Cherry Blossoms in the Rain

by DragonBoat (7eahaus)

Summary:

A non-chronological collection of stories about Hanzo.

Notes:

Thank you to my wonderful betas and helpers, especially Mel, for letting me run ideas by them and for allowing me to bother them about my story ideas at all hours.
I hope you enjoy reading this series of Hanzo shorts as much as I enjoy writing them.

Chapter 1: Atonement

Summary:

Hanzo gives up the name Shimada in the wake of the murder of his brother.

Genji’s wake and funeral is all a blur to Hanzo. The elders of the Shimada clan take care of everything for him. They are proud of him for finally dealing with his brother. They tell him that much in hushed words as everyone mourns the mysterious assaination of the youngest Shimada, likely at the hands of the Hashimoto. It’s so tragic but poetic for him to go just like his father. Hanzo doesn’t feel as privately proud as he thought he would.

He is in a perpetual state of awake and asleep, drowning and alive. Every step feels like he’s walking through waist deep water, sloughing his way through the motions of every day. He’s confused and disoriented, and he knows it shows. When he does sleep, because he knows he must, he wakes feeling like he never rested. During these nights, he never dreams. 

Something is coming for the Shimada clan, he can feel it. He’s not sure he wants to be here when it does. There’s something inside him that says it will be interesting, something else that says if it is the downfall of the clan, he deserves to go out with them. He is not sure what it will be, only that it feels like something big.

There is a hole in his heart, he thinks. He does not think about it being Genji shaped. His brother disappointed the clan, this is what he deserved. But they were brothers, after all. It’s natural to mourn someone you were close to. Even if they had it coming. Even if you had to take out the trash yourself.

Hanzo drinks. He drinks a lot . The sake and cigarettes distract him from the impending doom he feels is lurking just outside their door. He frequently throws up. He’s not sure if it’s from the weight of what he’s done (it feels so wrong) or the alcohol (there’s so much of it). The cigarettes distract him from the taste of bile in his mouth. When he doesn’t taste bile, he tastes blood.

Days turn into weeks and weeks into months, and Hanzo finds that no matter how much he drinks, how high he gets, how busy he keeps himself with clan business, he knows exactly how many days it has been: two, seventeen, thirty-eight, sixty-seven. Something prickles beneath his skin while he counts the days, something that feels like regret. Hanzo runs the clan, but he knows he’s doing a poor job of it. More than once, he catches himself wishing Genji were there, but the voices of the elders are always there to remind him that Genji made his choice to not obey.

One night, Hanzo passes out on the floor of his dining room after indulging too much in his now ever-present vices. That night, he dreams of his mother. She is crying, holding Genji’s broken form in her arms. But it is not the Genji that Hanzo killed. This is the Genji that Hanzo remembers from their childhood, the small sparrow of a boy who looked up at his big brother with awe in his eyes and a smile in his heart. Hanzo’s mother wails for the loss of her son, her baby boy. Hanzo’s own heart aches seeing this scene. The shadows at the edges of Hanzo’s vision creep in, whispering of murder, his hands stained red with Genji’s blood, and his mother wails, wordlessly.

“ Anija ,” the little Genji says, his voice still high-pitched and unbroken, “what have you done to me?” Blood bubbles out of his mouth and the dream narrows to his face before Hanzo wakes with a start.

He spends what feels like an eternity in the bathroom, trying to wash all of Genji’s blood off his hands. There’s so much of it. When he’s done throwing up last night’s dinner, Hanzo sits down at his desk and writes his letter of resignation. He carefully stamps it with his personal seal and sets it on his perfectly made bed. Someone will eventually come looking for him here. He puts a few outfits in a bag and slings Storm Bow over his shoulder. Then, in broad daylight, 190 days after the mysterious murder of his brother, Hanzo Shimada disappears.

Notes:

This fic has been a long time coming and it's still not finished. I just wanted to publish the first chapter on Genji's birthday, as a sort of birthday gift for him. I'll probably have the next chapter out by Hanzo's birthday with no regular posting schedule. I hope you enjoyed this and look forward to the next installment!

Chapter 2: Brother

Summary:

Hanzo is going to have a new sibling soon.

Hanzo is two years old when his mother becomes pregnant again, and a month shy of three by the time she is ready to give birth. His family has spent months preparing for the arrival of this new baby. Hanzo is old enough to have his own room now, and he wears this like a badge of honor. After all, he’s going to be a big brother soon and will need to set an example of how to behave to his younger brother.

“Do you want to feel him kick?” His mother asks. 

Hanzo nods eagerly. When his mother gestures for him to come near, he places his small face tenderly against his mother’s stomach. He can hear the baby kicking, and feel the vibrations in his mother’s swollen belly. He smiles and just as he does, feels a well placed kick at his eye.

“Hey!” He yells. 

His mother smiles at him. “He’s a strong one, isn’t he?”

Hanzo smiles back. He’s glad his brother is already strong. It just means he’ll be able to keep up with Hanzo when they eventually start training together.

 

Hanzo does not often feel discouraged by the child growing in his mother’s stomach. He’s been told by his father what an important role being the oldest son is, and therefore how important being the older brother is. But today is not one of the days he feels love and affection for his new sibling.

“When is he coming?” He asks for the hundredth time that day.

“Soon,” his mother says, touching her swollen belly. 

“Why can’t he hurry up?” Hanzo asks. “I miss sitting on your lap.”

“When the baby comes, he will have to sit on your mother’s lap,” his father says. “You are a big boy now, you can sit in your own chair.”

Hanzo makes a face, conflicted. He knows he’s a big boy, but does this mean his days in his mother’s lap reading stories in the garden are over?

 

Hanzo is not allowed in the bedroom when the baby is ready to make his appearance into this world.  Instead, he stands outside in the living room with Yamagami-san and his mother’s assistants while his father goes to hold his mother’s hand in their bedroom and aid in the birth of his younger brother. 

Hanzo is excited for his younger brother. They’re going to have so much fun together. They will train under Yamagami-san in the way of the sword. They’ll have lessons together in the courtyard and beg sweets off the cooks when their parents aren’t looking. His younger brother just has to be born first.

“Is it going to be long?” Hanzo asks Yamagami-san, looking up from coloring a picture of his new family. It feels like it has been forever since his father left.

“It could be,” Yamagami-san looks over at Hanzo’s picture. “Sometimes it takes a very long time for the baby to arrive.”

“How will he get here?” Hanzo looks back down at his coloring again. He takes a new piece of paper and starts drawing a picture of himself and his brother training with Yamagami-san.

The aforementioned weapons master thinks for a minute. “He’s going to come out of your mother’s stomach,” she says finally. “What are you coloring now?”

Hanzo abandons his questions to explain all the pictures he’s colored.

“And this is us training with you!” He says some time later, trying to stifle a yawn. It’s past his nap time, but his brother could arrive any second and he wants to be awake when he does. They’re going to be best friends from the moment he arrives, he just knows it.

 

Sometime later, Hanzo is awoken to the screaming of his mother. He has never heard her scream before, but somehow he just knows it's her.

“What’s happening?” He asks, trying to brush the sleep from his eyes quickly. He can’t help the way his voice shakes, all shows of big brother bravery forgotten.

Yamagami-san is sitting very still, lips drawn into a thin line. For a moment, she doesn’t speak and Hanzo becomes very afraid.

“Your father will protect your mother,” she says, finally. “Sometimes, the birthing process is painful.”

Fat tears roll down Hanzo’s cheeks as his mother screams again. 

“Come now,” Yamagami-san says. “Let’s go get you a snack.” She picks him up just like his mother used to do for him before she got too large, and even though Hanzo is ready to be a big boy, he thinks he can allow himself this.

 

“We had to do an emergency C-section,” Hanzo overhears one of the doctors say some time after his snack when the screaming has stopped. He is bouncing next to Yamagami-san as they wait for permission to go see his mother.

“Can I go see them yet?” Hanzo asks again.

“Yes,” the doctor says. “But you won’t be able to sit in your mother’s lap for a while and you must be very gentle with her stomach.”

Hanzo nearly drags Yamagami-san into the room with him, tugging hard on her hand so he can see his mother and new baby brother.

Finally, finally, there they are. His mother is sitting up in bed, flushed and sweaty, looking not quite herself, talking to his father with a bundle of what has to be his brother in her arms. Hanzo’s younger brother is small and pink and currently quiet, but Hanzo had heard him wailing earlier, just before he and Yamagami-san were allowed in the room. There is no hair on the baby’s head, but he knows it will one day be the same dark black color as his own. A protective feeling wells up in his chest.

“Hanzo,” his mother says softly, smiling at him. “Meet your younger brother, Genji.”

Hanzo stares in wonder at the tiny body in his mother’s arms, then at her belly where he used to be growing. 

“How did he come out?” Hanzo asks the nearest nurse, who is busy checking up and fussing over his mother.

“It was a hard birth,” he says, confirming to Hanzo what Yamagami-san had said earlier. “We had to cut her open to get him out! But now your mother and baby brother are both safe and sound, and your mother is all patched up again! She’ll be good as new soon.”

Hanzo is horrified. They had to cut open his mother to get his brother out, just like a big splinter! That must have been what all the screaming his mother was doing was about. She was so brave to allow them to cut her open like that! Hanzo felt a surge of protectiveness towards that little bundle in his mother’s arms. If anything were to happen to him, would they need to cut his mother open again to get another brother? As Yamagami-san fawns over the newborn in his mother’s arms, Hanzo makes a promise to himself that so his mother won’t have to be cut open again, he will protect Genji from disappearing or breaking with everything he has.

Notes:

Happy birthday, Hanzo.

I aim to have the next chapter up soon.

Chapter 3: Cole Cassidy

Summary:

No one knows how to get under Hanzo's skin quite like Cole Cassidy.

Hanzo avoids most of the agents he knows have a history with Genji like the plague. There’s only so much of this he can do now that Overwatch has decided it’s going to keep him, at least for the time being. This usually means avoiding everyone at the watchpoint as much as Genji will allow, because like hell he’s going to hang out with people who are a decade younger than him and most of the older agents knew Genji before his time with the Shambali. Hanzo spends most of his time alone in one of the training rooms, looking as unapproachable as possible whenever anyone else tries to join him. This works on everyone except for one person.

“I appreciate a man with traditional taste in armaments.”

Cole Cassidy and his ever-present cigar don’t take Hanzo’s glares as a warning cue to back off. He invites himself into Hanzo’s training room, despite the others available, red serape hanging off of one shoulder like he’s got all the time in the world to bother Hanzo.

“Have you ever fired a bow?” Hanzo responds crossly, notching another arrow.

“No,” Cassidy drawls, meeting Hanzo’s level of annoyance, like this was his territory, “but you won’t catch me with one of them pulse rifles either.” He nearly spits out the name of the weapon type. “I’ve got Peacekeeper, and that’s all I need.”

Hanzo nods jerkily, and then goes back to firing his arrows, thinking their conversation is done. It isn’t. Cassidy chatters on about various other things that Hanzo does his best not to pay attention to, and when he gets bored of chattering on, Cassidy wanders away, leaving Hanzo to pick up his arrows and try not to stare at the cowboy’s odd fashion choice in what Genji told him were “assless chaps.”

 

Hanzo is used to rising early from his days with the Shimada clan, although he is also no stranger to staying awake at night, usually for assassination contracts he took up in his time after running the Shimada clan and the formal disbanding of it shortly after his own leave. It does surprise him that Cole Cassidy can also be an early riser. 

Some mornings, Hanzo will come down to the community room and make himself a cup of tea and will find Cassidy already there deciding what to make the residents of the watchpoint for breakfast. He’ll give Hanzo an easy smile, no matter how grumpy Hanzo looks, and say, “Howdy,” like he wears annoying Hanzo like a badge of honor.

This morning, Hanzo is the first one up. It’s getting closer to the anniversary of Genji’s murder and the nightmares won’t stay at bay. Hanzo often wakes up shaking, sweating, yet freezing cold, gasping for breath. The tea he gets up to make does little to quell the nightmares, but it at least evens out his body temperature and is a routine he can use to clear his mind.

“Howdy, pardner,” Cassidy says, startling Hanzo out of his thoughts. “You’re looking mighty tired, there.”

Hanzo makes a noise of agreement. He’s aware that he let Cassidy more or less sneak up on him. He’s getting complacent in the few months he’s been at the watchpoint. The new term of endearment is almost lost on him as he’s busy internally scolding himself to do better.

“Pancakes or French toast today, d’ya reckon?” The cowboy asks Hanzo, sounding like he’s still waking up.

Hanzo meets Cassidy’s tired-looking light brown eyes with his own matching dark brown ones. He notices how soft they look, even in the harsh light of the kitchen. He clears his throat.

“I am not partial to either one,” he finally rasps, voice heavy with lack of sleep, looking away.

 

Cole Cassidy seems to have decided that he is fond of Hanzo, or at the very least fond of annoying him. He bothers Hanzo in the training room whenever he sees fit, even going as far as challenging the archer to a shooting competition. (Hanzo wins, but not by the large margin he wishes he had. Cassidy is a good shot, and Hanzo redoubles his efforts in practice once Cassidy leaves him that day.) Cassidy bothers Hanzo as he makes traditional American breakfasts while Hanzo sips green tea, or while cooking steak dinners for the watchpoint, sipping whiskey as Hanzo enjoys sake. 

“You know, that sake’s not half bad,” Cassidy says to him one night. “But I prefer a little bite to my liquor.”

Hanzo scoffs. “How predictable. Such an unsophisticated taste.” His words come out sharp, but perhaps not with half as much bite as they would have months ago. He supposes they are colleagues and it does well to be on good terms with those you work with.

