almightythirst | Open Post

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.”

The man doesn't quail. Then again, Talon probably set some of their cooler heads on this job. Putting guards with high-tech weapons in close quarters with a bunch of collared and angry werewolves could be a recipe for disaster, if one wasn't careful.

No human ear could have caught it, but if Jesse is listening? There's a crackle of coms from within the guard's helmet. As well as five other spots within the room, hidden from view. At whatever news comes, the man straightens slightly.

The weapon remains trained on Jesse, however.

"If you lay down your arms, you'll be taken alive and unharmed."

The confirmation of five other hostiles in the room doesn’t put a drop of rain on his parade. Quite the opposite in fact. He can’t help but think of how lucky he his. Six is his lucky number.

More of a concern is that there’s a seventh person in the building that is somehow aware of the situation already. He probably has security cameras to thank for that. If he’s lucky, whatever backup they might have called won’t be here before he can do what he came to do and get out.

“That’s a mighty generous offer. You takin’ me alive, me rottin’ in a cell for a bit… and I’ve heard the torture Talon uses is somethin’ else.”

There’s a crack in his confident, devil-may-care façade. A quick flash of cold, deep-seated anger and disdain. Maybe the guard had even missed it, it came and went so fast.

“But I think I’ll pass.”

He tosses a flashbang and then lunges to the side, attempting to get behind a cage unless the guard or one of his buddies manages to hit him despite the preternatural speed. Even if they do, he can take a hit.

They let off, then. No restraint to be found as they fire after him, and several of the shots scorch the outer shell of that containment unit. The werewolf within bellows its rage, smashing into the side of its cage in fury, desperate to get out and join the fray.

And now Jesse's managed to lure out the others in the room, now searching for his position.

There's something else too. Movement, elsewhere in the building. That tightness in his chest, drawing closer at a steady clip.

It’s like old times: enemies on all sides, angry monsters not even a few feet away and hungry for his blood. Jesse hunkers down behind the containment unit and, for a moment, just takes it all in. The sound of bullets ricocheting off the walls. The snarling of the wolf. The sense of urgency that he’s quickly realizing means there’s more danger close by. The how or why matters less than the fact that it’s there and quickly getting closer.

Jesse straightens his hat with a grin that threatens to spill over into a laugh. It’s only during moments like this, with the promise of true death on either side and the chances of escape close to none, that he truly feels almost alive again.

A man has to get his thrills where he can. But fun as this is, he doesn’t have a death wish. He straightens up and takes a deep, steadying breath out of force of habit. He’d always needed it before when he did this.

The world is washed in red, and all the sounds around him become long and drawn out. Slow. He has seconds to take advantage of that, get into position, aim, and fire. As he scales the containment unit, a warm breeze shifts his serape around his shoulders. The heat of a sun he hasn’t seen in over a year now kisses his skin, just like old times. Such a pleasant harbinger of death this is.

He barely has time left to scope out the room from the top of the cage, but it’s enough. Helps that his night vision kicks serious ass nowadays. One by one, Deadeye locks onto each of the guards in turn. They’re all spread out, but none of them are obstructed.

Four. Five. Six. He can practically smell the dry, hot air of the desert as he breathes in. Peacekeeper is hot as a brand as he steadies it on his prosthetic arm and aims.

”It’s high noon.”

His voice echoes with the sound of two voices speaking in unison, and six shots fire off simultaneously toward their respective targets.

It's strangely quiet after, save for the snuffle and scrape of the wolf, still trying to rattle its way loose. But the guards? The guards drop to a man, every last one, and the sound of firing weapons falls away.

That pressure in his chest grows closer, still. It could be just behind that door, for all he knows. Just a sheet of reinforced metal to separate them. One second longer and that familiarity might find itself a face, a name.

But the door doesn't open.

Instead, it locks down with a hiss. And the other doors in the room soon follow suit.

His sense of accomplishment is short-lived with this feeling of the other behind the door both stronger and more familiar than before. He drops nimbly back to the floor, his feet taking him almost automatically to one door in particular. Once he opens it--

And then they lock. Shit.

