Hanzo was effectively running out of options. There was pressureto deal with Genji and he was loathe to do so. He had mastery of his dragons, yes, but most of the men in his family also had at least one dragon bound to their body through the ink on their skin. His dragons, while immensely powerful, would not be enough for this. He needed an edge.

But what?

What could give him an edge that his family would also not possess? They had the personnel, the money, the weaponry. What could he find? What could he use? How could he get ahead?

It's not like Genji was completely innocent in all of this... but he didn't deserve to be put down like some dog. Didn't deserve to be pruned from the family tree like some blighted branch.

More research would be needed. Research to try and figure out what to do next. If there was even anything...

There had to be.

He went to bed, laying on his futon with wishes that his dreams would be pleasant and his slumber restful, but the expectation that neither would be true. Lately his dreams had been plagued with visions of Genji, an arrow stuck through his throat, gasping around his shock and betrayal.

The morning brought meditation with his brother in the gardens, an argument - "See reason Genji!" would be hissed through clenched teeth as his brother attempted to cut the practice short again. Followed by a "Whatever, you know where to find me" as the other male left, scaling the wall and slipping over with hardly a sound, leaving his shuriken embedded in one of the farthest trees with a flick of his wrist as he left. - and the remainder of his practice for the day.

Archery until lunchtime, clan business for two hours, then remedial lessons if he had failed to perform optimally. Wielding the dragons until dinner, where he'd be reminded again of what he stood to lose should Genji not be brought to heel, and quickly, then a scant few hours of free time until curfew. An hour or two of reading, or rather, staring at the same paragraph for the entirety of the time. His nightly pre-bed ritual, then hopes of a restful slumber.

It came to him in a dream after several days. Hazy visions of glowing red eyes. "Call on us," the voices whispered, "We can help."

When he awoke, his dragons were writhing beneath his skin, itching to be unleashed, nearly burning through the bedding in their impatience. Still he could not get those eyes out of his brain, even as he sat up and scrubbed at his own with the heels of his hands. Cold eyes, but burning with the fiery depths of hell.

Demonic. His brain supplied for him. The thought almost made him laugh. Demons didn't exist. If they existed...

But then, most people didn't think dragons existed either, and the tattoo that nearly gave off sparks as he touched it this morning was proof on the contrary.

Perhaps it was worth looking into.

It couldn't be any more of a waste of time than talking to Genji was proving to be.

Meditation. Argument. Breakfast. Archery. Lunch. 'Lessons'. Dragons. Supper.

Then after he ate, seeking out a place that could help him with his 'research'. He wandered the streets, quiet as the grave, eyes warding off anyone that would even consider speaking to him. He paused in the doorway of the arcade Genji was most likely in, and observed his brother while he worked over one of those infernal machines. Reflexes faster than anything the people around him had seen. They oohed and aahed whenever he beat some score or another. Hanzo watched as he looked away from the screen to talk and flirt with whoever was nearest, hands continuing to move with the lack of visual input as he lavished attention on men and women indiscriminately.

Shameful, to think of his own interests before that of the family.

Hanzo scoffed and turned away from the door, exiting with long, purposeful strides, resisting the urge to fold his arms across his chest while the dragons stirred inside of him. How they could be so active after the especially strenuous training they'd been through lately, to 'prepare' him for the daunting task that laid ahead.

Why it was his job to put down his brother like some mongrel was beyond his understanding. He would honor his clan as necessary, but the whole thing left a nasty taste in his mouth. Genji getting to be a free spirit, while he himself was caged.

Jealousy was an evil monster, and a worse master, but it existed in his heart. After all, Genji had taken the freedom to do what he wished, to be who he wished, instead of being bound by things like duty and honor. To watch people tortured and killed in front of him, knowing that he was being judged on his ability to maintain a neutral expression.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he nearly walked past it, a simple bookstore with a sign in the window titling it – rather plainly – 'Antique Books'.

A shiver slid down his spine at the sign, raising goosebumps down his arms and across the back of his neck. Yes, if he was to find what he was looking for it would be there. He pushed open the door, heavy and wooden, causing chimes to go off somewhere in the building. Older and also wooden by the sounds of it. It brought a big ape of a man out from the back, what looked to be a peanut butter sandwich half eaten in one hand as he adjusted his glasses.

"Welcome. What can I do for you today?" The man asked, setting the remainder of his sandwich down and peering at Hanzo with open curiosity.

"I am looking for a book," Hanzo told him, leaving off the 'obviously' that he so desperately wanted to include. But sarcasm and derision towards the strange man would do him no good. "An interest has been awoken through careful meditation and I was interested to see if you had any books on that topic." He was being intentionally evasive and the man behind the desk seemed to be understanding of his hesitance to speak as to what he was after.

"Well." the man said, coming out from behind the desk. "If you're looking for pornography I don't think you will have much luck." The man said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "But you may have some luck in the miscellaneous section." He gestured to the section in the farthest corner of the shop, lighting seeming dimmer just from the sheer lack of any glossy surfaces, most of the tomes in matte colors. "Next to that, we've got the occult section, werewolves, vampires, faeries and the like, though it's more attempts at proving their existence through nonfictional means and really quite interesting." The man continued the explanations of different sections, though honestly he stopped paying attention after the occult mention. He waited for the man to return to his desk with a phone call, talking quietly about looking through his stock once he was finished with this customer, to peruse the books in the occult section.

He found a couple of tomes that were promising and gathered them, along with others from other species of creatures to camouflage his true purpose. He returned to the counter and set the books down, waiting for he man to tell him his total. He paid for the books, and then set several extra bills on the counter, sliding them towards the man and the still uneaten half of his sandwich.

