almightythirst | Open Post

"That's what this is?" Jesse turns and leans on the counter, arms folded over his chest. It's embarrassing he hadn't thought of that sooner. The nature of this dream hadn't been unlike the moments they had shared blood in the past. Visions, memories, thoughts and feelings...

They've gotten themselves in real deep with this, seems like.

"Who made that decision anyway? That it's forbidden? There's no way to police that when all the vamps won't talk to each other."

"Certain things are known, even when you do live among others of your kind. Do not reveal yourself to humans, lest you be hunted." Common sense. Things any vampire maintained to survive, especially in this day and age.

"Similarly known is this. The deeper the bloodlines run, the more ancient the vampire, the stronger the blood. The was meant to prevent younger vampires from usurping strength they were not ready for."

He arches an eyebrow.

"Do you know who the best swordsman in the world fears?"

Is that what Jesse has done? Has he gotten stronger than he should have through this exchange of blood? It’s not like he’d taken it by force, but the thought still troubles him. As for the other side-effects… they have to be manageable. Maybe they'll fade as he and Hanzo spend more time apart, which seems like an inevitability now.

“I’d say ‘the second best,’ but I got a feeling this is one of those trick questions.”

Jesse isn't wrong, in that regard. Hanzo shakes his head, all the same.

"No. He fears the worst. He cannot anticipate what the fool will do, and all the master's skill and training will matter little against someone who does not care what should be done. And in so doing, that fool might be the end of all."

A young vampire with no sense of proportion, given the power of an elder? The results would be quite similar, he expects.

"Suppose that makes sense. But I haven't gotten much more powerful than any of you at this age, have I?"

He assumes not, but it's not as if he's had anyone else to compare himself to. When hunting vampires, he'd always operated on a very loose understanding of his quarry's age. The general idea had mattered more than the specifics.

"And I bet there are some people who wouldn't mind this." He taps his head and then gestures between them, indicating the bond. "Dunno, but it seems like the sort of rule people use to make sure they're the only ones doin' a thing for their own reasons."

"And do you mind...this?"

Again, Hanzo looks as though he's guarding his thoughts very carefully, his expression neutral at best. But beneath, there's that sense of sharp anxiety. The dread from the dream, the anticipation that whatever danger was foretold might yet come to pass.

And there's that sympathetic pang in his chest, or the phantom of it.

Does he?

Jesse mulls it over for a moment, considering Hanzo's expression as he does. What is the other man hiding? He's not showing his true feelings for a reason. Does he feel so strongly about this himself?

"... It hasn't been that bad."

He doesn't exactly like the idea of anyone being able to just waltz into his mind whenever, but it doesn't seem to work like that. Far as he knows. Rather, it's more like a sort of intimacy. A mutual give and take.

"Do you?"

A mutual give and take, but Hanzo is rarely in the giving mood. Too long he's spent having to guard himself, keep things secret to keep himself safe. Distance and silence were his allies, and intimacy of any sort was a risk he could scarce afford.

For a few nights, it had almost seemed as though he were wrong.

But now?

His dark eyes flick away, arms folding tensely across his chest. "It hardly matters. There seems to be little we can do about it now."

Well, that's answer enough on its own. And it's another explicit sign that the wall between them is back in place, rebuilt and reinforced. And there's nothing uncertain about Hanzo's body language, even if his answer is evasive.

"If we stop sharin' blood, it might ease up." He looks down at his metal prosthetic and picks at something caught in a seam of metal.

"Will probably stop altogether if we go our separate ways."

There. It's out there. No more of this uncertainty.

"Perhaps."

Or perhaps the bond would last, despite distance and time. Hard to say. There was no one to ask, no one who knew their condition better than they had managed to live it, thus far. And it's only partially the point, as it is.

It's an out. Jesse's all but laid it out for him to take. He understands, then. He must. Hanzo's gaze shifts towards the laptop for a moment, yet untouched, before lifting his gaze once more. Taking in Jesse where he stands in the moonlight.

Almost a year now. Almost back where they began all of this. He should have killed Jesse that night, rather than consign them both to this. One in a list of mistakes made over the decades.