 

There is no denying now that Cole Cassidy thinks they are more than colleagues, perhaps even friends. He greets everyone with a “partner” or a “darlin’” and it’s not lost on Hanzo when his own greeting switches between the two.

The night Cole first calls him the affectionate pet name, everyone is in high spirits and drinks flow freely, so there is no doubt in Hanzo’s mind that Cole had not been sober. Had he been completely sober himself, Hanzo thinks his traitorous heart would not have stuttered like it had. Hanzo can’t even remember what Cole says to him that makes him use the pet name, but it’s enough that even after retiring for the night, his heart thuds with it and Cole’s voice echoes in his head, “darlin’, darlin’, darlin’.”

Hanzo lays awake that night and for the first time in a while, he’s not kept up by nightmares, but because of a torture of another kind. When he finally sleeps, he dreams of gunpowder in his tea and a voice saying “darlin’” as he murders his brother, blood spilling across Genji’s body like a familiar red serape. He awakes in the middle of the night with a slight hangover, disgusted with himself. He wretches into the toilet despite not being hung over enough to throw up, willing himself to feel better, even though he’s not sure it will help.

Cole Cassidy is everywhere he is not supposed to be, and Hanzo hates him for it.

Notes:

So, I've decided to try and post every Friday! I hope you've enjoyed this, and I'll see you next Friday!

Chapter 4: Dragons

Summary:

The Shimada siblings have a formal reunion when Hanzo decides to head to Watchpoint: Gibraltar. It's about as hard on Hanzo as you'd expect.

Watchpoint: Gibraltar is a sight to behold. Not only is the rocky cliffside a natural wonder, the giant militaristic outpost on top of it is an odd sight in it of itself. It’s exactly the type of thing that an organization of Overwatch’s caliber would build: stark, strong, militaristic. It contrasts with the beautiful beaches and vibrant town he saw on his way in. 

Hanzo walks up the long twisting path to the watchpoint, his Storm Bow and quiver strung over his shoulder as well as a small backpack. He stands before the gates to the watchpoint, barbed wire and electric fences a standard for the type of compound in the distance. 

He’s seen military bases before, back in Japan when he would go with his father to inspect shipments of weapons for the clan, but that was always under the cover of night, and he and Genji were never taken to the bases directly while their father met with the clan’s contact. These infrequent outings were fascinating to both brothers. The younger Shimada had always been more fascinated by the idea of their father trading for guns and Hanzo more prideful in his father’s importance and knowing that he would one day take over these outings. The memory made Hanzo cringe internally instead of smiling with fondness at it like a normal brother might have.

Hanzo knew he still had time to return to the village, and forget that it had only been a little over 8 months since he found out his brother was still alive after 10 years of thinking he had murdered him. He could still ignore his brother’s summons to join Overwatch. Overwatch was for good people, heroes. Not people who killed others. Not for people who killed their own blood. Not for assassins and murderers like Hanzo.

Right as he is about to turn around and leave, pretending this was all a mistake, a moment of weakness, a polite treble voice rings out in American English from a security podium next to the gate.

“Welcome to Watchpoint: Gibraltar. Please state your name.”

He clears his throat, knowing it would be rough from disuse.

“Hanzo.”

There is a long pause. Hanzo isn’t sure what to do now. Again, he contemplates running away, but there’s movement before he can do it.

“Welcome, Hanzo Shimada,” the voice says again as the gates are opening. “Please follow my guidance.”

Hanzo frowns. He did not give his last name, and yet the voice responded with it anyway. It must be Genji’s doing. Another reminder of the things Hanzo has lost, another way of throwing the past back in his face. He grimaces, following the lit up path towards the large military base.

Hanzo enters the base into a small hallway where a very large gorilla is seemingly waiting for his arrival. Hanzo shifts on his feet, uncomfortable.

“Hello, you must be Hanzo Shimada, Genji’s brother,” the gorilla says, as if their talking is the most natural thing in the world. “I’m Winston and I’m, well, I guess I’m the leader of Overwatch. Welcome.”

“Just Hanzo is fine.” If Genji has spoken about him, there’s only so long they will allow him to stay here before he’s sent away, probably in some sort of injured state. He doesn’t know why he hasn’t been attacked on sight. Winston’s false kindness is just to lure him into some sort of trap. He should have left when he originally intended. He doesn’t know if he can make it out of the base with just the arrows that he has. It all depends on how many people they send after him.

“Alright then, Hanzo. Genji is waiting for you in the community room,” Winston says, turning as if to lead Hanzo further into the base.

If Genji is waiting, then surely this is to be settled as a family matter, with a fight between the brothers. Hanzo’s mind whirls, thinking about how the community room is probably small and he’s not good with close range combat with Storm Bow. The following guilt that builds up in his throat for even thinking about fighting Genji again threatens to choke him. Quietly, he follows Winston, trying to remember how to breathe again.

Hanzo is led to a large room with several folding tables in various states of use for puzzles, games, and the like, with one larger table in the center. In one corner of the room is a large kitchenette, complete with an oven and stove for baking and cooking. In another, is a couch, facing away from the door towards a holoscreen, no doubt meant for entertainment for the agents when they were off duty. Sitting on the couch is a now familiar cyborg with a black ribbon trailing from his helmet. Genji.

The other Shimada stands and turns, faceplate glowing green even in the current light of the room. Hanzo feels guilt stab through his chest. That faceplate is only necessary because of his own actions. All the metal that now covers his brother’s mangled skin, all of that is his doing, his responsibility.

“Hanzo!” The slightly mechanical voice exclaims.

Hanzo winces. This too is his fault. His brother no longer sounds like he remembers behind all the metal.

“I’ll leave you two to your reunion,” Winston says, turning around, a smile on his face. Hanzo feels a little sick at the prospect. So Winston is on Genji’s side after all. Unsurprising.

Genji stands and makes his way toward Hanzo quickly. Hanzo instinctively tenses.

“I didn’t hear from you for months, I thought you weren’t going to come.” Genji wraps those metallic arms around Hanzo’s middle and Hanzo stiffens further. Is this how they were going to settle the score between them, bare fisted and starting with a throw? Hanzo knows landing on his back with Storm Bow’s case is going to be a heavy crack to his spine and the tea set he keeps in his backpack will likely break, but can’t seem to find it in himself to care. This is what he deserves for creating the mangled mess of his brother that is in front of him.

Genji releases Hanzo after a few seconds, which feels like an eternity, and then pauses.

“Was that too much?” The younger Shimada asks.

Hanzo stares, his brain whirring to keep up. This is not a throw. This is a hug . Genji is glad to see him and is hugging him. Hanzo is disgusted with himself. How can the brother that he murdered in cold blood be so kind to him? He doesn’t deserve this kindness. His hands are stained with the blood of not only his brother, but all the people he killed in the ten years between their fight and now. He is tainted, unclean, damaged goods, and Genji, who’s blood stains his hands even now, ten years, eight months, and six days later, is touching him like nothing ever happened, like Hanzo isn’t dirtying him just by their physical contact.

“You… should not touch me.” Hanzo says, voice quiet.

“I apologize, anija .” Genji withdraws, visor-covered face unreadable to Hanzo. 

Does he sound disappointed? Or is the formality to put hierarchical distance as well as physical distance between them? Was it just his imagination, or did the light on Genji’s visor dim slightly? 

“I’ll show you to your quarters, if you want.” Genji offers after a beat of silence. Hanzo nods, although he doesn’t have much with him, and Genji continues, walking out of the community room and down the halls. “Winston thought it would be best if we had our own quarters, and there’s no shortage of them currently. This base is barely up and running yet, but he’s doing a good job with everything, despite the state of it all.” Genji chatters them down a couple hallways, before pointing at a long stretch of doors. “Just choose one of these, we’ve got plenty.” Genji waved a metallic hand towards the end of the hallway. “I’ll be just down the hall if you need me.” Genji motioned to a door on their left. He punches in a passcode and enters what Hanzo assumes is his room.

Hanzo wanders down the hall, picking the dorm furthest from anyone. He knows he won’t stay here for long. He scans his biometrics into the door and chooses a passcode for it when he’s prompted by the automated voice that guided him in. The voice welcomes him to Overwatch and marks his door with his full name, earning a grimace from Hanzo. What is he supposed to do, though? Talk back to the ever-present voice? He doesn’t need people being even more distrustful of him than he knows they already will be.

Hanzo shrugs Storm Bow off his shoulder and sets it down by the door and takes in the rest of his new room. Spartan white sheets on a queen bed with a dresser, a closet, a desk, and a bedside table with a lamp; clearly this used to be some sort of officers quarters, but a far cry from the luxury of Shimada Castle. Hanzo checks the clock. He’s tired from traveling all day and although it’s not quite a reasonable bedtime yet, he figures he can sit at the desk and read the news before bed. He puts his meager few clothes away and grabs a ration bar from his backpack so he can avoid everyone else instead of heading back to the community room for dinner. He doesn’t want to impose on Overwatch’s hospitality, as he knows his time is limited here. 

After washing down the ration bar with some water, wishing he had the facilities in his room to make tea, Hanzo climbs into bed. He stares at the ceiling and wonders how long it will be before he’s back to running, taking up assassination contracts where he can. He is slowly dragged down into sleep, dreaming of cherry blossoms turning into blood on the tatami mats of his youth.

 

Hanzo lives at the Watchpoint, dodging members of Overwatch as much as he can, for almost two months before Genji calls him out on it when he’s sneaking away from the community room after stealthily grabbing some of the sausage, eggs, and bacon Cole Cassidy had cooked up for breakfast.

“ Anija ,” Genji says, louder than he needs to, for even Reinhardt Wilhelm has his mouth full at the moment. “Come join us. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” Hanzo does his best not to meet Genji’s eyes. His visor is off and Hanzo can see every line he carved into his brother’s face if he looks hard enough. Hanzo looks down at the food he’s put on his plate and suddenly feels less hungry than he had seconds ago. What had he wanted all this for?

Hanzo does not see an open seat at the table and is about to tell his brother so and excuse himself, when Torbjörn and Brigitte get up to go to their workshop, leaving a seat across from Genji and an omnic who Hanzo assumes is his guest, open. Begrudgingly, Hanzo sits down in the chair next to Cassidy, who is in a conversation with Lena Oxten, better known as her callsign “Tracer”.

“This is Zenyatta, my master from my time in Nepal.” Genji says turning to the omnic once Hanzo is seated. “And this is Hanzo, my brother.” Here Genji gestures to where Hanzo is sitting, uncomfortable and awkward, with his now too full plate. Hanzo makes eye contact with the omnic, nodding his head slightly in greeting, and resumes pushing his sausage around his plate.

“There is no reason to refer to me as your master,” the omnic, Zenyatta, says to Genji in a smooth tenor. “These days, I wish to be known only as your equal. You have come a long way since we first crossed paths.” The omnic and Genji seem to share some sort of look with each other that Hanzo cannot decipher, perhaps reminiscing on their days together in Nepal. Hanzo hadn’t even known Genji had gone to Nepal, but he supposes that in the ten years, nine months, three weeks, and two days, Genji had to have been doing something that made him crazy enough to state his forgiveness upon their first meeting. 

“Zenyatta trained me in the ways of the Shambali monks,” Genji explains for Hanzo’s benefit. “He taught me to find inner peace and helped me to find comfort in my new skin. I owe much to him.”

Hanzo’s own flesh prickles with discomfort at his brother’s words. He bites into his sausage in an attempt to quell the feeling of guilt in his stomach. It tastes too much like flesh and Hanzo has to concentrate on swallowing it instead of rudely spitting it back out onto his plate.

“Hanzo,” the omnic says, calling the archer’s attention back to the conversation at hand. “I have heard much about you from Genji.”

Hanzo stalls at that. Surely then this former master of Genji must hate him with all their being. He’s not sure what to say in response. Guilt chokes him and he struggles to keep the next mouthful of eggs down. His eyes water slightly as he tries not to cough.

The monk looks at the younger Shimada, who is frowning in concern at his brother. Zenyatta then turns back towards Hanzo, all glowing eyes, glowing orbs floating around him. 

“I sense that your hardest battle is yet to come,” he says serenely. 

Hanzo isn’t sure what to make of that. He has had many hard battles in the past ten years, but has come out of all of them on top. That is a subject he at least feels confident with. He frowns with concentration.

“I will best any enemy, no matter how strong.” Hanzo replies, his voice steady. Not even the chill of the late January wind would’ve made his voice shake.

“And what of the enemy within?” The monk asks.

Hanzo leaves the table abruptly, but thinks about what Zenyatta said into the early hours of the morning.

Notes:

Happy late birthday Suo! I hope you enjoyed this one, and I'll see you next Friday!

Chapter 5: Exile

Summary:

Hanzo learns what has happened in Hanamura after he left.

Hanzo leaves Japan in May, the year after his fight with his brother. It makes him feel like a coward to flee his beloved home country, but he knows he’ll be back at least once a year to honor his brother’s memory. 

When his plane lands in Beijing, Hanzo expects to feel relieved, but instead, all he feels is crushing loneliness. In a city of 25 million people, he achieves what he thought was impossible. 

With the alias he has created for himself—Yuusuke Nakamura—Hanzo tries desperately to find work, but not knowing the language and the fact that Yuusuke has no work experience to speak of is a great hindrance to him. He manages to find work in a factory, but finds the grunt work extremely monotonous and below his abilities, but it gives Yuusuke a little extra money to work with. The extra money comes in handy when the first assassins find him and make themselves known in December of that year. 

It’s Christmas eve and Yuusuke Nakamura is heading home from his shift at the factory. He knows his apartment will be cold and dark when he arrives, no lover to welcome him home. There will be no presents and no Christmas tree because Yuusuke lives alone and barely converses with any of his coworkers while at the factory. A private man, some of his colleagues had tried to cajole him into going out to drink with them that night, but Yuusuke smiled and politely declined their offer. He walks home across snow dusted streets, thinking to himself about what he’s going to cook for dinner that night—likely cup ramen again—when he’s pulled into a dark alleyway by someone from behind. 

