#I already made THREE pieces of fanart for that damn show there is no escape for me at this point | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ohmytheon · 6 years ago

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heroes of the dark (12)

title: heroes of the dark

summary: Uraraka has spent almost a year grieving the loss of Deku, the greatest hero and her love, but life is slowly moving on. She’s got her job, her family, and even a strange friendship with Bakugou. Things are looking hopeful. Until Deku comes back and he’s not what he seems. Something is wrong with his mind, but Uraraka will be damned if she lets him fall again. (Villain!Deku)

– Chap 12: An old face helps figure out what happened to Deku, but news of the last fight gets blasted on the media, forcing Bakugou to deal with some very intense emotions.

notes: Ya'll ready for some plot and then some PAIN? Some new characters are showing up and I'm excited about their entrance into this fic. Also @youseimanami is back at it again with some new fanart for this fic, specifically tied to this chapter! I’m absolutely in love with it! What an incredible icon. I'm blessed.

Flexing the fingers of his now healed left hand, Bakugou tried to decide whether or not he wanted to deck the guy walking into the room. It had been almost three years since he’d last seen Shinsou Hitoshi and things hadn’t gone well. Granted, that was how most of Bakugou’s connections with people worked, but it was hard to get over with Shinsou in particular since Bakugou couldn’t yell at him or anything. If he so much as opened his mouth to snarl back, the other guy would activate his quirk on Bakugou and make him look like an idiot.

“Do we really need him?” Bakugou asked Aizawa, turning his whole body to the side. He didn’t want to even give Shinsou the idea that Bakugou was talking to him, just in case it enabled Shinsou to use his quirk.

Aizawa leveled Bakugou with a tired look that suggested he would rather do anything else in the world than explain things, but he had been the one to bring Shinsou into the fold. They were still in contact with one another after graduation. Made sense considering their quirks and perpetual look of exhaustion. “Out of everyone, Shinsou is the most experienced with brainwashing, as it is his quirk, and therefore would be best at spotting any anomalies in Midoriya’s behavior that might suggest it has happened to him.”

“Well, of course it’s happened to him,” Bakugou shot back. “All Deku has ever wanted was to be a hero, even when he--”

He bit his tongue, remembering that not everyone knew that Deku had been quirkless before he had come to U.A. Only a handful of people knew the truth about All Might passing on his One for All quirk to Deku. Bakugou shouldn’t know, but Deku had half-assed confessed in a moment of weakness. It had taken him months to figure out he was telling the truth. Uraraka knew as well. To be honest, Bakugou wasn’t sure who knew, so he just assumed that no one else did. Did Todoroki? Shit, did the League of Villains know now?

Great, as if there was something else they needed to worry about.

“Are you going to give me the video or not?” Shinsou asked in his bland tone.

Bakugou turned to glare at him and opened his mouth to snap back, but then shut it quickly before a word could slip out. A knowing grin worked its way onto Shinsou’s face as he held out a hand. Bakugou snatched the disk out of Aizawa’s hand and shoved it in Shinsou’s direction. He took it with much less hostility and put it into the computer.

The footage was decent at best, but that was to be expected when a civilian was hiding in their apartment next to one of the most massive hero and villain fights. They had evacuated the area, but this stupid asshole had decided to ignore the warning signs. After Dabi had blown up the building across the street, he’d whipped out his phone and began recording the incident. The guy definitely wasn’t going to be a director or cameraman for a movie any time soon, but he’d gotten the gist of it.

Luckily, Midnight had found him before he’d been able to do anything with the footage. He had been shaking life a leaf trying to escape the apartment complex and was knocked out by her fumes in an attempt to catch any other potential villains hiding inside. Naturally, when he’d come to, he had been terrified out of his mind, babbling about how he’d wanted to leave but he just couldn’t leave his place. Midnight had confiscated his phone and found the video.

It was damning. Bakugou had watched it almost ten times now, unable to get it out of his head. On the video, it didn’t look like he’d given it his all until he’d managed to escape the shadow villain. His fight with Deku alongside Todoroki had been more massive than he remembered, Todoroki’s ice scaling up the walls of buildings and his own explosions lighting up the entire street. Uraraka’s attacks had even looked larger than life. He could remember the rubble that she’d brought down on his head like a meteor shower, but she had been lifting huge pieces of concrete left and right like it was nothing.

That shadow villain’s quirk had taken up an entire block and Bakugou watched again now in a removed way when the shadows blocked out Deku from Aizawa’s view so he could activate his quirk. Nothing compared to the destruction that Deku had unleashed after that. The civilian’s window had shattered in the explosion and even knocked him backwards. By the time he’d crawled back to the window to finish the video, Deku had been lording over Bakugou and twirling that knife around. It was jarring seeing himself in such a vulnerable state like that.

But it was even worse watching Uraraka get taken again. The way she held out her hand, like she was beckoning Deku to choose her over Bakugou. Take me with you. He’d replayed that part so many times, unable to look away from her. The determined set of her wounded body, the way her hand trembled in the air. She was scared, but she was strong too. She had known that she was making the biggest gamble of her life and the payoff was a lose/lose situation for her.

Deku should’ve killed him. Bakugou knew that in his heart. Deku could easily have killed him and taken her anyways, but he hadn’t. He’d listened. He’d stopped. Yeah, he had sent Bakugou flying with a kick, but he hadn’t chopped Bakugou’s hand off and he hadn’t stuck him with the knife. Even Todoroki had been spared, although they couldn’t get their hopes up.

Everyone was so certain that Uraraka would be more or less okay, but they were deluding themselves. Deku’s mind was so fickle right now. If she said or did anything that shattered his illusion of her, Bakugou was worried that something might really snap in Deku. Whatever Deku felt for her, it wasn’t love anymore, not really, but a twisted version of it, an obsession. Uraraka might have known that, but it still hurt. It still played at the heart. Obsession could turn nasty very quickly though.

Once the video was done playing, Shinsou rewinded it to watch it again. Bakugou walked away, bile rising in the back of his throat along with his rage. He couldn’t be here. He couldn’t just stand here and watch her get taken away again. He had to do something, but he felt grounded and lost.

Being back in this stupid safe house was already starting to grate on Bakugou’s nerves. With Uraraka gone, it didn’t serve a purpose in his mind since there was no one to protect (with Todoroki gone, no one was going to lump him in that category, but he couldn’t even revel in that), but they had decided to make it a base of operations. It made sense with all of Hatsume’s equipment here, but he was wary since the League had a hold of two of their own and could find out the location of this place from them.

None of them were quite sure what would happen to either one of them. No sort of ransom had been given and things had been forebodingly quiet. What was going on? Had they killed Todoroki? Tortured him? Those weren’t even the worst thought that had crossed Bakugou’s mind. What if they would try to mess with Todoroki’s mind like they had messed with Deku’s? Taking on the two of them at once sounded like a nightmare.

Shit. All Might and Endeavor really had created the perfect weapons.

“Anything stand out?” Aizawa asked.

Shinsou leaned back in his seat and scratched his chin. “This is different from my quirk.”

“So you believe that it is brainwashing?”

“Well, there are clear moments of hesitation,” Shinsou put in. Bakugou snorted and then paused, wondering if that counted as a verbal response to activate his quirk or if he had to actually say a word. Shinsou glanced back at him, his expression as flat as his voice. “I’m not going to activate my quirk on you.” Bakugou said nothing, just glared at him suspiciously. “This is a serious enough matter that I don’t feel like humiliating you.”

Bakugou worked his jaw, thinking it over, and begrudgingly said, “It sure as hell didn’t seem like he hesitated. He was pretty excited to fight us.” Nothing happened to him, so Shinsou had been telling the truth, at least for now. While he was much more willing to work with others, Uraraka had still pointed out that his natural instinct to distrust everyone was a weakness.

“He didn’t cut your hand off,” Shinsou pointed out, “and he didn’t kill Todoroki. He hasn’t killed anyone, besides a villain, in any of your confrontations with him so far.”

“A moment of clarity?” Bakugou interjected.

“I don’t think so. The emotional outbursts are what truly stand out.”

Shinsou clicked to rewind the video to where Deku broke away from his fight with Bakugou and Todoroki to save Uraraka from the knife villain. Uraraka could’ve taken her on, but she’d allowed herself to get into a compromising situation to pull Deku into a position that would give Aizawa the chance to cancel out his quirk. It had worked. With just one terrified scream, she’d done more to take down Deku than Bakugou and Todoroki combined, playing him at his own game. At the time, he had thought she was in trouble and he’d almost moved to help her, but then Deku had beat him, switching gears so fast that it had taken Bakugou aback.

