almightythirst | Open Post

Throughout his life, Jesse has gotten good at compartmentalizing. His ability to manage the way his emotions manifest themselves is one reason he’s so good at poker (aside from the cheating, which is the other major factor). It’s not a skill he always uses, but one he takes advantage of more than many might think.

So while he turns his attention back to the window, expression more or less neutral aside from the slight frown, his exterior gives away not much at all. But as Hanzo reaches out, he’ll find no mental barrier in his way. No walls to keep him out.

Neither will he find any sort of order to the chaos.

Unease. Uncertainty. Confusion. Hope? Nostalgia. Loss. Worry. Uncertainty. Longing.

they wouldn’t want me back why would they want me there they must be desperate otherwise it’s a trap but what if I'd do more harm than good there they gotta be desperate

what do they want from me from Genji from Hanzo

Hanzo Hanzo Hanzo

Guilt. Guilt. Longing. Uncertainty. Fear. Fear.

not saying anything he’s leaving but you knew that you knew it was coming you did what you had to but is he even safe should've done it different what's he thinking not saying anything say something

but what

is that

Jesse cocks his head to the side, giving his head a quick shake before sending a quizzical glance Hanzo’s way.

“You say somethin’ just now?”

It's chaos. Roiling emotions tumbling about and chasing themselves in circles. Hanzo was many things but empathetic could not often be counted as one of them, and to so starkly feel what it was that Jesse felt...

It was on some level reassuring. Many of those feelings, thoughts, fears, they had an echo familiar to him. If nothing else, Jesse feels as he does about much of this.

You did what you had to.

Hanzo's gaze remains steady as the other's attention falls back to him. Say something? What would he even say. Everything he's ever done or said has had a purpose to it and now he questions what that purpose even is. He's sought redemption, for the murder of his brother, now very much alive and having forgiven him. He's broken all bonds and wandered alone in the world for so long, seeking to avoid this growing conflict and all sides involved, only to find himself trapped securely in the web they've woven.

And he's not alone. Very much not alone.

Everything he's known as constant is slipping away like sand under his feet. Is it any wonder, furious as he was with Jesse, that he didn't want him gone from him? Weak as it would be to say the true reason out loud, he's become that constant to him. Even now, the only thing he knows with absolute certainty is--

"No." Hanzo swallows tensely. "Nothing."

--how absolutely fucked both of them are, at this point. At least together, they stood a chance of surviving this, whatever it was that was closing in around them.

For a moment, Jesse could’ve sworn he’d heard Hanzo’s voice. Quiet, like a whisper in his ear. Or in his head. It’s a feeling as familiar as is it is unsettling. His eyes linger on Hanzo’s—searching, though he couldn’t say exactly what he’s looking for. Might be there are too many things he’s hoping to find.

“… Guess the night must be catchin’ up to me.”

He resists the urge to turn, or look away again, or otherwise avoid looking at Hanzo head-on. It’s not often he gets to feeling cowardly, and he finds he doesn’t like it anymore than he ever has. Funny how he could stare down the barrel of a gun easily, but not face this without the urge to deflect.

“We should probably sleep on all this. But if you want to take a look, I’ve got records. Back from when that hunter outfit was active. Been scrapin’ together scraps over the years. Might give you a better idea of what they’re up to now, if you want to think more on that offer. Won’t tell you much about what the situation is these days, but. It’s a start.”

Rambling. He’s rambling.

“I’ll just set the laptop up. Look if you want.”

Hanzo hums, breaking his gaze and briefly rubbing the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "Of course."

It's probably too late, too much, on top of everything else. Attempting to concentrate is going to be taxing, to say the least. But they have to focus on the steps needed in order to survive.

Everything after that? Well...that's the question. Defining one's reason for existence doesn't happen overnight.

That gesture is a small thing, but more of a sign of fatigue than Jesse usually sees out of Hanzo. It's enough to give him pause. The man has been through a lifetime's worth of drama in just one night, not even counting all the associated memories and past trauma that had been dredged up in the process.

"... Y'know what? Doesn't have to be tonight."

He goes to his bag, producing a pen and paper instead of his laptop. On it, he writes down a set of seemingly random numbers, which is then torn out of the notepad and set on the table.

"Do me a favor and burn that or somethin' when you've got it memorized. It'll get you into the computer later. Just search up Overwatch."

There'd been a time he'd rather see that computer destroyed and all its precious contents lost forever before he'd trust it in the hands of an inhuman. The only other person who'd ever had access was Reyes. But that's not relevant now, so he doesn't say it. Maybe he'll change the password again, after Hanzo has gone. Or maybe he won't.

