Ch. 12

McCree's First Mission

Jesse McCree

McCree hadn't heard from Hanzo in over a week. Despite having given him his phone number, he'd never texted or called. McCree went to the noodle shop nearly every day to see if he'd show up, but he never did. His little brother never came to eat either. It was looking as if his mission had come to an end. Hanzo was either uninterested or suspicious, and was keeping away from where he'd ran into the cowboy twice.

Reyes was beginning to think that getting friendly with a yakuza member was becoming a waste of time. The other two were much more successful in their efforts to gather information. Williamson had been visiting a brothel run by the Shimadas – a task he surely enjoyed – and had started warming up with some of the prostitutes. Hasashi had begun the process of joining the gang. Reyes did his best to gather public knowledge about the group as well as any records he could lay his hand on. With McCree's own goals failing he'd been begrudgingly reassigned to help out with Reyes's general gathering of information.

To McCree the worst idea about it all was that he may not see Hanzo again. It was also an ego crusher being rejected like that. He told himself that he'd picked a tough nut that didn't want to be cracked. He simply wasn't interesting in making a friend – especially someone as rowdy and uncouth as McCree. Admittedly, he didn't blame him for being apathetic. McCree really wouldn't want to be his own friend if presented with a choice. Hanzo was reserved and sophisticated – the exact opposite of McCree. He understood.

That was until one day out of the blue when he received a message from an unknown number. It read, "McCree, it is Hanzo. I am at the noodle shop if you would like to meet."

That was an offer that McCree could never deny. He replied right away, most likely looking desperate, saying, "Cool. I'll be there."

When McCree arrived Hanzo was waiting in the spot where they had met. He was dressed in the same orange and white kimono that he commonly wore tucked into whatever those black pants were called. This time, however, he had a piece of armor strapped to his right arm. Diagonally across his back and horizontally above his butt were two sheathed swords. No one seemed to notice the weaponry or care, for that matter. He just sat there, sipping broth from a bowl and chatting nonchalantly with the shop worker in their native language. It was a little off putting to see him armed to teeth and ready for battle. McCree felt as if he was about to be ambushed. The small emergency hand gun he kept stuffed into his boot seemed suddenly very heavy. He forced a fake smile and clunked up to the young man like he wasn't trying to undermine the organization he belonged to.

"Howdy there, Hanzo, you're lookin' mighty ready for a fight," he said as casually as he could manage. However, it still came off as sounding a bit nervous. Hanzo glanced at him. He smiled slightly.

"Kon'nichiwa McCree-san," he said, ignoring the fight part. McCree blinked at him.

"That is the most Japanese thing you've ever said to me," he twanged. Hanzo chuckled. A deep warm "hmm hmm hmmm" of amusement.

"Right. Sometimes I forget that I am speaking with an American." He patted the stool beside him. McCree sat, trying not to bump either of the swords jutting out from his side. The one that was strapped to the broad part of his back was very large, and it made him a little flustered.

"What did ya call me… 'san?' Never heard ya call me that before. Don't y'all say that to everyone but friends. Does that mean I'm yer friend?" Hanzo shook his head.

"It is a sign of respect. The fact that I did not use it whilst addressing you shows the lack of said respect." That let the air out of McCree's ego.

"Ah. Well, way to burst my bubble." He smiled in realization as he added, "but since ya called me it now does that mean I'm growin' on ya?" Hanzo shook his head, rolling his eyes at the cowboy. He shrugged.

"Perhaps." McCree's grin grew.

"Welp, I ain't gonna complain. So long as we're getting somewhere."

"It would be impolite of me to ask you to dinner and not offer to buy you some. Would you like something, McCree-san?" McCree shrugged.

"Dunno… I'm not really hungry. Thanks though, Hanzo." He nodded, taking a bite of his food with chopsticks. They sat in silence for a couple minutes. Hanzo wasn't much of a talker, and McCree had no idea what to say to him. He was still waiting for an ambush, and if one wasn't coming then he was simply confused by the situation as a whole. "Han, uh… thanks for asking me to meet up with ya." He nodded stiffly, his eyes darting from one side of the shop to the other. "Not to be… rude an' all, but why exactly did ya invite me out?" Hanzo looked him in the eyes. His narrowed and then slipped back to the table. "You look like you're ready to fight. Are… are you in trouble or somethin'? I'm just kinda worried."

"Perhaps, I asked you here because I wanted to see you," he said distantly.

"Is that true?" McCree cocked his head, looking at the side of Hanzo's sharp face with concern. Eventually, his eyes flicked from their fixed position and met McCree's.

"Yes," he said. "I just had to find a good enough excuse to do so." He paused. "I am sorry, McCree."

"For what?" McCree reached out, placing his hand on his shoulder and squeezing it gently. Hanzo seemed to lean into the touch. It seemed almost desperate, quick and forceful, as if he was deprived of physical affection. When he realized what he was doing he pulled away. He shook his head.

"I did not want to be alone today… Genji – my – my brother – is occupied… as he should be. I…"

"You don't gotta explain, darlin'…" His heart skipped a beat. He'd never called a man that before. "I understand wantin' company," he continued – hoping not to dwell on the pet name. Hanzo sighed, relieved about his go with the flow attitude, and seemingly not noticing what he'd said. "I'm right here." He relaxed, his body untensing and shoulders dropping. He took a mouth full of noodles.

"I thank you, McCree…"

"Anytime, Hanzo."

Hanzo and McCree stayed at the noodle shop for a little over an hour. The other patrons came and gone, but the two of them stayed planted in their seats, quietly chatting about nothing in particular. It was dreadfully boring, but McCree appreciated Hanzo's company in any form that it came.