“He’s a completely different person in this moment, like he breaks character,” Shinsou said. “One second he’s focused on fighting you two, the League’s objective, but when Uraraka is in danger, a switch flips. You can see his entire body relaxing the second he’s with her. It’s hard to see because he’s so fast, but he’s so tensed up when he’s talking and fighting.”

He fast forwarded to the part where Deku had Bakugou pinned down to the ground with a knee. It made Bakugou uncomfortable to watch, seeing himself in a position like that. Though he would never admit it out loud, fear had cut through him in that moment where Deku had held the knife over his wrist. He’d never thought of what might happen to his quirk should something happen to his hands.

Now that Deku had brought it to the forefront of his mind, it was hard for him to not think about it. Those minutes, when Deku had dragged their past through the mud, all Bakugou had been able to think about was how he had been such a fucking child back then. He’d learned over time to not look down on others -- that doing so only held him back -- but back then, he had only thought of how much better he was than everyone else. He had instilled that thought in everyone, especially Deku, using fear and aggression.

No, that wasn’t right. It had been with violence and the threat of more.

And fucking Deku had used the same damn tactic on him.

“This whole exchange confirmed it for me,” Shinsou continued. “All that talking he does before moving to finish the job?”

“Yeah, he was trying to scare me,” Bakugou said with a grunt. His words suggested that it hadn’t worked, but they all knew that bravery was not the absence of fear and it was impossible to face this new Deku without feeling at least a hint of apprehension. “Or rambling like he did all the time. It was annoying then and it’s annoying now.”

Shinsou shook his head. “He was stalling.”

The frown on Aizawa’s face somehow deepened. “How so?”

“You don’t see him obviously hesitating until Uraraka interrupts him, but you said that he talked about how villains get caught because they keep talking or let personal grudges get in the way.” Shinsou tapped a finger on Deku on the screen. “I think some part of him knew what he was doing was wrong, but he couldn’t override whatever he’s been programmed to do, so he stalled until someone else could stop him.”

“Sure didn’t sound like it,” Bakugou mumbled, folding his arms across his chest. “He was excited.”

“Oh, I’m sure he was,” Shinsou said, eyeing Bakugou like he might enjoy dissecting Bakugou as well. He responded with a sour expression. “The stalling was more of a subconscious decision. He probably wasn’t even aware of it. You said it yourself: he’s still in there, but it’s been buried deep.” Shinsou appeared thoughtful as he rewatched Deku threaten Bakugou on the screen. Did he have to watch it again? “With my quirk, a person is fully aware that they’re being brainwashed, but there is nothing they can do. Midoriya is the only one to have been capable of breaking through it and I still don’t know how.”

“And this one?” Aizawa asked. “If he is under the influence of a brainwashing quirk. They’re rare as is.”

A grimace crossed Shinsou’s features. “Judging from how unstable he is and how he switches back and forth, I would say that the quirk affects the person’s emotions along with their mind. It would explain the extreme highs and lows, plus the switches. Some of his emotions and thoughts aren’t exactly his own, but he feels them as such.” He shook his head. “It must have been a painful process.”

“Why do you say that?” Aizawa questioned.

“I just control a person’s mind and body,” Shinsou answered, shrugging his shoulders. “Midoriya looks as if he’s had his mind twisted. He fought hard against my quirk, to the point of breaking his own finger. I can’t imagine what he went through to struggle against his entire person being changed into something else. We all know Midoriya isn’t a natural born villain. Quite the opposite. A lot must have been done to him in order to transform him into this...monstrosity.”

They watched Uraraka talk Deku down from harming Bakugou any further. It didn’t get easier with each watch, only making his stomach twist even further to the point where he felt sick with anger. Her hand trembling in the air as much as Deku’s had been over Bakugou wrist. You could literally see the change in Deku. The rage turning to grief and then to joy. Even when he’d kicked Bakugou hard across the street, he had been calm. At ease. Peaceful. Like he could finally breathe.

It was almost a touching moment, if not for the violent air that surrounded him.

“You should have died,” Shinsou told him, turning in the seat to look back at him. Bakugou didn’t respond. “If Deku was truly evil now, he would have killed you and taken Uraraka with him anyways. He spared you.”

“Shouldn’t he have killed me if he was being controlled?” Bakugou countered.

“Not if he’s not fully under control.” Shinsou stood up and wiped his hands on his pants, as if washing himself of what he’d seen. “Either way, I suspect the next time you all cross paths with him will be much more unpleasant. He’ll likely be forced to go under more conditioning to ensure that he doesn’t let anyone survive.”

“That look any pleasant to you?” Bakugou shot back.

Shinsou fixed him with an unsettling look that only he and maybe Aizawa could manage with their permanently exhausted expressions, like they were tired of how awful the world could be. “You’re alive, aren’t you?”

That shut Bakugou up, but it didn’t make him any happier. If that had been Deku still holding himself back, he did not want to consider what it would look like when Deku finally didn’t -- or couldn’t. He was still in there, clawing underneath whatever mask they had put over him, but it was clear that he was losing. Bakugou wanted to ask if Shinsou thought Uraraka would be safe, but didn’t want an answer either. There could be no such thing as safe where she was. Even if Deku made sure none of the villains touched her, she was still in a den of snakes.

“With my quirk, a person can be snapped out of it if they’re hurt or startled enough,” Shinsou explained. “It used to be as small as a bump in the shoulder, but can now hold past a broken bone. It’s still not fullproof from outside attacks though.” He shook his head. “Midoriya took multiple hits from you and Todoroki that would’ve broken the hold of my quirk, but it doesn’t phase him. This is an incredibly strong quirk on a mental level I haven’t reached.”

Aizawa fixed Shinsou with a critical look, one that Shinsou appeared to be rather familiar with judging from the frown on his face. “Could your quirk potentially stop him or cancel the other out?”

“Well, he’s already broken it once before, but I am stronger now,” Shinsou pointed out. “It could force both the twisted version of him and his real self to combat each other in order to break free of my quirk. Maybe it would cancel out the other brainwashing entirely.” He held out his hands. “I don’t know. Or it could cause an actual psychological collapse. I don’t think any of us want to see the outcome of that.”

It reminded Bakugou of Deku on the rooftop the night of their first confrontation. How he had looked like he was being torn into two and he’d started to activate his quirk without realizing it like some sort of bomb ready to go off and bring everything down with it. If this destruction was Deku in control, then what was out of control?

Bakugou’s phone ringing startled all of them out of their thoughts. Shinsou snorted at the ringtone itself -- a rage-filled screaming song that Bakugou didn’t think was that obvious but made Uraraka laugh every time she heard it -- but then waved a hand, as if giving Bakugou permission to interrupt their conversation. Whatever. It better have been someone with good news or a lead.

It was Tsuyu, who was one of the last people he’d expected to call him. She had been shaken by Uraraka being taken. Before Bakugou could even say anything when he answered the call, Tsuyu said, “Turn on the news.”

“Which channel?” Bakugou asked, a horrible feeling settling in his gut. Sometimes, her straightforwardness got on his damn nerves, but other times, he could appreciate it. He didn’t know what he wanted right now, to be honest.

“Any of them.”

That seemed to be the gist of the conversation, so Bakugou hung up the phone. A text would’ve sufficed. He strode forward to the computer, ignoring Aizawa’s and Shinsou’s questioning looks, and brought up the most popular news channel, only to get his world rocked by what he saw.

“Symbol of Peace Turned Symbol of Terror?”

The headline was in bold lettering on the bottom of the screen, which was currently playing clips from the very same video that they had just analyzed. There was Todoroki and Bakugou fighting Deku; Uraraka going up against that knife villain; Aizawa and Endeavor fighting five villains at once. Terrified, angry, and confused comments were flooding in so fast that it was almost impossible to read any of them. People were freaking out.

“I thought Midnight said that the footage was safe!” Bakugou exclaimed, rounding on Aizawa.

“She went through it,” Aizawa insisted. “Nothing was sent.”

“They could’ve simply deleted the sent messages,” Bakugou snapped. “Idiots! This is the last thing we fucking need! It’s gonna cause mass hysteria and push back against any heroes connected to him.”

Aizawa shook his head. “The guy was delirious from fear. I don’t think he was capable of sending someone a copy and covering his tracks.”

