Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Hanamura is beautiful in the spring.
When the cherry trees stand in bloom and the sun’s strength returns after the winter, there are few places as beautiful as Hanamura; as the Shimada Castle and its pristine gardens.
Part of Hanzo still feels a childish joy wash over him each spring, when the warmth returns, and he sits and watches the blushing trees sway gently in the breeze. Most of him, however, despise this time of year.
When spring comes, so does Hanzo’s foul mood.
He sits in his bedroom window, seated comfortably on the cushioned windowsill, as he glares down at the trees in the Shimada Garden. Within him, happiness wrestles with anger. His struggling emotions leave him feeling numb and apathetic. He dissociates to avoid the hassle of raging emotions.
Despite his reluctance to acknowledge his feelings, Hanzo sits and wallows in emotions he doesn’t know how to process. Happiness that sings of the long-awaited spring, the beauty of the cherry trees, and the chirping of sparrows; and anger that roars about bad memories that awaken dread and regret.
Hanzo dreads spring and regrets things that have long since passed.
“ Brother… ”
A lonely tear trickles down his cheek, followed by many more. Hanzo wipes them away with the back of his hand, which only quickens the pace of which the tears are coming. He squeezes his eyes closed and tries to force the tears and the lump in his throat back down.
His eyelids burn and his throat aches.
A sharp knock silences the sobs Hanzo didn’t know he was letting out. Someone is at the door.
He clears his throat and wipes away the remaining tears before he calls out with all the confidence and authority he can muster. “ Come in ,” he says.
The door to his chambers slide open and an elderly woman stands in the doorway, looking at him with apologetic eyes. “ Young master Shimada ,” she says. “ Your father has requested your presence. ”
Hanzo nods. “ And where is he? ”
“ He is in his office, master Shimada. He wishes you there with utmost haste. ”
“ I shall head there immediately, ” Hanzo says with a firm nod. “ Thank you. ”
The elderly woman bows and slides the door closed. Hanzo listens to her walk down the long hall, until her footsteps can no longer be heard.
He casts a final glance down at the blooming garden before he twists his body and climbs back into his room, stepping down onto the wooden floor with two metallic clanks . One for each foot.
He straightens himself up before the mirror, swiping his hair back behind his ears and wiping the half-dry tears away from his flustered cheeks. It is not pretty, but it will have to do, he thinks to himself as he exits his chamber and makes his way through the castle to his father’s office.
The long corridor to his room is mostly deserted, his being the only room in this wing of the castle that is occupied. Despite the emptiness, the hard wooden floors and the metal of his feet and legs, Hanzo moves unheard through the castle. A useful skill he’s developed during the years he’s been wearing prosthetics.
When he stands outside his father’s office, the door is open and Hanzo steps inside, falling into a courteous bow the moment his father looks his way. “ Father ,” he says, noticing the man sitting cross-legged opposite of his father at the low table.
“Hanzo, son.”
Sojiro Shimada is a tall man, authority and confidence making him appear even more so. He sits behind his desk, hands folded on its surface and eyes trained on his eldest son. “Come, meet Mr. Marco Costello.” Sojiro gestures to the other man in the room.
Hanzo bends into another bow, this one turned towards the stranger. “Welcome, Marco Costello.” He does not recognize the stranger. He looks foreign with tanned skin and sun-bleached hair. He wears a red shirt, slacks, and suspenders. In his lap rests a broad-brimmed hat. Cowboy , Hanzo thinks to himself.
“This is my son Hanzo,” Sojiro says. “He will partake in some of our meetings.”
“Gotta teach ‘em while they’re young,” Marco says. His accent sounds slurry in Hanzo’s ears, words aren’t spoken fully and letters are twisted by Marco’s heavy dialect.
Sojiro nods, agreeing. “Yes.” He glances between his son and their foreign guest. “Hanzo. We have just finished up here for today. Marco is to return to his lodging in the south building. Escort him there.”
Hanzo nods, once and firmly. “Yes, father.” He turns his gaze to Marco, who doesn’t need to be asked to get up and follow to Hanzo’s relief.
“Once you have seen to our guest, please return,” Sojiro says.
“Yes, father,” Hanzo repeats.
Hanzo leads the strange man out of the office and through the hall. Marco walks behind him, following him silently. Good , Hanzo thinks, not having anything to say to the man at present.