"...you should return. To your allies in Overwatch. They might aid you in ending the Reaper once and for all," he adds quietly, after another moment.

Yes. The Reaper. His own shot at some kind of redemption, righting an old wrong. But what else is there for him in Overwatch? His sense of justice had never aligned so cleanly with theirs before, and things are even more complicated now.

A year ago, Jesse had lived for the hunt. Now, he's looking at someone who had, for a moment, given him something else. Not all of it had been good, or welcome.

Still, he doesn't want to let it go.

But he will.

He watches Hanzo right back. Memorizing his profile in the dark and remembering what it had looked like to see, for a moment, a smile light those features up.

"What are you going to do?"

"I do not know." His eyes close for a moment. "...Perhaps it is better you do not know, either. Should they decide to come looking for me."

He doesn't believe Jesse would give away his whereabouts willingly, not anymore. But with that connection between them, and how many of them would sooner see him dead or a tool for their own use...he might not have a choice.

Funny. This journey of theirs had started with the intention of proving which of them was correct. And despite winning that wager in the end, Hanzo feels no vindication in that fact. There is only the knowledge that he is, indeed, better off alone in this world. Or at the very least that those he cares for are better off without him present.

Genji lives. But clearly he is managing well enough without him. And Jesse...he would do better without him. He could perhaps find a path in this life that suited what he has become.

This is for the best. There must be satisfaction in that, if nothing else.

He might not mean it that way, but to Jesse’s ears—already primed to have accusations thrown his way, nevermind that Hanzo has been so restrained about things thus far—it does sound like he doesn’t fully trust Jesse to keep his confidence. Anger and hurt tear through him in a quick flare, flickering on his face before his expression hardens.

Probably Hanzo meant something much more benign. The logical part of him knows that. But guilt will do as it does, turning a harmless word into something that can draw blood.

“I don’t have any plans to tell anyone your secrets.” It comes out sharper than he’d intended.

It’s all compounded by the fact that Hanzo clearly doesn’t intend to take his brother up on the offer, so Overwatch isn’t even on his radar. What does it mean that Jesse can’t even guess what he’ll do instead? For all he knows about Hanzo, there’s still so much distance between them.

Inevitable. That feels like the right word for it. Like this was always meant to happen.

And of course, it is inevitable that at the first sign of raising hackles, Hanzo responds in kind. The words spill out before he can stop them, cold and sharp.

"What you are planning does not matter. Is that not clear enough?" One hand gestures around them, at the situation. Far broader in scope than either of them had been prepared for. For all their plans and intentions, they surely had not meant to wind up where they were now.

The bite to his expression is gone again, after but a few moments, expression stilling. "...we are facing a storm, McCree. Move with it, or against it, but it will do as it will. If we are parting ways, it is better that it remain so."

Fighting should make this easier, Jesse thinks. Sometimes it does, when it comes to goodbyes. But their sharp words tossed back and forth make this situation feel no better. If anything, he just feels more hollow after being shown how far they’ve moved away from the intimacy they’d had not long before.

McCree. Back to last names now.

“… Suppose you’re right. Guess this is it then.” He can’t look at that neutral expression on Hanzo’s face anymore. He goes about gathering his belongings instead, most of them already laying close together. The computer is where Hanzo had left it the night before, untouched. Jesse puts it back into its case.

“You want me to say anythin’ to your brother when I see him?” He shoulders his backpack and shifts the laptop case in his grip. His back to Hanzo as he looks out into the night over Hanamura.

He’ll need to check the train schedule. Make sure he isn’t followed. Check into a hotel in Tokyo, maybe, while he figures out where to go next. To debate whether or not to call that number.

Back to last names, to looks that don't connect. Back to drawing those walls up against the desire to reach for the other and seek comfort. There will be no room for that in the days to come.

In fact, what needs to be done seems to become more and more clear. He can only run from Talon so long. But perhaps...

"Tell him that real life is not like the stories our father told us. And he was a fool for believing it so." And with that, his tone becomes the same imperious, chilly intonation that it had once been, a year past. Let Jesse remember that night, shed his guilt, and leave with some knowledge that this was the right call to make.

