Summary: It's easy enough to say fairytales aren't real until you're living in one. (Beauty & the Beast au)
The Road To Somewhere - part 2
"Would you-"
The sword reeled back in a very human-like fashion as Jesse continued to point and yell at the top of his lungs.
"Would you relax, already?" It snapped, sounding annoyed even as it began to hop towards the statute's hind legs. Distantly, Jesse managed to note that the voice coming from the blade had a noticeable Japanese accent. "I'm trying to get you out of there." And it propped itself against a wooden lever attached to the stone dragon's thigh. "Kick this and the mouth will spring upon. Oh," it added with a low note of warning, "and be careful not to touch the-" The instant Jesse shifted his arm within the dragon's jaw to kick at the level with his boot, the jewel brushed against his fingertips.
It started to pulse. The blade spun on its tip, shifting its hilt as though to stare, as a wintry gale burst forth from the stone dragon's maw, chilling Jesse until frost spread over his cheeks and lashes. Finally, with a thrust of his boot, he managed to hit the wooden level and the mouth sprung open, freeing him. He stumbled backwards into a pile of snow, pawing frantically at his eyes to melt the ice grown over his lids.
At last, he pried them up, but instead of finding himself in the ruins of a courtyard, discovered that he was sitting outside a magnificently preserved shrine. The steps leading into it were covered in snow that couldn't have had time to fall, and crimson pillars led the way into an open two-story pagoda.
Shaking the snow off his chaps, Jesse rose out of the snow, slack-jawed with awe.
"This ain't possible."
The sword pivoted on its tip. "Tell me about it."
McCree glanced down at the blade and then at the shrine, and a large castle looming in the not-so-far distance. There were paper lanterns hanging from the beams in the ceilings, each of them lit by an indeterminable light source that appeared to be unaffected by the weather, and giving off an ominous red aura. The gnarled trunks of barren trees bordered the courtyard's walls, and with the exception of Jesse's own harsh breathing, there was an absence of ambient nose that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand to run for the hills.
Frowning with confusion, Jesse lifted his boots to hear the crunch under his feet when he set them back down. He glanced at the blade, half-expecting it to comment. "I thought I came here looking for mushrooms but I'm starting to think maybe I already found them?"
Interestingly, a tinny chuckle emanated from the sword, causing vibrations to run along its shaft, and then it turned to hop in the direction of the highest structure, with its many stories and slanted rooftops curled at the corners towards the sky. It seemed like the likeliest place to find more people, but Jesse wasn't feeling too optimistic about his chances.
"Come on, then," the sword called back once it realized Jesse hadn't moved an inch, twisting impatiently, "let's get you inside before the cold turns you into an obnoxious lawn ornament."
It had stopped under a gateway that opened into another courtyard, this one with with a gazebo built in the dead center and traditional stone lanterns that, from Jesse's perspective, looked like little houses with four legs.
He jogged to catch up to the waiting katana, grumbling irritably under his breath, "Didn't think I'd come all this way to be sassed by an overgrown toothpick." Once he'd caught up to it, it resumed its former pace, and Jesse chanced a conversation.
"So, you can talk." He'd admit, it wasn't his best opening.
The sword seemed to agree, as its tone when it replied was positively sardonic. "My, you are an astute one."
Jesse shot a quick glare at the weapon. "How can you talk?"
"Magic." A jarring clacking noise startled the cowboy when the blade's edge landed squarely on a concealed marble path, but the animate inanimate object appeared unruffled. Not that McCree had any real way of knowing.
He exhaled through his teeth at the non-answer, already fed up with this endless parade of surprises when he had plenty problems of his own clamoring for his attention. "I'm starting to think I ought to be heading home." With a cheery jingle of his spurs, he turned on his heel at the next courtyard entrance, only to pause, uncertainty weighing heavily in his mind at the untouched expanse beyond. There should have been footprints left by his boots, divets in the snow left by the blade. But there was nothing.
It wasn't even snowing.
"Yeah?" The blade swung around, it's tone acidic. "Well, maybe you should have thought of that before you stuck your hand someplace where it didn't belong and touched something that wasn't meant to be touched, aho."