Eventually they ended up leaving the noodle shop. It was getting late and the customers were beginning to thin out – leaving it nearly barren. Hanzo mentioned that he wanted to go see another movie and asked McCree to accompany him. He said that a movie was releasing tonight and that most of the youth of Hanamura would be there. Genji had apparently gotten tickets for himself and a girlfriend of his, but they'd broken up the night before. Genji had decided to go out with his guy friends instead. He'd given Hanzo the tickets.

"He told me to find myself a date," Hanzo muttered as they walked down the sidewalk towards the movie theater. He shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"Does that mean I'm your date?" McCree asked, smiling at his new friend teasingly.

"Hmph," was his reply.

The movie ended up being Japanese, and McCree couldn't understand a single word of it. There was no subtitles, of course, since the home audience could understand what they were saying. He followed best he could by watching the pictures, but was completely lost, still. Every once in a while, he'd ask Hanzo what was going on. Begrudgingly, he'd offer a short summary before returning focus on the screen. Eventually, McCree ended up falling asleep, totally bored by something incomprehensible to him.

He awoke to the feeling of being jostled around. Something soft wiggled beneath his right cheek. It was hard but padded with cloth, and oddly comfortable. Half-consciously he snuggled closer against it. He was just about to fall back asleep when his head was forcefully shoved. He jumped up, spinning towards whatever he had been sleeping on. For a moment, he'd forgotten where he was, but upon seeing Hanzo's scowl he remembered.

"The movie is over," he said.

"Oh," McCree responded, scratching the back of his messy hair. "It is?" He looked around, seeing the other movie goers standing up and leaving the theater. Hanzo handed McCree his hat. "How much did I miss?" He asked, putting it back on his head. Hanzo shrugged, standing and gathering the swords that no one still seemed to care about.

"About a fourth." McCree stood as well. He rubbed his neck and followed Hanzo from the aisle.

"Sorry. I was really comfortable." Hanzo put his hand on his left shoulder.

"I could tell." Hanzo said nothing more, but as they exited the theater he looked around cautiously, taking in his surroundings. He'd been like that the whole time they'd been together: observant and alert. It seemed as if he was expecting someone or something to come out of the shadows. McCree wanted to ask, but he was afraid of offending Hanzo. He kept his mouth shut, and watched in quiet curiosity. As they exited the closing theater, following the large crowd McCree expected Hanzo to excuse himself. He speculated if he'd leave like last time, but instead his new friend stayed by his side, wondering down the street back the way they'd come. Instead, he turned to the cowboy and asked almost so quiet McCree could barely hear, "Would you escort me home?" He squinted.

"Huh?" he gasped, surprised by the question. "You want me to walk ya home?" Hanzo rolled his eyes, stepping a few steps away from him.

"If it is that big of a deal to you then…" he started to say in annoyance – though it came across to McCree as if he was trying to stop him from taking it the wrong way and save face.

"Hey, hey. Yeah… I'll take ya home – no problem," he said as casually as he could manage. "Where do ya live?" When he didn't answer McCree added, "Just lead the way. What kinda gentleman would I be if I just skipped out on my date before he got home safely, eh?" Hanzo snorted.

"I am not your date." McCree shrugged.

"If ya say so. I'm not the one with the swords though. Figure you could protect yourself well enough." Hanzo's hand reflexively grasped the smaller sword on the lower part of his back. He squeezed it, then released. "Didn't know you could just carry those things around in Japan. Back home people would be freakin and pullin' out their concealed guns." He jiggled his right foot, feeling his own gun.

"You cannot just carry them around. I…" he paused, "I have a permit that allows me to. Most citizens of Hanamura know me, and my swords."

"Hope they don't know them personally," McCree joked, chuckling about it, but Hanzo just stared ahead without amusement. "Well… I thought it was funny…"

The night was cool and relaxing as a gentle breeze brushed against McCree's skin. The streets were starting to fall quiet as people turned in for the night. Though neon still lit the distance, the circumference of the Shimada estates outer gate was dark, lit only by paper lanterns. McCree could only help but wonder if they hired someone to specifically light those as the sun fell. It made him nervous – being that close to the enemy. Sometimes he forgot that's exactly what Hanzo really was: an enemy.

"Thank you, Hanzo," he said quietly. The other man looked at him in question. He didn't have to ask why because McCree clarified, "I feel like an outcast here… I really appreciate you tryin' to be friends." He shrugged. "I dunno what's goin' on with you, but if ya need to get something off your chest," he paused accidentally to eyeball his chest. He wondered what he looked like shirtless. "Then I'll be here to listen… any time. You have my number." McCree smiled innocently, grinning ear to ear. Hanzo paused, lingering near the front gate of the estate. He hung his head, brushing his hair behind his ear. He seemed at a loss for words. In the shimmering flickers of light, the small bit of Hanzo's tattoo that McCree could see appeared to dance. He hadn't really looked at the marking very thoroughly before. It was covered both by his sleeve and his glove, and there was only a small bit of it that was readily visible. It looked like the middle of a dragon, and just that bit was majestic. It only made him wonder what the rest of it looked like and where it led to. He fought the urge to force back the sleeve and to see the rest.

"Why do you like me so much?" he finally asked. McCree cocked his head to the side. "You seem to pine after my companionship and I just do not understand why."

It seemed that Hanzo wasn't used to being liked. McCree felt that he almost went out of his way to assure he wasn't. Perhaps, he found it easier to be alone. McCree sighed.

"Cause you remind me of everything I'm not… You're controlled, clean, and smart as a whip. Sometimes I wish I was more like you… You're different – not like anyone I've ever met before." McCree paused. He leaned against the gate, his back pressing into the hard wall. "But at the same time I feel like maybe we're the same. You seem lonely – kinda like me – stuck in this foreign country with no friends in sight. 'Cept you live here, and don't got such a simple excuse. You rescued me from my foolishness cause deep down you're a good guy even if ya wanna act burdened by it all. Thing is, Hanzo, I don't really know ya that well. I don't really know why I'm rambling when I can see on your face that you've totally already decided imma dumbass. I could be wrong bout ya…" Hanzo's sharp features softened while his eyebrows knit in consideration. "But I don't think I am… you're just… kinda perfect like… everything about you… Wow… I am embarrassing myself. Is it hot out here?"