They exit out to the garden, following the walkway along the main house. Hanzo says nothing when they round the corner, steps down onto the stone path and leads the guest towards the south wing.
From a distance, he can see more strangers by the south house. They load barrels and crates off a wagon, carrying it into the house. “That’d be my pals, and my stop,” Marco says, finally speaking. “Thanks for showin’ me the way, I reckon I’ll make it the rest of the way by myself.”
Hanzo turns to the man, who’s placed his hat back on his head and has stuffed an unlit cigar between his lips. Definitely a cowboy .
“It was my pleasure,” Hanzo replies mechanically. “Should you need anything, please do not hesitate to ask.”
“Will do, son,” Marco says and tips his hat at Hanzo before passing him and barking something at a man that struggles with a supply crate.
Hanzo watches for a moment before turning away, and returning to his father’s office.
-
His father tells him about the foreigners that are to stay at the Hanamura castle for the time being. The strangers are a gang from the States known as the Deadlock Gang. They trade weapons and workforce and call themselves a business when Hanzo knows they’re really just criminals; thugs that seem to live for making noise and trouble.
His father tells him they’re a reliable source of weapons from the states, and their intel reaches further than just the American south. The resources and the information is valuable, and Sojiro Shimada knows an advantage when he sees one.
Despite his mistrust, and the obnoxious way of the Deadlock Gang, Hanzo bends to his father’s will and attends the meetings between Sojiro and Marco, who seems to be the group’s leader.
Three months is the Deadlock Gang’s planned stay. Other than Marco Costello, there are twelve other men that Hanzo hasn’t bothered to learn the names of. He hasn’t seen them all, but at night he can hear them all the way up in his chambers. They get even louder at night, and Marco only tells them off once or twice before giving in and joining the ruckus.
Hanzo stays out of the way, or in his room when he isn’t asked to be by his father’s side. Just as he had been for a long time, and just like he is going to continue to do until he is told to do otherwise.
Ever since he was old enough to talk and understand what was being said to him, Hanzo has been groomed to become the leader of the Shimada clan. His father makes sure he knows every nook and cranny of the castle, as well as the ins and outs of its staff and their stories, habits, and quirks.
Information is power , Sojiro says over and over again. So many times that Hanzo sometimes dreams about it. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. A trite saying that has been used too much, Hanzo thinks.
It doesn’t matter. The saying is what his father, and in turn Hanzo, lives by.
Sometimes Hanzo wishes things were different. Wishes there was more friendly or lively company to be had. Someone to keep him company. Someone who knew and understood his father.
“ Mother... Genji… ” Hanzo hears himself murmur once, just before he falls asleep. The morning after he’d hoped and prayed that no one had heard him, but he didn't have to worry about that. His room desolate and almost completely isolated from the rest of the castle. He could have shouted at the top of his lungs and it would still not be more than a distant howl in the main castle.
His father provides poor company, and the Shimada clan, in general, is not the kind of company Hanzo wants to keep. The staff is too complacent and does not contribute to many interesting conversations with the exception of the oldest maid in the castle, who has been there for as long as Hanzo can remember. Hanzo, however, doesn’t seek her company.
He is lonely, and he often thinks that he is going to be lonely for some time more.
-
Four days after the Deadlock Gang settles in the southmost building of the Shimada Castle, Hanzo runs into a young man, about his own age, in the garden. He wears the trademark Deadlock west with a skull on its back, and a red scarf tied around his neck.
They bump into each other in the west garden. Or rather, Hanzo catches the stranger kneeling before the shrine assembled in the garden’s corner.
Unreasonable anger shoots up Hanzo’s spine when he sees this and he storms over, shoulders trembling and hands balled up into fists. “What do you think you are doing?” he demands to know.
The stranger looked up over his shoulder, and quickly scramble to his feet. “Master Shimada,” he says, sounding just as surprised and baffled as he looks; eyes wide and mouth hanging open.
“What were you doing just now?” Hanzo asks.
Looking down at the shrine and then back at Hanzo, the stranger shoots him a sheepish smile. “Forgive me, sir. I was just lookin’ to pay my respects,” he says. His speech is just as slurred as Marco’s. “The garden’s so pretty, and I was told the lady of the house rests here.”
“Enough,” Hanzo hisses. “What gives you the right?”
