
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7653520.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Overwatch_(Video_Game)
  Relationship:
      Jesse_McCree/Hanzo_Shimada, Jesse_McCree/Original_Male_Character(s),
      Implied_Soldier_76_|_Jack_Morrison/Reaper_|_Gabriel_Reyes
  Character:
      Jesse_McCree, Reaper_|_Gabriel_Reyes, Jesse_McCree's_sweet_mama, Minor
      Characters
  Additional Tags:
      Minor_Character_Death, Canon-Typical_Violence, Non-Graphic_Smut, Underage
      Sex, Underage_Drinking, Underage_Smoking, DAMMIT_JESSE, Kids_in_a_gang,
      Awkward_dad_figure_Gabriel, Young_Love, Young_Heartbreak, Cussing, let_my
      son_be_happy, too_many_fuckin_metaphors, Other_Additional_Tags_to_Be
      Added
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-08-02 Chapters: 1/2 Words: 4255
****** Creatures of the Underworld ******
by KokoBean
Summary
     Learning the hard way that good things don't last also means
     realizing that, more often than not, even genuinely good people don't
     get happily ever after. Where does that leave an outlaw? Plum out of
     luck, that's what.
     Kiss your dreams goodbye, kid, you don't deserve them.
     The sun set in Jesse McCree's life a long time ago, and he's accepted
     living in the dark. When the sun dawns for him again, in the form of
     one Hanzo Shimada, it's hard to believe it's the real deal and not a
     mirage. Old habits- and old nightmares -die hard, but if there's
     anything the Shimada heir is, it's stubborn.
     Why face the night alone when you can embrace the dawn with someone
     at your side?
Notes
     I really, REALLY, wanted to write something sweet and sappy and
     loving, because god knows these boys need it, but my brain insisted
     that there had to be a sad set-up chapter. DAMMIT
     Translations for Spanish words are at the bottom! My Spanish is
     pretty rusty, feel free to correct me!
     Part one to a two part deal; chapter 2 will be all McHanzo and all
     gross. Stubborn old men that just need to be loved. But first, we
     need to get through the ups and downs of young love and how it can
     wound you for years.
     SUPER DUPER, ON WITH THE SHOW
When Jesse McCree was still a pup, his Ma did her best to instill that, above
all else, he was always loved. That even though his younger sisters did better
in the bronco competitions, and he forgot to muck out the stalls more often
than not, he would always be her baby. Her eldest son. Her pride and joy. 
When he accidentally shot out one of the kitchen windows with his pa's shotgun,
she'd been madder than a wet cat and chased him 'round the ranch with a soup
ladle until he promised to replace it himself.

“Jesse James McCree!” she'd yelled, landing a solid 'thwack!' on his shoulder,
“Ya'll're lucky I love ya so damned much or I'd put ya out with the hounds!”

He couldn't remember his Pa ever laughing so hard, and that alone made it worth
it.

He'd been fifteen when his Pa died- a machinery accident out in the fields,
he'd heard his sister's screams from the barn -and he watched the light go out
of his Ma.
She no longer spent days elbow deep in the garden, planting vegetables and
flowers and coming inside smelling of sunshine and the desert breeze. She sold
the horses just to keep the house. Jesse worked odd jobs to help support them
all, his three sisters and his poor Ma, but it was sporadic at best, and they
were struggling.

One day, she called him to her, sitting at the creaky kitchen table and turning
one of his Pa's old kerchiefs over and over in her worn hands. He can still
remember the way the evening sun cast shadows over her face, down the creases
that sorrow had carved where laugh lines should be.
“Baby,” she starts, her voice frail as a moth's wings, “You're such a good boy.
So much like your Pa, I see him in you more and more every day.”
Her smile is small and distant and breaks his heart. As he sits next to her, he
notices she's picking mindlessly at a loose thread on the kerchief and reaches
out to lay his hand over hers to still it. Her sigh is slow and drawn out, like
a breath held too long.