“Unless it wasn’t his actions,” Shinsou pointed out. “Why didn’t he evacuate like everyone else?”

“He said he wanted to leave, but couldn’t…” Aizawa trailed off and all three men looked at each other as a light bulb went off. The video had captured every damning thing. It showed off Deku at his best and the heroes at their worst. When they glanced back at the screen, they noticed that the news channel had zoomed in on the video as best as they could and were met of a grainy picture of Deku looking back directly into the camera, just as he had done with Uraraka’s security camera that first day he’d resurfaced. “The civilian was being controlled as well.”

Aizawa stepped away from him as he made a call to whoever was holding onto the guy that had taken the video. Bakugou’s phone started going off repeatedly from calls and texts, but he ignored them all, unable to look away from the screen. It suddenly felt like the world was a different place. Everyone had loved Deku. It had been annoying as shit, but he had been adored by the public. He had taken his role in taking over for All Might with everything he had and, combined with that cheesy ass personality of his, he had made a splashy impact even before graduation.

However, the impossible strength that people had once revered him for now made them terrified of him. Seeing someone they had not only adored, but trusted and admired turned into a villain that would destroy a whole street and take down a building shook a lot of people. Some of the comments were about the video being faked. Others about how a villain with a transforming quirk must have been impersonating the dead hero. There were a few that proclaimed they had known all along that Deku was secretly no good -- that he had been “too good to be true”.

Those last ones made Bakugou laugh bitterly. They didn’t know how good Deku was. They didn’t know the boy who had taken on years of abuse from another boy whose strength he admired. They didn’t know the boy who was still able to kind after all that -- who had broken his body to save that same boy who had tortured him mercilessly over an inability to see kindness for what it was.

To think that Bakugou would actually miss Deku…

“I knew something was wrong with the video,” Shinsou muttered to himself, his eyes locked on the screen but looking far away. “It was too still, barely any shaking or talking, and he went right back to taping after Deku took out the entire street instead of hiding. A direct contrast to how Midnight found him.”

“He what?” Aizawa barked into the phone, sounding awake as hell and jerking both Bakugou and Shinsou out of their thoughts. “What do you mean by that?” Taking a deep breath and letting a guttural sound out of his chest that sounded both furious and exhausted, Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is a disaster. As of right now, he’s our only lead. We have reason to believe that he may have information on what’s going on with Midoriya.” He listened to whoever was on the phone, his entire body tense. “So we wait. We don’t have the time. It’s been three days and besides the video being leaked we’ve heard nothing. For all we know, they could be…”

Aizawa didn’t finish the statement. He didn’t have to for everyone to know what he meant. Three days of silence was a terrible thing. It left their imaginations to run wild and it turned out that Bakugou’s imagination was a lot darker than he’d realized. Deku wouldn’t hurt her. He’d promised to not hurt her. He’d told Todoroki that he wanted to keep her safe -- that the League said they would let her live, but he wanted to be careful. She was alive. She was unharmed. She was safe. As for Todoroki, well, they had no clue. All they could say was that the League hadn’t killed him when they’d the chance and that was that.

“Okay, we’ll meet you at U.A.” Aizawa hung up, not one for niceties, especially when he was in foul mood. Before Bakugou could launch a verbal inquiry like a missle, he held up a hand and Bakugou shut his mouth. “You were right. He’s connected with the League somehow.”

“Is he a villain?” Bakugou demanded.

“We don’t know, but I think he might just be a civilian caught in the middle,” Aizawa told him. He shoved his phone back into his pocket. “At any rate, we can’t find out. The second the footage popped up on the television, he went into a fit and somehow ingested a poison capsule of some sort that he had on him.”

Bakugou threw his hands up. “Did you fucking search him?”

“Of course we did,” Aizawa snapped, his voice threatening Bakugou to not question him like that ever again. “They were able to stabilize him, but he’s in a coma and it appears as if whatever he took is not only unrecognizable, but quirk-resistant, so Recovery Girl can do nothing to bring him out.”

Discomfort flooded Bakugou’s body and he blinked. “Quirk...resistant?”

“It would appear as if the League has someone with a quirk similar to mine,” Aizawa said, frustration evident on his tired face. Well, that was great. So the League had their own evil versions of Shinsou and Aizawa. That was just what they needed to deal with. It would definitely make it easier for them to control Uraraka and Todoroki, both of whom had quirks that made them difficult to contain.

Shinsou hummed thoughtfully. “There must have been some sort of cue left in his brain that told him to take the poison when the footage was leaked or when he saw it again.”

“Why not just have him end it before we found him?” Aizawa wondered out loud.

Bakugou looked back at the screen, which was showing Deku’s face again, staring at the camera. It was blurry from being zoomed in so much, but Bakugou could still picture what Deku’s eyes looked like. Dead, void of anything to suggest he was alive. He looked like that when he was fighting these days. It was only when he saw Uraraka or something truly upset him that those eyes light up like green orbs.

When Bakugou’s phone went off again, he growled in frustration and was ready to rip it open to yell at whoever thought he was the best person to freak out with when he came to a halt. The contact name left him breathless and that punch to the gut feeling came over him again.

He must have been pale in the face or something because Aizawa put a hand on Bakugou’s shoulder and snapped him out of it. “Who is it?”

Bakugou turned his phone for Aizawa to see. It was a number that he hadn’t called in a very long time. Almost eleven months to be exact. Before that, it had been much, much longer, years, over a decade. He had kept the number plugged into his phone mostly because he’d forgotten that it was there and it was transferred every time he upgraded phones. When he’d needed it all those months ago, he had been surprised to find it already there.

The contact read just as it had all those years ago when he’d first put it in as a kid: Deku’s Home.

It was his mom. It was Deku’s mom, Inko Midoriya.

Bakugou’s stomach dropped. She must have seen the video on the news. With Uraraka having been taken, he was the person that she would call next.

When he let the call go to voicemail, not knowing what to do, Aizawa sighed. “I’ll go speak with her.” They had kept her under a close surveillance since being alerted to Deku’s presence in case he tried to contact her, but Deku had kept his distance, perhaps not wanting to involve his mother either. “We should have done it before, but I’d hoped to spare her this pain for as long as possible.”

“No,” Bakugou said flatly, “I’ll do it.” He swallowed. “It… It should be me.”

“Are you sure?” Aizawa asked, his expression unreadable.

With that look in his eyes, Bakugou couldn’t tell if Aizawa thought him capable of handling such a delicate matter. Truth be told, he didn’t know either, seeing as how comfort and delicacy were not his fortes in the slightest. He couldn’t treat Deku’s mom like he had Uraraka. But he recalled letting the small woman hug and cry on him after she was told the news of Deku’s death and then at his funeral. He hadn’t said a word, but he hadn’t had to. Uraraka had told him that he’d done what was needed most of him. To be strong, a pillar, a constant. He wasn’t certain that was what Deku’s mom would need now, but if he had to draw inspiration from Uraraka, then he’d do it.

You didn’t think this was just about Ochako, did you?

No, it had to be him. This was partly his responsibility, after all, and it was time he owned up to it.

Tsuyu was already waiting outside of the apartment complex when Bakugou showed up. Since Deku had made his reappearance, Bakugou felt like he’d been bolting out of cars and running for it, but this time, he took his time. He sat in his car for a moment before shoving the door open and dragging himself out. After he slammed the door and locked it, he slunk over in her direction. They didn’t have time to do anything slow -- not when it felt like there was a timer ticking away in Bakugou’s head (ending in what, he didn’t know) -- but this had to be done.

“This is going to fucking suck,” Bakugou decided.

“I’m surprised you chose to come,” Tsuyu said, never one to mince her words.

Bakugou shoved his hands in his pockets, but said nothing as he watched another car pull in. As he’d left the safe house, he’d made two calls. They didn’t have to come, but Bakugou knew for a fact that he couldn’t do this alone. He was strong in a lot of ways and better than many in others, but even he could admit that he lacked when it came to emotional comfort. And he knew what Deku’s mom was like. She was just as emotional as her son.

When All Might unfolded himself out of the car, Bakugou looked down at his feet. He had to be here, but he would need the other two to actually help with the comforting part. Admitting any sort of weakness was rough, but it was especially difficult after suffering such a painful defeat. Even worse was the fact that they hadn’t been the first people that he’d thought of to do this with him.

“I’m glad you called,” All Might said, somehow looking thinner and more worn down than ever before. “You should not have to do this alone.”