Jesse grits his teeth and glares at the metal, like his annoyance could penetrate clear to the other side. Too afraid to face him head-on? They must be relying on backup on its way.

"Son of a bitch," he mutters, turning from the door and it's strange pull. It's a tricky position, but he's been in worse. Dying puts a lot of things in perspective.

He surveys the room, quickly moving from door to door. No give in any if them. Unsurprising. Next, he tilts his head up. Air ducts, loose ceiling tiles... he could do with either.

Fool. It comes through not as a voice but a feeling.

Jesse could still wriggle his way free if he tried, he simply had to think. And there was only so much delay he could offer him without appearing to be actively aiding him. Sending exactly six men? Blocking the path to him for anyone else on the base? It could still be rationally explained away.

But it would only work for so long. Especially once the order came to cover all possible exits from the roof. There's a long quiet before he replies in affirmative, picking up his bow, and heading for the stairs.

Meanwhile, inside the room, there are a number of walkways, stairs, and platforms surrounding the area where the wolves are being held. The alarm, however, has just gone off, and the floodlights switch abruptly, plunging the room into deep red.

The feeling is enough to make him stop short. Hanzo isn’t the only one to consider Jesse foolhardy, but he has a specific way of expressing it. And out of all of them, his is the only mind Jesse has ever even briefly delved into.

He looks back over his shoulder with the first pang of uncertainty he’s felt since arriving at the base.

“… Han-?”

Before he can even finish the name, the alarm starts to blare and the room turns red to match the blood of the men at his feet.

Hanzo.

He’s here. But that doesn’t make sense, why would he be at a Talon base? Unless he’d been caught, but then he wouldn’t be moving. And he is moving, Jesse realizes. If he concentrates, he can feel the presence shifting away from him again. Going upwards. What a coincidence that he had been thinking of doing the exact same thing.

Could be a trap. That’s the most logical conclusion, but he doesn’t have any other options but to follow its trajectory. Jesse starts maneuvering up the walkways, sometimes running, sometimes jumping and climbing to save on time. Before he kicks in a grate and shimmies in, he looks back down at the room and memorizes what he sees. The number of units. The guards and their weapons. The tech involved in all of it.

Then he’s gone, making his way through the ducts and vents until he can get to another hallway. It takes no time at all to take out the few guards he finds along the way. The door to the roof, it turns out, isn’t even locked. Probably because he can feel that tug again like a rope trying to pull him through to the other side. Someone or something else is there, waiting.

He readies Peacekeeper, kicks open the door, and moves out into the night.

It's like remembering the steps to an old, familiar dance.

Jesse kicks open the door, brashly announcing his presence, and leaves his back open to attack. And instead of an arrow in the back for his trouble, one goes whizzing past his ear in warning. It lands just in front of him, wedging into the roof itself with a heavy 'thud', and the shadow that had been lurking above the door nocks another arrow.

It's Hanzo, of course. Unmistakably so. Though the lower half of his face appears covered, as is the dragon tattoo on his arm. But there's no mistaking that pull, not when he feels it in his own veins, a heady chat of Jesse, Jesse, Jesse that reminds him how sorely he's missed seeing the other vampire.

Not that he can let an ounce of it show, lest those ever-present eyes remain on them even now.

Jesse spins on his heel and turns Peacekeeper towards his assailant, judging accurately where he stands from the trajectory of the arrow.

Now that he’s looking at Hanzo straight-on, he doesn’t know how he could have mistaken this feeling for anything or anyone else. It's like a puzzle piece that fits perfectly in a gap unable to be filled by anything else. But there’s no ignoring that this is very deeply wrong. Hanzo looks like one of them. He’s firing as if at an enemy. And unlike his sire, Jesse hasn’t made any effort to hide his defining features.

His aim never wavers, but the conviction on his face does. This can’t be what it looks like. He knows Hanzo better than that.

“What the hell are you doin’?”

It’s one last chance to explain. One last out.

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