Chapter Text
It was an awkward affair, waiting in the police station. Nobody would make eye contact with him, would hurry past him when they walked by; when they thought that he wasn’t looking, they’d stare.
“You seem well,” Galbraith said, looking him up and down. He openly stared at the reddish markings that traveled along McCree’s good arm like bloody tattoos, like lightning flowers etched into his skin, but unlike anyone else that stared his didn’t seem to be out of fear. “He treating you right?”
McCree blushed. “Sheriff!”
Across the desk from them, Morrison choked on his coffee; they ignored him.
“The missus misses you,” Galbraith told him gruffly. “She wants to know when and the Wolf are gonna visit again.”
McCree laughed. “She just wants his recipes!” McCree and Galbraith had been mystified to learn that Hanzo not only knew the sheriff’s wife, but they were very close—she had been after him for years for him to give her the recipe for his breads.
“It’s a shame,” Galbraith agreed, smoothing his moustache with a hand. His eyes crinkled. “I think she likes your Wolf more than she likes me. Perhaps if I dye my hair silver, she’ll love me again.”
McCree laughed. Morrison cleared his throat. “Are you quite finished?”
“Just waiting around,” McCree said, feeling bad for the sheriff. For whatever reason he didn’t seem to care much for McCree and he had long since given up trying to mend the bridge. It probably didn’t help that while waiting for their guests to arrive, McCree had crashed a meeting between Galbraith and Morrison. “They should be arriving soon.”
“And you insist on staying here?” Morrison asked crossly.
Galbraith rolled his eyes. As a guest he had no sway and so said nothing; nonetheless McCree knew that if it was up to him, the situation would be much different.
“No,” McCree told Morrison. “But I did want to find out how the town is doing.”
Morrison looked like he had sucked on a lemon. It seemed to be a common expression for him, like the equivalent of Resting Bitch Face. His face began to turn a furious red when McCree flashed him his most charming grin.
“Redstone is fine,” Galbraith told him. “In the middle of rebuilding but there was no death or injury. The Old Guys in town are explaining things.” McCree nodded.
The Old Guys’ was a bit of a misnomer and merely referred to the families that had been a part of the town since its forming—and would have known Hanzo personally as he helped them to build up the town. They were royalty of sorts in their own way: most in town tended to listen to them.
“A few houses were damaged; a lot of trees were knocked over. Power went out in the outliers for a bit but they all had generators or stayed with someone in town for the time being. All in all, not as bad as it could have been. Almost no injuries thanks to the Wolf’s warning.”
Perhaps it was just McCree being an Outsider but it seemed odd that even knowing the truth, none of the sheriffs wanted to call Hanzo by name; perhaps it was better that way.
Still, he was relieved to hear that. “And your house?”
Galbraith shrugged. “Houses can be rebuilt; and you know that the missus will take this as meaning that she needs to refill the cellar with everything she can stuff in a jar.” They exchanged grins.
“I’ll ask Hanzo if he’s got extra seeds,” McCree promised. “Or if he’s willing to part with some of his babies since the winter’s coming.”
“Please,” Galbraith muttered. It sounded almost like an expletive. “Please, no more.”
McCree turned to Morrison. “We’re fine,” he said shortly and McCree made a note to see if he could speak with Deputy Reyes later.
Someone knocked timidly on the door. “Um…someone’s here to see the Wolf.”
With a start, McCree realized that she was talking about him , not Hanzo. “Yeah, I’ll be out. Thanks.” He looked at her nametag. “Thanks, Frame.” She turned bright red and then blanched; she fled, nearly forgetting to close the door behind her.
“How’s it feel to be a god?” Galbraith asked dryly.
Thinking back to the start of this whole mess, McCree made a face. “Ain’t no god; never was. There is no such thing as gods.” He stood with a groan that was more reflexive than anything. “They’re just imaginary friends for adults.”
“Good seeing you,” Galbraith told McCree. “Don’t be a stranger, hear?”
“I’ll bring Hanzo by, sometime,” McCree told him. “Or you can visit us out there.”
Galbraith smiled. “Been wanting a dog for when I retire.”
