One. Jesse sprinted away from the safety of the truck.
Two. Errant bullets sent gravel and dust spraying in every direction.
Three. Battle cries and death screams echoed into the night.
Four. He stumbled over a body- no paint, must've been a worker.
Five. His lungs burned with the acrid smell of carbon.
SIX. He skidded low, coming to an abrupt stop next to the pickup.
Winded, he didn't waste time catching his breath, vaulting into the truck bed. There wasn't much space to stand, almost every inch taken up by the giant piñata. Every second he was here was a second exposed, a second where a stray bullet could take him out of the fight. He tore at the paper mache with his hands, pulling it free in huge chunks. He could see the barest bit of metal now and the piñata was coming apart more easily. A large panel ripped free and he could finally recognize what he was looking at.
It wasn't firearms. Not a pulse rifle. Not a rocket launcher or a barrel of grenades or a crate of C4. It was just one thing. A single bomb. An EMP bomb.
And it was massive.
Suddenly shivering, Jesse thumbed his comm. "Got visual confirmation. Leavin' through-"
Someone's agonized scream cut him off, swiftly followed by ecstatic woops from Los Muertos. Four skeletons converged, hovering over a figure like coyotes circling a wounded animal.
Shit.
He had to leave. He had to leave.
⟪We're gonna have fun with you, asshole!⟫
Soldier brought this on himself.
⟪He's mine.⟫ A low, garbled voice cut over the excited chatter. Reaper.
⟪You'll get your turn-⟫ A shotgun cracked in the night, and one of the skeletons fell to the ground, unmoving.
⟪Mine.⟫
The other skeletons yelped and skittered a short distance away, leaving nothing between Soldier and Reaper.
Mother fucker.
"Storm, I'm about to do somethin' stupid."
"Tombstone?"
In one smooth motion, Jesse unclipped a flash bang grenade and lobbed it over the truck, ducking and squeezing his eyes shut until he saw the flash behind his eyelids. Los Muertos was yelling again, but Reaper was nowhere to be seen when Jesse rounded the pickup and fired three rounds at Los Muertos.
⟪It wasn't us! It wasn't us! It wasn't-⟫ The voice ended with a wet squelch.
Well. Reaper wasn't on Soldier then. Jesse inched his way forward in the dark, scuffing the ground with his feet, trying to find Soldier.
"Tombstone, what is happening?"
Finally, Jesse's boot made contact with the give of flesh, and he dropped to his knees, feeling with his hands to confirm, yes, this was Soldier. Another dying scream to his left.
"Soldier's down, grabbin' him before they can finish him off. Keep me covered."
There was blood. There was a lot of blood, but Soldier was still breathing.
"I do not have sights," Hanzo warned over the comm, tone tense.
There was a whimper from the last Los Muertos goon before another shotgun blast ended it. Jesse tried to pick Soldier up, but the fucker was heavy. He let him drop back to the ground, trying to unwrap the massive pulse rifle from Soldier's hands. No good, either. Soldier had a death grip on it.
He could hear footsteps and they were getting closer. Way too close. Jesse fired off in the general direction of the sound, hoping to hit Reaper- but the slow, steady crunch of boots on gravel continued.
"Reload-"
"Tombstone, I do not have sights."
Shit, Hanzo couldn't see them- crunch- Jesse needed light, needed light, light, light! He dug through his pockets- crunch- looking for a lighter but his knees slipped in Soldier's pool of blood, pitching him forward and landing roughly on canisters of- crunch- bio emitters? He seized one and popped the tab, slamming it down in the gravel as it activated in a flash of golden light.
"You just gave away your position!" Hanzo hissed.
But it didn't matter. At the very edge of the circle of light, two metal-capped boots shone. They glinted menacingly as Reaper dropped down into a squat, shotgun level with Jesse's face.
Reflexively, he fired Peacekeeper, but with no bullets in the chamber it only produced a dull thunk. Reaper laughed lowly.
No weapon. No way out. No chance.
Jesse closed his eyes.
"Haven't I… killed you somewhere before?"
His eyes snapped open to see Reaper's mask tilted to the right, shotgun slightly lowered.
"Eh," The nightmare shrugged. "Suppose it doesn't matter." Reaper lifted the shotgun again and Jesse's heart raced as he braced himself for death-
Only for the weapon to be shot out of Reaper's hands. The creature growled, looking to its left after the shotgun, only for an arrow to sprout from its forehead.
"Jesus Christ," Jesse breathed, watching as Reaper simply collapsed in place, corpse slightly smoking. "Jesus fucking Christ."