“I…” Bakugou swallowed a lump in his throat. “I didn’t know who to call at first.” His gaze turned into a glower, as if his feet had offended him somehow. “My first thought was Uraraka. She’d be good at this, you know? She’s kind and sweet and good at comforting shit. But she’s gone and I have to tell Deku’s mom that her son kidnapped her.”

All Might put a hand on Bakugou’s shoulder and he didn’t flinch, but he tensed up underneath the touch of his still favorite hero. He’d lost more than Bakugou in this, hadn’t he? Bakugou hated relying on All Might or anyone else. It shouldn’t be like this. He shouldn’t be so weak.

“You know what the real kicker is though?” Bakugou lifted his head and dropped it back so that he could look at the sky. Dark clouds were swelling above them, as if the mood was contagious to the weather. A storm was about to break. It was better than if it was shining. He didn’t think he could handle a sunny day. “I can’t believe I actually fucking thought that I’d want Todoroki around.” He laughed coldly and maybe a little bit hysterically. When that Half and Half Bastard had first crossed his mind, he’d almost wrecked the car in shock and irritation. “Deku’s mom adored them both and I thought, ‘I wish Todoroki was here to do this.’ What is wrong with me?”

“This is a very trying time for all of us,” All Might told him gently. He hated being spoken to like that and shrugged out from underneath the former hero’s hand. It didn’t seem to offend him though. “We’re all processing this as best as we can, but it’s difficult. Midoriya meant a lot to all of us in different ways.”

“That shitty Deku…” Bakugou growled and even worse was that he knew he didn’t really mean it. He hadn’t meant it for a long time, but old habits died hard.

“I’m proud of you for coming here,” All Might said. Back in the day, those words might have meant something, but now they just made Bakugou feel hollow. What was there to be proud of?

A terrible feeling swelled up inside Bakugou to the point that he felt himself getting overwhelmed, like it might swallow him whole. “I had to come. I had to…” He rubbed his face with his hands. “We’re only here because of me. Because of my weakness. If it wasn’t for that, none of this would’ve happened.”

All Might frowned. “Bakugou, you did everything you could to stop him--”

“That’s not it!” Bakugou snapped. The dark shadow that rested in the back of his mind threatened to take over, as it always did when he thought back to that night eleven months ago. The one that whispered that he didn’t deserve to be a hero, the one that was clawing its way back to the surface and breaking pieces from him. “Back when Deku jumped to stop that villain and Uraraka yelled at me to throw her to him, I hesitated. I fucking hesitated. Do you understand? She missed him by inches, by seconds -- because I wasted time. I don’t even remember why. She had to yell at me to snap out of it and then I threw her as hard as I could, but it was too late.”

“Midoriya’s...death was not your fault,” All Might said, his face sad as he soaked in the shame radiating from Bakugou. They couldn’t save everyone. As students, they had been told that right from the start. When they were heroes, they wouldn’t be able to save everyone. And for Bakugou, that person had been Deku. When it counted the most, he didn’t do it. He’d questioned everything and in the few seconds he’d held back all had been lost.

“Are you sure?” Bakugou threw back. “If I hadn’t hesitated, chances are Deku would be alive. None of this shit would be happening. I bet he and Uraraka would be engaged, talking about kids, all that stupid domestic shit that they dreamed about.” He felt sick. This was a bad idea. He never should’ve come. “We wouldn’t be here, off to tell a kind as hell woman that the only family she had left, her only son, has been alive this whole time and is now a villain who will destroy an entire block because he’s jealous or just been told to.”

His whole body sagged under the weight of everything. He had mentioned to Uraraka what felt like a lifetime ago that Deku’s death might’ve been his fault for not aiming her right when he’d thrown her over the ocean to save Deku. It was like she didn’t remember him staring back at her with wide eyes like he hadn’t heard her yelling at him to throw her. When she had said it, all he could think was that she and Deku would both die and it was storming so violently and he couldn’t think because Deku was falling and he--

“None of this is your fault,” All Might told him fiercely.

He had lost someone again because of weakness or hesitation. It was a low blow. Bakugou expected that Deku knew that and was letting the bitter wound fester inside of Bakugou to weaken him further.

“Whatever.” Bakugou jerked away from them and their too-kind eyes. He shoved the shame to the side, hiding behind his usual walls again. He’d gotten onto everyone about letting their guilt consume them and here he was doing it out in public. He turned and started for the building. “Let’s just do this. I’ve got to get to UA to meet everyone else.”

Even though he headed that way first, by the time they reached the Midoriya residence, Bakugou was hanging in the back behind All Might and Tsuyu. They would have much more soothing faces than the scowl that he was trying to wipe off his face. The second the door opened, they were all greeted with Ink Midoriya’s red tear-stained face and she burst into a fresh set of tears, throwing her arms around All Might.

Somehow, they all made it inside with All Might guiding Deku’s mom back to the couch. The television was on, the video playing in the background as multiple news people, hero fans, and villain experts debated over it. Thank everything the volume was turned off, most likely because she couldn’t what was being said about her son, but Bakugou searched for the remote to turn it off while Tsuyu made them tea. She didn’t need to watch it anymore. Already he could tell that it had been too much.

He had thought that All Might looked frail, but it was nothing compared to Deku’s mom right now.

“Wh-what happened t-to m-my sweet boy?” she cried through the tears, her face pressed against All Might’s bony shoulder as she clung to the material of his sleeve. Her whole body shook with sobs as the tears poured down her face, so much like Deku. It was a wonder that she had any tears left to cry or she hadn’t completely dehydrated herself. The floor was littered with crumpled up tissues. “I-I thought h-he was d-dead!”

There was really nothing that they could be said. All Might looked as much at a loss as Bakugou felt, but at least All Might was holding onto her and giving her the physical support that she needed, even if it did look like she might break him if she held onto him too tightly. Tsuyu walked back in with tea and nudged it in the older woman’s direction. It wasn’t much, but it did provide a small distraction, if only for a second.

“It c-can’t be him, can it?” Mrs. Midoriya whimpered, staring down at the tea. “It-It’s not him. He wouldn’t… He couldn’t…”

The cup began to rattle so violently in her hands that Bakugou was certain it was going to spill tea all over her, so he reached over to take it from her and set it down on the table. She startled and stared up at him, as if suddenly realizing that he was there. It had been a long time since he’d seen her, but the last she’d seen him had been on that video where he had been fighting against her son with the clear intent to subdue him by any means necessary.

“It’s him,” Bakugou told her in a low voice, unable to lie to her. He should’ve been softer about it -- should have been kinder somehow -- be he didn’t know how. Lying to her was too cruel besides. She deserved to know the truth. Maybe not all of it, but some at least. She didn’t need to know that her son had killed people. Bakugou was an asshole, but he wasn’t completely cold-hearted. That would destroy her. And Deku wouldn’t want that.

“How?” she asked in a pained voice so similar to the one Deku had used on him days ago when talking about their history. “How could this have happened? He’s… He was such a good boy...” She turned her gaze to All Might. “All he ever wanted to be was just like you. This… This isn’t him.” She looked back at Bakugou. “You knew him. You’ve known him all his life. He’s kind. He’s sweet. He’s good. What happened? Why?”

Because I failed him, that voice in the back of his mind whispered.

He squashed it down viciously and admitted, “We don’t know much. It looks like a group of villains found him before our search efforts could and…” His mouth was dry, but he didn’t make a move to grab the one of the other teas that Tsuyu had brought. He glanced down, noting the way that Mrs. Midoriya was clinging to Tsuyu’s hands with one of her own now. “They did something to his mind. A villain with some sort of brainwashing quirk. He still remembers us, so it’s not amnesia or anything like that, but it’s like everything is twisted around.”

It was a piss poor explanation to a mother who probably felt like she’d lost her child all over again. A vicious streak of anger tore through Bakugou in that moment. How could Deku do this? He hadn’t even mentioned his mother yet and they all knew how much Deku had loved and adored her. The only thing Bakugou could think was that Deku was trying to keep her out of it. There could be no ill feelings towards the woman that had raised him on her own, protected him, loved him, believed in him. It would be best to leave her alone. At least Bakugou hoped.

Mrs. Midoriya pulled her hands away from Tsuyu and All Might so she could fiddle with them. The tears had mostly dried, but Bakugou thought it was most likely because she had simply run out. “What about Ochako?” Her eyes dropped down to her hands. “I saw that he…” She chewed on her bottom lip. “Izuku wouldn’t hurt her. He loved… He loves her. He wanted to marry her, you know? But they both had their hero careers and he was worried that they were too young…” She lifted her hands, shielding her face. “I can’t believe this is happening. Izuku is a hero. Why would someone do this to him?”