McCree tried to remember if there had been any exits where he'd started. Though he'd undeniably been distracted at the time, he liked to think he'd at least have the presence of mind to notice that much, but all that came to him was a recollection of being surrounded by walls with a single archway that led to the next section of the seemingly endless maze he'd somehow gotten himself trapped in.
After ultimately deciding that having a sarcastic talking sword for a guide was better than no guide at all, he frowned down at the weapon, raising an eyebrow as he did, "Care to run that one by me again?"
"No."
It took off at a faster pace, leaving Jesse huffing and cursing as he jogged to keep up.
It was strangely amusing to watch the blade maneuver its way up to the buried steps of what Jesse had come to realize was once the ruined Shimada castle, now restored to its former glory. It rocked its slender form, causing it to pitch forward onto its hilt, balanced uneasily for a moment, then repeated the action to roll onto the second.
"I ain't ever seen anybody fall upwards before," McCree commented conversationally, stepping on the stairs to follow. "It's admittedly impressive, though I wouldn't be adverse to, uh, carrying you if that's-"
A feral snarl emanated from the sword. McCree glanced down at it, and the glint of its polished edge, then shrugged. "Fine. 's not like I don't got time." It'd be hours before anyone started questioning his whereabouts, and even longer before they started to worry. After leaving in a tiff like he had, it wouldn't cross their minds for a while that he wasn't just blowing off steam.
Jury was still out on whether that was a good thing or not, but he was nonetheless grateful for the chance to spare them any anxiety on his behalf.
Feeling contrary, he lengthened his stride to cover more ground, thus making it to the top in one or two paces, and though the cold had well and sunk into his bones, made a show of grinning while the animated sword, still working its way up, projected a wall of frustration and fury.
Jesse's grin widened. "Sure you don't need any help, friend?"
Quickening its fall and flip motion until finally making it to level ground, the blade continuing towards the entrance, ignoring McCree with a pointedness that briefly made him feel sheepish for antagonizing the only companion he had in this strange place.
After hesitating a moment, Jesse trailed after it, shivering with his arms wrapped around himself, rubbing furiously to get the blood flowing. Even so, he couldn't help admiring the smooth and unblemished threshold. Thick and starkly white, it brought to mind the bones of an animal carcass in the desert, bleached to an unnatural glow by the unforgiving rays of the sun.
"Hurry up!" The sword barked. It rapped its hilt against the high wooden doors, each of them expertly craved with detailed images of long, serpentine dragons, before vanishing within when they opened a crack, allowing the blade to slip easily through the opening.
"Hey!" McCree hurried after it, bursting through the entrance in a flurry of drenched boots and frozen chaps. He came to a stop immediately, halted by a blast of air that melted any lingering ice within seconds, leaving him standing in a puddle, still wet but no longer chilled.
Curious, he tried to get a grasp of his new surroundings, if only so that if things went south, as they had a tendency to do whenever he was involved, he'd know of any handy escape routes.
To his right, he noticed what looked to be a standard living room bathing in the cheery illumination of an intimidatingly large fireplace. There were scarlet armchairs positioned around it in a semi-circle, and a suit of armor standing beside it, a reddish tint like a living stain on the overlapping plates closest to the flames.
It didn't sport the standard Western European build, though. Tall and thin like a one-size fits all sock. It was broader in the chest, custom-molded to accommodate a specific set of thighs and biceps. Interestingly, it didn't even appear to be that old. There weren't any scratches or dents in the plates, no sign of wear in the tan leather shaping its slender middle.
"Now, what would a lovely suit of Crusader's armor such as yourself be doing in a place like this?" He glanced at the surrounding scrolls and traditional Asian imagery of mythological creatures and battles painted on the walls. "Can't say you're doing wonders for the aesthetic." On impulse, he flicked its chest plate. A deep thrum echoed within the empty suit of armor while at the same time the fireplace billowed, spraying the cowboy with sparks that stung like bug bites where they hit.
"Do ya mind," the fireplace boomed with an unmistakable Swedish accent, "not touching my daughter like that?" Its flames extended out to coalesce into a flickering impression of a braided beard, while a pair of logs within shifted to roughly where eyebrows might have been located on a human face, and furrowed.