"McCree, move."
Jesse didn't need to be told twice. He wrapped his arms around Soldier's torso, dragging him across the ground. It would help if Jesse could unwrap the pulse rifle from the injured man's arms or even just drop the bandoliers, but he wanted to be as far away from that fucking thing as possible now.
They barely made it to the gate before the sound of more footsteps reached his ears. His heart sank, not sure if Hanzo could make a shot from this angle-
"Are you injured or is it just Soldier?" Hanzo demanded, running with a case strapped to his back and bow in hand.
"Just him," Jesse grunted, relief seeming to double the weight in his arms. "He's fuckin' heavy."
Without a word, Hanzo grabbed one of Soldier's arms and threw it over his shoulder. Jesse did the same, allowing them to move down the street at a much quicker pace.
"Here," Hanzo said. "Down this alley. Santos is on his way."
With the adrenaline fading, Jesse was too tired to do much else than obey and stumbled into the alley alongside Hanzo. They propped Soldier in a sitting position against a wall, a dumpster shielding them from the main road.
"This is bad."
Jesse looked up from where he was bent over, hands on knees, gasping for breath. "You fuckin' think?"
Hanzo was crouched in front of Soldier, carefully peeling back layers of fabric. "It looks like he has taken multiple rounds to the chest. I am stunned that he is still breathing. It may be in our best interest to leave-"
Soldier's hand darted up to grip Hanzo's arm. "Calle Maravilla. 214. Medical supplies. Safe." Soldier barked in pain, dropping his hold on Hanzo and wrapping an arm around his gut instead.
Hanzo looked at Jesse.
"What?" Jesse asked.
"It is your call."
"Shit." He tapped his comm. "Tracer, is Sunshine almost here?"
"ETA one minute."
Jesse let his arm fall. "Alright. We wait for Lúcio. Then we go to Soldier's safe house. Do what we can. Maybe call a local hospital anonymously? Shit, no, Los Muertos will be waiting for that. We'll just…" He lifted his hat and scraped his hand through his sweaty hair. Leaving Soldier after all of this didn't sit right and could very well kill him, but taking him back to base would lead to a shitton of complications and possibly expose Overwatch. "We'll play it by ear."
Hanzo nodded. "Understood."
Jesse looked at Soldier bleeding out in the filthy alleyway, propped against a dumpster. "Hold on, you stubborn bastard."
/
Hanzo and McCree trudged down the final stretch of the corridor, both breathing heavily. Not even Santos' rejuvenating music could overcome the strain in their muscles caused by carrying a fully grown man for nearly half a mile.
"214 is right here," Santos said, jostling the door handle. "Anyone know how to lock pick?"
"Move," McCree growled. "Hanzo, hold Soldier."
Hanzo grunted under the additional weight, but managed to stay standing. His legs shook from exhaustion. He hoped McCree would not take long picking the-
Crack.
Hanzo blinked at the broken door swinging on its hinges.
"After you," McCree said, tipping his hat to Hanzo.
Too tired to complain about such a traceable method of entry, Hanzo took a slow, agonizing step forward.
"Oh, right, lemme help with that." McCree lifted up Soldier's other arm and they let themselves into his safe room. "Where do you want him, Lúcio?"
"Just on the bed is fine. I don't have much on hand, though…"
They managed to put Soldier on the single-wide bed, though his feet were hanging off the end. McCree almost immediately collapsed in a rickety chair with a groan. "He's got bio emitters on his belt."
"Assess him first," Hanzo directed their medic. "I will look to see if he has supplies on hand."
Turning on aching feet, Hanzo quickly surveyed the room. Santos had set the door back into place as best he could, although it was clearly beyond repair. There was a short walkway to the main bedroom, where they were now, with a small closet space set into the wall. Hanzo strongly suspected that this was a hotel before its conversion into apartments.
The closet held nothing, not even spare clothes. The chest of drawers held one pair of pants and three shirts, but nothing that could serve as medical supplies. Hanzo eyed the other door in the room. The only door, so it was almost certainly the bathroom and upon opening it, he saw that it was. He did not expect what it contained, however.
Munitions were thrown everywhere. Several pistol magazines rested on the sink, four pulse rifle battery packs in the tub, one box of grenades on the toilet, and- ah, that must be his medical kit. Hanzo grabbed the cloth bag from its place on the counter. Looking inside he could see sterilized needles, sutures, bandages, and disinfectant all crammed into the main compartment. It would have to do for- the sound of yelling stole his attention.