“You’re not getting any younger,” McCree teased. He tipped his hat to Morrison who nodded back and left.
There was indeed someone waiting for him in the lobby and none other than Deputy Reyes was speaking to her.
“Oh, perfect,” McCree breathed. “I had wanted to talk to you.”
The deputy smirked and his dog wagged her tail when she saw McCree. She came over to greet him without Reyes ordering her, and he buried his fingers in her thick ruff. Soon she was rolling on her back, requesting belly rubs which McCree granted.
“Who, me?” Reyes asked dryly. “Or my dog?”
I’m sorry, McCree told Reyes’ dog silently and she sighed gustily. Duty calls .
She understood “duty”. Duty was fun, sometimes, and Reyes was good to her. Still, she wanted belly rubs—and a tick had gotten behind one of her elbows and itched . Could he at least get it for her?
Smiling, McCree obeyed, chasing it through her fur until he caught and killed it. “She had a tick,” McCree explained.
“I’ll talk to the vet about getting a tick collar,” Reyes promised. “With the changing season it shouldn’t be too terrible, but you never know. That aside, what can I do for you?”
McCree stood and stretched. These days he never seemed to tire; it was a novel sensation. “I wanted to know how the town’s been doing.”
“Nothing major happened,” Reyes assured him. “We managed to get the outliers in or at least warded well enough. Aside from downed trees and a few powerlines, the whole thing wasn’t so bad. Capocci had a heart attack and died, but he was an old bastard with a shitty heart so nobody’s really surprised. Nobody thinks it’s from the forest, anyway. It was more property damage than true injuries.”
McCree released the breath that he didn’t know he was holding. Reyes’ dog leaned against his leg and looked up at him, her tongue lolling out of her mouth. “I’m glad,” he said. “I would be…distressed to learned that it had gotten anyone else.”
Reyes smiled kindly at him. “No, it’s fine. Thanks to you and the Wolf.”
Embarrassed, McCree shook his head and turned to Ana with a wry grin. “Hello, Miss Ana.”
She pinched his cheek when he bent to hug her. “Hours.”
“I know,” he said apologetically. “I tried to warn you—and I told you that I could have picked him up.”
Ana made a face. “Well, he’s here.”
“I arranged with Miss Martha for some chocolate,” McCree told her. “As ‘thank you’ and ‘I’m so sorry ’ all in one.”
She didn’t seem mollified but her dark mood lifted somewhat. It would lift completely when she found that McCree had left a basket of Hanzo’s sweet buns with Miss Martha for her and Reinhardt to take back. Hanzo insisted that it was to thank her and Reinhardt for dealing with his brother but McCree knew that he had made so many because he was nervous.
Seeing that she and Reyes had more to discuss, McCree bid them goodbye and walked out to the front steps and found only one person—not two—waiting for him. Not that McCree knew with any certainty what Genji and his “master” Zen looked like, but…the person standing in front of him did not meet any halfhearted expectations he had. However, he knew without a shadow of a doubt—for many reasons—that the man in front of him was Zen.
He was a very plain-looking man: black hair, dark eyes, tan skin. Zen was wearing a pair of jeans and a very plain pair of sneakers and a blue flannel shirt. “Ah,” he said out loud and McCree felt as if he was deaf—it was strange to not hear his voice so booming, so great. “So you are Jesse McCree. It is a pleasure to meet you at last.”
To cover up his confusion, disappointment, McCree walked down the stairs and offered him. “Likewise,” he said.
Zen smiled. “I’m not what you expected.”
“No,” McCree admitted. “But I suppose you gotta look normal somehow, right? And I’m guessing that Genji doesn’t look like a walking, talking, chunk of jade.”
“Is that what you see?” Zen wondered. “Perhaps it is just semantics but I always thought he looked like olivine—like the green sand beaches near the volcanoes.”
McCree wondered why sand might be green without dye or algae and what volcanoes had to do with any of it but ignored it. “Speaking of, where is that little shit?”
“Terrorizing the pet shop, I suspect,” Zen said mildly. “He seemed very excited to see it.”
Startled, McCree laughed roughly. “I’ve half a mind to leave him behind. Let’s get you settled and see if he pops up again.”