It's perhaps a sign of how overwhelmed he feels that he hadn't immediately recognized the significance of the offer. The laptop. The laptop, perhaps the most precious thing Jesse carried with him, outside of that gun of his.

And here he is, handing over the keys to that part of himself, his duty, without blinking. Hanzo stares at the slip of paper before reaching up slow, carefully taking the scrap of paper into his hand. His eyes quickly scan the code before lifting to rest on Jesse, brow set low and heavy with question.

But it's one he chooses not to voice, in the end.

"They are involved with the Reaper as well, then." They must be. Or they wouldn't be stored right alongside him. And he remembers those flashes he'd seen with Jesse's blood on his tongue, fear and fire and betrayal. Perhaps this is where that came together.

“He’s the one that recruited me to join up.”

That’s the all-too-simple way to put it. There’s so much more he could say about the story of the Reaper, and Overwatch, and how the whole experiment had fallen apart. How they’d never really even been full-fledged members, him and Reyes, and how the distrust between the two sides had turned into violence…

It’s too much to add to the weight of the night, and Hanzo has enough to consider without adding that to the mix. He can read it all later, the facts untouched by any bias Jesse would bring. His decision will be fairer then, and he won’t have the added burden of someone else’s emotional baggage on top of his own.

“And anyway, it’s not just all my intel on Reaper in there. I got other priorities y’know.” It’s a thin attempt at a joke, his smile added just as a matter of course. “Been huntin’ plenty of things over the years. And I got to keep all those embarrassing pictures somewhere people can’t use ‘em for blackmail.”

"Including me?"

Because at one point, he'd been his quarry. Quite fervent he'd been in his pursuit of him, in fact. It's not a point of ego to assume that Jesse had focused solely on him for some time, following his tracks and trailing him for months at a time, in the hopes of finally putting an end to him.

Thought quite obviously that trail had lead down paths neither of them could have foreseen.

Too late to rescind the password offer now, isn’t it?

“No embarrassin’ pictures, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He rubs the back of his neck, glancing sidelong down at the bag. “But yeah. Everythin’ I used to track you is on there.”

It had been a substantial amount of information. More than he’d gathered on just about any other creature, aside from Reaper, despite the majority of things being dead-ends or frustratingly vague. That Jesse had been consumed by that hunt is plain in the data he'd collected. And here he is, giving the keys to his little kingdom to that same vampire.

His gun, hat, serape, and laptop had been the only three things that consistently went anywhere with him, and the computer is by far the most valuable. Reyes would be spinning in his grave if he were actually in the ground.

He simply hums at the confirmation. What Jesse managed to acquire is a matter of some curiosity, but that's a lesser priority. Right now there's a choice to be made, for both of them. He can't make Jesse's decision for him, but...

It may mean things will change. This, the thing Jesse had insisted they embark upon, might be over already. Just when he'd given in to the idea of letting it come to fruition, to see what might lie at the end of that path.

He would never join Talon. Nor does Hanzo feel particularly inclined towards that choice. That means stepping in with these Overwatch sorts, or standing aside. That might seem safer, if he was not keenly aware of how bystanders tended to suffer when two powerful groups clashed. They're far from helpless, but it would put them in a much more vulnerable position.

With a noise of discontent, he takes a seat near to the laptop, but not reaching for it. Not just yet.

Jesse feels a stab of something both fond and exasperated. It’s like Hanzo doesn’t know the meaning of ‘rest.’ If he were human, he’d probably be one of those guys that brought his phone with him on vacation and answered emails by the pool.

It’s then, unexpectedly, that he’s struck with a sense of sadness for the life Hanzo could have had. If his clan hadn’t set this in motion. If he’d been born in a different time. Or maybe things would have ended up similarly anyway. It is surprisingly hard to imagine a Hanzo Shimada untouched by this pain, unburdened by duty. He’d not be the same man at all.

Jesse looks from the bag to Hanzo, and his hand rests on the man’s shoulder for just a moment. It’s a hesitant touch, only lingering for a second or two before he starts to walk away.

He remains unused to this. The touch, the general feeling of concern that flows through it. He won't admit what it means, nor that for a second he considers reaching up to take that hand.

Which he does not do, of course. He rests there, hands folded, until Jesse departs the room. Only once he's certain he's alone does he let his head bow, shoulders sagging with what feels like an incredible weight settling into place. His hands lift, braced over his mouth...

He's alive.

Finally, some measure of what's happened begins to process.

Jesse stops outside of the room and leans his back against the door, quiet so as to not announce his presence there. He knows Hanzo is more affected than he seems. Maybe this is what he needs. To be on his own for a moment.