On edge, Hanzo exited the bathroom in time for McCree to push past him, shoving him back into the bathroom, and storming out of the room, throwing the door off its hinges again as he left.
"McCree!" He shouted after him. "Where are you going?"
No response.
"Hanzo!" Santos called.
Hanzo rushed into the bedroom, but nothing seemed changed. Soldier still lay unconscious on the bed, though he was now unmasked, and Santos was staring up at him with large eyes.
"What happened?" He demanded. "Where has McCree gone?"
"I don't know! I was just checking Soldier over, but- look! His wounds are already showing signs of healing!"
Sure enough, the wounds that had been bleeding profusely when he first examined them where already beginning to scab over.
"Isn't that a side-effect of your music?"
"Not this fast!" Santos said emphatically. "The music should have just slowed the bleeding, he's got pink skin!" He pointed to the edges of the scabs. "Freshly healed while you guys were dragging him!"
That was… very strange, but- "What does that have to do with McCree?"
"I don't know!" Santos almost shouted, patting the side of his head distractedly. "I just showed him what I showed you, then he ripped off Soldier's mask and ran out without saying a word!"
Hanzo glanced at Soldier. He was older than he would have guessed, easily in his fifties judging by the wrinkles in his face and the whiteness of his hair. Soldier wore many scars, one particularly gnarled line slashing across his face, but there was no sign of what had upset McCree.
...Who was now wandering the streets of a city on high alert, with government, Los Muertos, and Talon agents likely combing over the neighborhoods.
Hanzo closed his eyes, feeling a headache beginning to form. "Is he stable?"
"I- uh, I think so?"
"With confidence, Santos."
Santos swallowed, but steadied. "If he hasn't died from blood loss so far, I don't think he'll die tonight. He probably- no, definitely still needs a real doctor, though."
"Call Oxton," he commanded. "Tell her to pack everything and load up the Lark. Have her call base. We are leaving as soon as possible- do not let Soldier out of your sight. We will be taking him with us."
"What about Jesse?"
Hanzo strode away from the room, responding over his shoulder. "I'll handle McCree."
/
Jesse slammed the door behind him, not caring that the window glass rattled in its pane.
Morrison.
Soldier: 76 was Jack. Fucking. Morrison.
Jesse seized a wrought-iron table and threw it through the courtyard. The metal screeched against the concrete, serving as the scream Jesse wouldn't voice.
Seven. Years.
Seven god damned years where he walked free while Jesse lived on the fringes of society, scrounging a living outside the protections of the law. Nearly a decade in which Morrison was mourned, remembered, and enshrined amongst history's heroes for his 'sacrifice'. The sacrifice that Reyes made and was vilified for.
Jesus Christ, Reyes. Jesse gripped his hair tightly, his hat toppling to the ground. It felt like Reyes was dying all over again. He didn't deserve this, he did so much for Blackwatch, for Overwatch. It was Reyes, not Morrison, that saved the world from the Crisis. Reyes, not Morrison, that accepted command for an organization that would never see glory or even the light of day. It had always been Reyes.
But this time, he got Morrison.
/
Thankfully, Hanzo didn't have to look far; McCree was in the apartment complex's overgrown courtyard. A small circle of destruction surrounded around him, namely some broken chairs and a toppled table. Hanzo paused at the gate, not sure how to approach him in such a state.
"McCree," Hanzo called softly, not wanting to startle him.
McCree flinched, looking up sharply, eyes wild. Hanzo was stealthy, but he had taken no pains to hide his approach. McCree must be deeply disturbed to not notice.
"What is going on?" He asked, slowly walking closer, not intent on upsetting McCree further.
"You didn't get a look at him?" McCree asked, voice rough, lip curling.
Hanzo paused. "Soldier?"
"Morrison," McCree snarled.
He frowned. "What?"
"The man in that room," McCree hissed, jabbing a finger at the apartment building. "The one that didn't shoot me on sight, the man that I fuckin' saved from Reaper- that's not some nobody. Some vet with a hard on for violence and vigilantism. That is Jack Morrison. Strike Commander of Overwatch."
Hanzo hesitated.
Doubt was his first reaction. Morrison died years ago, with hundreds of other Overwatch agents. Perhaps McCree was mistaken, perhaps he was still battle-crazed, or unnerved from his near-death encounter with the Reaper. But… McCree had proven his worth time and again this mission. He was clearly distressed to a degree Hanzo had not witnessed before, including their confrontation before the truce. The claim may yet prove true.
"I do not understand," he said carefully. He wanted to ask for clarification, not voice doubt. "How is that possible?"
