front of the cowboy. McCree just rubbed his neck, smiling but apologizing, insisting it wouldn’t happen again.
It did.
Not as violent this time at least, Hanzo had been in the firing range practicing his aim. The fact that he missed McCree that many times still weighed on his mind.
“Need a moving target?” McCree said.
His presence wasn’t a surprise, those clinking spurs gave him away every time.
“Are you offering?” Hanzo growled.
“Depends, are you gonna fire those dragons off again? Not sure I can avoid them in a shooting range.”
“What, worried your luck will finally run out?”
The humor left McCree’s face as he stared at Hanzo. “Luck, eh? Yeah something like that. But you know...”
His gun was out by the time Hanzo blinked. Three shots went off, blasting into the dead center of their target. McCree gave a fond smile as he blew the smoke away from his barrel and put it back in his holster.
“Had to dodge bullets once. They tend to move faster than arrows.”
Hanzo narrowed his eyes. “I know how to fire a gun.”
“Do you now? Let’s see that then, shooting contest. Most targets down in a minute wins.”
Hanzo thought he’d have an unfair advantage with his pistol. It held more rounds and could fire much quicker than a revolver.
He ate his own words–that he never actually said–when McCree beat him by a solid ten.
“So you can fire that thing,” the cowboy taunted. His spurs clinked as he laughed. “Guess I should be impressed.”
He had a few more rounds. He spun towards the cowboy and fired, aiming for the shoulder.
But it didn’t hit, McCree’s hand blocked the shoot. The bullet completely crumpled against the armor on his prosthetic, smoke coming from the contact before it dropped to the floor.
“Hey now Hanzo,” his head tilted down so the brim of his hat covered his eyes. “I’m not a target anymore.”
“Then quit placing one on your forehead.”
“Hmm, that’s fair,” his smile was dangerous. “But maybe you should do something about that trigger finger of yours.”
“Quit mocking me. Your faulty victories have not earned you that right.”
“Ain’t they?” He looked up, eyes cold and focused. “You really don’t know a damn thing about me, do you, Shimada.”
He flinched, gun still raised, but didn’t move.
“Well, I guess that’s enough for today. Maybe I’ll swing by and challenge you again tomorrow.” He turned around, hands on his hips as he headed for the door.
“You’re too trusting,” Hanzo spat. “I could shoot you in the back.”
Suddenly McCree’s gun was pointed to the ceiling. “My finger’s also on the trigger.”
Hanzo lowered the weapon.
McCree did indeed come by tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. Almost every time Hanzo was training the cowboy would show up, taunt him, drive him into some other stupid contest and then leave laughing about it.
Foolish, conceited, his pride bigger than the ridiculous hat that sat on his head. Hanzo knew his frustration was what was costing him so many of their matches. He tried to meditate, get rid of his anger, after all they were supposed to be allies now. Their skirmish was in the past.
But McCree must not believe that, not with the way he behaved. Hanzo got the impression their hatred was mutual.
He needed to let it go. He needed to focus. He trained his breathing as he aimed during simulations, as he took down targets as they darted around the range, but every time McCree would cut in with a comment and tear all of it down.
“I hate you, Jesse McCree.” He spat as he stared at the fallen targets. Yet again another timed shooting match. He’d been doing so well until those last few seconds.
“Aw, same here, sweetheart.” McCree snapped the barrel of his gun shut. “But I must say, your shooting’s gotten better.”
He was ready to snap at him for the sarcasm, maybe fire another round into the wall, but then the stared at the score.
He’d only lost by two this time.
“Welp, I’m done for day. Have fun.” McCree whirled around on his heel, whistling as he headed out the door.
Hanzo’s eyes stayed fixed on the scores before he glanced at the gun and the targets. His aim had improved, if ever so slightly, his speed as well. Thinking about it now his response time in simulations had increased. The constant distractions provided by McCree always had him turning his head, forced to observe his teammates instead of just the enemy.
As an assassin he was so used to having his eyes on the target, but that wasn’t the case anymore. He had to keep an eye on the team.
McCree knew this.
Hanzo cursed again, picking up his bow and firing one more shot at the target he had missed. It hit dead center.
Hanzo Shimada hated Jesse McCree.