Yuusuke Nakamura does not know self defense, but Hanzo Shimada has been trained in it practically since birth and is able to flip his attacker onto their back quickly. A glint off a knife in the single streetlamp’s glow is all the warning Hanzo gets before Yuusuke Nakamura’s favorite coat is slashed open, leaving a small knick in Hanzo’s side. Yuusuke would mourn the loss of his trusty coat, but Hanzo has no time for such things. A couple of quick maneuvers and Hanzo has his attacker on their back, knife kicked somewhere further down the alleyway. It is then when he hears the gunshots.

Hanzo feels rather than sees the bullet rip through his right shoulder. It just barely grazes him, but he knows that next time he won’t be as lucky.

Hanzo makes a break for it. He doesn’t care that he’s leading his attackers straight to Yuusuke Nakamura’s apartment, but he knows his own Storm Bow is stored there and he’s a sitting duck without it. Taking the long way back pays off and Hanzo is able to scrape together the meager belongings he has, bind the injury on his shoulder, and dash up to the rooftop. He doesn’t hear more gunshots, but he knows his attackers are lying in wait.

From his position on the roof, he lucks out. There’s a sniper on the roof of the building across from Yuusuke’s apartment. The amateur is just barely visible from the ground Hanzo knows, but they don’t seem to know he’s on the rooftop yet. Quietly as he can, gritting his teeth through the pain of the bullet wound, Hanzo pulls back the string on his Storm Bow, lining up the perfect shot. He centers himself like his mother taught him. Breath in. Shoulders down. Back straight. Breathe out. He lets go of the bowstring.

 

There’s only one man left now. Hanzo corners him in the early hours of Christmas morning and shoots an arrow through both his legs so the man is unable to run away.

“ Who sent you? ” He asks in his native tongue. It feels foreign on his mouth after so many months of disuse. “ How did you find me? ”

“ Wouldn’t you like to know, ” the man at his feet says, but there’s pain in his voice.

“ I would, ” Hanzo responds, and shoots and arrow through his heart.

 

It doesn’t take Hanzo long to find a data merchant online who can trace the cellphone he found on one of the corpses he leaves in Beijing. He trades old Shimada family secrets to them in exchange for information on his would-be assassins. The trail leads him back to Hanamura: the Hashimoto. He can only assume that they want him dead for being the last true heir to the Shimada clan.

The next day, Toichirou Ando is on a plane to Egypt.

Notes:

Hope you enjoyed this week's chapter! And shout out to my friend who's going through a tough time these past few weeks. I hope this made you feel a bit better.

Chapter 6: Failure

Summary:

Hanzo learns the hard way.

Hanzo is seven when it happens. The slap echoes off the walls of the Shimada Castle dining room. This is not the first time this has happened and it will not be the last, but this time, it’s something new. This isn’t Hanzo misbehaving, or at least it isn’t as clear cut. His mother hides her surprise quickly. His sniffles stop immediately, but the tears still flow freely from his eyes.

“You are a man,” his father says. “There is no use crying over such things. Do better.” Sojiro leaves the dining hall, meal half finished. The servants will bring it to his study later.

Hanzo stays in the room long enough for Genji’s mouth to open, but he flees before his brother can say anything. He locks himself in his room. It feels like hours that he sits there and silently sobs into his knees before he hears the knock at his door. He opens it, hoping it will be his mother. It’s not. One of the cooks, Shimano-san, is outside his door with the rest of his meal. Hanzo doesn’t feel hungry anymore, but he accepts the food with mostly dry eyes.

 

It happens again when he is fifteen.

Hanzo is getting close to one of the boys in his class. This is one of the first times he’s made a friend outside the clan. He hides this friendship away from his family. Genji makes friends easily and Hanzo isn’t fond of how that’s often shoved in his face when Genji goes to arcades with classmates after school. His parents would likely frown upon his association with someone outside the family, so he keeps it from them too, even if he thinks his mother might be interested in Ken Tanaka’s skill with a bow.

Hanzo isn’t enticed by skipping class for the arcade like his fellow students. No, he and Ken would rather hang out in the after school archery club, competing for who can hit the most bullseyes. Ken is the only one in the club who matches Hanzo’s skill and facing off against him always gives Hanzo a little thrill.

Ken and Hanzo are in the same class at school as well. They don’t pass notes in class, but they spend every free moment talking together. Ken enjoys shogi and plays with Hanzo often. Even though Hanzo loses to him, for the first time in a long time, Hanzo is having fun . 

Sometimes Ken brings in funny short videos of American school children pranking their teachers and shows them to Hanzo during lunch break. They make elaborate plans that they know they’ll never follow through with, how they would do it if it were them. The kids in the video remind Hanzo of Genji, ever the trickster. He wishes he was more fun. When he voices this, Ken tells him, “You’re plenty of fun, Hanzo” and bumps his shoulder affectionately.

It takes months of knowing each other, months of spending school days together, before Hanzo is confident enough to spend any time with Ken outside of school. Ken asks him to hang out often, but Hanzo has declined every time, saying he has strict parents. It’s not far from the truth, but he has minor clan duties and tutoring after school most days. He can’t tell Ken about these, so he just fakes his way out of each invitation. But by late January, Hanzo is ready to go over to Ken’s house. His father says he is coming to pick him up from school that day personally, and Hanzo figures he will just ask his father when he gets there.

“Hanzo, I need to talk to you about something,” Ken says as school is ending. He fidgets with the edge of his school vest. Hanzo has never seen Ken this nervous. “Can we talk outside?”

Hanzo follows Ken outside to the bike racks where Ken normally gets on his bike to go home. It’s an old thing, but Ken loves it. Hanzo offered to help him buy a new one—he has a decent amount of personal money saved—but Ken said it was his prized possession despite its flaws. Now, Ken is gripping the handles like a lifeline.

“Hanzo,” Ken starts, but Hanzo sees his father in the distance. He grabs Ken’s hand before the other boy can say anything and practically runs towards his father in the distance. He is stopped short when his father grabs his arm roughly and tugs Hanzo out of Ken’s reach.

“Behave yourself,” Sojiro Shimada says, and smacks Hanzo across the face. “This is no way for you to act. Wait in the car for me.”

Hanzo isn’t sure what burns more, the slap or the shame. He doesn’t give Ken a second glance as he flees to the car. He waits there until his father joins him a handful of minutes later.

“That kind of behavior is unacceptable for a Shimada,” his father says once the doors are closed. “You are the heir to the clan, and so too will be your first born son. You are expected to have exemplary behavior. You are not to fraternize with people who are below your status, and certainly not other men. You are not to speak to him again, do you understand me?”

Hanzo nods around the lump in his throat. He doesn’t quite understand what he’s done, but he’s already mentally filling out his resignation form from the archery club. The next day, Hanzo says nothing to Ken, plays on his own phone during free periods, and eats lunch alone. When they start second year a few months later, Ken is nowhere to be seen. Hanzo can’t tell if he’s glad or not.

 

Cole Cassidy catches Hanzo when he’s sneaking out at 2 A.M. to do training while everyone else is asleep.

“Howdy, partner,” he says, like it isn’t ass o’clock in the morning. “Haven’t seen you around since that mission the other day.”

Hanzo knows which one he’s talking about. Because of a stupid mistake, he let Talon get away with vital information about Null Sector’s next plans. He hasn’t eaten in three days as punishment. “There was much to reflect on,” he says.

“I don’t reckon I’ve seen you at mealtimes lately either. You eatin’ okay?” Cassidy asks.

“I am not hungry,” Hanzo says automatically. In the quiet corridor, the rumble of his stomach is audible, marking his lie.

“Mhm,” Cassidy says, raising an eyebrow. “You should come get a bite to eat.”

“I am fine,” Hanzo says. He knows he’s probably swaying on the spot; it’s from the lack of sleep.

“You don’t look fine,” Cassidy crosses his arms. “You ain’t been eating or sleeping, by the looks of it. What gives, Hanzo?” He asks, his voice softening.

“I don’t need your pity!” Hanzo spits back. Maybe it’s because he’s so tired, maybe it’s because he’s almost mad with hunger now, but he continues on. “You do not understand this, you never will. You’re good, you do not make such grave mistakes as me. You are not a f—” Hanzo doesn’t realize he’s breathing heavily until his vision starts blurring with potential tears. He clamps down on the urge to cry immediately. Crying is a weakness. He knows better, he will do better. He whirls around, steps back into his room, and slams the door in Cassidy’s face.

When he opens it next, he’s slept at least a few hours. There’s a note taped to his door in Cassidy’s handwriting telling him there’s food for him in the communal fridge. When he takes his soup out, a post-it note falls off it. In Cassidy’s handwriting is one short sentence.

You are not a failure.

Hanzo thinks this is the first time he’s ever been told that.

Notes:

I hope you enjoyed this week's chapter! See you next Friday!

Chapter 7: Guardians

Summary:

Hanzo sees an old friend again.

Hanzo should have known something was wrong when Cole Cassidy mentioned the foxes. The sight of a red fox here and there wasn’t uncommon in Gibraltar, but enough that the cowboy had noticed and thought to mention them should have been enough warning to Hanzo of what was about to come. Perhaps Genji would have had the same insight, but with the anniversary of Genji’s death still fresh in his mind, Hanzo had been dodging his brother when he could. It helped that one of Zenyatta’s visits to Gibraltar seemed to be timed with Hanzo’s desire to avoid his brother. 

Hanzo respected the monk, but felt unsettled by his presence on more than one occasion, like he was being inspected and picked apart and laid bare. It was convenient for Hanzo that his brother almost seemed to want to be more occupied with the omnic than his brother when Zenyatta was around, because it meant less time that they could spend reading him, poking and prodding at old wounds.

 

It’s been 4121 days since his fight with his brother. Hanzo has tried not to count the days, but there’s something innate, biological about the way he always knows how long it’s been. It’s a bad habit he has yet to kick.

Genji is out in the village with Zenyatta, volunteering at a local soup kitchen, when Athena alerts Hanzo, who is in the training room, shooting arrows at training bots from increasingly tricky angles.

“Agent Shimada, there’s someone asking for you by name at the front gates. Biometric scans indicate they have no hostile intentions. Commander Winston has given the all clear for you to proceed out to meet them.”

Hanzo takes his time gathering up his arrows and slinging Storm Bow over his shoulder. He doesn’t bother to change out of the sweaty training clothes he’s in. If Athena is wrong and he is about to engage in a fight, there’s no reason for him to shower and make himself look presentable to yet another assassin sent to kill him. Checking that he has enough arrows to last him, Hanzo finally sets out from his room to the front gates of Watchpoint: Gibraltar.

 

“The word on the street in Kanezaka is that the ex heir to the Shimada family joined up with Overwatch,” an unmistakable voice says when Hanzo reaches the gates. He groans internally. Of all people to get mixed up in this business, he never wanted her to be one of them. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” he responds.
“And yet I am,” Kiriko shoots back. And here she is indeed, barely looking a day older than he had last seen her. She should have aged in the 11 odd years since he’d last seen her.

“You look… young.” He says, stupidly.

“I’ve always been younger than you.” Kiriko argues. “Invite me inside. I’ve got a lot to say and I’m not doing it out here.”

 

Kiriko is happily munching away at some chicken nuggets in the community room with Hana, Brigitte, and Lúcio when Genji and Zenyatta return to the watchpoint. Hanzo is nursing a headache with a cup of genmaicha and some over-the-counter medication.

Genji freezes in the middle of the doorway when he sees Kiriko chatting away with Hana. Hanzo sees Zenyatta put a hand on his brother’s back and he feels a rush of gratitude for the monk. Genji’s visor-covered face swings over to Hanzo, who looks grimly back at his brother’s expressionless face.

“I didn’t know you had a visitor, anija ,” Genji says. He sounds a little helpless, but perhaps that’s just Hanzo projecting how he felt seeing Kiriko again.

“Oh, Genji, you’re back!” Kiriko chirps cheerfully, like she isn’t seeing someone back from the dead. “Hanzo said you and a friend were out in the village and would be back soon.” She Swift Steps away from the table towards Genji. “Woah, Overwatch did this for you?” She raps on the metal of Genji’s cybernetic chest. 

Hanzo winces at the sound. He sips his tea and tries not to feel ill. “That is an understatement of what I said,” he says faintly.

“OK, so he said “My brother is alive, but he is… changed.” And something else that was over dramatic about Overwatch saving you after a brutal near murder, blah, blah, blah.” She mocks him, but not unkindly. “The important part is that you’re both alive and well.”

Hanzo does not feel well. He feels ill and off kilter. He looks towards his brother and finds Zenyatta staring at him, glowing eyes looking right through to his soul. His words from their first conversation echo in the back of Hanzo’s mind and Hanzo fights the urge to leave again while Kiriko talks about the work she and her friends have been doing in Hanamura and Kanezaka.

“Oh, and then I took my grandmother’s last name,” she adds. “Cause it’s her line who does all the spirit work with the foxes. I thought my mom was going to kill me for that, but she was actually pretty chill with it.”

“I hope your mother is well,” Hanzo says suddenly at the mention of the woman who trained him and Genji.

“The Hashimoto run our neighborhood now. So…” Kiriko says as an answer. She does her best to seem unaffected, but Hanzo can tell she’s pissed, just below the surface.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” he says stupidly, not knowing what else to say. In truth, he’d known for a while, ever since he’d heard about how Overwatch had dismantled the Shimada clan. He knew the Hashimoto weren’t going to connect with the residents of Hanamura and Kanezaka like the Shimada had.