"Who fuckin' knows? Just goes to show what I get for believin' the devil was dead without a body to prove it." McCree paced the courtyard, growling nonsense and pulling at his hair.
...He would have to be more pointed in his questions, regardless of his aspiration of trust. "Are you sure it is Morrison?" Hanzo asked slowly.
McCree whirled on him. "Are you sure it's Genji?" He spat.
Hanzo flinched.
"I don't know how he fuckin' survived the Fall," McCree said angrily, almost shouting. "Maybe he wasn't even ever at the HQ when it blew up." His voice dropped in volume as he muttered to himself, apparently forgetting Hanzo was there. Or not caring. "But then why would Reyes be there if Morrison wasn't? He wouldn't've had the reason or motivation to step foot in Switzerland. Not unless he was told Morrison was there as a false lead-"
McCree stopped abruptly, looking off into the distance. Concerned, Hanzo stepped forward, trying to get a better read on his face.
"I'm gonna kill him." McCree said suddenly. Hanzo's stomach dropped at the sight of his glazed eyes.
"McCree- no, stop!" Hanzo grabbed McCree's shoulder as he attempted to brush by. McCree twisted in his hold and Hanzo had an unpleasant flashback to the last time he had physically confronted McCree- but he always learned from his mistakes.
He ducked under McCree's fist, hooking a leg behind his ankle and jerking it back. McCree toppled and Hanzo followed, forcing McCree onto his stomach and shoving his knee into McCree's spine. McCree was still struggling, writhing and attempting to push himself up on his hands. Hanzo seized the flesh arm and wrenched it into a figure four arm hold until McCree finally stopped.
"Get the fuck off me, Shimada!"
"No!"
"He set it up! Morrison put the bounty on me to lure Reyes in and then he blew it all up! He deserves to die!"
Hanzo took the information in stride. Anger did not inspire cool logic; The truth of the situation could not yet be ascertained. "Even if that is true, his death will accomplish nothing."
McCree struggled against his grip. "You know how many people died in his place? They deserve to be avenged!"
Hanzo twisted his arm a little more. "Tell me you take no personal satisfaction in his death and I will allow it."
"I don't!"
"You lie."
"Fuck you, I deserve this! I need this!"
"You do not! Get control of yourself."
McCree stilled for a moment, then thumped his forehead on the ground. Hanzo waited, but McCree said nothing.
"I understand your desire for revenge," he said, breathing a little ragged from exertion. "But this path leads only to more suffering. If you must seek revenge, seek it in unexpected places."
"The fuck is that supposed to mean?" McCree growled into the ground.
"For you? Do not kill him."
"Listen, you son of a-"
"He is valuable," Hanzo interrupted. "Who knows what information or contacts he might have. He tracked Talon independently of us, identified their agents, and was severely injured in the pursuit of stopping them. Does this align with your view of Morrison?"
"...Maybe."
"And does your desire to kill him outweigh the potential good we can extract through information?"
"... I think I see what you're drivin' at."
"Do you?" Hanzo asked skeptically.
"I'll kill him after we interrogate him."
He sighed. As unpleasant as it was, McCree's snarky attitude was better than a murderous one. "That will have to do for now. If I let you up, will you behave?"
"I dunno, kinda like the position you put me in."
Hanzo lept back in disgust. McCree stood up, smirking as he picked his hat up from the ground and dusted it off. Of course McCree would resort to such crass methods. Heavens forbid he take anything seriously- or worse, professionally.
"If he is conscious," Hanzo said with no small amount of irritation. "We can ask him a few questions, but we are taking him to the Watchpoint. He will be alive when we arrive at base."
McCree scrunched his face unhappily. "Sure, guess I can do that."
Remembering how McCree chose to treat him during his kidnapping, Hanzo felt compelled to add: "And he will be in no worse condition than he is now."
"Not a problem. He heals fast. Super soldier bullshit. Reyes was the same."
"McCree, I will-" Hanzo mentally reached for something that would incentivize good behavior, but McCree would only take threats as a challenge, so his best bet was- "I will cook you whatever meals you like for a week if you behave."
McCree stared. "Are you bribin' me?"
"I don't know," Hanzo snapped. "Is it working?"
"...Strangely, yes. Can you make dessert?"
"With the right ingredients," Hanzo gritted out.
"Alright, it's a deal."
McCree stuck his hand out, and Hanzo had the distinct feeling of dread as he shook it. He would certainly regret this. He was coming to regret many deals he had made with McCree.