“I hope you find someone that'll love you like that, like the sun rises and
sets in your eyes.”
He tries to not make a face at the sappiness of the statement, but evidently
fails when his Ma's smile tweaks a little higher.
“Trust me, sugar, you'll know when you meet them. And never let anyone tell you
that you aren't worth that love, because you deserve every bit of it.”
She'd turned her hand over to hold on to his in turn, the kerchief between them
like a promise. When he leans in to hug her, he ignores the way the empty
kitchen seems to yawn around them, void of the life it once had, and only holds
her tighter.

The next day, he goes out for a new job, and comes back with a gang tattoo on
his left shoulder.

===============================================================================


Jesse McCree is a cocksure brat, five months shy of seventeen and a damn good
shot with a gun. Too silver-tongued for his own good most days, but it comes in
handy when the boss asks where he squirrels away his money from deals done
right. He don't need to know it all goes back to his Ma, bless her. It always
ends with a clap on the back and a laugh from the boss and that's all that
matters.

He tries not to think too hard about her, about how disappointed she must be.
Some pride and joy he is now, his pa's prized gun on his hip and blood on his
hands.

He's been with the Deadlock gang for a year when his Ma's words from that night
in the kitchen come back to him, one too-bright day on the mesa with warm
tequila and bad cigarettes.

He and a few of the other members are having some fun with the newbies, taking
pot shots at roadrunners and lizards and ribbing each other for misses. It'd be
friendly if there wasn't a fine undercurrent of threat, of what would happen if
these newbies really aren't all that good with a gun.

There's only three new ones this time; a whipcord of a woman just barely in her
twenties, full of piss and vinegar with a face to match, and two lean muscled
Latino boys about his age, brothers he guessed from how similar they looked,
throwing insults around in Spanish that they thought he couldn't understand. He
wouldn't bother to learn any of their names in case they ended up dead in the
gorge.
One of the boys is slightly bigger, power hinted at in how broad his shoulders
are already, but he's timid in a way. Shy around the tequila like he's never
seen it before, and Jesse hadn't missed the way the boy had jumped at the first
few gunshots, the way he wasn't prepared for the recoil. Jesse didn't have high
hopes for him.

After watching the kid take a hesitant shot at a cactus and missing it by a
mile, Jesse turns his head away with an eye roll and a drag of his cig.
Evidently the other brother catches it, as he's now facing Jesse in full and
scowling. 'Like a touchy rattler', Jesse thinks, his mouth quirked in a smirk
around his smoke.

“Got a problem over there, pendejo?” the brother snaps, to the horror of his
meeker sibling who spins around and reaches out abortively. “Think you're
better than Antonio, ay?”
The larger brother-Antonio-glances around and seems to shrink under the looks
of the members who've taken interest, always itching for a fight. His brother
ignores them entirely, staring Jesse down.

“'Course I'm better than 'im, esé. That sack of potatoes couldn't find his ass
in th' damn dark.” Jesse sneers, flicking the ash off the end of his cigarette
and spitting in the dirt as if he's disgusted by the whole thing.
In the second he took his eyes off them, he hears someone, likely Antonio,
yell, “Julian, don't!”, right before the kid is in his face, shockingly fast,
bristling with rage. Jesse doesn't have time to put an arm up before a fist
connects solidly with his jaw, landing him flat on his back and overturning a
bottle of tequila.
There are people yelling, there's booze in his shirt and blood on his lip, and
when he looks up, there's that damn kid, staring down at him with hellfire in
his molten chocolate eyes.

And just then, Jesse thinks that Julian is the most beautiful thing he's ever
seen in his life.

“Trust me, sugar, you'll know when you meet them.”

===============================================================================


A little over half a year together, and Jesse McCree is convinced he's going to
spend his life with Julian.
The gangbanger has a quit wit, a quicker temper, and a mean left hook. He's
made of campfire and dust devils and the cicadas on long nights. He challenges
Jesse at every step, and gives back just as hard.
He tastes like ash and tamales, smells like sweat and gunpowder and rosemary,
of all damn things, and when Jesse fucks him, fast and rough in the rented room
above a filthy bar, Julian feels like home.