“Sorry enough to help?” Kiriko shoots back. 

The kitsune guardian turns her back on Hanzo then, and Hanzo decides to drop the subject. This will go better another time. She will understand that she shouldn’t get mixed up in an organization that would take in a murderer like himself. He suddenly feels pinned in place. Knowing Zenyatta is watching him with his soul searching, glowing eyes, Hanzo tries looking in the other direction, only to see Cole Cassidy staring at him from across the kitchen, unlit cigar between his lips, questions in his eyes.

Hanzo decides he has not had enough sake for this.

Notes:

Thanks for reading! As always, happy Friday.
This chapter was named after Kiriko's spray "Guardians", which is my favorite of her sprays.

Chapter 8: Home

Summary:

On the first anniversary of Genji’s death, Hanzo visits his home and pays his respects.

364 days have passed since Hanzo made the worst mistake of his life. He has spent all of them trying to atone for the sin he committed, but he knows he could spend thousands more and have his hands still stained with the blood of his brother.

He takes an evening flight to Japan from Beijing, not wanting to be in the country longer than he has to be. He travels in plain clothes so as to be discreet, but he changes into his gi in a train station bathroom on his way from Nara to Tokyo. He doesn’t look so out of place, and under the cover of midnight, makes his way to Hanamura.

The arcade is lit up when he arrives just after 1 a.m. on the 365th day after his brother’s murder. For the arcade’s patrons, the night is still young, and Hanzo lingers by the doorway, watching teens and young adults play games with flashing lights. He imagines Genji among them, trying to cajole him into playing a round of Space Invaders that he would no doubt lose. He bites the inside of his lip, hard enough to draw blood. Bile rises in his throat but he swallows it down. This isn’t about him.

 

Hanzo reaches the entrance to the gates at about two in the morning, waning gibbous moon high in the sky. He knows the guards outside are not the ones his family hired. Those men are long gone, either killed by Overwatch when they raided the castle several months ago or replaced by whoever had taken over his family’s territory when the clan fell.

He would prefer to take the high ground, but he can’t without breaking into businesses he once swore to protect. He’s not sure if the new family in town even cares about them the way he and the rest of the clan did. Or, well, the way they were supposed to care about them. Hanzo’s not even sure if the rest of the clan cared about the people of Hanamura and Kanezaka or if that was just a weakness he held. 

Hanzo draws back the string of his bow and puts an arrow through each of the two door guards’ necks. As they like paralyzed on the ground, choking on their own blood, Hanzo darts past them and climbs up the front gate, using the dragon seal on them for hand holds. By the time the guards on the inside find the ones on the outside, they will already be dead.

Hanzo takes the high ground on the building just beyond the gate. Even though the moon isn’t quite full, the courtyard is lit up enough that he can see how sparse the number of guards is. Clearly they aren’t prepared for the massacre that’s about to happen. Hanzo knocks another arrow and fires, this one hitting his target straight in the head. He has no time to wait around for these guards to die; they could summon more at any second. As soon as the second guard falls, Hanzo is sure all hell will break loose, but it seems the guards have no idea where he is. The other five guards in the courtyard reach into their coats for firearms that Hanzo is sure they are carrying. They won’t want to fire them; that will draw too much attention and possibly the police. (Buying them off is easy around here, but it’s still money that a good clan leader would try to avoid spending.) The guards will likely wait until they can see him before shooting. That means if he stays in the shadows enough, he can take out all five of the remaining guards without hand to hand combat. Running along the ramparts, Hanzo is quick to take another shot. This time, it takes his target through the heart.

When Hanzo is done felling enemies, he waits in the shadows for a minute, listening for reinforcements. When he decides none are coming, he drops down amongst the bodies. On the breast of one of their suits is a familiar tiger pin. The Hashimoto clan. Hanzo is disgusted, but somewhat unsurprised. The power vacuum that had no doubt been left behind by Overwatch dismantling the clan he once belonged to needed to be filled, and it made sense that the Shimada’s greatest rivals were the ones to fill it. Nevertheless, seeing them in his ancestral home disgusted the archer. How dare they defile what wasn’t theirs?

Hanzo tiptoes around the garden, passing by the rock where he and Genji were always sent when they were forced to meditate as punishment. He sees a few more guards standing at the door to the front room of the castle, but kills them quickly and from afar as well. It brings him no pleasure, no satisfaction, even knowing there is one less Hashimoto goon in his home. They should have never been there in the first place, and if he hadn’t—

Hanzo bites his lip as he comes face to face with the large interior sitting room his family once held large clan meetings in. The tables were all absent, the room bare except for the tatami mat flooring.

Hanzo steps to the far end of the room where his mother’s favorite idiom hangs from the ceiling. His father had used his calligraphy skills and painted it for his mother as a wedding present. Even though the idiom meant “anticlimactic”, Hanzo always assumed she liked it out of irony and its mention of dragons and snakes. Underneath the large banner, Hanzo sees something that amazes him: his sword, untouched on its ceremonial holder, in the exact place he left it. Although it gleams in the low lantern light, Hanzo can only imagine it stained with his brother’s blood. 

This is as good of a place as any. Their fight started here, and so Hanzo assumes this is the best place to honor his brother.

Carefully, he takes out his incense sticks, kougou , and sanpai wan , placing them on the floor. He’d wanted to get Rikimaru Ramen for the offering bowl, but thought his presence would be too obvious, his purchase too memorable. Instead, he empties a cup-ramen into the bowl. He strikes a match, lighting the incense. The smell of kyara fills his nostrils and reminds him of the sacred rituals the clan elders would perform for his family to commune with their dragons and when his family would visit their ancestors’ graves.

Hanzo inhales through his nose and exhales through his mouth. He bows his head, and focuses on the memory of his beloved brother.

Notes:

If you noticed I'm posting a day late, no you didn't. I hope you all liked this chapter! I spent a lot of time running around the Hanamura map for this.

Chapter 9: Innocence

Summary:

Hanzo privately wonders what it would have been like if he had never raised his sword against his brother.

It’s another one of those nights when Hanzo finds himself staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep, but too tired to do anything else but lay there and think. He tries to prevent his mind from wandering, tries to keep it blank and even, primed for sleep. Slowly, he sinks into a space that isn’t quite dreaming, but he’s not quite asleep, either.

Hanzo imagines he is back in Japan, back in Hanamura, at home in Shimada Castle. He is still the head of the clan. His brother rules beside him. In his imagination, Genji is whole and unchanged, unlike the brother Hanzo knows is sleeping several chambers away, cybernetic lungs and heart working instead of their organic counterparts.

 

Hanzo confronts Genji in the early morning of April 8th. It’s a long conversation that takes place behind closed doors. Hanzo starts by sharing his grief of their father’s death at the hands of the Hashimoto. Genji grips his hand and reminds Hanzo that their father wouldn’t want them to mourn more than necessary, but to avenge his death in some way and follow in his footsteps in another, to build up the clan to greater heights than Sojiro ever achieved. Emboldened by this, Hanzo acquiesces that Genji is more connected to the people of Hanamura, having spent more time amongst them than Hanzo himself. However, where Genji knows the people, Hanzo knows the business, the numbers, and the political strategy. Genji admits to Hanzo that he has long felt like he is unimportant, a mere decoration to the clan as the second son. He discloses that he has his own issues, mostly with the elders and how restrictive they are. He says that the only way to know the people better is to be among them. The way to gain their trust is not fear, but love. The brothers come to an understanding; if the clan is to become stronger, they will need to work together.

And so, after they have slept, Hanzo and Genji Shimada begin a new era for their clan. Hanzo calls a meeting and changes the banner in their ancestral home from his mother’s favorite idiom to the one he and Genji chose the night before. 異体同心 、 itadoushin , meaning “togetherness”. Hanzo has written the first half in his own hand, and Genji the second. Under this new era, the two plan to head the clan together, Hanzo working as the head of business, Genji as the head of the social aspects. Hanzo leads the meeting with Genji interjecting where he sees fit. Kiriko and Asa-sensei sit to their right, the former looking ecstatic, the latter looking proud as if they were her own children. Hanzo speaks of the new policies he and Genji will carry out, ones of fairness to the businesses under their protection and of respect for those running said businesses. Genji promises to promote Hanamura and Kanezaka businesses in the clan’s international trade deals. The two brothers talk about domination over the Hashimoto clan by ruling those they have sworn to protect with justice, collaboration, and mutual respect. They highlight that those found disobeying these principles will be dealt with by a council of Kiriko’s choosing, appointments confirmed by the brothers themselves. At worst, they will meet the wrath of the power of the leaders of the Shimada clan.

What the brothers don’t tell the rest of the clan is the healing they will need to do of the wounds between the two of them. For months they talk late into the night over drinks about how some of the most influential clan elders sought to drive them apart, painting Genji as the wayward son, and Hanzo as the obedient one. Together, they plan and carry out the removal of those elders from their positions, installing new ones as they see fit. Some nights, Genji takes Hanzo to the arcade where they play various fighting games until the sun comes up. Other times, Hanzo brings Genji to the archery range on the property and teaches him to fire a bow the way their mother taught him. Sometimes they bicker and fight and don’t talk to each other for days, but soon enough one of them will see the clan’s banner they made together and remember that while they are different people, they are stronger together.

One day, while they are training together, katanas clashing against one another in flashes of blue and green, Hanzo realizes it has been a year since the elders gave him that ultimatum. He feels a rush of protectiveness for his brother, and a bit of shame for almost listening to them. When the two Shimadas stop for a break, Hanzo tells the younger one about what the elders said that night, how they told him to bring Genji in line or kill him. Genji clutches onto Hanzo as he recounts the elders’ words. He tells his brother he is thankful for him making the right choice, to choose family above all else.

“I love you, anija ,” Genji says, but his voice is fading with the world around him.

 

Hanzo wakes to tears streaming down his face, barely able to breathe from the pain in his chest. Someone is knocking on his door. The mechanical voice can only mean one person. He blinks the tears from his eyes and rises for breakfast.

Notes:

Sorry about that. Anyways, happy Friday! Holiday chapter next week. Enjoy your Christmas to all those that celebrate and enjoy your Chinese food to all my Jewish buddies out there!

Chapter 10: Jolly Holidays

Summary:

Hanzo spends his first real Christmas at Watchpoint: Gibraltar.

The first Christmas that Hanzo spends with Overwatch is actually not spent with them at all. Hanzo makes himself scarce when the topic of how he would be spending the holiday comes up, and Genji apologetically tells him he has plans to visit someone in Nepal for the holiday. Genji invites him to come with, but Hanzo declines, saying he has plans to travel. It’s not true when he says it, but he books a trip to France the next day, using his own personal money from the assassination contracts he’s worked on to  splurge on the expensive, last minute ticket. He spends the holiday there, bundled up in casual winter clothing so as to not draw attention to himself. He stares at cakes in a bakery, thinking about picking one up for Genji, but he can’t guarantee the cake will make it back in one piece. He ends up walking away from the shop, thinking about how the Genji he once knew would have begged Hanzo to bring back the little morsel for him. The Genji he knows now could possibly not even like sweets. Hanzo isn’t sure anymore.

 

Hanzo shakes himself from his thoughts, realizing he’s been standing outside the bakery for too long, staring at the cakes it offers, and the winter holidays are months away at this point. He has a better grasp on the sorts of things his brother would like now, and yet, he still hesitates to buy them, unsure if this is a gift worthy of a man who has essentially come back from the dead. It seems too disingenuous to give his brother a simple cake that he didn’t even make himself. He thinks of the wood carving tools he has back home and all the shoddy wooden owls he has that mean nothing but practice to him. He supposes he could give Genji one of those, but it would be just as lackluster as the cake. No, he needs something worthy of his brother. But the wood carving idea isn’t a bad start.

 

Hanzo struggles the first couple of times he tries to make anything other than an owl. He’s not a natural at whittling, which was one of the reasons why he picked it up during his time on the run. It was something to keep his mind and hands busy and could be done while waiting for informants to reach out, and gave him something to talk about with coworkers when he infrequently worked day jobs. It made his personas seem less like shells of people. 

Hanzo makes several attempts at a koi fish, mimicking the ones they used to have in the pond back at Shimada Castle, when it strikes him that he isn’t even sure Genji will appreciate the fish at all. Perhaps his memories from their youth are a sore spot to him. Hanzo is so caught up in his thoughts, he slices his finger open on his next cut downwards. He stares for a long time at the blood welling up on his finger, spilling onto his best koi yet. The blood doesn’t stop flowing, staining the wood and Hanzo’s brain can’t stop thinking, thinking, thinking of the balcony where it all happened. By the time he’s gathered himself together, there’s blood on the floor along with the wood shavings and the piece he’d been working on is ruined. He trashes it and starts cleaning up his area. That’s enough of that for the day.

 

Hanzo works on Kiriko’s gift instead. It’s easier to figure out, as she’s more predictable. He can’t decide if she’d like a donut or a fox keychain better, so in the end he decides to make both, as the donut seems fairly simple. He’s working on it in the common room over a trash can to catch the shavings, one early morning when he can’t sleep. He thinks he’s the only one up and about, but Dr. Zhou comes in with an empty mug and a tired look on her face. He quickly hides the charm, too embarrassed to let someone else see his less than professional work, and shuffles out of the room with his tools and a mumbled greeting to the scientist.

It takes her two days to ask Hanzo about them. She finds him in the common room alone, staring into a cup of koucha and thinking about all the sanding he still needs to do on the donut charm. 

“I saw you carving wooden charms the other day,” she says, a little embarrassed. “Can I see?”

“I… have not honed my skills enough,” Hanzo replies, thinking of all the failed fish.

“Oh, ah, ice may be easier,” Dr. Zhou suggests. “Do you want me to show you?”