The stranger holds both hands up in defense and surrender. “Hold on now, I didn’t mean no harm!” he says. “I swear on my own mama, I ain’t here to cause any trouble.”
Despite the anger, Hanzo settles down. “You should not be here,” he says. “Should you not be with the other Americans?” He turns his gaze away from the strange young man and approaches the shrine, picking a few stray leaves from the altar. The action instantly soothes him.
“I suppose I should, but I got a bit lost wandering the garden. Didn’t realize it was this big. Kind of stumbled back here by coincidence.”
“Uh-huh.” Hanzo brushes some dirt from the stones lining the shrine and makes sure the ornaments stand straight.
“It’s real pretty,” the stranger mumbles softly. “The gardens, the castle, hell… everything in Hanamura is like taken out of a painting.”
While Hanzo agrees on that, the small talk is not particularly appreciated. He stands, and turns to the stranger again.
The stranger is tall, lean and his face is dusted with freckles. His hair is a slightly tangled mess that reaches his shoulders and his eyes look kind.
Hanzo can almost hear the cheerful quip of a sing-song voice in his head; Wa! Handsome! Isn't he, brother? Hanzo shakes his head to rid himself of those thoughts. “If you are lost then you should have asked someone to help you find your way back. You are hardly alone in the garden.”
The stranger shrugs. “Being lost here ain't that bad. I could stand it for a while longer.”
Hanzo turns away again. He huffs and lets his attention return to the shrine. He murmurs a prayer under his breath and closes his eyes for a brief moment. Mother, lend me your strength, he prays.
When he opens his eyes and turns to look at the stranger, Hanzo is surprised to see that he stands with his head lowered and eyes closed as if he too is silent in prayer. Hanzo stands and watches for a moment. The stranger opens his eyes and Hanzo quickly averts his gaze.
“If it ain't too much to ask,” the stranger says, voice still low and considering. “Might I trouble you for the directions back?”
Hanzo stares for a moment, wondering how in the world the young cowboy had ended up where he was, before letting out a silent sigh. “Follow me, if you please,” he mumbles, leading the way through the Shimada Gardens. The stranger follows silently, or as silently as he can in his clumsy cowboy boots. He knows to stay quiet at least , Hanzo catches himself thinking as he makes his way along the narrow garden path.
Do you think he's a real cowboy, too? Do you think he has a cowboy hat somewhere? Eh, brother?
They walk in silence. Hanzo keeps his head ducked low and the stranger trails behind him without so much as a word. Once they’re back, however, the stranger’s slurry accent brings Hanzo out of his thoughts.
“Thank ya kindly for showing me back, sir. And I'm sorry if I offended you earlier. It wasn't my intention, I swear it.”
“Think nothing of it, American.”
The stranger chuckles slightly. “I do have a name, sir,” he says.
“So do I,” Hanzo answers dryly which draws another chuckle from the foreigner.
“Well, you can never be too sure with respect here in Japan. Better to be respectful than not right?” He smiles warmly. “I'll give you my name, as payment for your help.”
I was hardly helpful, Hanzo thinks, and your name doesn't interest me.
“The name's McCree. Jesse McCree.”
“Very well, McCree-San,” Hanzo says. “My name is Hanzo Shimada.”
“I know who you are, sir,” Jesse says with a gentle nog of his head. “And I best return to see the boss. He mentioned something about a trip ‘round Hanamura.”
Hanzo avoids the urge to shrug, instead investing the energy in a disinterested glare. “I am not stopping you,” he points out.
“Right,” McCree says. “I hope I'll see you again, sir.” He tips an imaginary hat and turns to walk the rest of the path down to the south house.
Hanzo turns and leaves immediately.
-
Hanzo spends that night on his bedroom windowsill, watching the Deadlock gang lounge around in the garden. Some of them sit in clusters to drink cheap foreign liquor, play cards, break arms. Some sit alone, staring into thin air.
McCree plays cards with three others, and from the displeased noises of his playing partners, it's quite obvious that the young American is winning. He laughs, the laughter low and rolling from the pit of his belly, when the others toss crumpled bills into his lap. One of the men get up and kick an empty can into the bushes before shoving his hat into McCree's hands and then storming off.
Hanzo rolls his eyes when McCree bows to his laughing friends and tucks the money into his pockets. He presses the hat down on his head with a flourish.
