Dancing with Dragons

The next day, Jesse McCree did not come out of his room.

He acted like Hanzo had not noticed the bruises that lit his cheekbone in violet. Like he was blind to the red that etched itself into the lines on Jesse's lips in the form of blood leaking from his mouth and crusting at the edge. Maybe he honestly didn't know that Hanzo knew. Maybe he didn't care whether Hanzo saw it or not. Either way, he had not offered any explanation and Hanzo had not asked for one.

At the very least, Hanzo was glad he had picked last night to be nice. McCree had come in looking like a kicked puppy, but after a warm meal, he seemed a bit more at peace. 

Hanzo sat in the commons chewing on a bit of overcooked grilled cheese, a shitty American substitute for an actual meal, but it was the courtesy of Fareeha, so he dare not complain. 

He continued his thought on McCree, who only perplexed him more with each day he knew the man. He didn't want to ask him about his absence last night. He knew from experience that wasn't going to work, especially if McCree lost the fight he got into. 

Jesse's friends, however, had much looser lips. He was scouting them out now as he took another bite of his sandwich. Hana would be willing enough to help him, but only with probable cause. Junkrat or Jamison or whatever the hell he went by would be more than happy to gossip about the cowboy, but...

The thing was, Hanzo thought he was fluent in English until he met Junkrat. He only understood about half of what came out of the crazy man's mouth. Lena might, but she, too, would want a good reason. 

Hanzo wanted information on McCree. He did not want to seem too interested. Otherwise he might as well march around and squawk like a worried hen. Which he definitely wasn't. Just burning with curiosity. 

Looks like Jamison was his best option. He finished off the last bit of his food, deposited his plate at the lunch counter, and walked up to their table in a manner that he hoped looked professional and collected. 

He didn't have to clear his throat to get them to look up. Junkrat's expression exploded with glee to see him, and the blond man slammed his hands down on the table. Hanzo did his best not to flinch.

"Oy! Lookie 'ere, Roadie! The bloke's finally come around an' finished waggin' on us! How's it, mate?"

Hanzo blinked at him in confusion. Most of those words were English, right? 

"Fine," he replied stiffly. "I wanted to ask if you knew anything about the cowboy." 

Not that either of them asked, but he thought it best to get straight to the point before he heard any more new vocab and got too deep into a conversation that he didn't even understand. 

"McCree? How come? You AC/DC, mate? A pansy? Arse bandit?" 

Hanzo didn't even try to hide his confusion, throwing his hands up and giving Junkrat an expressively baffled look. Jamison planted his elbow on the table, waving his fork at Hanzo, and added, mouth full of grilled cheese,"Look, mate, what I'm tryna ask ya is if yer a poofter." 

"I just- I have no idea what- It doesn't matter," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "I wanted to ask if you knew where he was last night." 

Junkrat let out a cackle and slapped his large companion on the arm. 

"What'd I tell ya, Roadie, the dill's a total poof!" 

Roadhog slapped him on the back of the head, impossibly gentle for the size of his hand, and Junkrat let out an indignant chuff, fixing his hair, if you could call that fixed. 

"Language," Roadhog said, his voice a deep, deep rumble in his chest. Hanzo filed that away for memory- "poof" was apparently a bad word. 

Junkrat cackled again, then leaned over the table, urgently motioning Hanzo forward. He leaned towards him cautiously, not fully trusting the other man's stability. 

"Well, ya see, McCree an' the gnarly lookin' bloke he hangs aroun' with? They been bashin' for a long while now." 

"No," Roadhog interjected. 

"Alright, but they been... y'know. Together. The kissy-kissy stuff. Problem is, Reaper, or whatever th'ell 'e calls 'imself, ain't fixed yet, y'know? He's still off his rocker. Total fruit loop. Ya don' just face death a thousand times an' come back happy as a clam, now do ya?" 

Hanzo furrowed his eyebrows, jaw still dropped as he tried to process this new information. He knew that they were together, but he didn't know it was public knowledge. There were others like him and Jiyu-chan that were open? The thought pierced him through the chest like an arrow, and suddenly he was a teenage bleeding heart again. Was that okay here? Was being... like that acceptable to these people? 

He honestly didn't know if he should be elated or disgusted. Everything in his body wanted to rejoice that he could be... himself? Who he felt he should be? But... it was wrong, wasn't it? Why did they, too, not try with all their might to squash those shameful urges? 