"It's fine, Pappa." The Crusader armor sighed, its voice seeming to echo within its dandelion yellow torso section before exiting from the top. The armor – she? – shifted to address Jesse, before realizing the cowboy had back up several feet to fall clumsily into an armchair. Staring wide-eyed at the fiery face and its daughter, he scrambled to get his long, suddenly uncooperative limbs on top of it.
"Would you get off of that?" The fireplace coughed billowing clouds of smoke that stretched across the room. "Never took ya for the skittish type, boy."
"Genji brought you in here, right?" The headless suit of armor lifted large leather gloves in a plaintive gesture, "It's not like we're the first you've seen." It leaned conspiratorially down towards the flames, one glove cupping air where a mouth might have been. "Come to think of it, I don't think Jesse ever really liked Reinhardt's ghost stories. " Hearing that, Jesse automatically bristled, though he didn't quite know why. Instead of retorting, he decided to jump on what he hoped could shed some light on this fiasco, "Reinhardt? You mean the baker from the village? How do you know him?"
The logs forming the furnace's eyebrows bunched, giving it a thoughtful appearance. When it finally spoke, it was in a lower, softer tone than before, "We've been friends for longer than you've been alive, boy."
After tugging down the brim of his hat, Jesse lowered his legs to the ground and took a step closer. "Take it things haven't always been like this, then?"
"Well, I'll be." The fire with the braided beard chuckled, spitting embers, some of which pinged harmlessly off the armor. "Reyes always used to say you were a bright pojke."
"Reyes?" Was it his imagination or did the old antique clock on the mantle just twitch? He bent forward to scrutinize it for a moment, taking note of the frozen minute and hour hands, the intricate design. Then he looked for dust on its polished parts, scuff marks on the mantle that would suggest movement. Satisfied, he leaned back, stroking the stubble on his chin with a calloused hand. "Ya'll seem mighty familiar with me," he admitted, "but I'm starting to get the feeling my recollection's been a mite unreliable lately. Mind helpin' me clear that up?"
Shadows of furniture and the coat rack in the corner lengthened as the flames in the fireplace dimmed. The armor slumped dejectedly. "You really don't know us," she whispered.
Jesse opened his mouth, closed it, then glanced askance. "I'm sorry, darling."
She shook herself, creating a massive racket - "It can't be helped, right?" – and extended a gauntlet. "My name is Brigitte."
"Torbjorn," the fireplace grumbled. Jesse nodded towards the flames before taking her hand and giving it a friendly shake. For an empty suit of armor, he was impressed by how strong her grip was.
Winking, he said, "Remind me never to challenge you to an arm wrestling contest." The resulting snicker it earned him was a tad strained.
"Making friends, I see." In the foyer, the katana from before – McCree hastily reminded himself that Brigitte had referred to the blade as Genji – balanced effortlessly on its tip, which should have been dulled and chipped, but must have been maintained by the same supernatural force that allowed it to move and speak. A flash of electric green traveled the length of its grooved shaft like a jagged bolt of lightning. Jesse swallowed. "Now that you've had a chance to get dry, I will take you to the kumicho of the Shimada clan." It led him up a squared-shaped staircase that framed the main room, as it clung to the walls starting from the bottom and leading all to what was presumably the attic on the uppermost floor. Throughout their walk, Jesse took notice of the scrolls and paintings, most of which seemed to portray severe looking men and women, each of them in traditional dress, some of them wielding blades and naginatas.
Jesse touched a silver frame, frowning at the dust that came away on his fingertips. "Clan, huh? Think I heard something about that." But the halls were empty, the wooden floorboards coated in a thick layer of dust that couldn't have been disturbed in years. "Where are the rest of you?"
"Loyalty has its limits." The sword turned slightly, once again managing to catch what little light filtered in from the shuttered windows on its edge. "Those who could flee, did. Those who could not-" and it bounded forward, an impossible feat among many, "-they were forced to remain in this place, existing as little more than ghosts, until either the curse is lifted or the kumicho dies."
Startled by the vehemence in its words, Jesse stopped in his tracks, only to realize he'd reached the highest floor, and was standing outside a pair of mahogany doors, each of them carved with a snarling dragon. From far away, it appeared that they were intertwined, but on closer inspection, it became clear that one dragon had pounced on the other, its great claws forcing the other towards the earth.