McCree, realizing that he'd said way too much began to squirm under Hanzo's unblinking scrutiny. He felt like he'd stepped onto a stage and started telling really bad knock-knock jokes. Right now, the crowd was staring in confusion, but pretty soon the tomatoes would come out. He fanned himself, trying to cool his reddening skin. Hanzo's piercing dark eyes drilled unrelentingly against McCree's face.

Slowly, he stepped forward, his left hand cupped the side of McCree's face. He brushed his soft, cool palm slowly against his skin, leaning forward towards the cowboy. For a second, McCree thought Hanzo might just kiss him. Instead, however, he put his lips near McCree's ear and whispered, "Thank you, McCree. You are a sweet, pathetic, fool, and I appreciate your company very much." He leaned away, releasing his grasp on McCree, and looked at the two large swirling dragons on the gate to their side. The sigil was menacing when McCree looked at it in the dark. It seemed like the two dragons were eating one another… each consuming its brother in a swirling infinity of betrayal. He shivered. "This is my home," Hanzo said quietly to McCree's surprise. "Thank you for taking me here. It can… get dangerous in Hanamura at night."

'Yeah, no kidding with the gangs an' all,' McCree thought about saying. Instead, he asked the foremost question on his mind, "You live… here?" He had to stop himself from asking about the yakuza. It was better to further gain his trust before probing for information. "I didn't even know this was a house… I thought it was some sorta community center or something," he lied, finding it a good strategy to play dumb. Hanzo chuckled, smiling at the cowboy.

"Foreigners are always impressed," he said.

"Well I most certainly am… How d'ya afford a grand ol' place like this?" McCree pushed for some small piece of info.

"Uh…" he was at a loss for witty words, for once, "it is familial money. Inherited money passed down through generations. We… own businesses around town." Not exactly a lie, McCree decided. Hanzo stepped towards the gate. "I shall be going… Good night, McCree-san." He shoved open the large front gate a crack.

"Goodnight, Hanzo."

He peeked in, noticing a large gazebo thing with a huge bell across the large courtyard. There were two men standing on either side in black suits with guns. Hanzo slipped through the crack. He glanced at McCree, pulling his eyes away from the armed guards and into Hanzo's. He smiled, slightly, and slowly shut the gate behind him. McCree didn't linger for long. He was sure those guys had seen him, and he didn't want them coming out to see him loitering. That would instantly blow his cover. He started the hike back to his apartment, strolling down the emptied sidewalk with his hands in his jean pockets.

He couldn't help but think about Hanzo. He lived at the Shimada estate? Did most yakuza members do that? Did his little brother live there too? They were both so young, but then again so was he.

He wasn't quite sure how Japanese mobs worked. He was in a gang – sure – but the Deadlocks weren't as organized as the Shimada clan seemed. The Shimada's where led by a family while the Deadlocks were bossed around by this big, near 7-foot tall, scary bearded guy named Murlock. He had a couple almost as scary underlings who kept all the lawless in some semblance of order. The Deadlocks did what they wanted, so long as no one betrayed the gang. The Shimada's came across as very disciplined and totally organized – operating under a true hierarchy. McCree had very rarely come face to face with Murlock, and when he had it had been to get screamed at (one time punched in the face), but he got the feeling that he'd rather do the Texas two-step with him then even say hi to Shimada-gumi leader. With Murlock it was a punch in the face with the Shimada's it might be a knife in the back. Reyes had said that the Shimada's had been around for centuries, and were still going strong. It was a scary thought. They'd been around for two hundred years and Blackwatch thought they could take them down? They were a family of assassins… who was Overwatch trying to fool?

A family of assassin's.

That's when it occurred to him.

Was Hanzo a Shimada?

He'd never heard him say his last name… that would explain why…

In the distance, McCree barely noticed the dart of a shadow. He had been wrapped up in his head, walking on auto-pilot through an alley. He had paid no attention to his surroundings – not when his mind was on Hanzo. It was a mistake – one he knew better not to make. McCree was on the enemy's home ground, and he'd just dropped his defense. When he saw the shadow move unnaturally up the side of a building he'd went ragged.

"I'm in a city full of damn ninjas and I see a human scale a fucking building… No, that's not threatening at all," he muttered sarcastically to himself. His right hand dropped to his hip, attempting to grasp the handle of his peacekeeper. Instead, however, his palm grasped nothing but air. "Shit," he grumbled. He'd left it back at the apartment. He couldn't go walking around the street with a gun on his hip – not like Hanzo had walked around with a sword – anyway. McCree knelt down, slipping his fingers into his boot and fishing out the tiny handgun that held a single clip within. He stood, switching off the safety, and readying it. "C'mon out now… you ain't faster than a bullet…" He looked around, searching for the dark shadow amongst the night.

"No, but I am faster than you, American," a sinister accented voice hissed into his ear. Before McCree could even process the cold edge of a blade was pressed under his chin, threatening to slice open his throat. McCree's breath hitched in his throat, unable to escape past the sword. "Clip out. Drop it on the ground," the voice ordered. McCree held his hands up into the air. He pressed the release, and the clip fell from his small gun onto the cement. "Drop the pistol, now. Toss it over there by the garbage." He obeyed, discarding the gun in defeat.

"Wattaya want? You with the Shimadas?" he asked, craning his head just a bit, but refraining when the edge began to bite into his skin. The assassin snorted.

"No," he growled, "we're not with them."

"We?"