Even if for one night, maybe it hadn't been.

“Bet he’d rather hear that straight from you.”

It would be a shame to see Hanzo throw away this chance to reconcile, whether he takes Genji up on his offer or not. And he suspects the younger Shimada would be in a better position to talk some sense into his stubborn brother about his capacity for redemption. Hanzo could be happy one day, if he allowed it of himself; or if not that, content at least.

“But I will anyway. Sure he can find you if he has somethin’ else to say.”

And with that, there’s nothing keeping Jesse from leaving. He swallows down any protests that threaten to slip off his tongue and turns back towards Hanzo to take one last good look at him. Beautiful and distant as ever.

“… Take care of yourself.”

He tips his hat down low over his eyes and walks past his sire to the door.

Still so much left unsaid. That bond remains in their blood, regardless of the distance between them. It will linger with him, much as he wishes he could cut out of his heart entirely.

More the fool he, for allowing someone in in the first place.

But once Jesse is gone, he goes to work. His weapons are accounted for his cold precision. Then, he locates a burner phone. He still has a number of contacts to make, and not much time to do so. If Genji found him here this quickly, others could as well. He just had to make certain he was found by the correct people, first.

Helping Overwatch is the correct course of action. Of course it is. Jesse will undoubtedly come to the same conclusion. But within their ranks there would only ever be mistrust. He would be hampered, restricted, and distracted by his closeness to Jesse. But there is a way to aid them in a way few could, supplying them with valuable information that could save lives.

All it will take is giving Akande exactly what he wants, at long last.

Jesse doesn’t go straight to Overwatch after leaving Hanamura. He has his reasons: loose ends to tie up. Things to do that will ultimately help the organization more than Jesse himself could. Contacts to make, old cashes to dig up…

Mostly, it’s all excuses to avoid what he knows will be a difficult reunion. Jack had made it clear what he thought of Jesse’s transformation before. Ana had been more level-headed, but clearly she also thought of him as something ‘other.’ Would explain why they tried to practically kidnap him rather than just get in touch the old-fashioned way. He’s not eager to trade his free-to-roam lifestyle for the judgmental gaze of former comrades. That’s not even getting into his skepticism about Overwatch itself.

But he can’t ignore the threat of Talon forever. It’s always in the back of his mind, along with thoughts of Hanzo. Where he might be. How Jesse can’t do anything to help him anymore, but he can do something to keep the organization that had ruined his life from becoming any more powerful.

Months after parting ways with Hanzo, he finally calls the number Genji had provided.

It is not an easy welcome. But as short as they are on people, they need all the help they can get, even from a vampire. Luckily, Jesse's accolades as a hunter come first and foremost...as well as his considerable record of dead vampires even after his transformation.

There are interviews. Tests. The doctor is as gentle with him as possible, even as fascinated by his unique condition as she is, and she shows him more compassion than most. A lot of the recruits view him with suspicion, some with awe, but none with open hostility.

Yet.

Genji might be the only one openly glad to see him come into the fold, though it comes with the bittersweet realization that he came alone.

None of the reactions Jesse receives upon arriving are unexpected. They're actually better than he had anticipated. If he had been a human watching a vampire try to join his band of hunters, he’d have definitely been in the ‘openly hostile’ category.

Although they might not trust him readily—understandably so—Jesse shares with them a (carefully selected) bulk of his private research from the last few years. The intel about the Reaper seems to be of the most interest, and not only due to the personal ties several of them have to the specter. Knowing Reaper is in league with Talon now, the information Jesse has on his movements and infrequent appearances can be viewed in a whole new light.

He still intends to take the Reaper down himself though. He makes this clear, which leads to another of his frequent spats with Jack. He’s glad for the small kindnesses he finds elsewhere in the group. He warms up to Genji particularly quickly, the easy camaraderie the closest thing to friendship he has there for some time.

When the topic ever turns to Hanzo, Jesse is noticeably tight-lipped. Whatever he knows of the man who turned him, he keeps it to himself. He’s sure that brings his loyalty into question. Hanzo is, after all, a rogue element in this war of theirs, and he doesn't doubt the team would want to know about the connection they'd forged together with blood.