For a moment Hanzo catches McCree's gaze. With a smirk and a tip of his now existing hat, McCree winks up at the young man in the window.
Hanzo decides to go to bed.
-
The next morning Hanzo is left to spend his time as he wishes. Sojiro Shimada has business to attend to, and Marco has left the castle along with a handful of gang members to venture to the Hanamura market.
Hanzo spends his free time in the window, with a book the elderly servant lent him. She insists he should read it, and Hanzo promises, after some persuasion, to have a look. While he has an extensive library of books right in his room, few of them are fiction.
It isn’t hard to pick the book and its twisting storyline up. On the contrary, the difficult part is putting it down. Hanzo can’t remember the last time he got so invested in something, and spends the morning with his nose buried in the book.
He sits in his bedroom window.
His gaze darts across the pages and his fingers nimbly turn the delicate pages. Between his fingers a slim feather sticks up, to use as a bookmark once he does decide to take a break from reading.
An array of laughter comes from the Shimada garden, and Hanzo looks up from his book to glare down at the noisy gang members. They don’t appear to notice him, and he grunts when he hops down from the windowsill and sticks the feather between the pages.
He needs to find a quiet place. The annoying cackle of the American gang members is not something he has the patience for at the moment.
The garden comes to mind, and more specifically, the patio in the west garden.
Hanzo makes his way through the castle and exits the main house on the east side, following the path south and rounding main house to get to the west garden. He passes the Deadlock gang’s housing on the way there. Hanzo resists the urge to cover his ears and stomp when he walks by.
Once he’s out of eye and earshot he resumes his reading, wandering slowly along the garden paths. He knows them like the back of his hand, and lets his attention linger on the book instead.
He soon finds himself near the patio in the northwest corner of the castle. It’s quiet there and Hanzo decides that the shade of the small building and the comfort of the wooden deck is preferable to walking around aimlessly.
However, once he gets close enough, he spots a half-familiar figure stretched out on the sunny side of the deck.
McCree.
At first, Hanzo wants to leave. He doesn’t want company. But the patio looks inviting and McCree has already spotted him. “Howdy,” he coos when Hanzo approaches. “Good afternoon.”
“McCree-san,” Hanzo says. “I did not know there would be anyone here.”
McCree sits up and smiles. “Sorry. I seem to keep getting in your way,” he says. “I just wanted a quiet spot for myself,” he confesses. “And I saw you up in your room, so I figured the garden would be a safe bet.”
Hanzo narrows his eyes at the American. “You saw me in my room, huh?” he asks, then another question pops up. “Are you purposely trying to avoid me?”
“Not avoiding” McCree mumbles. “Just saw you perched up in your window, sittin’ pretty like a dove and thought you looked like you wanted peace and quiet.”
Hanzo huffs. “I am no dove,” he mutters.
“Well, you are pretty like one,” McCree says with a shrug. “Anyway. I’ll get out of your hair if you want me to.” He rises and turns to leave the patio.
Hanzo suddenly feels guilty. The garden is not just for him to enjoy, and from the looks of it, McCree was there seeking peace and quiet as well.
“ Wait ,” Hanzo says. McCree seems as surprised as Hanzo by that. Hanzo’s cheeks turn pink when McCree looks at him, so he quickly clears his throat. “You do not have to leave. So long as you don’t mind staying silent.”
McCree pouts his lips for a moment before sitting back down and making himself comfortable on the edge of the risen patio again. He tips his hat down over his eyes to shield them from the sun, and seems to be resuming whatever daydreaming-activity he was doing before Hanzo arrived.
They sit in silence, the only noise being the gentle breeze, the birds and the occasional flick of paper when Hanzo turns the pages in his book. Neither disturbs the other and they coexist comfortably on the small patio.
The sun wanders across the sky, and soon one of the castle’s servants approach Hanzo to offer him afternoon tea. She speaks quietly and curtly to him and offers to bring the tea out to the patio.
“ That would be appreciated, thank you ,” Hanzo says with a nod.
The woman flashes him a polite smile. “ And would… uh... the American? ”
It occurs to Hanzo that McCree hasn’t spoken a word since he laid down, and that it’s possible that he is sleeping. “ He will have some too ,” Hanzo decides.
The servant scurries away and Hanzo turns his attention to the resting cowboy. It appears that McCree actually is asleep, with his hands folded behind his head and his hat pulled down to cover his face. His chest falls and rises slowly and evenly.