All Might sighed next to her. “He carries an immense power within him. They must seek to exploit it through him and it appears as if they have used his love for Uraraka in some part to manipulate him.”

Deku’s mom must have known about One for All then. She pulled her hands away from her face and nodded her head in miserable understanding. What he didn’t understand was the guilt on her face, as if she thought it was her fault that she’d let him get into a vulnerable position. Bakugou knew damn well that no one could tell Deku what to do in the end once he put his mind to something. The nerd had found a way to get a quirk and become a hero, something unheard of before.

“But you can get him back, can’t you?” she asked, a fearful hope shining in her eyes that were so like Deku’s. It was unnerving to look her in the eyes when all he could think about was the way Deku’s eyes had looked before he had vanished into the warp gate with his arm around Uraraka’s shoulder and then when he had been holding the knife. “You said he’s being brainwashed by a quirk, so there be a way to save him.” She picked up a photo frame that had been lying face on the table, gazing over it fondly before she lifted her eyes to Bakugou’s. “You can save him, right? Him and Ochako and Todoroki… You can bring him back.”

It felt like there was a rock in Bakugou’s throat and it was slowly making its way down to the pit of his stomach. His eyes glimpsed the picture she was holding -- her and a three year-old Deku smiling cheesily at the camera while he wore his favorite All Might costume pajamas, still happy and excited because he didn’t know yet that he was quirkless -- and his stomach dropped.

Nonetheless, Bakugou raised his eyes back to her and nodded his head jerkily. “I’ll get them back -- all of them -- and I will save Deku.” His voice was as firm as ever and he hoped his eyes looked the same, but a part of him felt jarred by this moment more than anything else. He knew that she wasn’t placing all her hopes on his shoulders, but as someone that tried to outpace everyone on his own first, it certainly felt like it. “If it’s the last thing I do, I’m bringing them home.”

Deku’s mom jumped to her feet and moved around the table so that she could throw her arms around him. She was small like Uraraka and he could feel her tears wet his shirt. At first, he stood there stiffly, letting her hug him and then he could’ve sworn that he heard Uraraka gently urging him forward, telling him what to do. His arms moved slowly of their own accord until finally he returned the hug.

“I’m sorry, Bakugou,” she cried against his shirt. “I’m sorry I can’t do more. I feel so weak. He’s out there… My boy is out there and I keep wondering if there was something more I could’ve done, but I don’t know what.” She pulled away from him slightly and had to tilt her head to look him in the face. He honestly didn’t know what he looked like right now. All he felt was slightly stunned and numb in this moment. “You are so brave that it’s hard to see how much this is hurting you. I don’t mean to put more on your shoulders, but if anyone can save them…”

In that moment, Bakugou couldn’t speak if he tried. He wasn’t used to this, not from his family or anyone else. The only ones that came close were Kirishima and Uraraka. This woman looked so much like Deku or he looked like her. In a way, they sounded like each other too, although Deku’s mom was clearly more afraid and softer somehow. Had he inherited anything from his father?

Bakugou didn’t understand how she could be so kind or so caring with someone she had to have known was cruel to her son for years. Their friendship had been one that so very clearly involved a power imbalance that Bakugou had taken glee out of whenever he thought Deku was looking down on him despite being quirkless. What was it that Deku had said? That his mother had been forced to mend clothes that Bakugou had destroyed with his quirk or sometimes throw them out altogether and buy him new ones? They hadn’t been wealthy, especially not when his mom became a single parent.

It struck Bakugou suddenly that he didn’t even know when Deku’s dad had left, either unable and not wanting to deal with the embarrassment of having a quirkless child, something that Bakugou had often rubbed in Deku’s face with his own. Surely his mother had known that he was being bullied, even if Deku had never talked about it outright. And yet she here she was, bleeding comfort into him, giving him a tremulous smile and looking at him like he was filled with hope and good.

That terrible wave of emotions that he’d been bottling up since Deku’s death crashed over him and it was too much for him to deal with in front of other people.

“I have to go,” Bakugou found himself saying, his voice thick with emotion, and he peeled out of her grip. She didn’t look surprised or hurt, seeming to understand that he needed to get away. Without looking at All Might or Tsuyu, he turned on his heels and walked out of the apartment. The second the breeze from the oncoming storm hit him, a wave of nausea struck him and he put a hand over his eyes and took a few deep breaths to stop it.

How could she be so good? How could she believe in him so much? How could she be so loving when so much of the world had turned its back on her and her son? It was like dealing with Deku all over again. Bakugou knew that it was kindness now -- that a smile was not a sneer -- that a hug was not a belief of weakness. But it still stung.

He dropped his hand at his side and stared out into the cloudy sky. I wish Uraraka was here, was the only clear thought in the tangled mess of his mind.

The door opened behind him and Bakugou wiped away any semblance of emotion from his face. He felt like he was trying to imitate Todoroki, but he had never been good at completely blank expressions. There was always something showing in his eyes. Tsuyu came out alone and shut the door behind herself, saying,. “All Might is going to stay here with her for a while longer. She needs it. There’s a little more to explain and I think he wants her to come stay at UA.”

“Good,” Bakugou said flatly, “she shouldn’t be alone.”

Tsuyu eyed him carefully, which only made Bakugou scowl and start down the stairs. He didn’t need her analyzing him or thinking that she knew how he felt. “You’re allowed to show grief, you know,” she told him as she followed him down. “You don’t have to always be angry.”

“I am angry,” Bakugou snapped like a whip. “I’m pissed.”

“You’re scared, too.”

Bakugou rounded on her sharply. “I’m not fucking scared.”

Of course Tsuyu didn’t back down. She merely blinked, standing face-to face with him since she was three steps above him. “You’re scared for Uraraka.” And damn her if she wasn’t right, but Bakugou didn’t want to admit that. He didn’t want to bring up the fact that he could barely sleep because he didn’t even know how she was sleeping. Was she in a bed? A cot in a cell? A cold floor? Deku wouldn’t allow that, would he? Out of his mind as he was, he wanted her to be happy as safe. Right? “You do a good job hiding it, but it’s in your eyes. Every now and then, you’ll glance around, like you’re looking for her, and then you get this look when you start thinking about it.”

“Would you stop?” Bakugou demanded, instantly hating how needy he sounded.

“Stop what?” Tsuyu asked, tilting her head.

Bakugou waved his hands in the air. “Stop analyzing me. I fucking hate it. I don’t need you trying to get into my head, okay? I’ve got enough things to worry about.”

“I’m just saying that you don’t need to deal with this alone,” Tsuyu responded, so infuriatingly nice. And this was why he didn’t hang around her a ton. She had next to no filter and even worse was that she was right most of the time. It was annoying. “We’re all trying to cope with this together. It’s not healthy for you to do it on your own, especially when you have such a huge role in this.”

“Yeah, apparently my role is to fail repeatedly so everyone gets hurt,” Bakugou ground out bitterly. He didn’t mean to admit any of this out loud and he was angry with himself for doing so earlier. He shouldn’t have said any of that stuff about his hesitating and Deku’s death, at least not in front of Tsuyu or All Might. It would’ve been better had he told Kirishima, but no, Bakugou had kept it to himself until he couldn’t. He’d half-assed told Uraraka, but hadn’t wanted to burden her more than she already had been with it being Deku’s birthday.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Tsuyu sighed. “If you’d talked with the others, you would know that isn’t the case. No one sees you as a failure except yourself.” She frowned at him, which was a look that a lot of people fixed him with but seemed particularly bad these days. “It’s holding you back instead of pushing you forward.”

Stomping down the rest of the way down the stairs, Bakugou grumbled, “Couldn’t I say the same thing for you? I haven’t seen you crying or anything. Uraraka was your best friend and you were close with Deku.”

“I know better than to cry in front of you,” Tsuyu said. “You’d just call it a waste of time.”

Well she was right about that. It was a waste of time. The closest he’d come to doing it in a while had been when Uraraka and Todoroki had been taken. He’d settled for screaming it out, but tears had burned his eyes. Some of them might have fallen to the ground and down his cheeks, but it hadn’t been full on crying. He wouldn’t lie and say that he’d never cried before, but he was an angry crier. And as furious as he had been, sorrow and fear had been more prevalent once the warp gate closed.

