Chapter Text
There was something strange about Jesse McCree.
No, not the fact that he dressed like b-list actor wandering around the set of a western, which is the first thing Hanzo noticed when they met.
It had nothing to do with the fact he drank coffee at random hours of the day or insisted a “tomato sandwich” qualified as lunch.
Every day Hanzo would find himself shaking his head at some new information he learned about this man. It baffled him that his brother was so close with this cowboy but, then again, knowing Genji’s personality, it made complete sense.
And Hanzo tried to ignore it, until he noticed something very strange.
When it first happened the archer insisted he must be seeing things. After all he saw McCree fumbling around for a lighter and never seemed to find one. Only a few seconds later his cigar was lit and the cowboy watched the smoke rise into the night air like he was dreaming.
The second time was during training, the pair of them practicing their aim on targets. McCree liked to make a contest out of it but it was a rare day the cowboy would come out on top. Hanzo’s instinct was to mock him but he was certain McCree wasn’t taking it seriously.
“Damn, my coffee got cold.” McCree had mumbled into the mug of what might as well have been sludge. Hanzo shook his head and fired a few more arrows, his concentration broken by the awful slurping noise coming from his left. He turned to glare at McCree who gave him a sheepish smile and shrugged.
It wasn’t until later, as Hanzo was leaving, that he realized there had been steam coming out of the mug.
After that Hanzo decided to pay much closer attention to the cowboy. Most times he didn’t notice anything stranger than normal–honestly who rolls up pizza like a tortilla–but on rare occasions he got lucky.
McCree got injured on a mission, no surprise there. It wasn’t anything dangerous but the cut on his arm was still bleeding by the time he got back. He insisted he was fine and by some miracle managed to dodge Angela on the way back to his room.
Hanzo followed after, insisting it was for his curiosity and not concern, and lightly knocked on the door.
McCree opened it, his hand over the where the wound was, looking a bit surprised.
“‘Ey there darlin’” He smiled. “What’s up?”
“I... wanted to check if you were all right.”
“Who me? I’m fine.” He lowered his hand. The cut had vanished although the bloodstains hadn’t. “Angela fixed me up quick as a button.”
Hanzo frowned. “I know for a fact she has not seen you since you got back.”
McCree paled for a few moments, eyes wide. He didn’t say anything.
The archer considered pressing the issue, trying to read what McCree was thinking, but eventually sighed. “At least you got it treated instead of leaving it there like last time.”
His posture relaxed as he laughed. “Ah yeah, Angela had my head for that infection, didn’t she.”
Hanzo crossed his arms. “Taking your head would be of no consequence, since you hardly use it anyway.”
“What? Hey.” McCree snapped back at him but Hanzo simply turned and walked away.
Hanzo’s sharp eye eventually rewarded him. Yet another night where McCree forgot his lighter and this time the archer never removed his gaze. Eventually McCree sighed, long and empty, before snapping his fingers. A small flame danced on his finger tips, and as soon as his cigar was lit it was gone.
Hanzo’s surprise almost had him snapping out a question but he bit it back. If McCree was good at anything it was dodging the subject. Hanzo quickly learned that on day one. He needed to wait until the cowboy had no lies to fall back on.
Even then his curiosity chipped away in the back of his mind.
“Does McCree have a form of fire magic?” Hanzo asked his brother as the two of them watched the horizon.
Genji looked at him, a slight tilt of the head before he said, “What do you mean?”
“I swear I have seen him summon fire. Did he know such tricks when you first met him?”
Genji hummed, looking back at the sky. “I think that is a question you should ask him yourself.”
“As if he would tell me.”
“You haven’t even tried.”
Without an excuse the conversation ended there. Hanzo tried to push the subject out of his mind but it refused. He thumbed over possibilities, wondering that if the cowboy did have fire powers, why did he not use them on the battlefield? Perhaps it was yet another foolish decision.
All of these unanswered questions were giving him a headache.
He tried to clear his head, waiting in the training room. With his eyes closed and his breathing steady he became aware of the dragons drifting around him. Eventually they came into his vision, circling him like they always do. On some occasions they would speak, but on most days he was greeted with nothing more than a low growl.
He heard the door open, a jangle of spurs giving away the person’s identity. Hanzo didn’t bother opening his eyes yet, watching as the dragons both turned their heads.
Then he saw something else. His mind’s eye squinted and honed in on something strange, a bright red and orange glow. The glow slowly faded out as it took shape. A bird, with a long neck and longer tail feathers sat perched on something. The tips of it’s feathers burned and curled and slowly it turned it’s head in Hanzo’s direction.
A phoenix.
Hanzo’s eyes snapped open. McCree wasn’t look at him, tapping his boots against the floor before taking a long sip of coffee. The archer figured the cowboy must love the sounds of his own spurs with how often he shook them around.
Then he spotted something else. His eyes narrowed again as he focused on something on Jesse’s forearm. Something red on his skin was peeking out from under his rolled up sleeve.
“Sorry I’m late,” McCree turned a bit. “The kids insisted I- uh.” His eyes darted between Hanzo and his shirt. “Whatcha starin’ at? Did one of those paintballs seep onto my shirt?”
Hanzo was on his feet in seconds. He didn’t intend to stomp over the way he did but McCree threw his hands up and took a few steps back.
Not quick enough. Hanzo snatched his arm with one hand and jerked the sleeve up with the other.
“Ow, hey Shimada, what’s the deal?”
The archer didn’t respond. He studied the orange and red feathers tattooed on the man’s skin. Something about it felt familiar and he traced his thumb over one of them.
“Phoenix,” he mumbled.
Suddenly McCree shoved him away. His eyes were still laced with confusion but his eyebrows pressed into a glare.
“Pardon?” The question sounded threatening.
With McCree’s tone and expression Hanzo considered for a few moments he might have made a mistake, but he wasn’t backing down now.
“You have a spirit.” He crossed his arms. “That’s how you’ve been performing those tricks.”
“What are you talkin’ about?”
Hanzo snorted. “Do not try and deny it. I saw a phoenix sitting on your shoulder.”
McCree froze up for a second but his expression softened. “How?”
“When I meditate to speak with my dragons I can see other spirits as well. Perhaps if you took some time to be quiet you would know this.”
He frowned and looked away.
“Where did you get it?” Hanzo asked.
“Rather not talk about that.”
Now it was Hanzo’s turn to frown. “Why not? Did something happen to your parents?”
“Parents?” McCree’s head whipped back. “No, no, my parents didn’t give this to me. I mean not really, I guess. Maybe.” His voice shifted to a mumble as he rubbed the back of his neck.
“‘Not really’? You are not making any sense. If your parents did not give it to you then who did?”
McCree bit his lip. His hand moved from his neck to run over his face. He let out a sigh, the same one he made those nights when he lit the cigar with his fingers.
Then he crossed his arms and tapped his heel against the floor a couple of times.
“You ever heard of a man named Gabriel Reyes?”