Hanzo finds himself staring, mesmerized by the tranquility oozing from McCree.
His train of thought is interrupted when the servant returns with a tray housing a pot of tea and two small cups, along with a small tray of sweets. Hanzo thanks her, and places the tray between himself and McCree as she leaves.
“McCree-san,” he says, sharp enough to wake the cowboy but softly enough to do so gently.
The cowboy yawns and stretches before pushing his hat back up and peering up at Hanzo. “Ya?”
Hanzo rolls his eyes as he pours tea into the cups, one after another. “You have been sleeping for some time now,” he says. “Do you not sleep at night? Or do you spend it playing cards?”
McCree smiles sheepishly as he sits up and rubs his eyes. The action is childish but endearing. “Naw, this place just really makes me relax,” he says. “Haven’t been anywhere this quiet before. Makes me real sleepy.” He turns and notices the tray between them. “Did I miss something?”
“Do you drink tea?” Hanzo asks, and nearly draws back in horror over how high pitched his voice sounded. He mentally scolds himself for sounding so silly and clears his throat. “I was uncertain, but I thought you might feel left out if I had tea alone.” When he looks up, he expects McCree to sneer at him but McCree looks like a child on Christmas morning.
“Really? You got some for me?” McCree asks eagerly. He quickly calms himself. “I mean-... well, I ain’t never had tea like this before,” he confesses. “It’s an honor to have tea with the master of the house and all.”
Hanzo hesitates, unsure of what to reply. Instead, he offers one of the cups to the cowboy and then focuses on his own. He can’t help but cast glances to the young man beside him, who’s gingerly sipping from the cup, seemingly relishing the beverage.
McCree draws his legs up and sits with them crossed. “This is great,” he says. “The garden, the sunny weather, and the tea. Do you do this every day?” he asks, turning to Hanzo with a beaming smile.
“Not every day,” Hanzo says. “You caught me on a good day.”
“Lucky me.” McCree smiles.
“Do you drink tea in America? Like this?”
McCree shakes his head. “Not really, no. Not like this anyway. But what do I know? I live with those Deadlock hooligans. They ain’t exactly the tea-drinking type.” He shrugs.
A shout coming from the front garden makes them both turn and look. “McCree!” A gravelly voice shouts. “Get your ass back here! We’ve got shit to do. I know you’re hiding!”
Hanzo can’t roll his eyes hard enough at that, and even McCree lets out a long and exasperated sigh. “See what I mean?” he asks. He finishes whatever tea’s left in his cup and places the porcelain cup back onto the tray. “Thank you for the tea,” he says. “It was nice.” He gets up and jumps down from the patio onto the gravel path.
“Do they always make so much noise?” Hanzo asks.
McCree shrugs and dusts his pants off. “They’re worse back home,” he says.
Hanzo shudders. He can’t imagine the Americans being any louder.
“Hey,” McCree mutters suddenly, just as he’s about to leave. “This really was nice,” he says, nodding at the patio. “If it’s all the same to you, I wouldn’t mind doing it again.”
“Sleeping?” Hanzo asks.
McCree laughs softly. “I could go with a few more hours of sleep at night,” he admits before settling with a gentle smile. “But I meant this,” he says and nods at the tray. “Having tea, or you know… just sitting around together.”
Hanzo hesitates. “I… would like that.” He finally nods. “I would like to do this again.”
“Great,” McCree says softly. “Until next time, then.” He grabs his hat and puts it back on his head. “And hey,” he says. “Don’t be a stranger if you see me around. I’m always up for a chat.”
“I am not very chatty,” Hanzo says, to which McCree’s smile widen.
“That’s okay. Whatever works for you, yeah?”
He leaves but Hanzo is feeling a little less lonely than usual.
-
Despite McCree’s tendency to talk too much, Hanzo enjoys his company. Hanzo makes it a habit to take walks in the garden, specifically around the patio since it seems like McCree has taken a liking to the place and lingers there when he has nothing else to do.
They have tea together some afternoons. Sometimes Hanzo humors McCree by participating in the small talk, which consists mostly of questions being asked and answered. What foods do you like? What’s your favorite color? How do you say this in Japanese? Why are there spurs on your boots?
Some questions can be answered and some neither have an answer for. When answers aren’t showing themselves, they sit in silence to contemplate until McCree has something else to ask or talk about.