“Whatever. Let’s just get to UA.” Bakugou pressed the button to unlock his car and then pulled the door open. Time to speed like hell out of here. Back to pedal to the metal mode. “Hopefully they’ve come up with something.”

At this point, anything would be an improvement. He had to do something. It had been too long. He needed to find them more than anything.

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dabbledrabbleprose · 7 years ago

Text

One Last Shot

A mission goes badly and Hanzo is forced to take desperate action to save himself and McCree. The initial concept of Dragons Through Peacekeeper inspired by a couple of different fanart pieces sprawling through Tumblr, but mostly this one by @scatterarrow and obvious credit to @maonethedwarf for the original concept.

Read on AO3.

* * * * * * * * *

McCree wasn’t sure exactly when the mission went full FUBAR, but he suspected it was around the point that Los Muertos dropped a piñata full of grenades right into the middle of their formation, scattering the team and throwing off any sense of coordination or plan. The communicator in his ear was buzzing with multiple voices as they tried to coordinate grouping back up amid the chaos Los Muertos was causing, and McCree felt that it wasn’t doing much except to add to the confusion. Overwatch wasn’t even targeting Los Muertos this time, damn it all. This was supposed to be a quiet midnight infiltration mission into LumériCo, and they’d had the bad luck of bumping into the gang before they even got to the building.

“Fall back!” McCree shouted into the com, breaking off the other voices. He emptied Peacekeeper’s rounds into the chests of three thugs who tried to corner him in the side street he was on. “Fall back, dammit! Mission’s a bust. We’ve caused too much of a stir to try and infiltrate anything anywhere. Pull back to the transport and let’s get the hell out of here!”

A green-painted teenager lunged out from around a corner, swinging a baseball bat at McCree’s head. McCree tucked down into a roll, out of the way of the bat and behind the kid, hastily reloading before he sprang to his feet, gun at the ready. Goddamn, how old was this kid? Sixteen? Fifteen? Was this how McCree looked to Reyes when Overwatch plucked him out of Deadlock? So young, and already making so many bad decisions. How was he supposed to put a bullet through this kid? He dodged another swing of the bat. Maybe he was getting old and sentimental. When he was a teenager, he’d been lethal as the gun at his side, and he’d killed plenty before Reyes had straightened him out and gotten him to point his gun in a better direction.

The kid lunged at him again, cursing more colorfully than his body paint. McCree caught the bat with his metal arm, using the artificial limb’s unnatural strength to jerk it out of the kid’s hands.

“You’ll thank me for this later, kid,” he promised, then hit the kid in the head with his own bat, knocking him cold. Hell, he really was getting sentimental.

“Status report!” He barked, sprinting away from the kid and down the street, trying to pinpoint where the lingering spurts of gunfire were coming from.

“Almost to the transport, luv!” Tracer chirped in his ear. “I’ll have her warmed up and ready to fly the second you all get back!”

“I’ve got Genji with me, and we’re still in the thick of it,” reported Lucio, who was brought along due to his surprisingly experienced history of breaking into mega-corporations.

“But we are pushing through them!” Genji added, and the grin was evident in the cyborg’s voice. “They are no match for our speed and agility, and we will soon leave them in the dust!”

“Can’t stop, won’t stop!” cheered Lucio, accompanied by the sound of his hardlight blades grinding against something. A wall, probably.

“Hah!” Genji and Lucio shouted at the same time. Good God. Whatever they were doing, it was synchronized.

“You two better not be wasting your time showing off, because none of us are there to appreciate it. Anyone who gets shot doing a stupid stunt has to save their own ass because I’m not coming back for ya. Pretty sure that’s a policy or somethin’,” McCree grumbled as he ran down a street that seemed thankfully empty of gang members.

“I’m pretty sure that policy was put into place because of something you did, McCree,” Genji replied. “Never fear, we’ll escape responsible and sensibly.” He probably said it while doing a backflip or something stupid.

“Hanzo, status report.”

Three breaths passed in silence. McCree frowned, finally getting off the side streets and jogging down the main road.

“Hanzo?”

“I have been followed to the rooftops,” Hanzo snapped into the coms, voice sharp and between panting breaths. “My bowstring has been cut, and they have-”

An explosion interrupted him, and McCree had the disorienting sensation of hearing it roar through both the com in his ear and from the rooftops ahead of him.

“I see you, Han, backup’s on the way! I’m about two blocks south of you,” McCree kicked his run into a sprint, spurs jangling with each step.

“There is a fire escape on the west side of the building. I will be-” Hanzo was interrupted by a second explosion, and degenerated into a string of expletives, only some of which were in English.

Orange stucco and a burning roof greeted him as McCree sprinted toward the building Hanzo was fighting on. As he watched, Hanzo leapt off the roof and onto the fire escape with a clang of metal. He hastily scrambled down the steel stairs and platforms when a hurled metal sphere followed him off the roof, clattering to the platform beside him.

“Hanzo!” McCree shouted, heart catching in his throat. “Grenade!”

Hanzo didn’t hesitate, putting one foot on the railing of the fire escape and launching himself forward, leaping into empty air to put as much distance between himself and the grenade as possible. His arms pinwheeled in the air as he seemed to float, suspended over nothing, until the grenade detonated with enough force to destroy the fire escape and still send Hanzo hurling forward head over heels.

Oh God. He was going to break his neck. Hanzo was going to land on his head and die right in front of him, and there was nothing McCree could do about it. Heart pounding, McCree watched as Hanzo twisted in the air like a cat, as if in slow motion, managing to right himself enough to get his legs underneath him before he landed. There was an unmistakable crack that echoed through McCree’s ears as Hanzo landed hard, then promptly crumpled to the ground as his left leg gave out.

“Hanzo!”

Hanzo was sitting up before McCree finished sprinting toward him, grimacing in pain and pulling the broken string off Storm Bow.

“Hanzo, are you alright?” McCree skidded to a stop before him.

“I suspect my leg is broken, but we have no time for that now. Cover me while I restring her,” the archer ordered, fishing a new coiled bowstring out of a pouch on his quiver and setting Storm Bow before him.

McCree fired off a series of rounds at the rooftop and reloaded, but no Los Muertos came within sight, likely finding a different way off the roof. He heard footsteps behind him and turned to find a group of gang members rushing toward him, following down the street he’d come from. A bullet tore past him, tearing a hole in his serape. Six shots, one reload, and six bodies fell to the ground, with more on the way. There was a roar of an engine and a truck with Los Muertos paint tags and a machine gun mounted on the cab started tearing down the street toward them. Another six shots, another reload, and McCree started backing up toward Hanzo.

“How’re you coming there, sugar?”

“Another few moments,” Hanzo said, not looking up from his work.

A gunner with blue facepaint clambered out of the bed of the truck and took hold of the mounted gun, taking aim as the truck tore down the street toward them.

“Time’s up, darlin’! We gotta move!” McCree turned on his heel and scooped Hanzo up, ignoring the archer’s vehement cursing as he dropped the new bowstring. Without any decorum, he threw him over his left shoulder, metal arm holding him in place and leaving his gun hand free, and sprinted for the backstreets, hoping they would be too narrow for the truck to follow. He ran through the backstreets and alleyways, twisting and weaving, hoping to throw off the Los Muertos following them, but quickly wound up lost himself.

“McCree, Hanzo, status report!” Tracer’s bright voice chirped in their ears. “Transport is up and ready to go, everyone’s here but you!”

“We are en route,” Hanzo replied sharply, neglecting to mention his injuries or that he was slung over McCree’s back like a sack of potatoes. “Expect our arrival shortly. No, turn left!” He slapped the sharpshooter on the back. “You’re going to get us lost!”

“Well, I’m glad you know where we are because I don’t have a clue, honey,” McCree turned left, skidding a little on the gravel in the alleyway.

“Of course not, that’s why you have me here. Straight. Right. The sea looks like it’s still to our left and the LumériCo pyramid is behind us, so we need to keep headed downhill.”

“I don’t know how you can tell all that in these back alleys,” McCree panted. “But I trust you. Just tell me where to go and I’ll get us there. Trying to-” He broke off as a massive yellow-painted thug came charging toward them. Muscle memory took over and McCree let go of Hanzo just long enough to fan the hammer and reload as the thug fell to the ground.

“Hell. I shouldn’t have done that. That’s my last reload,” He sighed, readjusting his grip on Hanzo. “As I was saying, I’m trying to keep off the main roads. If we run into that truck, we’ll be sitting ducks.”