"For your discretion." Hanzo said by way of explanation. The man tried to tell him that it really wasn't necessary, but Hanzo already had gathered his purchases and was on his way out of the door.

He didn't start reading them until after it had been assumed he was off to bed, a single candle lighting his desk while he combed through each book, chapter by chapter, making notes on materials and sliding pieces of paper into the appropriate pages to serve as bookmarks.

Summoning a demon to wrangle Genji wasn't the best idea he'd ever had. But as his father grew sicker and sicker, time was running out. He needed to have someone that could keep up with his brother through magical means, so the man wouldn't just escape and get into trouble with his friends. It would only be temporary. Until he had full control of the clan. Then Genji could be Genji without being seen as a liability. But that meant he had to be kept under control in the meantime.

Why couldn't his brother understand that this is for the best?

It took a week for him to have all of the ingredients he needed for several different summoning rituals. Most of them crossed over between themselves, and animal bones along with graveyard dirt were both particularly common. Coming home knowing you ransacked not only a pet cemetery but an actual cemetery in one night left a bad taste in his mouth, although he'd done more immoral things throughout his short life.

He figured he'd just go through the list of rituals until he got a demon, and work on a negotiation from there. He started with the simplest rituals first and work his way to the more complex ones.

The first ritual he tried required him burying a box containing, amongst some other ingredients, his photograph. He buried them in the required place, and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

But nothing happened.

Irritated, Hanzo moved away from his place and began preparing things for a second ritual, clock nearing midnight. Still nothing. He returned to the compound and moved to the quiet spot he had determined had the most privacy, especially this late. Several rituals were lined up that had various sigils and geometric shapes drawn with chalk on stone. Candles lit, words that sat unfamiliar on his tongue.

Nothing each time.

A different series of rituals were prepared, this time with minerals and other materials being set aflame in or near those chalk symbols while he said more of those unfamiliar words.

One was promising, and he allowed himself to feel almost hopeful, even though the feeling of apprehension coiled deep in his stomach. There was a hell of a lot of smoke and a nasty smell that was somewhere in the realm of rotten eggs, but when it cleared from the circle, there was still nothing.

He kicked at the chalk out of irritation, cursing himself for thinking it would work.

Hanzo turned around to fetch a bucket of water to wash away the chalk and properly dispose of his failures, only to find he wasn't alone. A figure stood against the wall, smoke swirling around them yet. As the smoke cleared he could see a hat, and boots, and a cloak.

And...

Oh God...

Were those spurs?

Somewhere in the pit of his apprehension he felt his stomach drop. There was nothing in the literature that suggested he'd get some American out of a stupid television show. Anything he thought to ask for disappeared from his mind, leaving behind only the feeling that he had made a huge mistake.

The man pushed off of the wall, and Gods above, he made a jingling noise with every step.

As he entered the area of the garden covered in moonlight, Hanzo could see the truly stereotypical cowboy-esque clothing. He could also see the grin, full of too sharp, too white teeth. As the man lifted his head enough to allow Hanzo to see his eyes in the moonlight, they were unnaturally dark, like freshly poured pitch, darker than night, darker than anything Hanzo had ever seen.

He felt a chill run down his spine at the image the man made, even though it was ridiculous.

"Well howdy partner." The man drawled, Japanese perfect, though still somehow accented with at tinge of... some unknowable thing. "You sure went through a hell of a lot of effort tonight just to get lil' ol' me." There was that grin again, and another drop of ice slid down his body.

"I believe I have made a grave mistake. I am sorry you may go." Hanzo told him, though the man just stalked closer, still grinning.

"You sure about that sugar? I counted at least eight different rituals tonight. You seemed mighty determined earlier." The man stopped, close enough to touch, and Hanzo forced himself to straighten his spine, fist clenched as he readied himself to unleash his dragons if he had to. They weren't full strength without a weapon to channel them, but in close range they wouldn't need to be full strength.

"I am certain. I am sorry for wasting your time." Hanzo replied offering a small bow in the minimal space he had. He sure as hell was not backing up in front of the demon. Showing anything that might resemble fear was the absolute last thing he wanted right now.

"Well I still need payment partner. You summoned me, I came."

Hanzo frowned now. The demon was still grinning, looking at him with those too dark eyes, brim of his cowboy hat shading them from the moonlight. "Payment? I asked for nothing. We made no deal."

"Oh if we had struck a deal the payment would be much steeper, believe me" The man told him. "I just want something small. A trifle really. You won' even need to sign for it." He leaned closer, now firmly in Hanzo's space, dark eyes still locked on Hanzo's own.

"What is it you want?" He found himself asking, mind whirring with all sorts of possibilities as to what the demon would request. A hand reached past his head and he felt the ribbon being tugged from his hair, before seeing it being pulled into his line of sight, the same sapphire coloring as his dragons were.

"This'll do." The demon stepped back from him and grinned, still holding the silken ribbon as delicately as he could, which was a ridiculous thing to see those meaty hands do, the fingers nowhere near as slender as his own. He turned and began walking away, when he stopped and turned in place. "And if you ever change your mind about askin' for a deal, darlin', you can summon me by name."

"It would help if I actually knew your name. Not that I have any plans to summon anything like you again." Hanzo remarked, the light breeze causing his inky hair to fan out slightly, blowing out in the space past his shoulder.

"McCree. Jesse McCree." The demon told him, tipping his hat, before turning and disappearing altogether in the time it took Hanzo to blink.

Well shit.

One of the rituals actually worked.