"Look around you, American, tell me what you see." So, he did, glancing among the shadows and the rooftops. He saw the truth of the 'we' claim. More shadows spotted around the alleyway – reinforcements with swords and bows – ready to take him down if he managed to get past the one holding him still.

In simple terms: Jesse McCree was royally fucked.

"Alright. Y'all are not Shimadas? Then what do ya want? Who're are you, and why are ya targeting me?"

"We saw you with Hanzo Shimada. A convenient bit of back up… a distraction to keep us at bay. It was smart of him. He used you."

"Hanzo… is a… Shimada?" McCree asked, his newly arisen suspicions confirmed. His attacker laughed.

"You didn't even know?" he questioned. "He's not just a Shimada… he is the heir to the entire clan… Silly man, you are."

McCree felt shock – a numbness. He'd not only been getting cozy with a yakuza member – he'd been getting cozy with their boss's oldest son. He was in big trouble. If he managed to escape these… whoever they were, then Reyes would kill him. If Reyes didn't kill him then Hanzo would probably do him in. There was no winning anymore. What was he going to do?

'Alright, McCree, you got this. Right now just focus on surviving the next few minutes then you can worry about the next few hours,' he thought, trying to center himself into the moment.

"Alright so I'm chummy with the boss's son," McCree said like he hadn't just had the biggest surprise sprung on him, "so what?"

"It's simple… you're either going to give us information or become bait. If you fail at both… then we're going to kill you." The sword on his neck pressed closer, cutting into the top layer of his skin slightly, blood dripped from the blade. McCree snorted.

"You're barkin' up the wrong tree, buddy. Hanzo and I ain't even really friends. He ain't gonna leave the safety of his gang to come chase down some poor foreigner like me."

"That is a stupid thing to say. You're taking away any usefulness."

"Look, I dunno why you want to take out the Shimadas, but…" he was about to spew his guts out about Blackwatch. He was going to tell them everything, but one of the shadows who'd been perched on the edge of an overlooking building just dropped. His body went limp and he hit the ground out of nowhere. The assassin did not notice. The other sniper did, but he was taken out shortly after. McCree snapped his mouth shut quick. He smirked. "But I'm about to get free so it ain't really gonna matter."

"What are you talking about?!" the man demanded. The pressure on his neck tensed. McCree tilted his head back further in attempt to stop his throat from being cut just out of accident.

"Yep," he croaked. "Right about…." He paused, trying to time it right for maximum badassness, "now." Nothing happened. The man cackled in McCree's ear.

"Are you trying to trick me, American?! As you can see I am a little harder to fool than –..." his voice degraded into wordless gasping and gargling. The strength on the sword lessened. "What…" he tried to say, but it was barely audible through the sound of him dying. McCree grabbed his arm and shoved the sword away from him. He jumped away and spun around to look at the scene that had been taking place behind him.

"Now!" he shouted at the dying man. "Now! I called it, see!"

"You are an idiot," Hanzo hissed, shoving McCree's attacker to the side. He fell to the ground, his throat ironically slit, gargling as he died. Hanzo's smaller sword was coated in blood, grasped tightly in his left hand and glistening crimson. McCree smiled at him, a big toothy and completely happy smile. He was overjoyed to be proven wrong.

"Han!" he shouted. "You… came for me?!" McCree couldn't help himself. Completely disregarding both the sharp pointy weapons and the angry man wielding it, he threw himself at Hanzo and wrapped his arms tight around the smaller man's neck. He shoved him against his chest, holding him hard in a gleeful hug. "Thank you," he twanged into the top of Hanzo's soft hair. He smelt good… like a bed of flowers that McCree inexplicably wanted to roll around in. Hanzo didn't react at first, he stood tensed in McCree's grasp acting unsure as to what to do.

"You are… welcome," he finally whispered into McCree's chest, his right arm slowly folding around the larger man's back. For a moment both men gave into each other, relaxing in one another's embrace. McCree hadn't seen Hanzo that serene before, and they both forgot that they were still in danger.

That was until Hanzo shoved McCree hard away from him. The force of the shove caused him to hit the ground hard. He was about to yell, 'What the hell?' but didn't have time before Hanzo's intentions were made clear. The swordsman spun around, deflecting an arrow that had been launched at his head with his sword. The tip clinked against the steel and flew off to the side, hitting the concrete and snapping under the force of the shot. He flipped the sword, spinning it in his hand as he made eye contact with the archer's shadow who was perched up above. There was a moment where both assassins tried to intimidate each other, staring down one another trying to convince the other to back down. The shadow quickly drew his bow, but before he could nock an arrow Hanzo snatched a knife from his belt and threw it at him. McCree couldn't see the knife hit the assassin. He just saw him sway back and then hit the ground like a sack of potatoes.

Hanzo grabbed McCree's forearm urgently. He tugged on him, attempting to pull him to his feet.

"We must go. There are more," he said. He pulled McCree harder. "Come." McCree used Hanzo's weight to pull himself onto his feet. In the distance, more shadows were shifting around, darting against the darkness.

"We're fucked," McCree muttered.

"Not if we move! Come on!" Hanzo darted off towards the end of the alley, but McCree lingered. He snatched his guns clip from the ground, shoving it in the pocket of his jeans, and back tracked to the garbage can where his pistol had fallen. He grabbed it and spun, darting after Hanzo who was already yards ahead of him.

He was very aware of the assassin's flocking around them. One dropped from a building, landing shortly behind him. He wasn't sure what to do aside from just pushing himself forward. They just had to get out of the alley.

Sharp pain reverberated against McCree's ankle like something blunt had hit him. The sensation wrapped around over to his second ankle and then back again. His stride had been halted, jerked in place by some restraint. His feet were bound together quickly and suddenly, and it was like they were being yanked out from under him. He lost all balance, the upper part of his body forced forward by his momentum. He teetered forward, crashing hard onto the cement ground. He barely managed to save his face from being smashed open by reflexively stopping his fall with the palms of his hands. He could feel the skin on his hands rip painfully as the ground tore into him.