"The Shimada sure did like their dragons," he commented offhandedly, to which the blade replied with the first note of humor Jesse had heard since he'd arrived, "You have no idea."
So, what was he supposed to do next?
Knock?
Wait for the kumicho to come out and greet him?
Suddenly feeling nervous, the cowboy clenched and unclenched his fists, before asking hopefully, "Did ya at least let him know I'm here?" Instead of answering, the blade rapped its hilt against the wood. There was a beat before something inside moved, heavy and larger than a man, and the door swung inwards.
Jesse found himself staring into the slitted pupils of a creature out of myths. It body was long and serpentine, with a pale segmented belly and azure scales trailing from its head to the end of the tail it'd wrapped around the door's golden handle. Whiskers sprouted from its snout, their twitching betraying the creature's surprise, though it swiftly and visibly relaxed its muscles, and bowed its great head, staring resignedly at the floor when it inquired, "Have you come to kill me?"
"Stop being so dramatic, anija," Genji hopped fearlessly into the wrecked master bedroom, effortlessly navigating past shattered chairs and animal carcasses strewn across the floor.
The dragon's gaze flicked uneasily towards the weapon, before glancing back up at McCree, a single ebony brow raised. "Perhaps you could use a different weapon? Any weapon besides?"
His brain having gone perfectly and utterly blank, Jesse turned desperately to the sword for some kind of direction. "Hey, stab him with a stick," came the bored response. "I honestly don't care."
The flippancy of the statement sparked enough hot anger in the pit of Jesse's stomach that it kickstarted his brain and mouth in gear, "First, let's get one thing straight-" and he lifted a single finger to show he was ticking points off as he went, "-I'm not stabbing anyone." He gestured towards a shattered window hiding behind ripped and torn curtains, "I just want to get out of here. Second," lowering his voice an octave, McCree said directly to the blade, " I know you're just tryin' to use me to do your dirty work."
When Genji twisted to face him with the flat of his blade, McCree saw the strain in his own pinched expression in the reflection on his surface. What he heard, however, was a seething fury that made his hackles raise, "Sure you want to talk to a sword like that?"
Before Jesse could bite out a response, the dragon heaved a heavy sigh, "If you're not here to kill me, then could the both of you leave?"
"Busy, Hanzo?" Genji snarled. Hanzo didn't rise to take the bait. Instead, the dragon seemed to retreat inwards, hunching its shoulders and wrapping its immense tail around its body, as though folding in on itself. It stared at the wall, ignoring them. "Fine," the blade spat at the dragon's scaled back. "Have it your way, then." And without prompting, the dragon opened the door to allow him to leave.
Despite staring after him, Jesse chose to stay. "You two wouldn't be related by any chance, would ya?" To his surprise, the innocent query earned him a reaction, as the dragon lifted its head to regard him with disconcertedly human disbelief in its gaze. Jesse waved it off with a casual shrug. "Call it a lucky guess."
The dragon huffed. "Forgive my brother for his rudeness. These years have been hard on all the inhabitants of this castle, but for him more than most. His is a temperament ill-fitted for containment." Hanzo's mane hung limply on his dull grey-blue scales in clumps. There were large, barren patches that appeared to have been scratched off by overgrown talons, and deep gouges in the floor that could be attributed to pacing.
McCree filed that information away as he pulled a cigarillo from his vest pocket. "So, what did ya'll do to end up cursed like this?" Damn. He didn't have any matches.
The dragon made an impatient nose, flicked a whisker towards its nostrils, and when McCree bent to hold the cigarillo directly in front of his snout, exhaled a wave of hot breath that curled and blackened its edge. Grinning widely, Jesse nodded his thanks before placing the unlit end in his mouth.
"It's not what they did." Hanzo's tail thumped with agitation, ears pressed firmly against his skull. "A woman came to this castle in the middle of a winter storm, begging for shelter. She was not of these parts, and beautiful. So beautiful, in fact, that I felt it was only a matter of time before she fell into my brother's bed." McCree took that in, thinking about the words, and the defeat with which they were uttered.