“I know that. Left. And watch where you’re putting your hand!”

McCree honestly hadn’t been able to tell where his prosthetic hand was holding Hanzo, but a quick glance showed that he was gripping him right across his well-muscled rear.

“Aw, Hanzo,” McCree grinned as he took the left turn. “You don’t seem to mind any other time I cop a feel.”

“There is a time and a place,” he growled, grimacing as McCree made a particularly sharp turn, jostling Hanzo’s injured leg. “And this is neither the time nor the place. Across this street! We’re close!”

McCree sprinted across the major road to slip into a different series of narrow side streets. “Now that just ain’t true. It’s always a good time to compliment-”

The blow came out of nowhere, a blade in the gut as a teenager with green face paint and a bruised temple lunged forward from the shadows, sinking a knife between the plates of McCree’s body armor. McCree stumbled, his momentum throwing him forward and sending himself and Hanzo sprawling to the ground. He let out a shout as the kid yanked the knife out from his side.

The kid sneered, twirling the knife in his hand. He was still sneering when McCree put a bullet between his eyes.

“Goddamn,” McCree growled, sitting up with a grimace. He looked at the kid’s cooling body, the ghost of a sneer still on his face. So young. So much potential. Son of a bitch. “Hell. He tried to come at me earlier. Wanted to give the kid a chance and knocked him out instead. No good deed, am I right?” He tried to get to his feet without success, falling back onto his rear with his legs sprawled out before him.

“Jesse, lie still! You’re bleeding!”

McCree felt strong hands press against his injury and a shout of pain tore itself unbidden from his throat.

“McCree is down and I am incapacitated! We require immediate extraction!”

“Sh-shit…” McCree tried to wave him off, despite Hanzo’s protests. “Help me up…They’re still coming, and I got five shots left. M-might buy us enough time for the t-team to…”

“Dammit, Jesse! Lie still!”

A Los Muertos member appeared at the end of the alleyway and shouted up the street. “Over here! I found-” His shout was cut short as McCree sent a bullet tearing through his jaw and he dropped to the ground, screaming and clutching at the gore and teeth that used to be his face.

“Shit,” McCree swore. “Missed. Now that’s gonna draw more of ‘em in. Help me up!”

Hanzo began muttering in Japanese under his breath, and though McCree couldn’t understand the words, he suspected they were all uncomplimentary and all directed at himself. Reluctantly, Hanzo helped McCree sit up, letting the sharpshooter lean back against himself and kept one hand pressed against McCree’s wound, trying to stem the bleeding.

“Four shots left. Gonna make ‘em count. Gonna keep you safe. I promise, darlin’.”

As McCree suspected, a crowd of Los Muertos appeared at the end of the alleyway, some armed with guns, most carrying knives and clubs. He needed to take out the shooters first to buy them more time. He aimed for the closest thug with a semiautomatic, putting a bullet through his eye.

“Three.”

Another went through the heart of a shirtless brute with a pistol.

“Two.”

The next bullet dropped a skinny bald man aiming a shotgun, but did nothing to slow the advance of the growing number of Los Muertos thugs approaching them.

“One shot left, huckleberry,” McCree grimaced. From the end of the alley, he could hear the truck drive up and screech to a halt. “I wish it could be enough. I wish I’d been able to do right by you.” He felt a lump form in his throat. There’d been a time in his life that he could have looked death in the face without fear, without consequences, like a fool. But now that he had a reason to live, it broke his heart that he had to go like this. The fact that Hanzo would die with him only made it worse. He wasn’t even able to protect the one man he cared for the most.

He took aim, wanting to give Hanzo every last second he could.

“It’s been a real treat, Hanzo. The absolute best.” The hoard of gangsters surged toward them, weapons at the ready, crammed into the narrow alley. McCree furiously blinked back tears. He wouldn’t show weakness to his enemy. Not now, here at the end. “I wouldn’t trade it for all the world.” His voice only trembled a little.

Hanzo’s tattooed left arm reached over to close around McCree’s right hand, clutching Peacekeeper with him. His grip was warm and wet, fingers slick with McCree’s own blood.

“You won’t have to. Not today, Love,” Hanzo whispered in his ear. The tattooed arm in front of him began to glow and luminous shapes shifted against the skin, writhing and unfurling into existence. The glow continued, wrapping around his own hand, coiling around Peacekeeper, seeping through the chamber and barrel, and there was a force, and presence, an incredible power that pressed against his mind from all sides, hungering, waiting for something, and the pressure only grew and grew, closing around him, WAITING, it was ready, they were ready, if only McCree would-

Fire.

“Ryuu ga waga teki wo kurau!”

They pulled Peacemaker’s trigger together.

McCree had never been struck by lightning, but he imagined it would be something like this. Incomprehensible power tore through him, starting where their hands met, ripping through his soul, and exiting through Peacekeeper’s barrel. He could feel twin minds pressed against his own, their touch strange and alien against his soul, their silent, cold judgement evaluating him as they passed through him, and then they were gone, tearing through the alleyway with a roar that deafened him.

When he could see again, the alley was empty apart from scattered weapons. The truck at the end of the street had been tipped on its side. McCree knew better than to ask where everyone had gone.

“How…how…” Peacekeeper slipped from his trembling fingers and he sank back against Hanzo. “Holy shit…they’re real…”

“Be still, Jesse. You’re still bleeding.” Hanzo’s hands were back on his chest again, putting pressure on his wound. McCree made a sound that he hoped sounded more like a growl and less like a whimper as he tried to push past the pain.

“Thought they were hardlight projections. Or a nanite swarm with a fancy light show,” No injury in the world could stop McCree from trying to run his mouth, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to stop now, not when his head was spinning from the Dragons. At least, he hoped that was why his head was spinning. “Never once thought they were god-be-damned real life dragons.”

“Jesse, be still!” Hanzo scolded.

“Goddamn. Real dragons,” His mouth tried to keep rambling, but it was getting harder to breathe. He shifted in Hanzo’s grip and found himself lying flat on the ground, staring up at the night sky above. “H-hey…do they got names? They always hanging around you, or do you gotta call ‘em down from some magic-ass land?”

“Dammit, Jesse!” Hanzo was kneeling over him, both hands pressing on his wound. “Stop it! Stop talking, hold still!”

“Sorry, darlin’,” McCree managed a smile up at him, trying to make it look comforting and not strained. The panic in Hanzo’s eyes didn’t provide much reassurance that he succeeded. “You know me. Mouth like an eight digit outlaw. Always running. …To be honest, I thought I was gonna pass out sooner than this. Not quite sure what to do.”

“You hold still,” Hanzo replied sharply. “You let me try and stop this bleeding. We wait for backup to arrive so we can get you to a medical facility.”

McCree promptly ignored everything Hanzo said as a sudden realization hit him. “Aw…aw, hell. You broke your leg, didn’t you? Are you hurtin’?”

“Jesse…” Hanzo made an exasperated noise. “I am fine. My leg is fine.”

“I know that ain’t true,” he had meant to shout the words, but instead they came out as a hoarse croak with a crack at the end. “I b-been carrying ya the past-” he overdid it and was forced to break off mid-sentence with a gasp as his lungs screamed for air that somehow seemed to be in short supply, then broke into a coughing fit, which did nothing to help.

“Alright, alright,” Hanzo’s voice softened as McCree’s coughing ceased. “Yes, my leg hurts. A great deal, in fact. But I am not the one bleeding out. Please…save some worry for yourself. Let me take care of you.”

The plea in Hanzo’s voice was finally enough to force McCree to relax under his hands, and he didn’t have the heart to argue with the distressed look on the archer’s face. He was also running out of energy to put up a fight.

“Sorry, Han…” He sank back onto the dirty alley pavement, staring up at the star-strewn sky. It was becoming harder to breathe, each breath accompanied by a sharp pain, and he began to feel light-headed. Hanzo finally cursed and wrestled the serape from McCree’s neck, balling it up and pressing it against his wound. McCree grunted as the extra pressure brought on a fresh wave of pain, but liked to think that he hid it rather well.

He tried to look down at himself and felt a wave of dizziness and nausea wash over him, instead letting his head fall back to the pavement with a solid ‘thunk.’ Hold up. His hat was gone. When had he lost his hat? He tried to look around, but with as much success as he’d had trying to look down at himself. Stupid idea. Need to lay still. Figure out how bad he was hurt.

“How’s it look?” McCree asked.

Hanzo didn’t immediately answer and didn’t meet McCree’s eye.