He wanted desperately to ask, to know if that was fine. He could have reached out, grabbed Junkrat by the shoulders and shook him until he gave him a response, the one he wanted. But he did not risk it. That was an investigation to be saved for later. Right now, he still wanted to know where Jesse was last night. 

"And?"

"And?" Junkrat asked, giving him a look. He nudged Roadhog again. "Take a look at this tosser, ay, Roadie? He was payin' the scary bloke a visit! They were makkin' it up in Reaper's place." Junkrat made a kissy face as if to accentuate his point. It was a needed cue anyway, otherwise Hanzo would have no idea what he was saying. He put a hand to his forehead, and with a muttered, "Thank you very much for your time," turned around. 

Behind him, he heard Junkrat giggling. "What'd I tell ya?" he said, only to receive a grunt in reply. 

Hanzo rushed back towards his room, suddenly on sensory overload. He felt like everything was tingling. He needed to do something immediately or else risk his patience. 

Jesse McCree and Gabriel Reyes were in a relationship. This seemed to be common knowledge, and there was... not a problem with this? And last night, McCree had gone to Gabriel, and returned with bruises and a bloody lip. There had to be a problem at that point. He didn't realize he was angry until he felt the sting of his nails in his palm. 

Hanzo shook his head and turned the corner towards the practice range, since he already had his bow handy. 

He expected some kind of pity to arise at the thought of Jesse getting backhanded, or at least smugness, but all that arose was a cold fury that gripped him to the bone. 

He stormed out of the door into the sunshine and immediately shot an arrow into the face of a training bot. He wanted to hate McCree for being an ass, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Not now that he knew what went on behind closed doors. It made sense, didn't it? 

Another arrow into another training bot. 

He remembered the other night when McCree had winked at him. He thought he imagined the flirtatious intentions, but he remembered how Gabriel had angrily pushed him off the payload, and it just clicked. He didn't just looked angry- he looked jealous. He had looked at Jesse like he owned him, like Jesse was all his. 

Hanzo shot the next arrow with a lot more force than needed, and it sent the training bot off of the cliff, plummeting down into the sea. It screamed, and he rushed over, staring down at the water with wide eyes. 

Oops.  

They didn't program the training bots to feel fear, right? They felt pain, sure, since every time you hit one, it would say "ow," but... 

He slung his bow back over his shoulder hurriedly and hurried back inside to go fetch Fareeha. The mechanical scream stuck with him, making him sick the entire way. 

About two hours later, Tracer had the thing back up and running, although it spluttered and coughed with the effort of hovering around the practice range. 

"He's just a bit rough now, luv. He'll be alright," she had assured Hanzo, and he made it a point to thank her before he returned inside again, done with the practice range for the day. He would have to find somewhere else to relieve the endless buzzing that was beginning to make him restless. 

Think, he reminded himself, what did you used to do?

It was years ago when Jiyusuke was murdered. 

That day, something in both Hanzo and Genji had changed. Hanzo would never again willingly disobey his father or bring dishonor on their clan. Not for many years to come. Genji, on the other hand, only grew feral. He had no reason to obey. No ammunition that could be used against him. Genji was impervious to their father's wrath- or so he thought for a long time until that fateful day that Hanzo proved just how obedient a son he intended on being. 

But before that, before Hanzo had murdered his kin and forever severed that bond- those were the days that Genji and him would talk freely. They talked about the future a lot. Genji would always test his patience and Hanzo would always threaten to embarrass him with the many stories he had from their childhood, but it was all in good fun. One time, when Genji was still in Junior High, he had a crush on a girl from a public school, and even if Genji was tutored at home, he wanted it to work out, so he wanted to dye his hair. The problem was, he was grounded at the time for replacing their father's expensive shampoo with hair removal cream. So Genji had talked Hanzo into going out and buying the girl's favorite color in hair dye. 

Genji had taken the blame, but there were no consequences. Because Genji was not the heir. He was allowed to make mistakes and behave recklessly. 

Those were the days that Hanzo still had someone to talk to. Genji had gotten a crude tattoo on his neck that week, purposely broken things, and let hell rain down in that house for months afterwards in revenge for Hanzo's loss. And in turn, when Genji became too much for their father to handle, Hanzo killed him. Genji had fought for him, and to show his grattitude, Hanzo put his sword through his stomach. And his neck. And his shoulders and hips and legs and arms and face. He had butchered his little brother. He had not only murdered him, but in his fit of hysteria, he had all but torn him apart piece by piece until he was little more than a pile of meat in the vague shape of a human body. 