But doesn’t say a thing beyond what the group already knows of Hanzo, and he doesn’t track him anymore. That folder on his computer remains untouched. Instead, Jesse throws himself into the fight against Talon. No more nights spent milling about with humans in bars. No more long road trips. He feeds the bare minimum he needs to keep his strength, and he turns that same laser focus he’d used to hunt Hanzo into taking Talon apart.

Most nights, it’s enough to keep him busy. He can’t think about old churches and motel rooms, intricate tattoos or fleeting smiles if he surrounds himself with the hunt.

There is mercifully a great deal for him to focus on, in that pursuit. And a vampire's perspective is uniquely suited to predicting the movements of such creatures, even if Talon's numbers include all manner of creatures.

The werewolf he'd encountered in the church, as it turned out, was on loan. And it had become a business of sorts in trafficking the unlucky souls, collaring them and turning them into muscle for the highest bidder. That they also possessed sentience and had once been people did not seem to trouble them immensely, only their use as weapons and trackers.

It's one of these operations that Jesse is assigned to next. The main motive is gathering intel, as always. The more they can track back to the center of this web, the better. But it's also Jesse's call what to do about the 'cargo' being transported.

Only a handful of mid-level Talon operatives will be at the facility, of course. No one of great importance. Some new recruits being trained up, at most. Surely enough for Jesse to handle, but he's welcome to bring assistance if he thinks he'll need it.

Jesse is used to doing things solo by now, but he’s not too proud to admit that going in without any backup would be a risky gamble. Talon, he’s found out, is not the type to spare those who move against them. That last encounter with Reaper had been a strange exception, likely only due to his being Hanzo’s companion at that moment. Without that tie, he has nothing to guarantee he’ll make it out of here if caught. Could he handle the threats he’s expecting to face? Sure. Can he guarantee he won’t be hit by an unpleasant surprise guest? No.

Ana waits outside, keeping an eye on the doors to alert him if anyone comes or goes that they aren’t expecting. Other than that, he’s on his own.

Jesse moves soundlessly around another corner, memorizing his route even as he quickly slips deeper into the maze that is the compound. It’s not been difficult so far. He’s almost tempted to be concerned, but it’s hard when he’s got the thrill of a mission in his veins. And it’s not suspiciously easy. Far as he knows, no one has gotten wind of his coming.

It’s only a matter of time before he finds the room where the ‘cargo’ is being held. His quick progress slows, his hand resting on Peacekeeper as he extends all of his preternaturally-honed senses out towards the open space. If he’ll run into anyone he’ll have to fight, it will be here.

Looming largest of all is the smell of wolf, as something shifts within those crates and lets out a deep, guttural noise. A large muzzle comes close to the slats along the side, snuffling before a snarl follows, scraping as it shifts within the tight confines of its container.

But there's something else, too. Something that twines around the inert veins in his body and tugs. Something familiar, but not as close. Not yet.

"Freeze!" There's a guard whose managed to spot him, gun lifting towards the outlaw. "Drop your weapon."

Odd. That there only appears to be the one guard, for the moment. Especially when the area seems warm with blood, pulsing presences close to hand. Perhaps waiting to see what he would do before making their move.

The strange feeling that comes just before his discovery is made even stranger by his lack of vitality. Had Jesse been alive, it could have been confused for his heart skipping a beat, or his breath catching in his throat. A stutter in the usual workings of his body. Strange, but not so notable.

But he has nothing else to pin the feeling on now. He almost glances back over his shoulder, overcome by that feeling of being close to something—something familiar, something important, someone—but then there’s the voice from the room. His lips curl into a cocksure smirk before he turns back, hands up.

“You want it on the floor? I could do that, but then I’d have it in my hand for just a second. And that don’t seem like a smart thing to let me do, does it? Then again—” he muses on casually, like he doesn’t have a gun pointed his way at this very minute, “—you’re smart wantin’ me to be as far from my gun as you can get me. I’m not a bad shot. It’s your call, big guy.”

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