Untamed Spirit - A McHanzo Fic

Chapter 2

Pain.

A sharp-edged, though still somewhat dull, pain throbbed under his skin - shattering his hopes for the rest he had craved since his capture.

Groggily, the grey stallion opened his eyes. Yes, there it was - the relentless sting of the whip scars across his back. Even the comfort given by the warm, soft fabric of the makeshift blanket against his skin couldn't lessen the unbearable sensation. He let out an annoyed huff.

Why couldn't he be left to peacefully sleep for once?

Clenching his teeth together, trying to block out the pain, the mustang looked around him, took stock of his surroundings. Checking for anything he may have missed before, anything he may have missed through his exhausted haze.

He appeared to be standing in a round enclosure, similar to the corral before. Unlike that of Holt & Stansfield's, however, this one was lacking any sort of restraint. There was no wooden post to be seen, and he could feel no rough rope cruelly binding him. He had considerably more freedom than he had experienced in days, no doubt.

Even so, a fresh feeling of panic seized him.

The unfamiliar people who had rescued him from that hellish place had seemed kind, gentle, caring. He had learned that much. The man who brought him here in particular - the man who had gone to extra lengths to give him some form of comfort in his loneliness. But at the end of the day, they were still humans. Ordinary, non-shifter humans. Humans who, again, only saw him for the beast he was externally, and had no knowledge of the alternate form he carried within.

Who was he to judge? Who was he to say that they, too, wouldn't try and break him down like those he had encountered previously?

How could he possibly yet know that they were to be trusted? How -

An acute flare of agony through his hindquarters jolted him out of his thoughts.

No. Even if it was hard, he had to place his trust in them. He couldn't stand by and let the pain grow worse. Sure, he had heard his rescuers say that his scars would be looked over tomorrow, but what about until then? There was still time for something to happen, for them to uncomfortably swell, for an infection to take hold.

He couldn't risk it. He didn't know how he would get it this late at night, but he needed help. And fast.

The dark grey horse cast his eyes to the large farmhouse up the hill. All of the lights were turned out, and it did not seem as if a single soul was awake. If he could somehow get in there and find someone, anyone, to help...

He risked showing them what - who - he truly was, but that did not matter right now. He'd worry about the consequences later.

He knew what he had to do.

Come on, Hanzo. Fight the pain, and transform yourself.

He closed his eyes, and intently focused.

He knew it wouldn't be easy.

Change.

The horse willed images of his alternate state into his mind. Imagined, standing in his place, a middle-aged man of medium height and strong build. Tried to imagine muscle, bone and ligaments reforming themselves, shaping themselves into a completely different creature.

Sure enough, it happened. Quickly, too. He felt it in his hindquarters first, a fiery tingle which snaked along his spine like a needle under skin. The agony did nothing to help the pain already present. The unbearable feeling continued heedless, his legs shifting, stretching, moulding themselves into human limbs. His face retracting, his tail shrinking, his quadruped body morphing into that of a biped. Slowly, one by one, his bones flexed and twisted themselves into shape. Muscles knotted beneath his skin, straining and contorting. He clenched his teeth more firmly, wincing as the loud crack of his bones reached his ears. He would never quite get used to that.