He shuddered deeply at the memory. He could not talk to Genji anymore. Genji was dead, along with all of the fury he could hold towards Hanzo. What was left was a few leftover limbs and the empty shell of human emotion. The Genji he knew would not forgive him. He would not meditate in the sun or sit quietly to talk with an omnic nine hours out of the day. Genji, the real one that died in Hanamura, was all fire and energy and obnoxious little brother. Not a monk. 

A monk. Zenyatta was programmed for this, was he not? He could not bare to face the machine that was once his brother, but there was no harm in talking to an omnic who would, supposedly, not tell anyone if Hanzo asked it not to. 

He found Zenyatta in the courtyard, alone, surprisingly. Hanzo cleared his throat at it. Zenyatta was always giving him gentle nudges to talk to it, so he supposed it would be easy to get it to listen. 

"Hanzo," Zenyatta said. Its voice told Hanzo that it was pleased to see him. "It is a beautiful afternoon, yes?"

"I came to talk," Hanzo said curtly, then added as a precaution, "But you must not tell anyone what is said here today."

Zenyatta's orbs did a quick spin before settling down again in a way that made Hanzo think of an inquisitive gesture, but he didn't say anything that would backup that thought. 

"Of course. My lips are sealed."

Hanzo couldn't tell if that was supposed to be a joke or not, so he huffed noncommittally and sat down on a rock next to the omnic, who stared at him, somehow expectant even without a proper face for expression. Hanzo rubbed his thumbs together anxiously. He really shouldn't be nervous. He knew that. He was talking to an omnic, but somehow, he felt that it was going to be more personal that he wanted to get. With anyone. Ever. 

Regardless, he took a big breathe and began. 

"Is... Can I..." He broke off with a sigh of frustration and rubbed his forehead. The omnic was silent, but he still felt like it was judging him. He could feel the heat in his ears rising already. "Is it... normal... for a human man..." 

He broke off again. Why in hell would an omnic know what was normal for humans? Just from the beginning of his phrase, he wondered if Zenyatta was getting uncomfortable. It sounded like he was going to ask him something extremely naive and unsavory. Which he was. But not that particular kind of unsavory. But goddamnit he had already started to say it and if he backed out now, Zenyatta would be left thinking he was going to ask something stupid about human male anatomy, which he had no doubt the omnic knew about, but he sure as hell didn't want him- it- to think that about him, so now he had dug himself into a hole. He had no choice but to continue with his question, so he sucked in and spat it all out in a nearly-incoherent mash of words. 

"Is it normal here for human men to be intimate, like a man and a woman usually are?"

There were a few heartbeats of silence, and Hanzo glared at the ground, desperately avoiding eye contact. Camera contact. Whatever. 

And then, just like that, Zenyatta let out a mechanical little chuckle, and Hanzo jerked his head up to send him a fierce glare. 

"It is very commonplace," Zenyatta said, as if his mind was somewhere else. "I know many at this very base who are, indeed, just as you describe." 

Hanzo froze, staring at the omnic, who had turned to look straight ahead again. 

"Like who?" 

"That, I can not answer," it replied. "It is not my place. You may ask Genji. He may tell you." 

Hanzo growled in frustration. Everyone was so hellbent on getting him to talk to his brother? Fine. Fuck it. 

"I will," he replied pointedly, and stood up, marching off to go find the cyborg ghost of Genji. 

~

McCree didn't come out of his room until late at night. He had been in bed since last night, avoiding Gabe, avoiding Hanzo, and avoiding everybody else who might see the bruise on his cheek. But around ten, his hunger finally got the best of him, and he wandered down to the kitchen to grab dinner. 

He still felt like shit. Not the kind that leaves you body-achey and nauseous, but the kind that makes you wonder if you should eventually get out of bed and eat or just lay there and rot. His stomach was begging him to eat something, and he hoped he could find the strength to appease it.

All that was in the company fridge was a can of peaches, some milk, and a fuckton of tuna, and McCree hated tuna with a passion, so he ended up trudging back to his room, stuffing peach slices into his mouth every few steps. He finished the last bit off just as he reached his door, and he was surprised to find Hanzo there, hugging a pillow to his chest and staring into the floor intensely. Jesse didn't even get the chance to open his mouth. 

