Chapter Text
"There's a legend about the mountain lion 'round here. 'Bout how he got his shape and the marks 'round his face."
"Please, Jesse. You should not speak," Hanzo insists. His hands hover over the cowboy's sides, unsure fingers shaking. The blood that wells from McCree's wounds is thick, and oozes freely from impressive gashes ripping open his skin. Tattered flesh and cloth drips with slick crimson, the wet sheen coating everywhere. The bleeding lacerations are so deep that Hanzo can see where his cracked ribs jut from beneath the gore.
"He did a bad thing, babe. Mountain Lion stole food from Old Man, and paid the price."
"Jesse, I beg of you," Hanzo presses, leaning closer and touching the big man's shoulder. The wounds are not so deep here, but he knows McCree's body is sore nearly everywhere. He's covered in bruises and viscera and blood. There's hardly any way for Hanzo to comfort him. "You must save your strength."
But McCree will not listen. His normally keen eyes are hazy with pain and exhaustion. But he looks up at Hanzo with such determination, that the archer does not have the heart to quiet him again. Shallowly, he swallows his words down past the tightness in his throat.
"So Old Man pulled Mountain Lion by the tail and stretched him out real long. Mountain Lion roared and roared until his voice broke, and all he could do after was scream." Each word is painfully exhaled, raspy and pitched in miserable pain. McCree coughs roughly. The the sound is wet and rattles in his chest. There's blood pooling on his tongue, and it seeps from behind his teeth.
Hanzo takes the time to wipe scarlet from his lips. He leans close, and gingerly gathers the mess of a cowboy into his arms. He feels heavy, dull and limp. There's no constriction of his muscles, only the feel of them sliding weakly under his skin. No strength left, McCree is on his last limb.
And surely he knows it. But despite all rhyme or reason, this damned stupid man is smiling. His teeth are red, everything is red on him now. There's so much blood. The smell burns Hanzo's senses. It hurts to see him like this. The stinging in the back of his eyes certainly isn't helping.
"And when Old Man was done stretchin' out Mountain Lion, he shoved his whiskers into the ashes of his fire to blacken his muzzle. And y'know what he told Mountain Lion?"
"Jesse-" Hanzo starts, desperate to quiet the dying man. He's wasting what little breath he has on silly stories. The rattle in his voice grows worse and worse with every nonsensical word.
"Yknow what he said, baby?" Desperation colors his words. He sounds afraid. Hanzo feels the fear so palpable it chills his blood. Stops it cold in his veins, and for a moment the archer forgets how to breathe.
Suddenly, McCree's hand is clutching tight at Hanzo's sleeve. His voice breaks on a whimper. And it dawns on him that the silence is exactly what he's afraid of. If he can hear his own voice, if he can hear Hanzo, then he must be alive. He must be fighting, surviving, pulling through.
McCree is terrified of being silent forever.
"Babe?" A cracked and fading whisper.
"What did Old Man tell Mountain Lion, Jesse?"
McCree's hooded eyes brighten some. It's such a tiny hope that makes them flicker, but it's great enough to break Hanzo's heart.
"He... He told Mountain Lion that from then on, all his kin would be like him. They'd be long and could only scream. He wouldn't roar like Mighty Jaguar any more."
"That is a terrible tale." Hanzo makes a soft noise, but a forlorn smile is on his lips. McCree can barely see it. Still, Hanzo is smiling. And that keeps the cowboy's shuddering heart beating. No, he can't let go now. Not when there's so many stories left to tell and so many smiles left to see.
"Poor Mountain Lion," McCree agrees. He settles his head into Hanzo's palm when the archer grooms back his hair. It's a weak motion, though Hanzo recognizes McCree seeking the comfort of touch as the cowboy nuzzles his fingers. Slowly, he grooms his cheek. Hanzo scratches at McCree's beard, feeling the reverberations of a shallow purr within his throat.
"He didn't deserve it. He was just real hungry."
"Mountain Lion never sought vengeance for what Old Man did?"
McCree hums. He's unsure. He doesn't claim to be an expert, but he can't recall any of his mother's fables about Mountain Lion's vindication.
"I hope not. Mountain Lion's been through enough, sweetheart." Hanzo's fingers tighten against McCree's skin. The cowboy is looking up at him. Those usually warm, hazel eyes are bloodshot and unfocused.
"He has." This time it's Hanzo's turn to agree, and bows himself over his wounded partner. Lips press gingerly to his cheek, peppering gentle kisses along his weather worn face.
"And now my Mountain Lion should rest his voice and body. You have chattered enough to wake the dead, Jesse."
McCree scoffs. A film of fresh blood splatters his lips as he does. Drawing in a noisy breath, he tries to laugh. Hanzo's a