"Hanzo!" he yelled out in panic. He hadn't meant too. His brain told him to let Hanzo run from the danger, but his reflex was to call for his assistance.

He flipped around in an attempt to free his feet from whatever had toppled him. The ninja who'd jumped down near him and apparently swung a chain around his feet, causing them to get tangled together. He pulled at this cylindrical weight looking thing, trying to unwrap himself as quickly as he could. However, the weight wouldn't budge. No matter how hard he pulled he got nowhere. It was as if the weight was adhered to the rest of the chain.

"Shit, shit, shitshitshitshitshit" he griped, trying desperately to free his legs. A chuckle caught his attention, coming from someone who was looming just above him. McCree looked up. The guy who stood over him was a large, toned, bald man who was grinning cockily. He said something to him in Japanese. "I can't understand y…" he started to say, but the man just punched him hard in the face. McCree doubled over, grasping his nose in pain. "Ah, mother fucker!" he exclaimed. He lurched his gaze upwards, folding his hand into a tight fist. He swung, aiming a punch at the guys face. Before his knuckle could connect the same sharp feeling that he'd felt when the chain had tripped him exploded through his hand. This time it was worse, due to the fact that his hands were unprotected. The force of the chain being wrapped around his arm knocked him to the side, but the assassin, who was still holding the other end, yanked him back to the other side. He was pulled on the ground, and kicked forcefully in the stomach. It knocked the wind out of him, and McCree coughed. He gasped, trying to catch his breath. "How many of those fuckin' things do you have?!" he coughed, referencing the chain that was now holding his right-hand hostage. The guy just made a grunting noise and kicked him repeatedly. McCree attempted to force his bound feet between his aching stomach and the attacker. He caught the man's foot and pushed him back which permitted him to sit somewhat just in time for a sword to be pressed into his cheek. The man spoke in Japanese once more. "I dunno what you're saying," McCree breathily reminded him. He pressed the tip of the blade harder into his skin. For the second time in minutes blood was drawn and trickled down his jaw.

The sharp clink of steel on steel shattered the air. The sword that had been threatening McCree was slapped away. Hanzo leapt over McCree, landing between he and the other assassin. His larger sword – a katana – McCree believed – was drawn, cupped between both his hands. He held it in the air, parallel to his face, ready to strike. He said something to the assassin in Japanese prior to glancing at the cowboy. "Move back," he ordered in a voice that could command an army. McCree obeyed, snapping to attention at the intensity in his tone. He forced himself backwards, pushing further away as best he could. The other shadows were moving in on them, becoming visible ninjas. There were numerous amounts of them. McCree had no idea how Hanzo was going to take them all on by himself.

The assassin said something McCree couldn't understand to Hanzo before swinging his sword at his face. Hanzo moved his katana, blocking the man's attack. He forced the blade's point towards the ground. It hit the cement with a sharp noise. Hanzo jumped forward, kicking the man in the stomach and causing him to stumble away. The other assassin barely had a moment to regain his balance before Hanzo dashed forward. It was a speed McCree had never seen before. He could barely process it and apparently neither could the assassin because he just stared at the spot Hanzo had been. The next thing he knew Hanzo was standing on the other side of him, and his blade dripped blood. The assassin looked down at his stomach. A large slice had been taken out of his side. McCree could almost see through him. He hit the ground.

The other assassins were moving in, circling around Hanzo, surrounding him and blocking any retreat. He was severely outnumbered: five swordsmen to one. Hanzo didn't back down. He squared his shoulders, flipping his katana through the air. He seemed completely unafraid, his face a mask of concentration. He said something to one of them in Japanese. The assassin replied in tongue. The men pushed forward, closing in on Hanzo.

McCree resigned himself to watching in horror. In contrast to his friend he was completely shut down – locked in the uncertainty of the moment with the feeling of hopelessness. He was completely bound, and unable to help Hanzo in any way. He pulled at the chain that was stuck on his right hand, pulling urgently to undo his restraints.

The center ninja, who Hanzo had addressed, said something once again. McCree heard nothing but nonsense, however he could pick out "Shimada." His tone was threatening, deep and quickly spouted. He swung his hand horizontally in frustration. Hanzo responded in the language. He shook his head. The ninja motioned to McCree, continuing the dialogue. Hanzo spun and looked at the cowboy with concern, his thick eyebrows knitted. He quickly looked back at his opponent, and yelled Japanese words at him. He pointed the tip of his sword at the man. His stoic eyes fell on McCree for another brief second. He shook his head, growling an unintelligible threat.

McCree's focus was on Hanzo and the five men circling him. The two were still arguing, but it was clear that the others were getting into position. Up above, on the ledge of the building, McCree saw, out of the corner of his eye, another shadow. He looked up, seeing that it was another ninja. This one had a bow drawn, and pointed right at Hanzo. They were distracting him in an attempt to take him out without an actual fight.

"Hanzo!" McCree screamed. "Hanzo! On the roof! Look out!" He lurched forward, trying to push himself onto the heels of his feet. Instead, he lost his balance and collapsed on the ground. The archer reacted to McCree's screaming and shot the arrow at Hanzo in an attempt to take him out before he realized what was going on. Luckily, Hanzo noticed the archer. He leapt back, swinging his sword forward. The arrow hit the brunt of the sword, and deflected off of it, launching towards the ninja on the furthest right. It lodged in the man's throat and he crumpled onto the ground. Hanzo didn't even give the fresh kill a second glance. He pulled another throwing knife from his belt, and tossed it at the man overlooking the conflict. The edge struck him, causing him to rock forward and topple off the rooftop. He hit the ground with a grotesque splat that McCree didn't wish to look at. He could only stare at Hanzo in astonishment. That man had killed two others in rapid succession and hadn't even blinked. He just stood there, his sword raised, his shoulders flat and his head held high. He was beautiful.