Julian teaches him songs in Spanish, accompanied by the low thrums of a guitar
and sloppy kisses between shots of stolen Patrón. In return, Jesse teaches
Julian how to ride a horse, reveling in the sweet smile of awe when Julian
finally gets the hang of the mare's gait.

Jesse wants to love this boy under the desert stars till the end of his days.
Leave the gang, maybe start a ranch of their own. Horses and some sheep, sweet
tea on hot nights and kisses over pancakes in the morning.
He wants to bring Julian home, wants him to meet his Ma.
Of course, he should have known that people like them weren't allowed to have
things as luxurious as stability, as hope. As love.
Dreams of horse ranches and Julian in white come crashing down the day
Overwatch catches them.

The sting is fast and brutal, embarrassingly easy. Jesse would be sure his boss
is shitting himself in fury, if he wasn't so busy bolting through the dusty
streets and dodging gunfire. He'd been separated from Julian when everything
went to hell, a cacophony of yelling, demands of 'Get down! On the ground,
hands where I can see them!',and the choir of too many safeties clicking off to
argue with.
There's too many agents here, there's no way the gang is getting out of this
one, and the only thing on Jesse's mind is finding Julian in the madness. If
they're going to jail, they're going together.

He suddenly, viciously, regrets not kissing Julian before leaving on the
operation. It was supposed to be easy.

Jesse ducks and weaves through the firefight, bullets clipping by him too close
for comfort. To his left, a fellow member throws an agent through a diner
window before getting a black bag thrown over his head by an agent that had
flanked him. The member goes down hard, and Jesse doesn't stick around to be
next.
He's just skidded around a corner, desperation burning in his lungs, when he
finally sees the back of Julian's jacket. The gang sign emblazoned there seems
to mock him as he runs, finally getting enough air to yell to his inamorato.
Julian's head whips around, that beloved fire in his chocolate eyes blazing and
the grip on his gun white-knuckled, and Jesse only has a moment to realize
something is wrong when Julian's face abruptly twists in horror.

“Jesse!”

The scream rings in his ears as he's tackled, brutally, from the side. The
agent that's downed him is so much larger, bulky with armor and war hardened
muscle, but Jesse fights back like a coyote in a snare. They tumble over the
dirt, grappling for a moment before the agent manages to flip Jesse and slam
him to the ground on his stomach. He shouts hoarsely, the wind knocked out of
him, and bucks when the agent wrestles his arms behind his back, feels the zip
ties cinch closed around his wrists.
The agent is yelling at him, but Jesse refuses to listen, scraping his face
through the dust to try and catch sight of Julian. It's both relieving and
terrifying to see Julian still standing there, stock still, the eye of this
horrific storm. And Jesse knows, in awful clarity, he can't bear to see this
beautiful creature trapped behind bars.

Jesse screams at him to run, run you pendejo,and slams his head back into the
agent's to distract them from Julian. Julian looks panicked, an expression
Jesse has never seen on him before and never wants to again.
Julian shuffles back a step, his grip on his gun loose now, more skittish colt
than proud stallion.
Jesse kicks out wildly, getting a knee in his spine for the effort, and yells
again, “Run!”

A lead weight settles in his stomach when he sees the resignation, the pain in
his heart far worse than anything this agent can do to him when he sees Julian
mouth 'te amo'.

The last thing Jesse McCree sees before a black bag blocks out everything is
Julian turning and running like the devil is on his tail. He wouldn't be wrong.

Te amo.