Genji did indeed pop up as they finished loading their many bags on the backs of the horses. Silver looked pleased to not be carrying McCree and he was likewise glad that he wouldn’t be riding her. The piebald (as McCree learned the cow-printed horse of Lúcio’s was called) Cheese sighed heavily when he began loading her back.
She did not like the suitcases. They smelled of far-away places. Really, she would much rather be in the pastures and never have to leave. But the Wolves needed her so here she was. She didn’t need to be happy about it, though.
McCree dug in his hoodie and held out a treat for her. Cheese munched on it, not happy but in a better mood at least.
Seeing that Cheese got a treat, Silver grumbled. Didn’t she deserve something for putting up with McCree? Laughing, he gave her one as well, and then handed treats to the rest to prove that he wasn’t playing favorites.
“You’ve changed,” Zen commented, as he gingerly set his last duffel bag on Cheese’s shoulders. She turned to look at him, snorted at the smell of sea-brine-salt-storms, and turned away again. She was a simple horse and she didn’t want to know where this stranger came from; she just wanted home, to roll in the grasses at home where the scents made sense.
“I’ve changed a lot,” McCree agreed and patted Cheese’s neck.
He wondered if Lúcio knew how lazy his horse was; Cheese gave him as dark a look as a horse as calm and lazy as her could muster.
“For the better, I think,” Zen commented. “But that is only my observation.”
McCree ducked his head and gave Cheese a final pat on the neck. “You’ll be riding Hoshi, here.” Hearing his name, the gelding lifted his head and stepped forward.
He butted his face into McCree’s stomach, still munching away at his treat. Truly, he didn’t need another treat. He would like one but he just wanted to make sure that McCree had enough for everyone because Cheese couldn’t get all of them.
Smiling, McCree scratched his neck and Hoshi made a funny face in bliss. He explained silently that Zen was nice even if he smelled scary and that McCree promised that he wouldn’t hurt Hoshi, not deliberately. Maybe if Hoshi asked nicely Zen might give him a treat—and if Zen was what McCree thought he might be, he might be willing to help brush Hoshi when they got back to the farm.
Immediately Hoshi looked much more interested and turned toward Zen. His ears went back at the first big whiff of Zen’s strange scent; then he lifted his lip to better get his scent. It was just as terrible and terrifying as the first big whiff but it was much more bearable now.
“Why horses?” Zen wondered, holding his hand out flat for Hoshi to smell. “Can we not travel by car?”
McCree chuckled. “Road’s closed that way,” he explained. “Nothing but ATVs can get through and even then it’s really tricky stuff. Horses are the best bet.”
“Ah,” Zen said. “Can I give him some of the fruit in my bag?” Hoshi bobbed his head excitedly and they both laughed.
Zen was just feeding and the other horses—he was adorably fair about it—when the man that McCree assumed was Genji returned. He was wearing a tacky souvenir t-shirt in an eye-smarting shade of green that had been cut to show off his midriff despite the chilly autumn air.
“Are you ready to head out?” McCree asked.
Like Zen Genji was almost disappointingly plain—but that was only in comparison to the visions he’d had of Genji. Instead of a giant walking, talking, green statue, this Genji was very human. His skin was pale, strangely so, but marked with nearly-invisible scars that crossed his skin—he probably used makeup to hide them. There was enough resemblance for McCree to connect him to Hanzo: the same intense eyes, similar noses, that same smile that could cut.
Unlike Hanzo and Zen, his hair was bright green of such a shade that McCree had not known was possible. It is literally magic, Zen told him privately in his ocean-thunder-crashing waves voice.
They both laughed and Genji looked suspiciously between them, and then at the horses. “Where’s the car? And where’s my brother?”
“Car travel is impossible,” McCree explained simply. “There have been landslides in the area. Hanzo’s lodge is cut off.”
Genji snorted. “‘Lodge’?” he echoed with a mocking laugh. “Not a chalet ?”
They ignored him. “Do you think you can get into the saddle without assistance?” McCree asked Zen politely. “If not, there is a fence over there we can use or I can give you a boost.”