That was when hell broke loose. All the other assassin's rushed Hanzo at once, swords drawn, and barreling down upon him. He dropped under one blade, swung at an attempt to hit him in the side. He bent backwards, the sharp edge brushing just past his face, but used the position to catch one ninja's leg with his own. He pulled it out from under him, knocking the man to the ground. He came back up, pushing one sword away with his katana and catching another with his smaller sword. The third man tried to stab him, seeing both his hands occupied, but Hanzo managed to redraw his smaller sword – McCree later learned was called a wakizashi – in order to knock the blow away. He quickly sheathed the tinier blade, taking his katana in both hands and forcing the last ninja away from him. He swung back around, flipping the blade around, cutting a man across his chest. He recoiled, moving momentarily from the battle, and allowing Hanzo to focus on the other two assassins. The grounded one pushed himself back up, preparing to attack him from the back.

"Hey!" McCree screamed out, catching all four men's attentions.

Hanzo reacted quickly enough to stop the flank attack, moving quickly under a strike and dashing away from the horde. Three of the men followed, rushing after him. The fourth man, however, lingered, having noticed McCree due to his outburst. He broke off from the main fight, stomping towards the restrained cowboy. McCree blinked. He was lightly panicking, totally unsure what he was going to do.

"Uhhh… actually… I think I'm late for a dentist appointment…" he murmured, trying to escape by sliding with his hands and pushing with his bound feet. He looked like an itchy dog sliding along the ground on his butt. He wondered if that's how beached mermaids felt. He could imagine Hanzo would make a beautiful merman. The ninja didn't seem to care about his tardy dentist appointment because he yelled at him in Japanese, pointing his sword at the fleeing man.

"Move not," the man worked out in a very thick accent. McCree hesitated in his retreat for only a second.

"Or what?" McCree challenged while shaking his head. "You'll stab me? Look, buddy, I've been through a lot of shit today. I ardy been held hostage once – don't think imma be a damsel in distress a second time." He resumed his half-assed, slow, mermaid departure. The man shouted again in Japanese, but McCree elected to ignore whatever it was he couldn't understand. Instead, he continued his scooting, paying more attention to trying not to back into anything than the man threatening him with a sword. Deep inside he was scared shitless, but he figured total indifference would throw the man off – make him sloppy. It was a tactic he could only pray would work out.

The assassin grunted, forcing his foot down onto McCree's leg to stop him. He turned, looking up at him with anxiety. The ninja reared his sword back, drawing it in preparation for a strike. There was literally nothing McCree could do to stop him. He just turned his head, not wanting to watch his own death. The assassin swung his sword, aiming to strike McCree through his throat. It was a reflex of his, to hold his right hand up to stop it. He fully expected to feel the sharp blade to cut right through his fingers, before it sliced a vital part of him. That sensation never came. For a second, McCree wondered if he'd died fast enough that he never even felt it. He could still feel the stinging in both of his hands from where he'd hit the concrete, however. He was still aware of the air filling his lungs. He looked, snapping his head over to his attacker. The blade had been stopped by the chain wound around his fist. The ninja, seeing the unintentional block, withdrew his sword. He wound it up for another attack. He swung it again, aiming for his face. McCree focused this time, intentionally raising his wrapped right hand up to block the attack. This time, when the blade was stopped with a clink by the metal chain, McCree forced it down on the ground. He rolled, pushing all his weight into his hand as he shoved the blade to the concrete ground. He pinned it there, between the chain and the floor. He used the momentum of the roll to kick back his weighted legs. He shoved them back at the assassin, kicking him in the stomach and causing him to entirely lose his grasp on his weapon. McCree fell onto his knees, quickly flipping off the blade and snatching the hilt with his free left hand. The balance of his weight on the blade in the angle that he'd fallen had caused the tip of the blade to snap. What remained of the sword was fractured and jagged, but still deadly. McCree didn't exactly know how to use one, but he could improvise. The assassin pulled another sword, a smaller one like Hanzo carried. He pushed back forward towards McCree, an angry look in his eyes. He swung, but McCree – again – blocked it with his chained right hand. He forced the blow away, and jabbed with his broken blade. The assassin had seemingly not been expecting such an attack because he didn't even dodge. The sword piece punctured his gut. He reeled back, trying to move away from the attack, but the reaction ended up making the sword slice across the center of his stomach essentially disemboweling himself. He stumbled, falling back to the ground gasping.

McCree had never done anything like that before. He'd never used a sword, impaled a man, and then sliced him open. The whole process unsettled him, but he would never let it distract him from what was still going on.

Hanzo was still trying to hold off the remaining three assassins. Their swords were moving so fast, clashing together, that McCree could barely see anything but silver blurs. Hanzo moved with so much grace and flexibility. He dodged swords, kicks, and grapples. His movement flowed like water rushing down a river bed – forceful yet beautiful and majestic. McCree was almost hypnotized by his exquisiteness. He may have just stared forever if Hanzo hadn't screamed out in pain. He didn't pause in his battle, but McCree was snapped out of his daze. He had to do something. He had to help Hanzo.

His gun. He'd had a gun, but he had dropped it when he was tripped. He felt his pocket. The magazine was still there. He couldn't remember where the pistol had tumbled to when he'd fallen. It couldn't have been far. He looked around the area quickly, trying to find the gun's location.

Off in the distance, about ten feet away from McCree, he saw it. It was lying beside a damp box. He began scooting towards it as quickly as he could manage. It was a difficult task with his limited range of movement, but he was determined. He pulled himself back with his arms and then pushed with his bound feet.

