my metal hand

instagram

🎨

instagram

🎨

a quick think inspired by a recent comic by @ludwigplayingthetrombone

McCree always stays Hanzo’s left. 

Hanzo doesn’t notice it at first, as it’s a detail that hardly bears attention. He realizes it for the first time when they walk through a crowded place, which forces them to move around other people and each other. McCree always finds his way back to Hanzo’s left side, eventually. He is casual about it, settling back into stride by Hanzo as though he belongs in that space, almost as though he is unaware of the habit himself. 

Hanzo doesn’t mind, necessarily. As long as McCree is beside him, in that close proximity where they can brush against each other as they walk, or reach over for an affectionate touch, he is happy. But he tests the theory out for himself, trying to walk at McCree’s left for a couple of days, and every time, McCree finds some way to switch sides again. 

“Why do you do that?” Hanzo finally asks one day, when he nearly trips over McCree as they try to move around each other again.

“Do what?”

“You must always be on my left. If it changes, you always move back. Why?”

“Oh.” McCree immediately looks sheepish. He rubs the back of his neck with one hand, averting his gaze skyward. “Well, that’s just ‘cause my prosthetic’s on my left side. So I like havin’ my right side to you.”

Hanzo frowns. “Why would that matter? I do not care that you have a prosthetic.”

“It ain’t that. It’s just–I can’t feel anythin’ with my left hand, is all.” 

Hanzo must still look confused, because McCree laughs softly. “So, you know, if I walk on your left side, I can feel if I do something like … ” He trails off as he reaches out with his flesh hand, gently touching the tips of his fingers to Hanzo’s left palm, then curling their hands together. Hanzo looks down, smiling as he finally realizes.

“Or this,” McCree continues, insinuating himself closer so he can wrap his arm around Hanzo’s waist, hand flat against his hip. Hanzo hums, enjoying the closeness, but has to resist the urge to lean into it and stop them both in their tracks.

“Or this,” McCree says again, rubbing his hand up Hanzo’s back until it settles against the back of his neck, fingers gently playing with a few hairs that have fallen astray from Hanzo’s ponytail. 

“I get it,” Hanzo says with a laugh. “Far be it for me to stop such a noble goal.”

McCree chuckles and reaches down for Hanzo’s hand again, threading their fingers together and holding fast. “The noblest,” he agrees. “I got lucky with you. I’m not gonna let somethin’ like my own metal hand get in the way of havin’ you every way I can.”