Hanzo shrugs, a bit embarrassed to be caught in a hobby he’s not perfect at. But Dr. Zhou has been nothing but kind to him during his time here in Gibraltar as part of Overwatch in the near year that he’s been around, so he agrees and makes a point of showing up to her lab the next day to see her own work.

Dr. Zhou’s lab is climate controlled, and Hanzo is glad he brought his coat along with him when he enters what effectively acts as a walk-in freezer. There are a couple of plastic chairs in the room, as well as a small plastic table, nothing too fancy.

“I thought you wouldn’t want to sit on the floor,” Dr. Zhou says in a rush. “It can get quite cold here.”

“Thank you,” he says, sitting down.

Dr. Zhou produces several ice blocks and some climate controlling gloves. She explains that she developed them herself, after realizing she wanted to be able to hold the ice in her hands while sculpting.

“They don’t provide as much dexterity as I would like, but it was hard getting them to be thin enough that you could do detail work, but thick enough that all the nanobots were able to fit in them,” she explains, handing a pair to Hanzo. “I hope they fit you; I originally designed them just for myself.”

Hanzo nods as he slips on the pair. They’re a bit small, but they’ll do.

With a little prompting, he and Dr. Zhou spend the next couple of hours chatting about techniques and working with blocks of ice that Dr. Zhou produces with the help of Snowball. Dr. Zhou, or Mei as she instructs Hanzo to call her, is more skilled with the ice than himself, but he has a good time, and it’s nice to talk to someone who shares a similar craft as himself. By the end of their three hour session, Hanzo’s voice is hoarse and his face is flushed from the cold. He’s decided that ice isn’t his preferred medium—it’s too temporary outside of Mei’s climate controlled workroom—but he has a better grasp on the techniques he will use to carve Genji’s gift.

 

Hanzo spends Christmas morning by himself, wrapped up in blankets and sleeping off the eggnog from the night before. By the time he gets up and moving, it’s late afternoon, almost time for the early Christmas dinner Commander Winston had planned.

Hanzo opens his door and sees Genji coming down the hall towards him. His visor and extra metal plating are nowhere to be seen, clearly too heavy and militaristic to be worn during a holiday. 

“Hanzo, I was just coming to get you,” he says brightly. “Come on, it’s dinner time.”

Hanzo and Genji hear the commotion in the dining room before they’re there. Cheery holiday tunes are playing and some of the agents are singing along. The smells of turkey and ham, mashed potatoes and gravy are wafting down the hallway. When they enter, Kiriko greets them from across the room. She points to a small stack of presents and gestures to Hanzo: they’re for him. He’s surprised but pleased; he didn’t think anyone would have gotten him anything.

Kiriko calls to him, then holds up her phone towards Hanzo; he can see the donut charm dangling from it. She smiles and gives him a thumbs up. He has a suspicion that the fox charm will be dangling from her bag of healing ofuda the next time he sees it.

“I wanted to say thank you,” Genji says from Hanzo’s side, just loud enough for Hanzo to hear him over the commotion.

“If you don’t like it, you can return it and I’ll make you something else,” Hanzo deflects quickly. “I didn’t know if they were still your favorite animal. With more time and practice, I might be able to—”

Genji cuts him off. “It’s perfect. I’m going to keep that little triceratops with my shuriken .”

As Reinhardt Wilhelm bellows for everyone to sit down so he can begin serving the meal, Cole Cassidy makes eye contact with Hanzo and pats the seat next to him. Hanzo smiles to himself, and follows his brother into the room. Surrounded by friends and family, Hanzo thinks that this might just be the best Christmas he’s ever had.

Notes:

Merry Christmas and happy new year! I'll see you all in 2024 with a new chapter!

Chapter 11: Kids

Summary:

Genji shares a story of himself and Hanzo as kids.

Hanzo is on his way to make another cup of tea and perhaps grab a cup of sake. He’d had a long day of interacting with the people of Watchpoint: Gibraltar as little as possible while still trying to appease Genji, and he was in the middle of some very well deserved personal time, but had run out of tea. He could hear voices from the common room. Cole Cassidy was recounting a tale, no doubt stretched to his liking, for the younger members gathered there.

“And we had extra training for weeks afterwards. Reyes was so pissed, but Moira kept them to experiment on,” Cassidy was saying.

“We were such little shits back in Blackwatch. You know where I got that idea? Hanzo and I put frogs in one of our tutors’ bags once as children!” Genji’s mechanical laugh filters down the hallway with the excited squeals of Hana Song, a young Korean MEKKA pilot, and gives Hanzo pause. Everyone seemed to be having such a nice time; he’d hate to ruin it with his presence. 

“How did you get him to agree to that?” Cassidy asks. “He doesn’t seem the prankin’ sort.”

“Well, it’s a longer story than just that, of course,” Genji says. Hanzo can hear a couple of people shifting around, as if to get comfortable for story time. “When I was growing up, we had tutors for basically everything. We had extra lessons outside of school with other kids. Hanzo and I, and our cousin Kiriko too, eventually, were tutored at home in all sorts of things including manners.”

Genji proceeds to tell the story of their tutor, Akutagawa-sensei, who was often cruel towards him. Akutagawa-sensei’s favorite instrument of discipline was a kendo sword, having competed in kendo as a young man himself. Hanzo recalled him using it liberally, especially with Genji, whenever the young brothers would get a formal address wrong and other such things. Akutagawa-sensei’s seemingly favorite thing to tell the younger Shimada was that he was “too loud to be a ninja”. However, the man had one weakness: frogs. He thought of them as unrefined and dirty and had a particular hatred toward the rainy summer season due to the abundance of them in the Shimada family gardens.

It was actually Hanzo who came up with the plan, initially. Their tutors were often also members of the clan in some way or another, and Akutagawa-sensei was one of these tutors. Hanzo was well aware of the man’s habits and had observed him leaving his bag in the closet in the entryway to the residential part of Shimada castle. It was Hanzo who came up with the idea of unleashing some of the frogs Genji had collected on the unsuspecting tutor one day when he came over for clan business.

“Initially we wanted to put them in Akutagawa-sensei’s bed, but we couldn’t figure out how to break into his home without getting into major trouble.” Genji laughs at the memory.

“You’re sharing that story? I wish you wouldn’t.” Hanzo says, finally making his presence known, stepping into the kitchen with his mug. There’s a small shuffling as people rearrange themselves, clearly unaware of Hanzo’s presence just behind the door frame. A couple of them, including Dr. Zhou, look a bit guilty, as if they were caught doing something they weren’t supposed to be doing.

“You cared too much about how the family perceived you,” Genji says, waving his hand as if to say, “No need for that here.”

“Have you ever been the eldest son?”

“It was not easy living in your shadow,” Genji says instead of answering.

“I would have preferred you by my side,” Hanzo snaps back.

“ Would you have ?” Genji fires back, this time in their native Japanese. “ Because you surely didn’t act like it. You wanted someone who I was—and still am not—by your side. You don’t know me and you never have. ”

There is nothing Hanzo can think to say to that, so he lets him go.

Notes:

So sorry for posting this late! I'm on vacation with my friends and forgot what day it was when it was Friday, and then was busy all of yesterday. I've backdated this chapter, but I hope you like it anyway!

Chapter 12: Love

Summary:

Happy Valentine's Day, from Hanzo to his cowboy.

Notes:

To ColeTrain, from DragonBoat.

To my beloved cowboy,

It’s hard to believe that so much time has passed since we met, and yet it feels like it has been no time at all. 

I must admit, when I first met you, I wanted to avoid you as much as possible. I knew you were friends with my brother in his Blackwatch days. Surely he’s told you all sorts of unfavorable stories about me. I know that after what I did to him, he hated me for a long time. I cannot blame him; as you know, I hate myself for it as well. You must have heard things about me that even I have not heard: my brother’s true feelings about how I acted that night. It is for these reasons that I figured I should avoid you. Surely you would not have an unbiased opinion about me, even if my brother told you he wished you to forgive me, as he has.

That is another thing I will never understand. You both know how horrible I have been, the horrors of what I’ve done, and yet you are kind to me. You in particular continuously have been open to conversing with me. Even with my outwardly cold demeanor, meant to make people keep their distance, you found a way into my life and under my skin.

I know I have apologized for it many times, but I want to apologize for the night I left. As I have told you, I was not in the right mind, overcome with my desire to be with you and feelings of unworthiness to have you. I longed for simple things like touch and affirmations, something you were readily going to give to me. But I feared this novelty would wear off. You would see that I am not someone who is a good person, you would see me for who I truly am. I wanted to be told I was good, that there is still hope for me, even after all I have done. I wanted to be held like none of it mattered, treasured for myself, despite all my many flaws. I knew you would readily give this to me, and that scared me more than anything else. Thinking that I may be allowed to have something like that, something special just for me… It still scares me, if I am honest. So I did what cowards like myself are wont to do, and I ran.

I’m glad I didn’t get far.

I’m not sure if I ever told you what happened that night. Dr. Zhou, Mei, as she instructed me to call her, saw me slipping away in the early hours of the morning. She had been up working on some research to improve her weapon and was about to go to bed when she saw me with all my belongings, meager as they are. Mei sat me down in the kitchen with a cup of tea and asked me why I was leaving in the middle of the night. 

Weary, I told her how I feared I was getting too close with people, putting them in danger. She refuted that easily, saying that Overwatch is an organization of people who are well-trained in defending people. I told her I worried about how people I cared about could be used against me, emotional manipulation. She told me that she worries about that too, but that, once again, Overwatch agents are strong and can protect themselves. Finally, I told her the root of the problem, that I was putting you in an emotionally compromising position by accepting your flirtations. Mei immediately replied that you are more than capable of protecting yourself, to which I responded, “Would he have the mental ability to protect himself from me if it came down to it?”

She asked me, “Are you afraid that you might hurt him because of what happened with Genji?”

Of course the answer was “yes”. If I cannot hold myself back from hurting my own flesh and blood, then there is nothing stopping me from hurting others that I care for. At least, that is the logic I live with. 

Mei, as you know, does not argue with people. She has a way of talking them down from their worst impulses. And that is exactly what she did. She sat with me and explained how much you cared for me, how good I have been for you, how good you have been for me. She urged me to take the night away, go do something fun in Gibraltar, and then come back when I had cooled off and my emotions weren’t running so high. As you know, she said she would tell you what’s going on, just barebones information, if you asked.

And so I went out. I treated myself to a small matcha cake from the bakery in town. I ate it on the beach and watched the sun rise. All I could think of the whole time I was gone was how nice it would have been to spend it all with you.

And so, of course, I came back. 

We already talked about this when I came back, but I am afraid of my feelings for you. I am afraid they give me a weakness I cannot shake that will be used against me at any and every turn. I fear that my feelings will overwhelm you, that you will get annoyed by my incessant insecurities, bored of my small talk, such that it is. I fell for you fast and hard, and I fear you will one day grow tired of me and leave. So I tried to be the first to leave, so you couldn’t hurt me. It was foolish of me, and I regret doing it, knowing how much it hurt you.

I thought today would be an appropriate time to tell you just how much you mean to me. I will fight to keep what we have tooth and claw, so long as you want it as well. You mean the world to me, you are my world.

Love,

Your Archer

Notes:

I know it's a bit weird to have the Valentine's Day chapter in the middle of January, but that's just how the chapters worked out. I hope you liked this chapter, and I'll see you next Friday!

Chapter 13: Memories

Summary:

Part of Hanzo wishes Genji would stay in his memories. Inspired by Conan Grey’s song of the same name.

It’s been a couple of months on the run now. The tears have finally stopped welling in his eyes when he looks at the picture of his family he carries with him. His mother is beautiful and healthy, his father tall and regal, Genji bright and alive. Now all that remains is the sad, bitter smile, thinking of better times. It feels odd on his face after these months, given what he did. He feels the smile on his face and wipes it away quickly. He doesn’t deserve to smile, bitter or not.

 

It's been a couple months

That's just about enough time

For me to stop crying when I look at all the pictures

Now I kinda smile, I haven't felt that in a while

 

It’s been exactly ten years now and he stands face to face with the person, half-man, who claims to be his brother. He believes this odd cyborg. How can he not recognise those eyes, so like their mother’s, that have haunted him for ten years now? His brother just wants to talk, not fight, and yet Hanzo has just given him another thing he never asked for and started a fight with his brother. Again. He can’t help but feel like everything is all messed up, all out of sorts, out of place, out of time. He wants to put this memory of Genji in the past, not have old wounds ripped open. When Genji vanishes into the night, Hanzo has a sneaking suspicion it won’t be possible.

 

It's late, I hear the door

Bell ringing and it's pouring

I open up that door, see your brown eyes at the entrance

You just wanna talk and

I can't turn away a wet dog

 

But please don't ruin this for me

Please don't make it harder than it already is

I'm trying to get over this

 

Genji comes back to the watchpoint drunk and giggling, braced on Lena Oxten’s shoulders. The two of them had gone out drinking to celebrate their most recent reconnaissance mission and had clearly enjoyed themselves to excess. How typical of Genji.

Hanzo is in the kitchen when they return, a soaking wet Tracer dropping off his brother into his care and blinking down the hallways to her own room, giggling all the while. Genji can barely stand up straight and the metal that is his body now is wet to the touch, the ribbon trailing from his helmet hanging limply behind him, heavy with rainwater. 

Hanzo had been having a nice night before Tracer and Genji had arrived back at the watchpoint. His thoughts were finally giving him a moment’s rest and yet here they were again, torrential like the downpour outside. Hanzo hasn’t had enough sake for this tonight. 

Selfishly, he wishes Genji was not here in front of him. It would be easier to move past. In fact, he had been moving past his crimes, finally putting the past behind him, and then Genji had shown up at their house in Hanamura, flipping all of that on its head.