McCree invites Hanzo to come and spend time with the Deadlock gang on several occasions. Hanzo declines, saying how he doesn’t want to get any closer to the noise and ruckus, but secretly the invite flatters him. He’s never been invited to anything with such genuine intention. He truly does, however, not want to spend time with Deadlock. McCree’s company alone is enough.
“You ever leave the Shimada castle?” McCree asks one rainy afternoon when he and Hanzo sit in the patio, shielded from the drizzle of rain.
Hanzo shakes his head. “Very seldom,” he says. “Unless my father sends me out on business, I stay here.”
“What? All the time?” McCree frowns. “You’re telling me you ain’t never spend time outside these walls… you know… for fun?” He stabs a thumb in the direction of the nearest wall.
“Not for a long time.”
For a moment McCree looks thoughtful, watching Hanzo with a pout. He scratches his chin, nails dragging over the slight scruff. Hanzo sips on his tea, waiting for the American to continue, as he no doubt will do. “Would you like to?” McCree asks suddenly.
“Excuse me?”
McCree looks sly like a fox, grinning at Hanzo. “You heard me,” he says “Would you like to go outside the walls?”
“Now?”
“Yeah,” McCree says. “Or well… whenever you want.”
Hanzo thinks for a while. “Is that an offer?” he asks after a few moments of pondering.
“It can be whatever you want it to be,” McCree says. “What do ya say?”
Again, Hanzo is silent as he considers the offer. While he knows he shouldn’t go, a sudden urge to rebel against his elders spring up in him. An urge to be anywhere but within the walls of the Shimada castle.
“Tomorrow,” he says. “Meet me by the northwest corner of the grounds.”
He does not wait for McCree to answer, and puts his teacup down and rises in one swift movement. Hanzo leaves McCree grinning on the patio and hurries through the gentle rain, back to his room.
-
Part of Hanzo expects McCree to stand him up. He half expects the American to simply not show up and leave him lurking near the wall to be caught by the staff or one of his father’s guards.
But McCree is there and he’s waiting for him when he arrives. Flashing him a smile and a goofy hand gesture as a greeting. “Howdy,” he coos.
“You showed up,” Hanzo can’t help but point out.
McCree’s smile widens and he puts a hand over his heart. “You wound me, sweetheart. I would never leave you hanging.” They both duck into the bushes when footsteps approach, and they stay hidden until the stray servant is out of sight. “So how do we get out of here?”
“There is a smaller gate here,” Hanzo explains. “Used by the staff. It should be locked.”
“Do you have the key?”
Hanzo produces a key from his pocket. “I do now.”
They find and unlock the gate, casting wary glances in all direction as the gate opens with a silent creak. “Come on,” McCree says when Hanzo hesitates. “Are you with me or not?” He holds a hand out, waiting for a reply and Hanzo’s hand.
Hanzo hesitates, but only for a short moment, before he puts his hand in the McCree's and nods. “I am with you.”
It feels as if his stomach is doing flips when they slip out through the side-gate and it closes behind them. McCree ushers him forward and Hanzo can hear how the young cowboy giggles when they slink into the shadows of an adjacent building.
“You think they saw us?” McCree asks, glancing out from behind the corner they hide behind.
“I do not think so,” Hanzo replies. He feels giddy all of a sudden, excited to be doing something he shouldn’t. “Come, I think I know a way through here.”
McCree follows close behind him as he treads carefully along the wall and through a couple of alleyways. After a few minutes, they end up on what seems to be the main road. “I thought you said you hadn’t been out that much,” McCree points out with a grin.
Hanzo shrugs. “That does not mean I have not ever been outside,” he says. “I know my way around the streets.”
“So where do you want to go?”
“I… do not know,” Hanzo says. “I have not been out here in a long time. I wonder if Hatori is still running his shop,” he wonders aloud. “My brother and I used to visit him weekly.”
McCree lights up into a smile. “Let’s go and find out, then. Shall we?” His enthusiasm is contagious and Hanzo can’t hold back a smile of his own as he leads McCree down half-familiar streets and remembers how it used to look.
To his surprise, and delight, the small hole-in-the-wall bakery is still there, and although it looks a bit more run-down, the smell is the same. Hanzo hesitates quite some distance away from the shop.
“What’s the matter?” McCree asks him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Is that not it?”