"Genji is in love with the masculine omnic," Hanzo said, not taking his eyes off the ground in front of him. 

McCree stared at him. He cuckled, and it turned into an episode until he was keeled over himself wheezing with laughter. Hanzo glared at him now, murder in his eyes. 

"Ya didn't know?" Jesse asked between his howling. 

Hanzo remained silent, but his glare sharpened, and Jesse laughed harder. He had to sit down so he wouldn't fall over. When he finally calmed down enough to speak, he looked back up to meet the daggers that were Hanzo's dark eyes. 

"Yeah, yer brother's hella gay. Well, bisexual, I think, but," he broke off to chuckle again. 

"This is not funny," Hanzo insisted, rising to his feet. "Our father would never have let this happen."

Jesse looked up at him, all laughter gone from him now. Hanzo turned away, high-key pouting when he realized that McCree was studying him. For the first time, McCree wondered about him, and he could feel the wheels turning in his head. That would explain all the mixed signals he was getting- not that he should be paying attention to them, but he recognized flirting when he saw it, goddamn it. 

He dared open his mouth again, although he hesitated before speaking. 

"Hanzo... are you-?" 

"No." Hanzo seethed at him, a little too quickly and a little too harshly. McCree felt his heart twist in his chest. Hanzo turned his back on him long before he could find something to say, and made for the bedroom door. 

"Wait," McCree said, and Hanzo paused. 

There he was again, like a proper dragon, his shoulders back, his chin high, muscles tense, but a pained scowl plagued his sharp face. What do you even say in this situation? McCree took a huge fucking leap of faith, like one of those circus people who dove into kiddie pools from a hundred feet in the air. 

"I just wanted t' say... Yer safe. Here, I mean. Me n' Gabe, the scary guy in the hoodie... We're together, 'n case ya didn't know." 

Hanzo didn't respond to that. He just closed his eyes and went into his room, locking the door behind him. 

Jesse let out a sigh, and rubbed his forehead. What had he said wrong?

The next day was spent trying to appease Gabriel. They spoke in hushed tones at the lunch table, and McCree thanked heaven that they were in public. He never liked being alone with Gabe. 

"I just don't understand why ya gotta be so possessive, hun," he said, only to earn an infuriated snarl from Gabe. 

"Is this possessive to you, Jesse?!" he hissed, grappling at the seams of Jesse's serape, "Maybe I just don't like you ungrateful little slut whoring yourself to the first man or woman who gives you a second glance!"

Jesse shrank into himself, wanting to close his eyes, but not daring to. Gabe had the same look in his eyes as he did two nights ago, when he had lost his temper. Jesse guessed that he only abstained now because they were in public. 

McCree shut his mouth, and kept it shut for the rest of lunch, keeping his eyes on his plate. "Let me get that for you," Gabe said when he was finished, in the sweetest, gentlest voice possible, and McCree finally dared to look at him. He looked gentle enough, but exasperated. 

"'M sorry, Gabe," Jesse murmured. 

"It's alright, Jesse," Gabe said softly, and grabbed his plate to return to the lunch counter.

McCree wasn't fucking sorry. He was feeling pissy today, and he was in no mood for forgiveness, or he wouldn't have opened his mouth at all. He was angry, and hurt, and tired, but he wasn't going to pick a fight, because he knew he would regret it when he inevitably forgave Gabe in a few days. 

Even if he didn't fucking want to forgive him right now, or ever for that matter, he knew it would happen because that's how it always happened. Gabe would throw him down a flight of figurative emotional stairs, and Jesse would be hurt and angry for a few days. He would swear he wasn't going to forgive him this time, and then the initial, irrational fit of anger would pass and Gabe would be extra nice and Jesse would forgive him. It had happened time and time and time again without fail for over a year, but this time, Jesse was mad. He wasn't going to let that cycle continue. 

Either Gabe was going to apologize and never do it again, or the next time it happened, Jesse would leave him. For good that time, definitely. But then, he did that a lot, too. He promised himself that he would leave Gabe "next time this happens," but Gabe was always promising to do better. He would start cooking dinner for Jesse this time. He would see Angela and ask her for a different medication to treat his leftover temper from Talon. He would start listening to Jesse this time. 

But this time, for sure, Jesse was not going to fall for it again. One more goddamn slip-up. He wasn't going to feel like the stupid one anymore when Gabe turned his back on him again. 

Never again.