Genji slips from Hanzo’s arms, and Hanzo doesn’t have time to feel bad before Genji is curling into a fetal position on the common room floor, mumbling almost incoherently. It would be cute and reminiscent of their adolescence if the metal of Genji’s new body weren’t getting in the way for Hanzo, a constant reminder of Genji’s victimhood to Hanzo’s blade. 

 

I wish that you would stay in my memories

But you show up today, just to ruin things

I wanna put you in the past 'cause I'm traumatized

But you're not letting me do that, 'cause tonight

You're all drunk in the kitchen, curled in the fetal position

Too busy being the victim to be listening to me when I say

"I wish that you would stay in my memories"

In my memories, stay in my memories

 

Hanzo can’t walk away when he finds Genji passed out on the couch in the common room. He wants to walk away, say goodbye to this tonight. He’s too sober for this. But this is his brother, however twisted he made him. It’s hard for him to put an end to the self-hatred that comes when looking at Genji. He doesn’t want to associate his brother with that; he deserves better. Genji deserves everything that Hanzo couldn’t give him. But it’s hard to part with the memories of what he did when Genji keeps trying to reach out to him, smoothe over past “mistakes”, as if the horrible act of attempted fratricide could be simplified to the word “mistake”. There’s no reason why Genji should extend a hand of forgiveness for this. Hanzo is still convinced his brother is completely crazy for even thinking his acts can be forgiven. There is only one path that a man like him can take, and it does not lead to redemption. 

 

Now I can't say goodbye if you stay here the whole night

You see, it's hard to find an end to something that you keep beginning

Over and over again

I promise that the ending always stays the same

So there's no good reason in make believing that we could ever exist again

 

Hanzo isn’t stupid. He sees the way Genji looks at the Shambali monk that often comes to visit the watchpoint. Or rather, he knows what Genji acts like when someone’s caught his attention. How long this interest with the omnic will last, Hanzo cannot say. He only knows that he won’t hold Genji back from pursuing whatever he wants with his friends. He knows he cannot be one of them, doesn’t deserve to be called Genji’s brother, and won’t be the reason Genji holds back from falling in love.

 

I can't be your friend, can't be your brother

Can't be the reason we hold back each other from being in love

With somebody other than me

 

It takes him a while to realize it. He doesn’t mind being around Genji, so long as he can continue to think of this as Genji plotting his revenge. He’ll do what his cyborg brother asks, not because he thinks he deserves some sort of redemption, but because this is surely some grand plot for Genji to just stab him in the back. Retribution, punishment. This will be a fitting death for him, he thinks. He welcomes it.

 

Since I came

I guess you’ll let me stay

For as long as it takes

To grab my books and my coat

And that one good cologne

That you bought when we were fighting

'Cause it's still on my clothes, everything that I own

And it makes me feel like dying

I am barely just surviving

 

If only Genji had stayed in his memories.

Notes:

Apologies for being severely late with this chapter. I've been in constant pain for nearly 10 days now and I forgot what day is when. Thank you for reading this chapter, as always. I'll see you tomorrow for the next chapter.

Chapter 14: Nightmare

Summary:

Hanzo comforts his younger brother.

Hanzo is woken up by Genji at three in the morning.

“What?” he asks grumpily, not happy to have been shaken at such a late hour. He’d had trouble getting to sleep anyway after what he’d overheard when eavesdropping on his father’s business meeting that evening.

“I can’t sleep,” Genji whispers into the dark.

“I can tell,” Hanzo murmurs back. “Go back to your room and lie down. Try counting sheep.”

“I was asleep,” his younger brother corrects. “But then I woke up.”

Hanzo sighs. He’s awake enough at this point that he can sit up and entertain the younger Shimada, whatever he wants.

“I had a nightmare,” Genji finally admits in a small voice.

Hanzo sighs again. At seven, Genji is really old enough that he should be able to deal with his nightmares on his own, but Hanzo raises the covers to invite Genji into his bed anyway. It’s not like there’s not enough room for two in the full size bed. Once Genji has wriggled around enough that he’s comfortable, Hanzo whispers into the dark to him.

“What was it about?”

“The scary guys that Dad had over tonight,” Genji whispers back. “They’re yakuza, aren’t they?”

Hanzo refrains from reminding Genji that, technically, they’re part of the yakuza too. Or at least their father is.

“They’re, like… the real yakuza,” Genji continues. “The ones who beat people up.”

“Yes, Ando-san is the head of Father’s protection unit. That’s why he’s always with Father.” This much Hanzo was aware of. At ten, Hanzo was more aware than his younger brother what their family business entailed, but other than “pharmaceuticals”, he could only guess what other gangster-like things his father was involved with.

“Do you think there are kids like us that are Hashimoto?” Genji asks after a long silence.

“Of course. They’ll want their lineage to carry on, just like Father wants us to carry on his duties.”

“Do you think they’re going to be ninjas too?” Genji asks. In the darkness, Hanzo can just barely make out the slight quiver of his brother’s bottom lip.

“What do you mean?” Hanzo asks.

“Yamagami-san is training us to be ninjas, right? What if the Hashimoto also have kid ninjas, but they’re bigger than us?”

Ah, so this was about the war brewing between the two clans they had overheard their father talking about. Hanzo hadn’t understood much, but got the gist; the Hashimoto were a threat to their family and their city.

“We’ll just have to train more. We’ll best any enemy that comes our way,” Hanzo says. Genji nods and sniffles a bit, so Hanzo pulls him closer. “We’re Shimada, and we have the might of the dragons on our side. And one day, we’ll each have our own dragon on our side too. We’ll be unstoppable.” Hanzo whispers to his brother. He feels Genji nod against his chest. “Now let’s go to sleep. We won’t be any good if we’re tired.”

Hanzo listens to the breathing of his brother even out fairly quickly after that, but he stays up, thinking about what Genji said. If they were being trained, then there’s no doubt any Hashimoto counterparts to them were also being trained. Hanzo wonders how old they are, what their interests might be. If they have anything in common with him. He wonders if they were to meet, would he be able to beat them in a fight? He silently vows to himself to protect his family from the outside threats he knows will one day come for them. Satisfied with his internal promise, Hanzo matches his breathing with Genji’s and quickly falls asleep.

Notes:

Apologies for the shorter chapter this week. But we're now over half way through. The rest of the chapters can deal with some pretty heavy stuff, so watch the tags and take care of yourself. As always, see you next week.

Chapter 15: Once Upon A Time

Summary:

Sojiro Shimada tells his sons and Kiriko a bedtime story.

“Settle down,” Hanzo’s father says to him, his brother, and cousin. “I’ll tell you a story before bed if you do.”

The three cousins are having a weekend-long sleepover while Kiriko’s mother, Asa Yamagami, is away at a martial arts conference. Three year old Kiriko, five year old Genji, and eight year old Hanzo are being unruly children. It’s 21:30, past their bedtime, but Sojiro is entertaining them nonetheless. 

“A story, a story!” Kiriko and Genji chorus together. 

Hanzo is too old for chanting, but not too old for stories, and the ones his father tells are always the best.

“Once upon a time,” his father starts, “there was a dragon. This dragon was instructed by the gods to watch over a hoard of jewels, gems, and golden coins.”

Kiriko shifts her doll in one arm, sticking her thumb in her mouth. From his own futon, Hanzo stares up at the ceiling, imagining the great dragon, blue scales shining amongst the piles of gold his father described. Even Genji settles, flopping onto his stomach and gripping his pillow to look at their father while he talks.

“Was he lonely?” Kiriko asks around her thumb.

“I’d be lonely,” Genji said. “Even with all that treasure to play with.”

“I’m sure he was,” Sojiro says kindly before continuing.

 

But one day, a fox came digging deep into the mountain where the dragon’s den laid.

 

“Oh no!” squeaks Kiriko, delighted. She grabs onto her doll tighter.

 

The dragon looked at the fox and said, ‘You have come to steal my treasure, have you not?’

 

“I would,” Genji interrupts.

“And what would you do with all of that?” Hanzo asks crossly. “Let Father tell the story.”

“Boys,” Sojiro says sternly before continuing. 

 

The fox said, ‘I have no use for shiny things, unlike the humans who come searching for your den. But tell me, friend, why do you guard such a treasure?’

The dragon replied, ‘I have been instructed to watch this treasure by the gods.’

The fox laughed and said, ‘That seems boring.’

The dragon considered her words. ‘Which part of it?’

‘The part where you sit, alone, forever. Or the fact that you never can spend any of your treasure!’ The fox responded. ‘You must be lonely, up here without anyone else, not allowed to spend your money in the village below. Wouldn’t you like to have some of the foods the villagers prepare? Or perhaps silk ribbons for your mane?’

‘I am quite lonely,’ the dragon acquiesced. ‘And they do make such wonderful smelling food.’

‘Then I will stay and be your friend,’ the fox proclaimed. 

‘But what about the food?’ the dragon asked. ‘I cannot leave this cave, for the villagers are frightened of me.’

‘I’ll go in your stead,’ the fox said as she leapt up. ‘I will find the best food for us and in exchange, we will make the town rich.’

And so, the fox set out for the village, one of the dragon’s golden cups in her mouth. She came back with the most delicious vegetable buns the dragon had ever tasted, and he was so pleased with them, he sent the fox back the next day for more.

The two lived happily for a long time, trading the dragon’s hoard for food from the village. Until one day, when the fox went down to the village, she discovered the friends’ favorite vegetable bun merchant was weeping. In fact, the whole town seemed to have a gloom hanging over it!

‘Oh friend,’ asked the fox, ‘what has happened?’

‘It’s awful!’ The merchant cried into her apron. ‘Tigers have been eating our livestock! We can no longer trade with the bigger villages because of how treacherous the jungle we have to pass through is! Soon we will all starve.’

To which the fox replied, ‘Do not fear. I will take care of your problem for you.’

The fox reports back to the dragon, and together, with the fox’s cunning and the dragon’s fire, they drive the tigers out of the jungle, saving the villagers. The village celebrates their achievement when the two return.

‘How can we ever thank you for protecting us?’ The villagers cry. 

‘It is our duty as higher beings to protect you,’ the dragon says. ‘We only ask for one thing in return. Your food is delicious! We will protect you, and in exchange, you will pay us in food.’

The villagers agreed, and they all lived happily ever after. 

The end.

 

“That sounds delicious,” Genji says when their father finishes. He’s starting to sound a bit sleepy. “I wish I could be paid in Rikimaru ramen.”

Kiriko is asleep already, so she has no comments.

“Good night,” Sojiro says. “See you in the morning.” He leaves the brothers to fall asleep.

Hanzo hears Genji’s breathing even out rather quickly after their father leaves the room, but he lies awake for a little while longer. One of the reasons why he’s always liked his father’s stories is that there is a moral to them, or at least something to learn from the story. Hanzo falls asleep listening to the breathing of his brother and cousin, wondering what sort of lesson his father was trying to teach him that night.

Notes:

This story is adapted from one of Aesop's fables. Sorry about the late post date, I have had a lot going on recently.

Chapter 16: Painstaking

Summary:

Hanzo ends up in the infirmary after a panic attack. He and Anglea Zeigler have a chat.

Hanzo comes back to himself in the med bay, one of his least favorite spots at the watchpoint. Dr. Zeigler is fussing with some machines and one of his arms is wrapped in a blood pressure cuff. Everything sounds like it’s underwater and he feels sluggish.

“Hanzo,” says Dr. Zeigler, “can you understand me?”

Hanzo nods slowly. He can piece together what happened and shame burns through him. He feels exhausted and just wants to be alone.

“From the descriptions Kiriko and Genji gave me, it sounds like you had a panic attack.” The blond physician is now consulting her clipboard. “Have you had those before?”

Hanzo debates the merits of each answer before he gives one. If he says no, Dr. Zeigler will likely explain what panic attacks are and ask him more questions about what he thinks caused this one. If he says yes, she will likely ask him more questions about how frequent they are and other personal questions that Hanzo feels are quite frankly none of her business. In the end, Hanzo shrugs. 

Dr. Zeigler looks up from her clipboard and sighs, clearly displeased with his response. Good. She’s not been openly hostile towards him, but Hanzo has noticed her passing him off to Lúcio and Baptiste as often as possible. He gets the feeling that she doesn’t like him. He privately thinks that she’s the only one of Genji’s friends who understands the unforgivable-ness of what Hanzo has done.

“Hanzo,” the doctor starts. She pauses. Hanzo knows she’s unsure how to continue. He can see the gears turning in her head. 

“You don’t have to pretend,” he says when she doesn’t speak again. This seems to take her aback, clearly not what she was expecting him to say. “I know you don’t like me.”

Dr. Zeigler looks at him instead of responding, clearly considering her next move. She could admit that Hanzo is right, which would be unprofessional at best, rude at worst. Or, she could deny it, even though both of them would know she was lying. Finally, the doctor sighs. She sets her clipboard down and crosses the room to one of many filing cabinets. She opens one of the drawers. It’s teeming with papers, all neatly organized in folders.

“Do you know what these are?” Dr. Zeigler asks. Hanzo shakes his head. “This,” she says, taking a folder out of the drawer, “is a folder on cybernetic limbs.” She takes another one out. “Cybernetic jaws.” Another. “Cybernetic lungs.” She keeps pulling folders out. “Cybernetic stomachs. Cybernetic intestines. Cybernetic joints. Oh, and this one? Yes, this one,” she says, pulling a particularly large file out, “is all the documents I have about cybernetic hearts.” She pauses, looks at Hanzo, and then begins putting the folders back. “Fascinating stuff. All the stuff I made myself, with the help of Torbjörn Lindholm.” She looks at Hanzo again before shutting the drawer with a snap. It echoes in the quiet room. “Do you know who’s medical records those are?” She asks, her voice icy.