===============================================================================



Three car rides and plenty of manhandling later, the black bag comes off and
Jesse is immediately blinded by fluorescent lights. He's crudely tied to a
chair, the zip ties still digging into his wrists. He wonders if he's bleeding
yet.
The first thing he sees, squinting through the glare of the light, are two
Overwatch agents, marked by the insignia on their chests. One of them has an
extra insignia he doesn't recognize, and the man wearing it immediately puts
Jesse on edge. He's heavy with muscle, a stillness to his parade rest that's
unnerving. His face is scarred and set in a scowl, and the eyes staring him
down are as sharp as any hawk's. Jesse holds his stare despite the unease
crawling down his back, and only looks away when the other agent approaches
him.
This must be the one that got me,Jesse thinks, noticing the black eye the agent
is sporting, I got him good.
Jesse smirks, and the agent sneers. He, predictably, asks about the gang, his
role in it, who's important. Jesse responds by spitting in his face.
The agent hisses in disgusted outrage and steps forward, and Jesse braces for
the backhand that doesn't come. The other agent, the Latino built like a brick
shit house, has grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back. Words are exchanged,
and Black Eye leaves in a huff.

Jesse cocks his head, stares at the mystery insignia with wary curiosity,
fearlessly making eye contact when the strange agent turns to him again.

“Alright, cabrón, let's talk.”

===============================================================================


They didn't torture him, as he'd thought. They also didn't throw him in jail,
which was, frankly, disturbing.

Overwatch had taken an interest in him, the little shit from New Mexico,
because apparently his reputation had preceded him. Damn fine shot, but a
fucking idiot,the agent had said, who he now knew was Gabriel Reyes.

Gabriel had given him a choice; either rot in a maximum security jail cell, or
join his organization, Blackwatch. Jesse had heard stories about Blackwatch,
but he never thought they were real. Ghost stories, bullshit old gang members
made up because they were bored.
Looking at Gabriel, at the unflinching set of his jaw and the cold calculation
in his eyes, Jesse now knew those stories had roots. Had teeth.
He thinks of cicadas, of bad tequila and the smell of rosemary, and pulls his
mouth into the most sickening grin he can. The one folks get before there's a
bullet between their eyes.
“Where do I sign, partner?”

Gabriel doesn't smile back.

===============================================================================


Jesse McCree is damn good at what he does and he knows it, even when Reyes
kicks his ass for being a reckless puto. Jesse will snap back at him in
Spanish, and it only spurs Reyes on until they're bickering in the quickfire
language like old friends.
Jesse tries valiantly to ignore the warmth that comes with Reyes' rare
approving smirks; he isn't doing this for Reyes, and that thought finally bears
fruit when missions take him back to Sante Fe after several months, slipping
away from fellow agents to take a spot in a dark and dingy bar in casual
clothes. The others can handle the recon mission they came for originally; he's
here for a reason.

And when that reason walks through the door with molten chocolate eyes and
subdued fire, Jesse thanks a God he stopped believing in a long time ago.

Julian almost chokes him with the strength of his hug, burying his face in
Jesse's neck and gasping out laughs that could be sobs. In turn, Jesse tangles
his hands in Julian's short hair and just breathes,rocking them where they're
squished in one chair, taking in the scent of cigarettes and home.

“You're an asshole,Jesse McCree.”
“I missed ya too, cariño.”

===============================================================================


Things go off without a hitch, Jesse successfully slipping away from missions
time and time again to rendezvous with Julian.

Julian had left the gang after the sting, laid low with some extended family.
Deadlock is in shambles, but is rebuilding from the ashes. Jesse doesn't want
to talk about the gang, think about what he almost lost, so he makes sure their
visits are filled with as little talk as possible. Only feverish kisses and
desperate hands, new stubble catching on sensitive skin and sweat slicked
bodies moving together clumsily, beautifully.
When time allowed them to enjoy the afterglow, Jesse would murmur promises of
leaving Blackwatch, of telling Reyes where to shove it and leaving to run off
with Julian, because Julian thought the sun rose and set in his eyes and Jesse
refused to let that love go.
Like many young adults, they were naïve in love.
And with what Jesse was tangled in, something bigger and stronger and more
dangerous than he knew, these sweet interludes weren't meant to last.

