Chapter Text
The moonlight filters into the room, climbing over his bare feet and up his ankles. He does not notice it, or the beauty of the night. For the thousandth time since he saw that armored shape moving in the shadows, he is running through it again.
What is he supposed to do with this fierce ghost, a stranger now, more dangerous than ever before, back from the dead?
He'd only done what he had to, always reacting. There had been nothing else. He'd looked down other paths, he'd found them dead ends, or closed, leading somewhere away from what he knew was right. He can almost see the ghost dancing past the edges, even now.
Why could he not have peace? He'd lost everything. He'd danced the steps, made the rituals, given the respect; and for nothing. Everything he'd tended, fostered, guided was in ruins. Everything he'd claimed and called his own. Even the name he'd built up for himself.
And somewhere out there, the shape glided, armored and armed, set on plans of his own. Moving further away from any bonds they'd had. Alien, on his own agenda.
He glances down. In his fingers, the blade glints.
**
At the same moment, the sun is sinking. He holds up the bottle. If he wants to escape into it, he can. Nothing stops him but the duties of the next day.
Was there no other way? he wonders. Why did I draw my weapon? Why didn't I wait, just another moment, to see if he would relent? Maybe he could have backed down, just enough.
Guilt is heavy in his gut.
We were making our worst decisions. We were at our worst. He was my brother. I killed him. He took away my name, my honor, my family... and what did I do? Why did I take so much on myself? Why didn't I refuse some of the advice I was given? Why didn't I remember who I was dealing with? I knew him so well, then.
He's still out there. He was just waiting for me to look alive again. He's just waiting for me to move. It's all on me, and I don't even know where to start. I don't know who he is now. Is there even a point to remembering him?
The bottle glitters in the light.
**
At the same moment, no light falls on him. He rests in complete darkness, breathing quietly. He has been forgiven. He doesn't understand this; it was spoken gravely, once, after he thought he was going to die. There was an offer, afterward, an invitation gently extended. He was glad to take it. And now he will redeem himself. Now he will prove he is better than the disrespect, the seething voices he listened to.
He knows he has been maneuvered to this point, surprised and harried to it, attacked and beaten. He accepts that. It had to be like this; it's his own fault, his own pride. He's apologized a thousand times. He will apologize a thousand more.
His shoulder burns. He accepts it. It is as he deserves.
**
Hanzo Shimada throws the blade into the well. Nonsense. I will never yield to such weakness.
**
Jack Morrison smashes the bottle into the ground. Fuck this! I'm going to bed.
**
Jesse McCree starts to shiver. Reaper likes his skin, so he's naked, just now. The ridges and edges under him are uncomfortable, but he's learned to accept them. Reaper is not comfortable outside his armor. Especially not when he's further away from... doing what he has to do, and his skin is becoming speckled with dots of jet, past even the deepest natural color healthy skin can acquire. Jesse thinks he's probably there, it's been a while since Reaper left him. He hopes he'll go fix it before it gets worse. Jesse tries to be strong, he tries to be brave, but feeling Reaper's flesh shifting under his skin, like a beanbag, is eerie and disturbing.
Reaper's gloved hand runs into his hair. He throws his coat over them. The shivering eases. Jesse relaxes into the armor beneath him. He wishes he could touch more, but Reaper has told him he lacks the aptitude to reconnect his arm; Jesse will just have to wait. In the meantime, sometimes he has phantom pain in one shoulder as his brain tries to figure out where his arm went.
Reaper's fingers have gone still on his scalp. Jesse works his toes into the top of Reaper's boot to rub his calf, just snagging his attention for another moment more. Reaper makes a soft, amused sound, and adjusts Jesse so his head fits between Reaper's collarbones and the underside of his mask.
Jesse doesn't think Reaper can ever sleep, just one more thing he's lost. But sometimes, when the drugs he has chosen are sending Jesse out of his skin, he will let Jesse sleep like this. Thanks, boss.
**
Each of them is drowning.