Hanzo knows. He can’t swallow around the lump in his throat. The guilt settles in his decidedly organic stomach like a rock. His heart hurts, in a different way than it had when he had the panic attack.

The blond doctor sighs, returns to her desk, picks up her clipboard and has a seat. There is a long silence. Hanzo cannot blame her for her feelings. If he were in her position, he would hate himself too.

“It took me six and a half months to build his original cybernetics,” Dr. Zeigler says, finally, her voice quiet. “Six and a half months of wondering what kind of person could do this to someone, let alone their own brother. Five more months was intensive physical therapy trying to get him to be able to function again.” A pause, long enough that Hanzo thinks she won’t say anything else. “Blackwatch brought him in, stopped me right as I was leaving for the day. They said it was an emergency. I scrubbed up immediately. My team was in surgery for 33 hours just to stabilize him.” There’s another pause. 

“I built the heart and lungs first,” she says, this time almost clinically, as if giving a presentation. “They were the two things he needed most, and quickest. I was lucky that most of the original heart was intact and not burnt. I’ve never seen internal burns like that before, or since.” She looks like she wants to ask a question, but thinks the better of it. “It took almost four months to perfect lungs that would breathe on their own, to connect them to the neural pathways to his brain. They couldn’t be metal, there’s no way that would work internally. They had to be made of biomesh so they would expand and contract right. With his permission, I published several papers on biomesh cybernetics, all using a series of letters and numbers instead of his name. The medical community is better for it.” She seems to say the last line as if to convince herself of the fact. Her medical professional persona drops then, and the doctor seems to sag a little in her chair. 

“I don’t tell you this in confidence,” she says. “You can read my papers yourself, if you wish. I’m not telling you this as your brother’s doctor. If you’ll excuse me for being unprofessional, I’m telling you this as his friend.” The distrust she has for him is unspoken but palpable.

“He doesn’t hate you,” she says finally. The fact that she probably does is unspoken. Hanzo doesn’t mind. In fact, he thinks it’s reasonable. For the woman who had her hands in his brother's corpse for 33 hours to hate him is simply an understatement.

“I’m not doing this for you, I’m doing it for him.” Dr. Zeigler stands with finality. “I’ll have Baptiste finish checking on you.”

Hanzo just watches her go.

Notes:

Hope you enjoyed this week's chapter. See you next Friday.

Chapter 17: Quality of Life

Summary:

Genji finally convinces Hanzo to try a guided meditation with Zenyatta, telling his brother it will greatly improve his outlook on life. Hanzo doubts him.

They meet on one of the rooftops overlooking the sea at three in the afternoon.

“I’m doing this because Genji asked,” Hanzo says to the monk when he arrives.

There are two pillows laid out, one for each of them, he assumes. Zenyatta is floating, as always, the afternoon sun glinting off his shiny metal head.

“You do not have to do this at all,” Zenyatta reminds him.

Hanzo shrugs.

Genji had been insisting that Zenyatta could help Hanzo practically since the first time the two of them had met. Genji swore by the monk’s teachings, and had, time and again, said that Zenyatta had been instrumental to him being able to feel comfortable in his own skin and in being able to forgive his brother for what he’d done. Hanzo’s curiosity was starting to get the better of him. Just how convincing was this monk, and what exactly did he do during his guided meditations that made Genji crazy enough to forgive Hanzo for committing one of the greatest sins?

“Please, make yourself comfortable.” Zenyatta gestures for Hanzo to sit on one of the cushions. Hanzo sits seiza like he was taught. Zenyatta sits opposite him, cross-legged. “I’m sure Genji told you that I like to have a focus for these guided meditations.” Hanzo nods. “What issue did you come to me with today?” The omnic asks.

It had taken Hanzo a while to come up with something that the monk could meditate on with him. It couldn’t be too personal—Hanzo refused to bare his soul to this stranger, even if Zenyatta was one of his brother’s closest friends. However, it couldn’t be too impersonal, either. The times he’d visited before, Hanzo always felt that Zenyatta could see straight past his façades, at least to a degree. The omnic would surely know if Hanzo was, for lack of a better term, bullshitting him.

“Each day, I grow stronger. Yet the man in the mirror never appears to change.” Hanzo says. He means it literally: he’s been making strides towards becoming stronger. He’s eating more regularly and has actually been weight training. However, he’s yet to see any major physical changes to his body.

“A mirror reflects only what can be seen,” Zenyatta says, clearly reading further into what Hanzo is saying than what he intended.

“Your platitudes will not work on me the way they did my brother,” Hanzo replies crossly. He’s not there to be psychoanalyzed. He’s here for guided meditation and to see what exactly this monk did to make his brother so insane.

“And yet, you sound just like he did,” Zenyatta’s lights dim and then brighten. Hanzo isn’t sure if that’s him smiling fondly or narrowing his eyes. 

Knowing that Genji was resistant to Zenyatta at first stuns him a little, but worries him more. Clearly there’s something nefarious going on if Genji started off resistant to the monk. What exactly did this monk do to his brother to win his unwavering loyalty?

“I have an idea of the type of meditation I would like to do with you today,” the omnic says. “Are you comfortable and ready to continue?” Hanzo makes a noise of affirmation, and Zenyatta begins. “Begin by focusing on your breathing and how air flows into and out of your lungs.”

The irony of an omnic instructing him on how to breathe is not lost on Hanzo, but he knows better than to dwell on that thought. He closes his eyes and slows his breathing like he always does when he meditates. He clears his mind as best he can, the crashing waves on the rocks below making for welcome white noise.

“Whenever you are ready, expand your awareness to your entire body. Notice the sensations you are feeling. Relax any muscles that you might be keeping tension in. Notice if you feel pain anywhere, and breathe it out as best you can. Now turn your attention to your thoughts. Let them flow like water. Notice how you are feeling right now without judgment.” The mechanical hum of Zenyatta’s orbs can be heard just above the whisper of the wind across the rooftop. Along with the waves, Hanzo finds it soothing. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wonders if the noise has hypnotic powers, but he lets that thought flow past him. So far this has been a normal guided meditation, and Hanzo even feels calm enough to lower his guard a little.

“Think of the burdens you carry with you. Acknowledge to yourself without judgment that these burdens exist. When you have made peace with your burdens, breathe out and think of someone who you could share them with. Acknowledge to yourself that you are stronger for having carried these burdens, and will be even stronger still for sharing them with others. Shed the weight of your doubts, and your mind will become clear.” Zenyatta pauses, waiting for Hanzo to do as he says.

Hanzo resists the urge to squirm in his seat. He carries so many burdens, he’s unsure of where to start. The obvious one comes to mind, but he pushes that away. He acknowledges that this is a burden he carries, of course he does, but he does not feel stronger for having carried it, much less does he want to share the burden of his unforgivable deed. It takes him out of the meditative state he was in previously, but he keeps his breathing even as an attempt to fool Zenyatta into thinking he’s doing what the omnic monk asked of him.

“Now, imagine yourself, as if you were looking in a mirror. Think about what you see, who you see. What kind of a person is he?”

A murderer, thinks Hanzo. His jaw tightens.

“Bring to mind a situation that you wish to forgive yourself for, a time when you’ve hurt yourself, or perhaps others. When you are ready, using your own name, say, ‘I forgive you.’”

Hanzo’s eyes snap open and he stands up abruptly. No. He cannot deal with this monk, this outsider, this stranger trying to tell him what to do any longer. He clearly has no idea, no concept of what an unforgivable crime murdering your own flesh and blood for such a petty, stupid reason as because someone else told you to. He’s already walking away when Zenyatta speaks.

“Hanzo, what are you running from?” The monk asks. “Is it, perhaps, yourself? If so, you cannot escape him by walking away from me.”

Hanzo stops, but keeps his back towards the monk. Every muscle in his body feels taught, like a drawn-back bowstring.

“Tell me, Hanzo,” the omnic says, his voice softer this time. “What do you see when you look into the mirror?”

There is a long pause. Hanzo does not answer him, but he also doesn’t walk away.

“When I look at you, I see a repentant man who regrets his mistakes. Someone who is trying hard to be a better person every day, in every way. Someone who is trying to do right by the ones they have harmed.” Zenyatta floats closer to Hanzo, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t you think he is worthy of forgiveness?”

The monk floats off, pillows in hand, before Hanzo can swallow around the lump in his throat.

Notes:

Zenyatta’s meditation is adapted from this https://www.takingcharge.csh.umn.edu/sites/default/files/media/Forgiveness%20Meditation%20Transcript.pdf as well as conversations with some acquaintances, as I struggled to write it a great deal.

Chapter 18: Revelation

Summary:

Genji and Hanzo have a tough conversation. (Takes place right after Kids.)

Hanzo gives Genji time to cool down after their decidedly very public verbal squabble. He doesn’t seek Genji out, lets the younger members of Overwatch walk on eggshells when the two of them are in common spaces at the same time. Genji bounces back quickly, but Hanzo knows when his brother is biding his time. It’s rare that Genji is patient enough to wait, but there has been much that has changed about Genji in the years Hanzo has not known him.

Genji catches Hanzo cleaning up from his fletching one night and asks to come into the room. He sits at the table while Hanzo finishes cleaning up. When Hanzo finishes, he sits across the table from his brother. Genji sighs, then reaches up and undoes his visor. Hanzo tries not to focus on the lines his katana carved into his brother’s face. He wants to smooth the lines over, make them disappear. He wants to make his brother whole and unmarred again.

“ Anija ,” Genji starts. “ Do you know what the definition of a “cult” is? ”

“ A cult? ” Hanzo asks, confused as to why they’re talking about cults in Japanese. In the years he’s spent on the run, he rarely used Japanese, so he’s thankful for a chance to use his native tongue, but it puts into perspective the weight of the conversation he and his brother are about to have.

Genji sighs again and drums his fingers on the table, the metal on plastic making a clicking noise. He’s clearly thinking about how he wants to approach this topic with Hanzo.

“ A cult is a fringe organization, usually based on religion, that enforces a certain belief system outside the norm upon a group of people to a dangerous extreme, ” Genji says cautiously as if apprehensive of Hanzo’s reaction to this definition.

There’s a pause. Hanzo thinks he’s supposed to say something, but he can’t think of anything to say, so he gestures for his brother to go on. Genji sighs and shifts his posture around.

“ They’re usually led by someone or someones who are charismatic, usually self-appointed. They enforce the rules and belief system of the cult to an extreme degree, thus controlling their members and requiring unwavering devotion. ” 

He sounds like he’s practically quoting from a textbook on the subject. Hanzo wonders if this is the kind of thing Genji talks to his monk friend about. He nods to show he’s listening and waits for Genji to go on. His brother is restless, shifting positions yet again. This time the pause is much longer.

“ Do you know what the definition of “abuse” is? ”

“ When someone hits you for something you do not deserve, ” Hanzo answers quickly.

“ That’s not the definition of abuse, Hanzo. ” Genji says as if his brother had answered too quickly. “ Abuse can be emotional, psychological, and sexual, not just physical. ” 

“ Did your monk tell you that? ” Hanzo asks, slightly irritated.

“ Indirectly. ” Genji responds. “ I read it in a book he gave me. ”

Hanzo scoffs. He knows he shouldn’t—this is clearly something that means a lot to Genji—but he can’t help himself.

“ You remember Akutagawa-sensei. ” Genji waits until Hanzo nods before he continues. “ His favorite thing was hitting us with that damn kendo sword. ” There is a pause. “ Did you know that tutors aren’t supposed to do that? ”

“ Half the time we deserved it, ” Hanzo argues back.

“No one deserves that. ” Genji says firmly. “ Especially not a child. ” There’s another pause. “ Hanzo, that was abuse. ”

“ No, ” Hanzo says instantly. “ You don’t get to say that about Akutagawa-sensei just because we both despised him as children. That’s not abuse, that’s discipline.” Hanzo sees where this is going now. Genji brought up the abuse so he could claim that the clan was a cult that abused him and use that to justify his defiance of the ancient traditions of the Shimada family. Genji’s monk friend surely put these ideas in Genji’s head, religious people were always like that. 

“ Hanzo, ” Genji says gently, “ do you remember Ken Tanaka? ”

Hanzo’s body goes rigid. How does Genji know that name? He had taken great care to bury that part of his life. Even when he’d been on the run using pseudonyms left and right, he refused to use either name out of respect for the only friend he ever made outside of the clan. Hanzo clamps down on the panic rising in his throat. Genji shouldn’t even know about him.

“ Who? ” He asks, hoping his voice does not betray him.

“ Oh Hanzo, ” Genji says, and it’s pitying. “ He was in one of the files Overwatch took from Shimada Castle when they raided it shortly after you left. I thought it was strange that Father had given a random company in Osaka money to take in an ordinary businessman like Yuichirou Tanaka, so I read the file. The file said that Ken was your friend and the clan was reportedly watching the Tanakas after they found out about Ken’s crush on you. Clan informers at our school reported— ”

Hanzo is shaking his head before Genji can finish. “ Ken didn’t— Ken wasn’t like that. ” He hears himself say.

“ Oh Hanzo… ” Genji says again, this time his face sad. “ Did you not know? Ken was in love with you. ”

Hanzo shakes his head again, once, twice, three times before he’s bolting from the room into his suit’s bathroom and slamming the door shut. He slides down to the floor with his back to the door and sits there until he hears the telltale click of the door closing as Genji leaves.

When he’s done crying and throwing up, Hanzo sees he has a text message from Genji.

 

I’m sorry, I thought you knew.

We’ll finish our discussion tomorrow. Feel better soon, anija .