“Give it to me straight, darlin’,” His heart felt like it was fluttering in his chest and his breath was growing quick and shallow. “I need to know.”

“I can’t get the bleeding to stop,” Hanzo admitted. “And you’re bruising badly, which leads me to believe you are bleeding internally as well.”

McCree took a moment to let that sink in. “Well…the team, they’re comin’, right?” The com in his ear had been awfully quiet, which worried him. Oh. No, he couldn’t feel it in his ear anymore. His communicator had fallen out at some point. Probably when he lost his hat. He blamed the dragons.

“Yes, they’re coming,” Hanzo said. “How are you feeling, Jesse?”

“Been trying not to think about it.”

“Please. I need to know.”

McCree almost smiled as his own words were thrown back at him, then stopped to actually evaluate how he was feeling. “…Not great. That whole spot you got your hands on is a world o’hurt. I’m…I’m dizzy. Cold.”

He felt a lump rise in his throat. He’d seen these symptoms before. He knew what was happening. Dammit. Why hadn’t he just passed out earlier? How long would he have to cling on, delaying the inevitable? “…I’m…scared.”

He met Hanzo’s eyes, and he could see that same fear reflected back at him.

“Not how I wanted to go out, Han. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say that!” Hanzo snapped. “Don’t you dare give up on me. The team is coming.”

“Gonna be too little too late, honeybee,” His vision started to swim, Hanzo’s face going blurry on a backdrop of starlight. “Let me have this…Let me go with some dignity.”

“Jesse…” The way Hanzo said his name broke McCree’s heart.

“You gotta…you gotta bury me with my hat, okay? I love that hat,” McCree felt an arm slide under his shoulders, and he didn’t have the strength to lift his head to hold Hanzo’s gaze. The edges of his vision started going dark.

“Jesse, no…”

“I wanted…” his voice cracked. “…I love you, Hanzo. I’m sorry.”

The darkness closed in around him. The last thing he felt was Hanzo’s lips against his own.

This was okay, as far as dying went. This was good.

There were worse places to die than in the arms of Hanzo Shimada.

*****

It was a solid ten minutes before McCree realized the light he was staring at belonged to a light fixture in the ceiling instead of a bright light at the end of a tunnel. He blinked slowly and turned his head, trying to get his bearings. Something pulled at his nose as he turned, plastic tubes going up both nostrils, and as he confusedly reached up to touch his face he felt something else tugging at his right arm.

“H…huh?”

“Jesse?”

McCree tried to look toward the sound of his name and tug at the tube up his nose at the same time and ended up smacking himself in the face with his metal hand.

“Dammit!”

“Jesse!”

“Hanzo?” The smack to face woke McCree up like a splash of cold water and he blinked owlishly at Hanzo. They were in what McCree recognized as the medical ward at Watchpoint Gibraltar, a hospital room with the Overwatch logo emblazoned on the back wall. He was in in one of the many beds with an IV line connected to the back of his right hand, oxygen nasal cannula feeding up his nose, and a variety of sensors from monitoring equipment vanishing under his hospital gown. Hanzo was seated in the bed beside his, wearing shorts and a tank top, a book in his hands and his injured leg in a splint. A biotic emitter sat between them, engulfing the room in a faint yellow glow.

“Jesse, how do you feel?” Hanzo set his book aside and leaned toward McCree, though he was careful not to move his splinted leg.

“What…Uh…I feel…groggy.”

“Are you painful?”

“Um…” McCree paused, thinking about the question. “No. Not really. What…what happened? How are we…why are we here? And how am I…” he trailed off before he could finish the words, but Hanzo supplied them for him.

“…Alive?”

McCree nodded.

“Lena drove the entire transport to our location and arrived shortly after you blacked out. Lucio was able to get some blood in you and get you mostly stabilized, and then we were able to bribe the closest hospital into admitting you without keeping any records of you, and they were able to take you to surgery to repair the damage that had been done. Dr. Ziegler flew in and was able to assist in the operation. She had some very unkind things to say about your liver.”

McCree frowned. “What’s wrong with my liver?”

“A lifetime of drinking. Also it had been stabbed.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“Indeed. I did not get stabbed.”

“Hah hah. Hilarious.”

“After the procedure, we flew you back here as soon as you were stable enough to transport, before someone could figure out who you were and how much your bounty is still worth.”

“You couldn’t wait for me to wake up first?”

Hanzo shook his head. “As soon as Dr. Ziegler said you were safe to move, we flew out with you.”

“How long have I been out?” McCree fiddled with his IV line and poked at one of the sensors taped to his skin, already getting antsy about them, wanting to be out of the uncomfortably sterile infirmary and back in his own room. And a smoke. God, he needed a smoke.

“Three days.”

“Holy shit.” Oh yeah. He definitely needed a cigarillo. McCree was almost tempted to ask for one, but he didn’t want to think about what Angela would do to him if he dared to smoke in her infirmary. He tried to think of something to distract himself.

“So…those dragons…”

“I was wondering when you would bring that up.” Hanzo sat back in his bed, folding his thick arms, his intricate tattoo on display.

“They’re dragons. Real, honest-to-goodness dragons.”

“They are spirits, tied to my family and tied to me. That’s probably the easiest way to describe them.”

“Tied to your family?” A thought struck him. “So, when Genji does that thing with his sword…”

“Yes. Another dragon,” Hanzo gave him a level look. “I’m a little surprised. I would have thought he would have already discussed this with you.”

McCree shrugged. “Genji was always pretty good at not talking about anything he didn’t wanna talk about. He was a mite cagey about himself back in Blackwatch. Sure he’d be fine with it now, though. Subject just never came up. …So…uh. These spirit dragons. They always with you?”

“To an extent. I can call upon them when needed, and they usually answer.”

“But they’re not…like…” McCree struggled for a way to explain what he was thinking without being obvious. “…always aware of you?”

Hanzo gave him a sideways look. “What are you trying to say, Jessie?” Damn. He knew him too well. Hanzo could always call him on his bullshit.

“I’m just thinking about the number of times I’ve run my tongue down that tattoo,” McCree said. “Didn’t want to offend nobody.”

Hanzo gave him a look and had the audacity to actually turn red. What the hell was he blushing for? He asked, didn’t he?

“I’m just sayin’,” he continued when Hanzo didn’t seem to be forthcoming with an answer. “I ain’t much of an exhibitionist. I’d like to know how many people…er…spirits are watching every time we-”

“No!” Hanzo interrupted. “No, they do not…They are not…no. They don’t…watch. They are not a constant presence in my mind. No.”

“That’s a relief,” McCree grinned. “I may be into a few things, but I ain’t much one for having an audience.”

Hanzo snorted. “That surprises me, what with how eager you are to show your affection at every moment.”

“Naw, that’s different,” McCree said hastily. “A little PDA never hurt anyone. Can’t seem to help myself around you, sugar. I know, I know…you’d prefer to keep everything private…”

“Oh? Is that what you think?” Hanzo asked, and there was just enough of a tease in his voice to give McCree pause.

“…Sugarplum?”

“Were I not under strict orders to not put any weight on this leg, I would have been in that bed with you the moment you awoke, putting my tongue down your throat, audience or not.”

McCree gave a start. “…How long do you have to be off that leg?”

Hanzo smiled and picked his book back up. “At least another day.”

McCree groaned and sank back into the bed. “Goddamn. I think I need you more than I need a smoke.”

“I’m flattered.”

“You should be,” he sighed, and was irritated to find his eyes drooping already. “Hey…Hanzo.”

“Yes?”

“…Thank you. For being here when I woke up,” He could feel Hanzo looking over at him, but didn’t meet his eyes, worried that doing so would get himself all worked up and emotional again. “…It was real good to just…see you again. After thinking I wouldn’t.”

“Of course, Jesse,” Hanzo said softly. “I wouldn’t leave your side for all the world.”

McCree smiled and blinked rapidly a few times before looking over at Hanzo, his partner, his lover, his whole world and sharing a smile with him.

There was nowhere else he’d rather be.

*****

Bonus:

“Aw, shit! Did you get my hat?”

“And the moment is gone.”

#Overwatch #McHanzo #McCree #Hanzo #4800 words #Dragons through Peacekeeper #Mild Violence?#I loved writing this but after typing like a woman possessed for four days I think I went a little overboard.#I'm thinking some Blackwatch stuff next?#I'm still open to prompt ideas if you wanna look at the post I reblogged earlier!#My Drabbles

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