He'd hoped to get better at this with time. Figuring Hanzo out. Reading between those lines and knowing what he needs. Maybe even being trusted with that information outright. Might've been they were on their way to that before tonight.

He drags a hand down over his face and then lets it drop, silently, at his side. He'll wait here. Make up some story about having been out to check the perimeter when he gets back. Maybe he should actually do that, but it doesn't feel right to stray far after all that's happened tonight.

So he stays right there.

In the end, Hanzo returns to what he knows will bring some semblance of peace to his mind. He returns to old habits. Rituals. Following routine had always eased his mind, and where his brother is concerned there is one such undertaking he knows he can resort to, even here.

He retrieves from his packed belongings a small flask of sake. Incense. Rice. He arranges them just so, as he has always done, kneeling before the offerings where they've been carefully set.

You have always looked after us, since we were children. You remained even after I was cursed. My path is no longer clear to me, and my mind is clouded by doubt. Guide my hand, as you have done so many times before...

Calm breaths. A steady mind. There is refuge in this, as he reaches within for the answers he seeks.

Jesse perks up a little at the smell of incense. It’s not strong enough that any human walking by would notice, but it’s impossible for him not to. Just goes to show that Hanzo really is sentimental in his own sorts of ways. He smiles a little and closes his eyes, listening to the sound of the other man shuffling inside before the night goes quiet again. Maybe he’s meditating. Or praying.

He waits quite some time before finally turning around and opening the door as silently as he can manage. It’s not upon them yet, but he can feel the promise of sunrise nagging at his awareness.

By that point, the incense has long run its course, burnt out with only the hovering wisps of scent lingering in the air. Hanzo has started to gather his things together again, having read and re-read the password before setting fire to it as well.

No matter how silently Jesse enters, there is a pull to his senses that knows when he is near, and his head turns ever so slightly to observe his entrance.

"...it is time."

An eternity of so few hours at a time. If he were human, he might remain awake to contemplate. It is unlikely they'll be disturbed again, now that Genji has revealed himself.

“Yeah. Seems like it.”

Having been unsuccessful in sneaking in, he wanders in and away from Hanzo, leaving him his space. His eyes roam the room, looking for blinds and curtains and the other things essential to keep the two of them from burning up in the daylight. But despite having that purpose to focus on, his gaze keeps returning to Hanzo. He looks fine. But then again, he’s looked fine for most of the night.

“This place secure, or do we have to do anythin’ to get ready for morning?”

As a hunter, it had only seemed fair that vampires were limited to only the nighttime hours. He doesn’t get any of the joy he used to out of that thought now, unsurprisingly.

No. Hard to appreciate when he's on this side of the divide, even if what Jesse is doesn't fit neatly into any one category.

He is so many things. Demontouched. Vampire. Hunter. Possibly this...Overwatch as well. Hanzo understands what he thinks, what he feels, but what guides him? What path he is meant for? There is still much he doesn't understand, and might never.

"Secure enough. I chose carefully," he replies shortly, before reaching to draw the window blinds closed. A glance, and he notices Jesse is staring at him as well. Hanzo's lips tighten. "We will likely need to hunt, tomorrow," he murmurs, before turning towards the inner hallway, and the bedroom beyond.

The bedroom had no windows, thankfully, so there would be no risk of accidentally burning. But that's not the reason for his hesitation.

Those are the same questions that hound Jesse’s waking moments, and would keep him up through the day if their kind could suffer insomnia. He’s a man with a strong moral compass, but without a purpose—aside from hunting the Reaper, but even that doesn’t seem so clear-cut anymore with Talon involved. And a man can’t live just for the sake of a single kill.

He looks up, catching sight of the bedroom beyond where Hanzo stands. Even from here, he can get a sense for it. Looks perfectly dark. Secure. Probably set up with fancy locks or even an alarm.

And also, surely just the one bed.

“Shouldn’t be a problem if we’re careful not to attract the wrong attention.” He turns away from where Hanzo is so obviously hesitating and takes off his serape, draping it over one of the chairs.

“If you need your own space today, then that’s alright.”

There's a measured silence as Hanzo regards him, expression carefully blank.

"...that would be best."

If their paths diverge from this point going forward, they should begin that process now, shouldn't they? Begin untangling from one another as best they can. That bond might exist between them now forever, until true death takes one of them, but it does not dictate their choices.

Perhaps he simply needs that reminder himself. Or perhaps it's simply the clarity being alone will provide.

Regardless, it's harder than he makes it appear to slip into that back room and close the door behind him.