“No, it is…” Hanzo mumbles. “But I have not been there in years.”
“So? All the more reason to go and say hi.”
Hanzo continues to hesitate, until McCree gently pulls him across the street and up to the open window. There’s an old man standing in the shop, that shoots them a friendly smile. “ Welcome ,” he says. “ What can I get you? ”
Hanzo recognizes the man as Hatori, the same owner, and baker from all those years ago, but Hatori doesn’t seem to recognize him. In a way, that is both comforting and disheartening. He ignores both those feelings.
“ Daifuku ,” he mumbles, not even glancing at the menu. “ Please .”
“ Of course .”
Hatori turns away for a moment, busying himself with the sweets as Hanzo turns to McCree with a suddenly uncertain frown. “You okay?” McCree asks softly. Hanzo only nods in response.
They move away from the window and Hanzo’s voice is so soft that McCree has to lean closer to hear him. “It has been so long,” Hanzo mumbles. “He does not recognize me.”
“Does that bother ya?”
“No,” Hanzo says with a gentle shake of his head. “It is for the best.”
Hatori calls out for him and hands him an array of sweets on a flimsy paper plate. The sight and smell make Hanzo so nostalgic that he can’t hold back his smile. “ Thank you ,” he tells the shopkeeper, paying him for the sweets and rejoining McCree that’s found a bench to sit on.
Hanzo sits down next to McCree and places the plate between them. He gestures for McCree to help himself before he picks one up for himself. The taste is just as he remembered, and bring back a wave of happy childhood memories. Smiles and laughter he thought he’d forgotten. He takes a few moments to sit and remember as he eats, but when he turns to his unusually silent company, he can’t help but gawk at the sight.
The look on the young cowboy’s face is priceless. His eyes are wide with glee and he’s devouring the daifuku as if he’s starving and it’s the only food he’s had in weeks.
While Hanzo would normally chow down the sweets without any hesitation, being notorious for having a sweet tooth, it's ten times as satisfying to watch McCree's face twist with wonder with each bite.
Hanzo can't help but push more of the sweets over to McCree and watch him reach for another, and murmur soft profanities under his breath because, as McCree himself puts it; how in God's good name can beans be so sweet?
When McCree notices Hanzo's fascinated stare he averts his gaze, embarrassment and a very evident blush creeping onto his face. “What?”
“I take it that you like it,” Hanzo says softly, trying but failing to look away.
“Yeah, I do. Sweets here ain't like sweets at home. At home they're more… bland.” He furrows his brows. “Or well… Not bland. Just… Not as… I can't really put a word on it.”
Hanzo shrugs. “Perhaps you do not have to,” he says. “Silence can sometimes speak what words cannot.”
At first, it looks as if McCree is about to speak again, but instead he just smiles and turns his gaze towards the busy street. They eat in silence, and neither speak until the daifuku is eaten and all that’s left is the empty plate.
“Thank you,” Hanzo says, unexpectedly. “For taking me here.”
“I didn’t take you anywhere. You took me here,” McCree points out. “I just pulled you out the gate.”
“Which was what I needed.” Hanzo Folds his hands in his lap. “Hanamura is beautiful. Especially this time of year.”
“It sure is.” There is an almost dreamy sound in McCree’s voice. “Ain’t nothing in the world as pretty.” Hanzo turns towards him to agree, but the cowboy quickly looks away. “Anything else you want to do while we’re out here?”
Hanzo thinks for a moment, then nods. "I want to go and see the Koi ponds by the river."
McCree turns and smiles at him again. "Then let's go."
-
It’s late when they make it back to the northwest gate. The sun has just wandered out of sight and the darkness makes it easier to sneak around the garden without being detected. They walk close together, whispering about things they heard and saw outside the castle with their heads leaned in towards one another.
They part ways before they get discovered and Hanzo watches McCree head over to where the rest of the Deadlock gang sits around a firepit.
When Hanzo goes to bed that night, his cheeks hurt from all the smiling.
-
Despite his and McCree’s outing, Hanzo soon falls back into his old thoughts and habits. The ones that return each year during spring. An anniversary is coming up. One Hanzo would rather forget all about.
He declines McCree’s company several times, in favor of sitting in his room. He sits near the window, where the walls don’t feel as constricting and where he can see the sunny sky. Regrets and sorrow creep towards him from the dark corners of the room, digging their vicious fangs into him and burrowing their sharp claws in his chest.