When he finally reached the gun he quickly fished the mag from his pocket. He stuck it between his knees, holding it upright. McCree took the gun and shoved it down onto the clip, pushing it inside the weapon. It clicked into place, ready for use. McCree held the gun tight in his left hand. It felt weird. He was right handed, but his right hand was a bit occupied at the moment being wrapped in an unremovable chain. He wasn't quite sure how good of a shot he would be with his non-dominant hand. He only had six bullets in the magazine, however, so there wasn't a lot of room for error if he wanted to actually be helpful.

McCree took a deep breath, inhaling through his mouth and holding it. He pointed the gun up, pointing it at the back of the assassin that was closest to him. They were moving around, darting about and jostling as their swords clashed. It would be very easy with an unreliable aim for McCree to accidentally hit Hanzo. He was a good shot, but his left hand wasn't exactly useful. It couldn't do anything, but occasionally assist the right. If it were to be suddenly cut off McCree would probably not even miss it. He was scared that if the assassin managed to move just right at the wrong time that Hanzo would be the victim of the shot. Knowing this, McCree took aim at a broader part of the man's body. Normally, he would aim for the head, but this time he wasn't as confident in his skill. Slowly, he exhaled through his nose. It was a breathing exercise he'd learned back when he was first beginning shooting. As the air escaped his lungs he pulled the trigger.

The assassin screamed out, reeling in intense pain. He dropped his sword on the ground, spinning to face McCree so that he could see the person who had shot him. McCree, still aiming at the man's torso, fired another shot. The bullet hit him dead in the center of the chest. He buckled under the shot, hitting the ground.

The other two assassins didn't seem to notice their companion hit the ground and neither did Hanzo. They just continued their dance of swords, clinking, blocking, striking. It was exhausting McCree, trying to keep up with everything that was going on. They were moving quickly – too quickly. McCree didn't want to risk it. He hesitated, waiting for a chance to fire. He hoped that Hanzo understood what was going on, and would try to angle his opponent accordingly. McCree tightened the grip on the pistol. He took another breath, trying to steady his shaking aim. Hanzo shoved one of the ninja's away from him, pushing him back. He stumbled, recoiling. He jumped forward, attempting to spring back into the action. However, he was stopped by a bullet to his lower back – er – butt. He yowled, flinching. Hanzo's sword pushed back the remaining full health assassin. He spun, swinging his katana horizontally, slicing through the wounded assassin's neck, decapitating him. Hanzo was back facing the remaining ninja before he could even move forward on another attack.

Now it was just a one on one: Hanzo versus the last remaining assassin. They were moving too fast for McCree to get an assured shot, and Hanzo wasn't trying to move him into a position where he could help. He lowered the gun. The two men's swords continued to be locked in fast paced combat. It didn't last long, however. Hanzo had been holding off multiple swordsman, and now that he only had one to focus on things became a lot simpler. He managed to disarm him, knocking the assassin's katana to the ground. The defenseless ninja back-stepped, attempting to flee from Hanzo's blade. Unsuccessful in his attempt, he was impaled by the katana, ran all the way through his stomach. Hanzo pulled the blade back and the body collapsed.

Hanzo stood there – surrounded by lifeless bodies. His raven hair had fallen from its bindings, and was hanging raggedly in a frame around his face. His kimono had come lose, the belt unraveling from the combat. It hung open slightly, exposing more of his pale, smooth chest than McCree was used to seeing. Blood soaked him, staining him in crimson splashes from head to toe. His expression was reserved, eyes closed, face stone. He clenched his sword in a fist so tight his knuckles were turning white. The sight of him was simultaneously beautiful like a statue chiseled to depict humanly perfection, and miserable like a child surrounded by dying parents.

For a moment, McCree thought Hanzo's silence may be him praying or something. He'd done that in the past… when he was younger after making kills. Eventually, he decided that God wasn't going to help him, and stopped.

"Uh… Hanzo," McCree muttered. He didn't budge. "What are you…"

"I am surrounded by death. A moment of silence is all I ask," he muttered.

"Sorry," he was quiet for a moment then said, "They tried to kill us they don't deserve you to mourn them…"

"I am not mourning them. I am simply reflecting."

McCree had become desensitized to death such a long time ago. The man he spent most of his time with was a grizzled war veteran. It was just strange to him to see someone who hadn't been tainted by years of vicious murder. He had been conditioned to not blink at genocide, so in Hanzo's hesitation McCree saw the true purity of his soul. He may have acted confident and apathetic, however, deep down it was clear just how much he really cared. All that skill and yet he still flinched when he had to put it to use.

"Hanzo," McCree said gently, sympathetically, "you look like ya really needa hug. Now, I'd gladly oblige, but Imma little tied up at the moment." He wiggled his chains, causing them to jingle for reference while chuckling at his own pun. Hanzo opened one silver eye, examining the restrained cowboy. He sighed, turning away from the bodies of the assassins he had put down. He pulled a rag from his belt and ran it along the length of his blade, cleaning the blood from the perfect Japanese steel. He slipped his katana back into the sheath across his back.

"You are ridiculous, McCree-san," Hanzo muttered. He paced over to the man who had thrown those chains at him in the first place. He began to rummage through the corpse's belongings.

"Now's not the time for lootin'. Can ya at least let me go first?" Hanzo shook his head.

"I am not… looting," he said the word as if it was foreign to him. Perhaps, he didn't know what it exactly meant. "I am searching for the key."

"The key? For these?" McCree shook his chains. Hanzo nodded in affirmation. "What are these… things anyway? Never been lassoed by a chain with a mind of its own."