Even if he said that was a really shitty thing to think about his brother, he didn't think that was the kind of thing to tell someone you'd known for five minutes, especially not if they had claws that could open up your stomach, but more than that… Jesse had a feeling there really wasn't any kind of condemnation he could bestow that hadn't already been rested upon the dragon's head, piercing his scales and tainting his blood like a poisoned crown.
He followed Hanzo's line of sight to a portrait hanging on the wall of a stern-faced man in an ornate hakama, and his sons. The youngest bore a more genial look, with softer features with a feathery spiked hairstyle, while the oldest... there was nothing left of his face, just a blank white canvas, torned and ripped to pieces.
"He was a handsome fella," McCree heard himself say of the younger son, if only to break the silence.
"Yes." The dragon sounded pained. "He was."
Squeezing his eyes shut, the dragon continued with a stuttered breath, "With the support of my advisors, I cast her out into the cold, heedless of her warnings. Were she a mortal woman, she may well have died that night. But she was no such thing. By casting her out, I angered a being of great power, and thus brought the entire clan to ruin."
"Sounds like you regret it."
Startled, Hanzo twisted to stare at him, his golden eyes wide and liquid. "Everyone makes mistakes, some worse than others. I've made more than a few myself. But if I can look back and say I'd make a different choice, then that means I learned something, don't it? What you did was downright rotten," some of the vitality visibly bled from the dragon, and he continued hastily, "but it sounds to me like you're a different man now. Maybe even a better one."
"I am not a man at all," Hanzo scoffed.
McCree waved a hand impatiently, "You know what I mean."
He settled down on the floor, though the dust and debris made him wrinkle his nose. It was unsettling, being surrounded by bones. Slowly, he removed his boots, feeling the dragon's eyes on him as he did. "Why haven't ya'll ever left?"
"Besides our appearance," the dragon replied in a dry tone, immediately bringing a certain irritable katana to mind, "this castle exists in a closed space. We, quite literally, cannot go beyond the forest." He regarded McCree with renewed puzzlement. "How could you possibly manage to wander into such a place?"
"Genji said I touched something I shouldn't have. It was… this exquisite blue jewel. Same color as your scales, I think. My sister asked me for something nice-"
"And so you thought you would steal from the ruins of an abandoned castle?"
McCree took offense to that. "Well, I never said I was nice."
A low rumble emanated from the dragon's chest. "I suppose you did not," Hanzo conceded with audible amusement, making Jesse feel oddly pleased with himself.
Minutes passed in silence as Jesse worked his way through another cigarillo, until eventually the entrance creaked open, and the collar of Brigitte's armor peeked in.
Hanzo nodded to acknowledge her, gesturing with his head. "Lindholm-san will take you to your quarters until we discover a way to help you leave."
"Thanks." McCree rose to his feet, feeling his spine pop back into place after sitting for so long. Then he got a look at the thick wool blankets in Brigitte's arms, and blinked in confusion. "Um…"
In a fluid motion, she strut into the room and tossed them over the dragon's back, who grumbled, "This is highly unnecessary, Lindholm-san. I am unworthy of-"
"-such kindness. I know, I know." Though it was hard to tell with the reverberation, it sounded as though she'd be smiling if she could. Maybe not a big one, or even very happy, but a smile, nonetheless. "I keep telling you to call me Brigitte. We're friends, aren't we?" Stunned, the dragon could do little except slowly incline his head.
Once she'd herded McCree out to take him to the guest quarters and the doors were well and firmly shut, Hanzo twisted the length of his serpentine body to snarl at a shimmer of crystalline light in the corner of the room, as it became more and more defined and solid, until it condensed into the form of a young woman with glistening locks cascading down the back of an Ao Dai that shifted as though the fabric were woven from clouds and sky.
"Shimada Hanzo." Though the cold and years of inactivity made him sluggish, the dragon's mane bristled as he forced his legs beneath him. With his head brushing the ceiling, he bent at the neck to bare dripping fangs mere inches from her impassive features. "It has been some time since last we met." Taking in the scattered deer carcasses, she added without inflection, "I see your situation has not improved."
And the walls trembled with a thunderous growl.
A/N: Thank you guys so much for your continued support!
Also, I realize this was my perfect opportunity to have Wolf!Hanzo, but I kind of need him to be able to fly at one point... plus I love dragons