Six long years have passed but the wounds feel fresh, and the pain is just as real as it was then.
Hanzo only leaves his room a few times a day to see to the tasks his father gives him, and attend the discussions between his father and Marco. Hanzo i silent during most of that time and when Marco has left his father says little but gives him an understanding look.
Hanzo is too ashamed to return those looks. His father could not possibly have accepted the event of grief and Hanzo’s ultimate failure. There was no doubt in Hanzo’s mind that his father silently resented him, and that the only reason he was still there was because they were related by blood.
He was a Shimada, and he belonged in the Shimada castle. Hanzo was strong and able, and his father knew that, which was probably why he was still being kept around. But a strong body is nothing without a strong mind.
-
It is by accident that Hanzo runs into McCree.
They bump into each other when Hanzo is retreating to his room after dinner, and McCree lights up into a smile when they meet. “Well howdy,” he says. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“I have been… busy,” Hanzo lies. He hasn’t been doing much but hide in his room, wallowing in grief.
“I see.” The look on McCree’s face says that he knows that Hanzo is lying. “Well,” the cowboy continues. “I spotted you earlier, in your room, through the window- uh… not that I’ve been spyin’ on ya or anything like that.” McCree nervously averts his gaze. “Nah, I mean I happened to look up and spot you and you looked… a bit upset. Figured I’d ask if everything was alright.”
Hanzo looks at McCree with empty eyes. “Alright?” he echoes. “I…”
When his answer doesn’t come McCree speaks again. “Thought you might be lonely. I don’t really see anyone else up where you are.”
“I am the only resident in the south wing,” Hanzo explains numbly, uncertain if he wants to answer the questions or not. He averts his gaze and shifts uncomfortably.
“You live up there all by yourself?” McCree sounds surprised. “Your father doesn’t sleep?”
Hanzo gulps but answers the question, staying as composed as he can. “He resides in a different part of the castle.”
“I didn’t realize…”
Something in Hanzo feels as if should explain, as if he should tell McCree that it hasn’t always been like it is. That once upon a time, the Shimada castle sparked with life and joy. “It was not always like this,” he murmurs. “The whole family once lived together in the south wing. My father, mother, my brother and I.” A wave of pain washes over Hanzo.
The silence seems to stretch the seconds out. “I-...” McCree hesitates. There is a slight pause, then he speaks again. But this time his voice is soft and silent. “Your brother. You don’t speak of him much… but it’s obvious that you were very close.”
Tension starts building in Hanzo the moment McCree mentions his brother. Genji . Hanzo says nothing. He lowers his head, making an effort to avoid the cowboy’s concerned gaze.
“I saw a picture somewhere. Can’t remember where,” McCree continues. “A picture of a young boy, and you.”
“Genji,” Hanzo interrupts McCree before he can continue. “My brother’s name was Genji.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
The sadness in Hanzo is suddenly overpowered by an unexpected rage. He clenches his hands into fists. He hates those words. Hates them so much he feels as if his chest is about to implode on itself. He squeezes his eyes shut and turns his head away from McCree, hoping to be able to force his emotions back.
“Hey,” McCree coos, shuffling closer and placing a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder. “It’s okay.”
Hanzo jerks back, brushing McCree’s hand away. “ It is not okay ,” he says. “How could it be?”
McCree holds his hands up in surrender. “Easy,” he says. “Are you okay?”
“I am not okay,” Hanzo says, shaking his head. “How could I be? How can I possibly be okay after what I did? I failed him.” He’s shouting now, not caring whether or not someone hears but like always it seems like no one’s there to listen or care enough to listen, except for McCree, who’s looking increasingly concerned. The look in his eyes makes Hanzo take a step back.
Pity.
“Slow down,” McCree says. “I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”
Of course not, Hanzo thinks. Who, with a healthy and sound mind would ever understand? And even if McCree could understand, Hanzo has spoken too much. Despite the want to stay and tell McCree everything he knows that he won’t be able to get a word out. He turns to leave but McCree grabs hold of his wrist. “Hold on. Don’t storm off on me.”
“ Let go ,” Hanzo hisses, jerking away and glaring at the cowboy. “You would never understand.”
McCree stares at him, eyes filled with hurt as he lets go and allows Hanzo to run away into the night.