"It is a manriki-gusari – it is a weapon as old as any of the others you saw the assassin's use. However, this has some… 21st century embellishments. It is magnetic, for starters, designed to adhere to itself. The weight locks to the chain so that the target will be unable to free himself." Hanzo found what he'd been looking for on the corpse. He approached McCree holding a small metal rectangle thing with notches on each side. He knelt in front of McCree. "The ninja has a key to demagnetize it." He touched it to the weight, causing the oblong piece of metal to fall to the ground with a thunk.

"Damn, you're like a walkin' encyclopedia." Hanzo chuckled, touching the key to the chain wrapped around McCree's hand. He helped the cowboy unwind it before stepping back to give McCree room to get his feet free. "Ah, my hand is plain crampin'. Fuck that shit." He shoved it away from him in spite.

"You are an impressive shot," Hanzo said, examining him. McCree scratched the back of his head with not-aching-hand.

"Yeah… it's a… long story." Hanzo sighed.

"It seems we have a lot to talk about." He held his hand out to McCree. McCree accepted to gesture, wrapping his left hand around Hanzo's. He tugged, lifting the cowboy to his feet in what would normally be an uncomfortable closeness. McCree didn't mind it though. The proximity made his heart race. It was Hanzo who took a single step backwards. "I find that I must apologize to you," he said, quietly. He turned his head to the side, not wanting to look McCree in the eyes. "I put you in danger. I am sorry. I have a lot of explaining to do."

"I'm listenin', Han." Hanzo sighed. He spun around pacing slightly away then turned and came back.

"How much do you know?" he asked.

"I know about the Shimada clan, and that you're the son of their leader… the oldest…"

"You knew?"

"Only because the dude who was holding the knife to my throat told me. I also know that they were tryin' to bait you out by usin' me." McCree sighed. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "And I kinda got the impression' that you've also used me." Hanzo shook his head.

"You must understand… it was nothing personal… I just…" Hanzo looked up, staring into McCree's eyes. "I was attempting to allure them away from my brother. He is a foolish child." He shook his head in frustration, resuming his pacing. "Those assassins are a member of a rival yakuza: one that my father provoked. In return, they began targeting Genji and myself. Father ordered Genji to stay home until he was able to nullify them. He never listens. Instead of obeying our father's order, he went out with his friends. I am unsure as to where, so I could not go hunt him down and bring him back. I knew they would target him, so I made myself a target. I wanted them to focus on me, but not exactly attack me. That is why I invited you. I asked you out with me because I knew they would hesitate striking if I was with someone. Inadvertently, they came after you." Hanzo hung his head. McCree looked at him with sympathy. He understood wanting to protect one's family, and he could not fault him for his actions.

"Is Genji okay?" McCree asked, causing Hanzo to look at him in confusion. Clearly, that was not the reaction he was expecting. He nodded.

"Yes," he answered with uncertainty, "he was home when I returned. Father did not even realize he had left. If he were to make the discovery that he had, I would be the one punished."

"That's not fair…" Hanzo shook his head.

"I am the elder. He is my responsibility. Hmph. If he realizes I was in a battle with our rivals I will undoubtedly be questioned. If he learns about you, or realizes I was out because of Genji…"

"More punishment?" Hanzo nodded.

"McCree, I deeply regret that I…"

"Hanzo," McCree muttered, "you're bleeding." Hanzo paused, looking down at himself.

"No, the blood is not mine."

"No, no, look…" McCree gestured to a large rip in the right pectoral section of Hanzo's kimono. Through the cloth a big red line ran across his skin. Hanzo squinted. He muttered something distastefully in Japanese. It was a curse, McCree assumed.

"That bastard got me," he huffed.

"I heard you scream. Does it hurt?"

"No." McCree crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes.

"Now don't lie. It's gotta sting at the very least." He reached forward, trying to pull his kimono away so that McCree could take a look at the wound's severity. Hanzo stepped back defensively. He turned sideways so he could fend him off. "Han, let me look at it."

"It is fine. It is but a scratch – nothing severe." He raised his eyebrow looking at him with what looked like fear.

"That's not true, and ya know it. Just let me see how deep it is." Hanzo shook his head, moving back further from McCree. "Hanzo, dammit, just let me see. Please, I just want to help." Hanzo paused. He sighed, looking at McCree cautiously.

"Fine." He straightened his spine, dropping his hands to his sides.

McCree cautiously pulled the kimono back from Hanzo's skin. It was sopping wet with blood that had soaked from the wound onto the cloth and stuck it to him. McCree examined the wound carefully. It was long, and clean. The blade had cut deep, but not through muscle. Hanzo would be alright.

"Cuts not too deep. Ya ain't gonna really need a doctor, but ya ain't gonna want to leave it be either. Let me take you to a hospital." Hanzo stepped from his grasp, pulling his kimono closed tightly. He hugged himself.

"No hospital," he snapped. "My father will not find out about this. If I go see medical assistance there is no way I will be able to keep this from him."

"Hanzo, you can't just stroll in there like nothin' happened when you have a huge chest wound." McCree tried to soothingly touch his shoulder, but he moved away from him. "Please just… just let me doctor it for you. Let me clean it and bandage it. I just don't want it gettin' infected." Hanzo shook his head. "Han, if it gets infected you're gonna gave to go to the hospital anyway. There ain't gonna be no hidin' it from ya dad then. Worse you could die." He didn't say anything. "Look, I can fix ya up or you can let it fester. Just… I don't want nothin' happenin' to you." McCree touched his shoulder, gently but quickly before Hanzo could move away. "Don't be… don't be foolish." Hanzo smirked, shaking his head slightly. He looked McCree in the eyes.

"Alright… yes… Let us go somewhere less… polluted with death. I have a location in mind." He waved for McCree to follow, and started down the alleyway while holding his side

A/N: Well, this part of the chapter ended up being a lot longer than I expected. Because of that the planned chapter has been split into two. Next chapter will consist of what was meant to be the rest of it.

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