Jesse stays standing by the chair, his hand resting on the back, long after Hanzo has closed the door.

So this is it. Whatever answer Hanzo had decided on, whatever he’d found through his prayer and meditation, this is what it leads to. But Jesse truly has no one but himself to blame for starting them out on this path to begin with, and for breaking that already fragile trust. It’s a burden he’ll carry with him long after this night.

He eventually goes around to check the blinds, making sure they’re all closed as sunrise grows nearer. Just when the weight of exhaustion gets to be unbearable, that’s when he lays down on his side on the couch in the living room. Sleep takes him before his thoughts can catch up, and it’s a small blessing.

The forest around him is cold with mist, the sharp familiar smell of ancient earth all around him as he ascends the stone steps. There are small pattering footfalls behind him, familiar to his ears, but when he turns...

Nothing. A ghost, or a memory. This place is familiar, after all.

Slowly, he continues his climb, though in his peripheral he can see the slow, sinuous movement of something large slithering past the trees, climbing the hill with him. He does not turn this time, knowing full well what it is that moves in step with him. He would know them anywhere.

They are his. The reason Talon wanted him so badly. But they are not his goal now. No. That lies ahead, through the curling mist. Something red flickers ahead, like torchlight. Or perhaps the flutter of cloth, catching in the moonlight.

A green songbird rests above him in the branches, calling out suddenly as he draws near. The mist ahead on the path roils over on itself, turning black like pitch, spreading outward. He has to hurry, his legs carrying him across the smooth stone steps as quickly as he might go, but that flicker of red is very nearly out of sight, swallowed up by that darkness. Panic seizes him, though he doesn't quite know why. No, no, no no...

Abruptly, that brilliant red flares to life, bursting from the shadow like a bullet, careening towards him. Pain blossoms sharply in his chest, and then--

His eyes open to blackness. An empty room, an empty bed, and though his heart no longer beats he feels that panic shivering inside his ribs in an echo as he reminds himself of where he is.

Jesse wakes with a jolt, eyes wide and staring out across the room without registering any of it. The dream—or was it a nightmare?—had been unusually vivid. And the feeling of panic remains, as does a strong sense of Hanzo having been central to it all.

He sits up and turns, looking down the hall towards the door to the bedroom. Just a nightmare. But even though it hadn’t been real, he rubs at his chest where his pulse would have been racing had he been alive. Is it a phantom pain from his death? Why would it flare up now?

In his dream, he hadn’t been the one shot.

He curses quietly to himself and stands, suddenly full of anxious energy needing an outlet. There’s an urge to check on Hanzo that he can’t shake either. But that would be a bad idea. The last thing the man wants is Jesse bursting into his room. Might be he’ll tell Jesse to make other plans for the following sunrise as his first order of business for the night. That has the anxiousness swinging a whole other way, and for lack of a better way to shake it off, he grabs a cigarillo and lights it. Hanzo doesn’t want the smell of smoke in his hideout? Tough. Jesse at least opens the window and perches himself on the frame.

Every few seconds, his eyes go back to the bedroom door. Linger there. Then they’re forced back to the Hanamura skyline, and the whole thing starts over again.

Hanzo is fine. He’s in the fancy apartment building equivalent of the Fortress of Solitude. He’s fine.

He is not fine.

Physically, yes. But the dream -- or perhaps a vision -- lingers with him. It plays against the back of his eyes in the darkness, until he has no choice but to reach for the lamp nearby if only to banish the sight with something else.

Danger. The dream spoke to that, surely. But the nature of it, he's not entirely certain. The details muddle themselves the longer he is awake, though the feeling of dread is not so easily shaken. Was this the answer he'd sought? If so, it seems of little help. Shaking his head he draws himself to the bed's edge, steadying his hand before moving to open the door.

It's unusual for him to leave the bedroom without setting himself to rights first. Hair neatly tied, clothes set straight and immaculate. It's not messy so much as slightly off-center.

But that whisper may as well be a scream for how out of the ordinary it is.

Jesse just so happens to be watching the door when it opens. He straightens up reflexively, shoulders back, and prepares himself for the no doubt stilted greeting to come. The Hanzo that steps out, however, does not match up to his expectations. That sense of something wrong only grows.

He quickly turns and stands, stepping toward Hanzo before remembering the cigarillo in his hand. A few more seconds are wasted as he glances around for a place to set it, and not finding one, gives up. It stays in his grip as he looks back at his sire and looks him up and down.

“Did somethin’ happen?”

It could just as easily be that the night before has left him off-kilter, but something in him says otherwise.

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