/
Hanzo was more disappointed than pleased to see that Soldier- Morrison, whichever- was awake upon their return. McCree chose not to sit, instead leaning against the wall where the light didn't quite reach. And Genji claimed he had a flair for the dramatic.
"Um, welcome back, guys," Santos said. "Everything good?"
"Things are in order," Hanzo replied neutrally. "We will likely depart before the dawn. How is… Soldier?"
"Well, he could be-"
"I'm fine." Morrison cut across Santos.
He clearly wasn't, judging by his labored breathing, but Hanzo chose to humor him. "I am glad to hear that. We wish to consolidate our knowledge before departing. McCree, did you discover what it was Los Muertos was trafficking to Talon?"
"Yep. EMP bomb. Big one. Could take out half a city by the looks of it."
"Los Muertos is capable of building such technology?" Hanzo asked in surprise.
"Los Muertos has connections with one of the most prolific hacking groups in the world," Morrison said. "It would have been them who made it, then traded it to Los Muertos. Not sure if they knew it would end up with Talon."
"What could Talon want with an EMP?" Santos asked.
"They're tryin' to start another omnic crisis," McCree reminded him.
"Yes," Hanzo agreed, explaining for the sake of Morrison. "We suspect the purpose of systematically killing former Overwatch agents is to preempt any attempts to reform it so that a Crisis could fully develop."
"Sounds right," Morrison said, leaning back on the headboard and closing his eyes.
Hanzo rubbed his shoulder, still sore from carrying Morrison so far. "There is one last piece of information we need to attend to," he said. "That of your identity."
"What about it?"
"Oh, fuck off Morrison," McCree snapped. "Your mask's off."
"Morrison?" Santos asked even as Morrison said "Alright."
McCree stared at him incredulously. "What the f- alright? Alright?!"
Morrison shrugged. "Yeah, you got me. You want a medal?"
"Mother fucker, I've been on the run for years cause of the bullshit bounty you put on my head!"
Morrison was beginning to look uncomfortable and… confused? Something wasn't right here. "Uh, sorry?"
"Oh, you'll be sorry."
"McCree," Hanzo said warningly. "Morrison, what was your purpose in faking your death? Why remain in hiding all these years?"
"Why didn't you kill me when you had the fuckin' chance?" McCree butt in.
"Why would I kill you?" Morrison asked, sounding genuinely bewildered.
"Why…?" Confusion covered McCree's face, and he turned to look at Hanzo. "What's goin' on?"
"I do not know."
"Well, you guys lost me ages ago," Santos piped up.
"We are taking you into custody," Hanzo said to Morrison. That part of their plan, at least, remained unchanged.
"I'd like to see you try," Morrison growled, moving to sit up but collapsing halfway up.
"You are in luck, it seems," Hanzo said dryly. "Not only shall you see us try, I wager you will see us succeed."
"What happened to you, Morrison?" McCree asked, looking lost. "You were never my favorite person, but after Amari died… and just hiding away from the world like this? The consequences?" He shook his head. "You'd disappoint her."
"If Amari thinks she could do better," Morrison said, "She's welcome to try."
McCree breathed in sharply. Hanzo looked at him in concern, but instead of hurt or fury, he saw realization. "Reyes would have done a better job, too."
"Well, maybe he shouldn't have given up the Strike Commander position if he was so interested in how I ran Overwatch."
"Shit." McCree lifted his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. Hanzo looked between him and Morrison, who seemed unsure and wary. "He doesn't remember a god damn thing."
"What?" Hanzo and Santos said in unison.
"You don't, do you?"
Morrison hesitated. "... I remember… some things."
"You want us to play twenty questions the whole way back to base," McCree said snidely, "Or you wanna make this easier for all of us?"
Morrison grumbled, but relented. "The earliest memory I have is… I think it's Zurich. Then there's a lot of gaps. Haven't had any lapses for over a year, though."
"Lapses?" Hanzo asked. That did not sound good. Was Morrison mentally stable where his memory was concerned?
"I would… forget things after a while. Blank slate type of deal. Used to be pretty frequent, but I've gotten better over the years."
Hanzo stared at the veteran, aghast. "And you believed yourself to be in a state to pursue Talon like that?"
Morrison shrugged and immediately winced at the movement. "It's worked so far."
"Unbelievable," McCree whispered. While Hanzo was relieved that McCree hadn't reentered a murderous rage, his current look of utter defeat was not much better.
"We will escort you to the Overwatch base," He said, realizing they were only wasting time at this point. "You will receive food, housing, and medical treatment until we can sort this matter."
"And then?" Morrison asked.
McCree spoke up from his corner. "Then Lord help you."