===============================================================================


When Reyes called him to his office, a cold knot of dread had settled in
Jesse's stomach. He was only ever called in here when he'd reallyfucked up, and
it seemed now was no exception. On Reyes' desk was a single neat manila folder,
his commander's gaze sharp in a way he'd only very rarely seen it.

“Sit down, McCree.”

Jesse clenched his jaw, and sat.

“You wanna tell me what the fuck you've been up to the last month?” Reyes'
growled, one huge hand opening the folder to show the papers inside.
Transcripts.
The knot tightened, feeling less like ice in his stomach and more like a noose
around his neck.

“I don' rightly know what yer talkin' 'bout.” Jesse gritted out, folding his
arms over his chest. Reyes narrowed his eyes at him, and looked somehow...
Disappointed, right before he went into a deeper scowl of anger.

“Julian Mendez, cabrón, you gonna tell me about that? Do you think I'm a
fucking idiot, McCree?” Reyes snapped, spreading the transcripts out with one
large hand. An entire month of stilted conversations, of promises and vows.
Jesse's heart seized for an alarming moment before he clenched his jaw and
straightened his back, staring Reyes straight in the eyes despite the chokehold
of the noose.

“He's none of yer damn business.”

Reyes actually snarledat him, standing and leaning over the desk to get in his
face.
“He's mybusiness because you'remy business, and my agents only leave this
operation in a casket, McCree,” Jesse tries not to flinch, fails, “Did you know
his brother is still with Deadlock? That his brother knowsyou're here? They
think you're a traitor, McCree. You're a liability because of this damned
chulo.”

Jesse looks away, feeling like he did when he was a kid getting dressed down by
his Pa. Reyes makes a noise like an angry bull.

“This is fucking bullshit. Can't believe I have to babysit you, goddamn.” Jesse
tightens his arms over his chest, waiting for the shoe to drop, and when it
does, it winds him.
“This has to end, McCree.”

Jesse whips his head around, barely keeping his jaw from dropping.
“Wh-”
“I mean it, cabrón. End it, or I will. We don't have room for that shit in this
line of work.” Reyes spits, sneering, and Jesse wants to break his teeth.
“We're creatures of the underworld; we can't afford to love.”

And Jesse, full of hellfire and never knowing when to quit, jumps to his feet
so fast his chair overturns with a bang. He shoves right up into Reyes' face,
terrified anger licking at his throat and a hole tearing open in his heart.

“Well that ain't never stopped you 'n Morrisonnow did it?” he hisses, deadly as
a rattler, and his pulse jumps with adrenalin when Reyes' expression morphs
into the most terrifying mask of rage he's seen on his commander.
Reyes bares his teeth, making an inarticulate noise of fury, and swipes the
transcripts to the floor, slamming his hand on the desk.

“Get the fuckout of my office, McCree! Get the fuck outbefore I take you to
Ziegler in pieces!” his voice is a thunderstorm, danger in every nuance, and
Jesse remembers just how many kills this man has on his record.
He turns and leaves, kicking the door shut with a slam for good measure, hands
shaking and anger simmering under the surface of his skin until he wants to
vibrate out of his body with it.

He spent hours in the gym that night, focusing on the rage and beating bags
till his knuckles were bloody, because that was easier than thinking about
telling Julian they were over, that they would never see each other again.

===============================================================================


Jesse never gets the chance to talk to Julian.

===============================================================================


When Jesse McCree, barely eighteen and already feeling the weight of the world,
is called back to Gabriel Reyes' office hardly a week later, he thinks nothing
of it. He's already in deep shit, what else could his commander possibly be
pissed about?
But this summons, he'll find, is far worse than being shouted at.
Jesse opens the door to an ominous silence, Gabriel leaning against the front
of his desk instead of sitting behind it, a slump to his posture that makes
Jesse immediately wary.

“Sit down, McCree.” Gabriel says, not looking at him. Jesse scowls sourly and
tries to bore holes in his commander's back with his stare.

