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War heroes, as it turns out, are not kind to members of Deadlock pointing a gun at them. And war heroes like Gabriel Reyes, for instance, are precise in how they manage to defend themselves.
Jesse's ribs hurt with every breath. His wrist is aching something sharp. Splayed out on the warehouse floor, dusty with sand and sticky blood crawling down from his nose, it's a final stand. He dropped his gun in the one-sided scuffle; he fumbles well enough to grab at it with his other hand and lifts that up to Reyes. The safety's off. The shot's too close to have any chance of missing, Jesse’d wager. Reyes is covered in armor, but Jesse's got the gun trained on his head.
He watches Reyes watch him.
His hand is shaking. He's pointing a gun at Gabriel Reyes. Of all people — if he pulls the trigger he's never going to be able to stop running. He's never had to run like that before; Deadlock always had a place to call home. They always went back. But if Jesse shoots Gabriel fucking Reyes, they're going to come for him, everyone in the world, and he's not cocky enough to think those odds are in his favor.
"Put the gun down, kid," Reyes tells him. He doesn't seem tense at all about the fact that Jesse's pointing a gun at him, but why should he? Jesse can't keep his hand steady. Everybody else Jesse knows is surely done for by now. He lost, and Reyes has won, and Jesse's going to rot somewhere.
Jesse spits at his shoes.
One corner of Reyes’ mouth twitches upward.
He doesn't handcuff Jesse. There's a quiet corner of Jesse’s mind that's glad for this, considering that every time his wrist is jostled, he has to grit his teeth to keep from making a sound.
He doesn't cry, even as he's marched past drying splashes of red.
Weeks later, when old records have been wiped and new, private records have been created, Jesse doesn't know what to do with himself.
When Reyes gave him the choice, Jesse didn't think anything would actually come of it. He figured it'd just be a way for them to avoid a trial a little longer, if he even got a trial. He didn't actually know how that worked — nobody'd told him, nobody from Deadlock ever let themselves get arrested long enough to go through any of the process. Someone always busted them out. Loyalty. That's what it was about.
Jesse stuffs his hand in his pocket of his too-big pants (not his; given to him) and feels sullen enough to sulk as he walks. He almost jumps out of his skin when he notices someone walking alongside him, catching himself before he tries to smack Reyes with his injured wrist, splinted as it is.
"We'll work on your awareness," Reyes says when faced with Jesse's round eyes. "You've been stuck doing paperwork and passing evals this whole time. First night on base. Hope you're used to sleeping around a crowd."
Jesse doesn't reply. If the commander wants answers, he could just ask for answers rather than playing at something; Jesse doesn't want to jeopardize his spot in Blackwatch as much as he doesn't get it, as much as he resents it all, and Reyes especially. His spine crawls as the man keeps walking alongside him, wondering if he should turn, if he should go another direction.
He takes a right down the next hall.
Reyes follows.
"Everyone else is out at the firing range," Reyes continues like Jesse isn't completely ignoring him. "You're cleared if you want to train. But first, we need to talk."
Jesse looks. Reyes meets his gaze. Jesse doesn't know what that expression on Reyes' face is and frustration boils under his skin, coming out quick when he opens his mouth: "Not so much in a talkin' mood." A pause. "Sir."
"Then I'll be the one talking," Reyes replies. No-nonsense. Jesse grimaces. "Follow me."
"This is mine," Jesse blurts out when Reyes opens the box that he'd pulled out and set on his desk. Jesse's eyes flick up to Reyes, defensive, protective, but staying two steps at a safe distance. "That's my stuff." When there's no real response, Jesse moves closer to peer over the side of it. "My hat —"
"In Deadlock," Reyes says, cutting him off. Jesse glares at him and bites his tongue so hard it hurts. "Did you do anything special when someone new joined up?"
Jesse doesn't know what to say. His face must show it, because one of Reyes' eyebrows go up and he prods, "Well?"
"We have — had vests, and patches t'go on 'em," Jesse says, more out of startled confusion than anything else. Where's Reyes going with this? Before he thinks better of it, he adds, "I had patch in the shape of a — a revolver. Was mine. Nobody else's. I put it on my hat instead."
"I saw."
"I want it back," Jesse says instantly.
Reyes goes huh. Then he shuts the box again. Dusts off his hands. "When we get new agents in Blackwatch, it's like starting fresh. Not everyone's joined under your circumstances, but we always treat it like something new."
"What're you gettin' at?" His heart thumps hard in his throat. If he cries about this in front of Reyes, he's never going to forgive himself; he swallows it down.
"Jesse McCree from the Deadlock Gang doesn't exist anymore," Reyes explains. "So neither do his things. We're going to make a fire and you're going to throw this in it."
Jesse gapes at him.
"That's stupid," he says finally, impressed that he keeps his voice from wavering.
"Most traditions are," Reyes agrees.
Everyone in Blackwatch who's not deployed on a mission is waiting that night once it's gotten dark. The fire is impressive, but Jesse feels a little numb, a bit shellshocked. His things are all he has. Soon, they're not gonna be anything more than a pile of nothing at the bottom of the circle bearing the flames.
"If Blackwatch's good at one thing, it's starting fires," says an agent to his friend, and both of them grin valiantly. A woman with black hair and a tattoo streaked across her face is warming her hands. She glances over as Jesse approaches and gives a lazy salute to him, nodding at Reyes next to him. Jesse doesn't know any of these people yet. His chest feels like it's been knocked loose.
The top comes off of the box again. Reyes has both hands behind his back while Jesse stares down into it, at the top of the hat.
Jesse reaches under the brim. Pulls out his dirty, ratty vest. It goes in first. He doesn't let himself think about it. Smoke billows out thick. A plain handkerchief he used to keep to wipe his hands. There's a thin leather band he used to wear as a necklace. It was part of a set, lonely now on its own. He imagines for a moment what it might be like if he managed to sneakily pocket it but it's thrown in to burn in the end, too. A napkin with a shitty doodle of a horse that he did in the diner. He tosses that in without thinking.
It gets easier as he goes, like weight being taken off of his back, but then there's nothing else and it's only his hat. There wasn't much in the box in the first place. Jesse wishes for a second that he'd just dumped it over in the fire all at once. Maybe it would've earned him some points, kept him on everyone's good sides better. Maybe then he wouldn't have ended up standing next to the fire feeling like he's standing on a ledge.
"Chuck it!" shouts someone.
He looks at the revolver patch for a second. Pries his grip loose one white knuckle at a time and tosses the hat in.
Everyone whoops, cheers. Someone claps him on the back; Jesse's jostled by it and tears his gaze away from the fire, the dark smoke, attention roaming across the crowd applauding him. Welcome to Blackwatch, plenty of people tell him, and Jesse works to breathe. The agents part eventually, moving out of the way for their commander to walk up, but Jesse's tossing a glance back to the fire, not quite carried away enough in everyone else's excitement.
"No revolver patch, but I'll see what I can do," Reyes says, and then there's something light dropped onto the top of Jesse's head. Jesse blinks, touches at it, whips what turns out to be a new hat off from his head and stares at it. There's a ribbon around it and Jesse runs a hand along the edge of the brim gently, glances up to Reyes.
He looks kinder here, with light from the fire dancing across the sharper angles of his face, and seems kinder still when he puts a hand on Jesse's shoulder. Jesse's eyes itch and he blames the smoke; he puts the hat back on and scrubs at his face with the heels of his palms.
"Welcome to Blackwatch, Agent McCree," Reyes says, and Jesse's ache burns into something more determined.