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If you told McCree mermaids existed an hour before, he would likely have rolled his eyes and tossed a (teasing but good-natured) insult your way. But now? Now he sat on the edge of the small inlet hidden away from the rest of the beach gawking at the man before him. The merman. His tail was a beautiful mix of blues and blacks, the fins shimmering gold in the daylight. It looked thick, muscular. But McCree figured that’s what happened when swimming is the primary medium of transportation. His skin looked delicate and soft save for the patches of scales curling on his hips and ending just over where his navel would be if he had one.
The merman hadn’t noticed the cowboy, not yet. His back was turned and he was pouring water over his tail from cupped hands, wincing as the liquid washed over his scales. The water around him, Jesse noticed, was turning pink-red. He’s hurt. Jesse thought, and slowly he approached. He didn’t want to startle the merman, didn’t want him to escape without the medical attention he obviously needed. But the cowboy misstepped, causing a piece of driftwood to crunch under one of his feet.
The merman whirled, blood on his hands, and stared at McCree. He began to squirm in an attempt to get away, but instead hissed in pain, whimpering as he strained the wound on his tail.
McCree held his hands up defensively. “Hold up there, darlin’ I ain’t here to hurt you none.”
The merman stopped thrashing at the sound of Jesse’s voice, gazing up at him as the cowboy took another step forwards. The blood ran more freely now, staining the water around the blue and black tail a thick red.
“I’m gon’ take a look at that, if that’s alright. Need to stop the blood.”
There was no reply, just large staring eyes. When Jesse go close enough, however, the merman threw a shell in his direction, shouting in a language McCree didn’t understand.
Jesse stopped, keeping his distance. “‘S alright. I promise I won’t hurt you.”
“Don’t get any closer, human.” The mer said, a scowl heavy on his face, and then shifted his tail in the water, flinching when it moved wrong.
McCree nodded towards the wound, “I can take a look if you want me to, Blue.”
Tipping his head, the creature parroted the word, “‘B-lue,’”
Jesse smiled, “Yeah, ‘cause of your tail an’ all.
Blue scowled, “No blue.” That was the dumbest thing he had ever heard.
“No?”
The merman gestured to his tail, “I’m not b-lue I am hurt.”
Jesse figured he had said something about the wound in his tail and began approaching him again. Blue only thrashed and shouted and threw more things at McCree (a few shells even hit him in the head), but the man didn’t stop. When he was within reach, Blue waved his arms in a frail attempt to bat him away, “Get away from me!” But in the midst of his squirming his tail jerked, causing a wave of water to hit Jesse right in the face and fresh rivulets of blood to come out. The merman cried out in pain.
And then silence.
Jesse wiped his eyes -- burning with salt -- and stared wide-eyed at the merman. Blue’s face twisted with pain as he put pressure on his injury. McCree took the minor distraction as a chance to pull off his serape and kneel next to Blue.
“Lemme help. Here.”
Blue flinched away, gazing up at McCree with large, pained brown eyes, but he didn’t protest. Jesse offered a small smile, holding the article of clothing out to the other male. Blue eyed him before giving a subtle nod, removing his hands. Jesse quickly pressed the cloth on what he could now see was a rather large gash -- expansive, but not deep. Blue hissed, sharp teeth flashing, but he didn’t push the cowboy away.
***
Days later, McCree arrived at the inlet with a small cooler full of raw seafood, an ice cold Coke, and a medkit. He peeked around a rock on the shore to see Hanzo asleep under a stone overhang among soft sand and seaweed. Jesse took off his boots and rolled up his jeans and plopped down next to the sleeping figure.
Blue was healing well enough, it seemed, but one glance at the bandages on his tail and McCree knew it would still need time. The merman stirred when Jesse opened the medkit, squirming as he woke.
Jesse smiled, tipping his hat. “Howdy there, Blue. Didn’ mean to wake ya.”
Blue frowned at the nickname as he sat up, pushing his black hair -- peppered with sand, grey coming in on the sides -- out of his face. Jesse held back a grin at how cute the sleepy mer was.
“No blue.” The merman muttered, but there was no conviction in his voice. Jesse had tried to prompt the mer’s name out of him before, but the language barrier between them was vast and Blue seemed to be the only one who even slightly understood the other’s language.
“Well, what else do I call you?”
“I don’t know why you bother talking when I can’t understand you.” Blue scoffed, crossing his arms. But it was in vain; McCree understood him just as much as he understood McCree… not at all. The two regarded each other for a moment. “You probably want to know what my name is.” The merman gestured to himself “Hanzo.” He said. “No blue. Hanzo.”