“Think'n I'd rather stand, thanks.” he grumbles peevishly, tapping the toe of
his boot on the floor in a restless tic.
Gabriel growls lowly and starts, “Goddammit cabrón, sit-” before he cuts
himself off with a world weary sigh, running a hand down his face before
finally turning to face Jesse. There's a small box on the desk behind him that
seems out of place, devious in its innocence.

“Jesse, you're going to want to sit down.”
This is what finally makes Jesse sit, slowly, something clenching tightly in
his chest at the way his commander's looking at him- like he's a horse that's
gone lame and needs to be put to sleep.

Gabriel works his jaw for a moment, his face pinched like he can't find the
words, sighing again and shaking his head.

“Deadlock found Julian, kid.”

Jesse's world slams to a sudden, jarring stop, the thing in his chest twisting
tighter. He can feel cold sweat spring up on his back, a shiver of dread
settling in his bones. He used to hate when Gabriel called him 'kid'.

“To them, you're both traitors, but you're the worst of the two. You're
blacklisted, want you to know that they've upped the bounty on your head. They
had to make an example of someone.”

Jesse suddenly doesn't want to hear the rest, dread and denial wrapping around
his heart. He knows how this story goes, has seen it himself plenty of times-
Deadlock doesn't take kindly to turncoats. If he listens closely, he can hear
Julian's voice calling him an idiot over the sound of his heart fracturing.
Gabriel taps his fingers on the desk, his mouth flattening, before he grabs the
box and takes a step towards Jesse to hold it out. Jesse looks at it like it's
a tarantula, like one of the big mean ones he and Julian would feed crickets
to. Julian. Julian.

He takes the box with shaking hands, his breath coming fast and his heart
beating faster. Gabriel is silent, his hovering mass vaguely reassuring instead
of threatening.
Jesse opens it slowly and very nearly slams it shut again, words of denial
stuck in his throat and sour on his tongue. Resting at the bottom is a ring,
simple in design with its thick band of hand wrought silver, the turquoise
stones set into it gleaming dully. It'd cost Jesse a pretty penny, and he'd
given it to Julian the second time they met up.

So y'know I mean it when I say I'm leavin' it all behind for you. That I'm
serious 'bout this, 'bout us.He'd said, a proposal in not the right words, but
Julian had said yes all the same, enthusiastically. Jesse would later tease him
for crying.

Jesse's face crumples, not wanting to touch the ring because that'll make this
all too real, even when he can already feel his heart breaking.
Deadlock sends personal effects to make a point, to drive home that whoever
possessed it before is dead in the desert somewhere, now.

He curls over the box with a high, keening sound, burying his face in his knees
and wishing the world would swallow him whole. He doesn't flinch when Gabriel's
hand comes to rest tentatively, awkwardly, on his shoulder, and instead lists
to the side to lean into his commander's legs. A gasping sob claws its way out
of his throat, harsh on his ears but worse on his heart, and holds the box
closer to his chest when he feels Gabriel's hand move to the nape of his neck.
Soothing, grounding.

“Te tengo, chico. Te tengo.” Gabriel's voice is low, a pleasant rumble in his
mother tongue, and it's what makes Jesse finally crack, twisting to bury his
face in his commander's stomach and howl like a wounded animal.

He'll be embarrassed about the display later, deaf to everything except the
occasional murmur of Spanish and feeling every bit like the teenager he still,
technically, is. The only thing, he thinks, that keeps him clawing from his own
heart out and falling to pieces there on the office floor, is Gabriel's hand on
his neck, fingers tangled in his hair.

Jesse McCree has never cried harder in his life.

What else can you do, when the light in your world, the sun that rises and sets
in your heart, goes out.

===============================================================================

Pendejo - slang for idiot
Esé - who you're referring to; is very rude when used in this context
Cabrón - dumbass/asshole
Cariño - common petname, similar to darling/sweetie/dear
Te tengo, chico - I have you, kid
Te amo - I love you

 
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