“I think I can manage,” Zen replied, just as politely. “If the lovely Hoshi would be so kind as to stand still?”
For another piece of pineapple, Hoshi would do whatever he wanted. McCree rolled his eyes and held his bridle. Really Hoshi didn’t need it, was almost canine in his urge to please, and was very well trained. It would take a lot for him to dance nervously, even in the presence of a being like Zen.
When he was in the saddle, McCree moved and helped him to adjust the height of the stirrups before beckoning to the only other unburdened horse.
“Is this wise?” Genji wondered, eyeing the horse with interest.
Ursa eyed him back, her ears tilted back. She had sized him up in the blink of an eye and got his measure as a rider; neither McCree nor Hanzo thought that she would give him an easy time of anything . Perhaps if McCree or Hanzo asked first, but even then she wasn’t fond of riders like him; and she was big enough that she could get her way if she really wanted to.
When McCree patted her neck, she snorted. It was just until the house and pasture again, so she would be good. But if he kicked her or fidgeted too much, she would absolutely throw him from her back. She could be convinced to warn them in advance though.
Save the warning for another time, he advised her and she snorted a horse’s laugh.
“Only way to get there,” McCree told him. “Or you can stay in town, if you like.”
Grumbling, Genji vaulted into the saddle and Ursa’s ears pinned angrily. She gave McCree a look that said very clearly I warned you and snorted again.
Smiling, McCree patted her neck. He visited with the pack horses, rubbing their foreheads and noses and necks, before gesturing. “Let’s get going.”
“Are you not riding?” Zen wondered.
“I am,” McCree assured him as the horses naturally fell into single-file. Zen was in the lead next to McCree; Genji was bringing up the rear, much to his frustration. “But it’s not a good idea to bring my mount into town.”
Zen gave him a very knowing look as they filed out of the carved gates and into the forest. When Hanzo finally showed himself, Genji screamed. Even Zen looked startled, his eyes wide as he looked up at the White Wolf.
“Hey,” McCree said casually, walking over and throwing his arms around Hanzo’s big neck. “Missed you. You should’ve seen the look on Morrison’s face when I walked in.”
Hanzo snorted and knelt down for McCree so he could scramble up into the saddle there. Tell me about it later, Hanzo suggested.
Love you, McCree replied, hanging on as Hanzo rocked to his feet. No amount of practice—in all ways—in riding Hanzo could get him used to the motion enough to be graceful about it.
Turning his head, Hanzo gave a canine grin up at McCree. Love you more. McCree made a kissy face at him and he laughed.
“What is that thing?” Genji demanded.
Hanzo’s ears pinned. I thought he was a Seer, McCree commented.
To be fair, I don’t think it’s things like this that he Sees.
Shaking his head, McCree let Hanzo turn away toward the forest, the horses following obediently. “It’s your brother,” he called over his shoulder. Behind him, Zen laughed as they all broke into a bouncing trot.
As always the dogs greeted them though they shied away from Zen at first. McCree wondered just what he was but in the end it didn’t truly matter.
With both McCree and Hanzo to assure them, the dogs soon swarmed them again, shamelessly requesting attention and scratches behind the ears which Zen just as shamelessly gave them.
“I am amazed that they approach me,” he told McCree with a soft little smile on his face. “Most animals are too afraid because they sense that something is not quite…‘right’ about me.”
McCree shrugged, sliding off of Hanzo’s back and beginning to pick at the buckles and straps. “Well,” he began and hesitated. “Hanzo and I told them that you were fine enough.”
“Thank you.”
Genji stalked over as McCree slid the last of the harness off of Hanzo’s broad back. “I would like answers,” he said, a demand despite his more delicate phrasing. “What did you mean that that— ” here he jabbed a rude finger toward Hanzo whose ears pinned in annoyance. “—was my brother?”
“Just a sec,” McCree said, hefting the harness and tossing it over the nearby railing. Genji followed closely, unhelpfully stepping on the straps and belts that hung from the saddle.
“You can walk and talk, can you not?” Genji demanded. “My brother is no mere dog .”