The cowboy’s eyes lit up, “You’re name is Hanso?”
Hanzo pointed at himself again, enunciating, a sour expression on his face, “Han-zo.”
Jesse tried the name again, grinning. “Well, Hanzo, let’s get you all checked out, see how that tail’s doin.’”
Hanzo -- with the help of Jesse -- hoisted himself out of the shallow water he had his lower half dipped in to allow the the man better access to the gash marring his scales. Jesse began taking the damp bandages off when Hanzo spoke again, his English broken and strange with his heavy accent. “I Hanzo--” he paused, looking vaguely embarrassed. Jesse took note of how adorable the merman looked when he was thinking. “You… you…” Hanzo groaned, covering his face. “Why is it so hard to find out someone’s name?” He asked, more to himself than the cowboy.
Jesse placed a gentle hand on his arm. Hanzo flinched but didn’t pull away, instead lowering his hand so only his eyes were visible. McCree pointed to himself, “Jesse. I’m Jesse.”
Hanzo dropped his hand into his lap, tipping his head as he sounded out the name. “Je-say.” And he must have liked the taste of it considering he didn’t stop saying it until McCree had to return home for the night.
***
Hanzo brushed his fingers over the new scar forming among blue and black scales. Jesse had yet to visit him that day, and he was becoming impatient. Over the weeks that they knew each other, the human (his human, as Hanzo began calling him) had been taking care of him. He offered food, medical attention, new words, and companionship Hanzo had never had before. Hanzo had never met a human that didn’t want to study him or poke him with needles or even go as far as to try and kill him. Vaguely he wondered if the sea sent him here for a reason, had slammed him into the rocks on purpose to find his soulmate. Soulmate. The word left a pleasant buzz in his chest, a tingle in his body and his face flushed with the idea of McCree sitting on the sand next to him, of swimming together, of finding a conch shell together and the sea binding them together through it.
It made it even harder to leave.
Hanzo glanced at the patterned cloth Jesse had given him. A serape, he called it. Hanzo had washed the blood out of it and laid it to dry in the sun, but now that it was nearly time for his departure, now that his tail was healed enough to swim he was tempted to take it. Perhaps he could hide it somewhere among the rocks and come back for it at a later date. He laid his hand flat on top of the smooth scales on his tail, rubbing the blue-black patterns on his body, wondering what Jesse’s skin would feel like, wondering if Jesse thought his scales were as pretty as Hanzo thought the cowboy’s eyes were.
“Howdy,”
Hanzo turned, eyes meeting the human’s, “Jesse.” He replied in way of greeting before returning his gaze to look out over the ocean. Jesse sat in the sand next to him, dipping his toes in the shallow water next to Hanzo’s partially-submerged tail. Both were quiet, listening to the lap of the waves on the shore.
“I have to leave.” Hanzo whispered in his native tongue, too afraid to find the words in English. Jesse shifted next to him, avoiding eye contact as if he understood (and at this point he very well might have, with how much they had talked to each other). “The sea calls to me. It is dishonorable to refuse.”
Jesse gazed down at him, pretty eyes shadowed by his hat. “Is this goodbye, then?”
Hanzo tried to recall some of the words McCree taught him when the man pulled something from behind his back, looking almost shy.
“I got a little somethin’ to, y’know, remember me by.” He held out his hand, and Hanzo’s face went red from the sight of the present. Connected to a strong chord of leather was a pale pink conch shell. A soul shell, as Hanzo’s people called them. The merman was jolted back to his imaginings of swimming with the cowboy, of exploring the ocean, of finding breath stones so Jesse wouldn’t have to worry about running out of oxygen. He heard the whispers of the water behind him, the way it spoke his name and Jesse’s. The sea called to both of them.
Hanzo took the conch from the cowboy, holding it close to his chest and beaming at Jesse, finding the words in the right language. “I accept your… your…”
“Gift?” Jesse supplied.
“No your… pro…” He sounded it out, brain working through all of the words he knew, of finding the closest word in English to his own language. “Your pro-po-sal.”
McCree’s eyes widened, cheeks dusting pink, “I’m not sure I follow--”
Hanzo gestured with the shell, pointing at Jesse and then himself. He took the man’s hand and placed it over his own on the conch. “The ocean has chosen us.” He smiled. The shell glowed between their hands.
The waves whispered Jesse McCree’s name and suddenly he understood, hand tightening around Hanzo’s and the conch shell as it dawned on him like it had for so many lovers finding their way for the first time. The waves whispered their names, and Jesse knew it was unwise not to listen.