Behind them, McCree was gratified to hear the sound of Hanzo transforming—something he hadn’t been able to hear until recently—and Zen saying, “oh, hello, Hanzo.”
Genji whirled around in time to see Hanzo adjust his pelt around his waist. Yuki and Ame licked his free hand and he reached down to pat their heads before turning to Genji.
“Why are you naked?” Genji asked flatly.
Hanzo ran a hand through his long silver hair and McCree’s mouth went dry in Pavlovian reflex. The thought amused him enough to distract him from his lustful thoughts though from the look Hanzo gave him, it had been intentional.
Curse that man, but McCree loved him.
Leaning down, McCree brushed his nose against Hanzo’s in a wolfish kiss then gave him a human one. “Go talk to your brother,” he told Hanzo. “I’ll handle the horses and get Zen settled.”
Hanzo made a face as McCree walked back toward the horses. The door to the Lodge popped open and Lúcio poked his head out. “Need any help?”
“It would be appreciated,” he called back, and the vet nodded, coming out with Lily on his heels.
“Can I help?” Zen asked, wading through a sea of happy dogs.
McCree smiled. “If you want,” he agreed. “Or you could distract the dogs if you really want to. During your stay, I’m sure we’ll be dealing with the horses again.”
“Perhaps Hoshi,” Zen demurred. “She was kind enough to carry me down so I may as well address her.”
Hearing his name, Hoshi’s ears perked up. McCree showed him how to undo the fat belt behind his forelegs and the Y-shaped ones across his chest. He wasn’t surprised that someone as tiny as Zen could hold the saddle but followed just in case he tripped over the dangling straps.
Knowing that he was able to trust Zen to brush Hoshi to satisfaction, McCree began unpacking the rest of the horses and removing their gear. Lúcio ferried them away into the shed that housed their gear.
The sun was beginning to set when the brothers came back from wherever they had wandered off to. Both of their eyes were red as if they had been crying and McCree tugged Hanzo into a soft kiss as soon as he was close. When he opened his eyes again, Hanzo’s eyes glowed golden and he gave McCree a fanged smirk full of promise.
“Will you be joining us for dinner?” Lúcio asked. “It’s nearly ready.” Then he said, “ugh, I know that look. Come on, you two. Dinner’s inside—let those two do their thing. If we’re lucky we won’t hear what trouble they get up to.”
Laughing, Hanzo transformed and raced toward the trees, his veritable army of dogs on his heels, chasing him gleefully. McCree turned to Zen and Genji and tipped an imaginary hat at them. He could feel the same magic that had flowed through him during the battle with the demon only this time it wasn’t a destructive force; the marks on his arms, dark red in branching patterns, blazed.
“’Scuse me,” he said, his mouth already having difficulty shaping the words as his teeth and jaw began to change.
The seams of his clothes ripped and then exploded as with a gleeful howl, McCree transformed as well and chased after Hanzo, a splash of silver amongst the trees.
Behind him he could hear Lúcio sigh and say, “there goes another one of his shirts.”
There wasn’t anything quite like racing to the trees like this and the smell of the forest, of trees and animals and running water and the natural kind of mist that had always haunted these mountains. He caught up to Hanzo and nipped at his mate who nipped playfully back before leading him deeper into the trees.
Past Wolf’s Creek and where he had lost his arm.
Past a strange tree that McCree knew was one of the markers of Hanzo’s legal property, an enormous twisting tree that housed the spirit of an orisha that a ghostly girl that lived in the stables loved.
They stopped at an outcropping of rock that looked out into the valley of Hanzo’s home and the silver river that twisted at its base. McCree looked at Hanzo and found that he was already looking back at him. Even in his wolf form, McCree could see the way his eyes softened and leaning close, McCree gave him a wolfish kiss.
Neither knew how long the residual magic would let McCree to change forms like this, nor did they know how long the magic would extend McCree’s life. They didn’t know if it was rushing into everything, only knowing each other for only a month and a half, perhaps even two months.
For now, they could appreciate the time they had together. For forever or just one day more, it was enough to be together.
Throwing his head back, McCree howled. Hanzo’s voice joined a moment later, followed by all of the dogs within earshot.