Notes:

Apologies for posting this chapter late, even though I have backdated it. Thank you for reading and I'll see you next Friday.

Chapter 19: Storm to Weather

Summary:

Genji lays out how he was feeling prior to his clan-ordered murder. Hanzo reflects on how everything came down to his failure to recognise his brother. Inspired by Sam Tinnesz’s song “Brother” and Lewis Capaldi’s song “Before You Go”. (Continued from the last chapter.)

True to his word, Genji shows up at Hanzo’s door the next day. Hanzo invites him inside, and this time there’s a cup of tea waiting for each of them at the table.

“ Before the clan elders gave you that ultimatum, before we fought, do you have any idea how I was feeling? ” Genji asks after a long while of the two brothers sitting in silence, sipping their tea. “ Do you have any idea how I felt about you then? Or how I feel about it now? ”

Hanzo shakes his head. He can guess, but ultimately, it’s not something the two of them ever spoke about. One of the great failings of their relationship; the brothers rarely talked deeply to each other like they are doing now.

“ I was very frustrated. ” Genji says into his tea. “ You were Father’s golden boy, the favorite child. You were perfect in every way. And I resented you for that. ”

Hanzo shakes his head again, even though he knows Genji isn’t looking at him. “ You were always Father’s favorite. His little sparrow, his free bird. He let you do whatever you wanted whenever you wanted to do it. How else do you think it was that I was the one doing clan duties and you were the one spending his nights at the arcade? ”

Genji is the one to shake his head this time. “ He let me spend my nights at the arcade because he simply did not care about me. Or so I thought. ”

Hanzo waits for Genji to elaborate.

“ I talked about my frustrations at length with Zenyatta, ” Genji finally says. He pauses and sips his tea. “ Hanzo, did you do it for yourself, or someone else? ” 

“ What do you mean? ” Hanzo asks, even though he has an idea of what Genji is referring to.

Genji sighs.

“ We never played together as much the older we got, never hung out together. You were always busy with clan business and everything else was secondary to it. ” Hanzo opens his mouth to speak but his brother holds a mechanical hand up. “ I told myself I hated you for never spending time with me, especially after Father’s death. We’re brothers, we should have mourned together. I was so angry that I wanted to hate you, but I was just kidding myself. I know now that I should have said something about how I was feeling then, but I was hoping you would just… notice. Talking with Zenyatta about how angry I was that you weren’t paying attention to your own family, he made me realize something. By that point, I had already learned of your yearly visits home and from Overwatch’s files on the clan, I knew you’d left shortly before it was disbanded. Why would someone who didn’t regret his actions do something like that? Zenyatta urged me to see things from a different perspective. I felt so worthless in the eyes of the clan so I didn’t see how running the clan was putting so much stress on you. I clearly didn’t think about how my own actions weren’t helping. Hanzo, I’m sorry. ”

Hanzo’s throat constricts. He shakes his head. “ There is nothing to apologize for. I should have known— I should have been more attentive to your needs. I believed you were acting out simply because no one reigned you in. I didn’t know you felt worthless. ” Hanzo takes a deep breath. “ You’re not worthless, you never have been. ”

“ Thank you, anija.” Genji says. “ It means a lot to hear that from you. ”

The two of them lapse into a silence that is neither comfortable or uncomfortable. Hanzo wants to open his mouth, apologize for what he’s done, but the words don’t come out. His throat is closing up and he feels like anything he says now will be the wrong thing. Genji must see him struggling, because he holds up a hand.

“ You don’t have to say anything else if you’re not ready. Zenyatta taught me that these things take time. It won’t happen overnight. I’m happy just hearing that you’ve never thought of me as worthless. ” Genji stands, fastening his visor back to his face. “ I’ll be waiting, anija.”

Notes:

Sorry once again for the late post, I have had so much going on lately with my school life and personal life. I hope you enjoy this chapter, as it was hard to write.

Chapter 20: Training

Summary:

Hanzo is most often found in the training room. One day, Kiriko and Genji decide to join him for some intense, family bonding time the only way they know how.

Hanzo is in the training room when Genji and Kiriko enter. It’s still a sore spot for him to be with the two of them, even though it’s been over eleven years (eleven years, six months, five days). And of course he feels bad that Kiriko got trapped in the spirit world for as long as she did. But there’s something sparkling in Kiriko’s eyes that feels a little too much like home and nearly convinces him to agree with whatever stupid plan they have surely cooked up. Because why else would they be here, bothering Hanzo during his cultivated private practicing time other than to bother him with mischief?

Hanzo sighs and lowers his bow.

“What do you want?” He asks, his voice coming out more gruff than he wanted it to from not using it for a couple days.

“ Anija ,” Genji starts. Already a bad sign; he only used the formal address when he wanted something from Hanzo or when he was forced to be polite.

“Hanzo,” Kiriko grins. She never did hold back.

“Let’s train together,” Genji says.

It’s not what Hanzo expected. Mischief and debauchery? Yes. Training? This was a surprise.

“I’m not sure that is what you want,” Hanzo says. Wrong thing. Denying Kiriko always led to her pushing harder.

“Oh come on! Afraid I’ll hit more targets than you?” Kiriko grins.

“No,” Hanzo says, already resigning himself to a long session. Kiriko had said something about being able to heal wounds and empower people with energy with the power of her foxes now, so she could keep him and Genji going for a while, he suspects.

“Good,” Genji was surely smiling behind his visor. Hanzo bites his lip thinking about it. He wants to kick himself for doing it. It’s been nearly eleven years. Genji had forgiven him. But this didn’t look like the Genji he used to train with. What if he hurt him again while training? Surely they should just stick to contests of shooting targets like he sometimes did with Cassidy. Then Kiriko could participate too.

Hanzo raises his bow. “Athena, run moving target simulation one.”

Kiriko raises her eyebrows. “I know you can do better than that.”

“I’m graciously letting you warm up first, so you don’t have that excuse when I beat you.” Hanzo says, leveling his bow at the simulated targets and exploding one with a clean shot.

Genji’s visor lights up and Hanzo hears the mechanical whir of Genji preparing his shuriken. With careful precision, Genji flings three out and hits three targets. Not quite dead center, but enough that they still destruct.

Kiriko pulls out a kunai from the belt around her leg and sinks one dead center on another target. She smirks, muttering something self-assuring to herself under her breath.

Genji and Kiriko continue to trade blows on the practice targets while Hanzo stands back and observes his… he’s not sure what to call them at this point. Sure, Genji is his brother and Kiriko is his cousin, but can he, a cold blooded murderer, call himself their family? If there is no clan anymore, can they all still be part of the same family? He studies Kiriko’s smiling face as she sinks kunai after kunai in moving targets. Genji praises her, and she laughs, clear and bright like a bell. How could he, assassin, ruthless killer, train with someone still so young and full of innocence? And Genji… How could he begin to make up for the damage he caused his brother? This mechanical body, this half man in front of him… He is nothing like the Genji who would skip lessons to go make friends at the local arcade. They share a face (barely) and a name, but they are in no way the same man. Hanzo swallows around the lump in his throat as Kiriko and Genji look at him. He has been quiet for too long.

“Athena, run simulation sixty seven.” He sees the disappointed look on Kiriko’s face when he doesn’t reply to whatever she and Genji were talking about.

He outshoots them by a narrow margin, but doesn’t gloat. He wishes it was more, but he’s preoccupied and distracted. The eleventh anniversary of Genji’s death has just passed. He lost so much that day he made that terrible mistake. And yet, here is his brother and his cousin, reaching out to him. He does not deserve this.

“Why don’t we try one on one?” Genji offers after they are done with the simulation. “We can do hand to hand combat.”

Hanzo’s breath quickens with what if’s. He isn’t sure that he can do this with Genji. Not because the metal body would give his brother the advantage, no, quite the opposite. He might hurt him again. Or worse. He’s not sure how he could hurt Genji worse than he already has, but he knows he would be the one to manage to find a way to make it possible. Kiriko seems oblivious to Hanzo’s predicament as she readily agrees with Genji’s idea, promising to personally patch up any wounds caused in their sparring. Hanzo hears himself faintly agreeing, despite every fiber of his being telling him not to, that he’s going to hurt his brother again, something worse than what Kiriko can fix. He’s so afraid he will do something to Genji that Kiriko cannot repair, that he will have to take his brother to Dr. Ziegler and face her wrath. Hanzo quietly sucks precious air into his lungs as he follows his brother and cousin to the sparring mats. There are a variety of wooden weapons by the side of the mats for the agents’ use that Hanzo has been avoiding, but Kiriko and Genji keep chatting to each other, oblivious to Hanzo’s rising panic.

“My mom wants to know if you’ve kept up with the sword,” Kiriko says as Hanzo’s focus narrows to her and the wooden swords in her hands.

“I swore never to wield a blade again,” Hanzo rasps out.

Kiriko smiles, as if he’s told a joke, handing one of the swords to Genji. “I’ll tell her you’re thinking about picking it back up.” She offers the other one to Hanzo. When he doesn’t take it, she grabs his hand and places the wooden sword in it.

Hanzo feels his throat constrict. It’s hard for him to breathe. He can’t get enough air into his lungs. Suddenly, the wooden training sword is a sharpened katana and the stench of blood is everywhere. His hands feel so heavy. His heart is pounding so loud he can’t think. His hands feel slick with blood. He tastes the tang of iron on his tongue. The world narrows to the blue blade in his hands. Hanzo falls to his knees.

Notes:

I have finally posted (mostly) on time for once. The last three chapters I have to write are coming along very slowly, as they are painful to write. I hope to have them done so I can post them on the weekly schedule I have going, but I fear they might be delayed. Thank you for reading as always, and I'll see you next Friday.

Chapter 21: Unacceptable

Summary:

A poem by Hanzo.

My remorse in silence calls

To my clan, I’m honor-bound

None shall see these blood-stained halls.

 

My greatest mistakes, my pitfalls

No lights, my ship has run aground

My remorse in silence calls.

 

Missteps hidden with bleach and alcohols

Tensions high and tightly wound

None shall see these blood-stained halls.

 

A home is where no harm befalls

This home is now a burial ground

My remorse in silence calls.

 

My dragons dance through ancestral walls

Throughout my life, my flaws compound

None shall see these blood-stained halls.

 

Your body off the balcony sprawls

Of this deed, no one will make a sound.

My remorse in silence calls,

None shall see these blood-stained halls.

Notes:

It’s a shorter update this week. Because of the length of time it took me to write this poem, I felt like it would make an acceptable chapter on its own.
This poem follows a scheme called a “villanelle”. Think whatever you want about that.

Chapter 22: Voicemail

Summary:

A series of voicemails to Genji Shimada.

“You’ve reached Genji Shimada, I’m probably out doing something right now. If you need me, leave your name, number, and reason why you’re calling. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks!”

“… This is stupid.”

 

“You’ve reached Genji Shimada, I’m probably out doing something right now. If you need me, leave your name, number, and reason why you’re calling. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks!”

“Genji? I just… I needed to hear your voice, that’s all.”

 

“You’ve reached Genji Shimada, I’m probably out doing something right now. If you need me, leave your name, number, and reason why you’re calling. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks!”

“I’m… Genji… Fuck… Why is this so hard?!”

 

“You’ve reached Genji Shimada, I’m probably out doing something right now. If you need me, leave your name, number, and reason why you’re calling. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks!”

“I’m so drunk right now. I don’t even know where I am, I think I’m still in Hanamura. Or maybe I’m in Kanezaka? Fuck, I don’t know. I promise it won’t happen again, I’m better than this. Can you—fuck. No, you can’t, fuck. I’m so stupid, I don’t know why—I think I’m going to throw up. Shit. 

That’s better. I think. I’m not even sure anymore. I don’t know how much I had to drink, I can’t even remember where I went. Fuck, Genji, this was a mistake, it was all a big mistake, I swear I didn’t want to, if you had only—you should have—fuck… I miss you, Genji. I wish…”

 

“You’ve reached Genji Shimada, I’m probably out doing something right now. If you need me, leave your name, number, and reason why you’re calling. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks!”
“I don’t mean to keep calling you when I’m drunk, I swear, I don’t but… I’ve been drinking. A lot. Don’t worry, I’m safe. I’m in my room now. And yeah, I’m drinking water. Fine, that’s a lie, but don’t worry about it. I’m doing fine, I’m all good. It’s been a hundred days since… Well, you know. Sorry about that, by the way. I’m. Really, really. Sorry. Yeah, I. Genji… I’m so. I’m so fucking sorry. I never. I didn’t want to. I don’t. Fuck. I. Gods…”

 

“You’ve reached Genji Shimada, I’m probably out doing something right now. If you need me, leave your name, number, and reason why you’re calling. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks!”

“Genji, I don’t know if this message will even reach you. It seems foolish to do this when sober, but I dreamt of you last night. I need to say something to you and this is the only way I know how to. 

I want to apologize for the wrongs I’ve caused you. I know nothing I could ever do will ever make up for the things I did to you that night. Nothing happened the way I wanted it to. 

I don’t expect you to ever forgive me. I know you can’t, and even had you not… had you not perished that night, I wouldn’t want you to. It is my burden to bear, and as part of that, I have vowed to never use a blade again.

I want to tell you, I have left the clan. I don’t think I can rule without you. I don’t think I was meant to. It wasn’t supposed to end up like this. I wish you were by my side, I wish you had understood me and what disobeying truly meant. You thought of yourself as invincible, but really, as the head of the clan, we are the ones under the most scrutiny. I still maintain that you could be a good leader by my side if you had only seen reason.

I do not know where I will go now that I have resigned from my position and left. Just in case the clan comes after me, I won’t even tell you. 

I miss you, my brother. I hope you found the tranquility that eluded us in life. Rest in peace, Genji. May your spirit soar like the sparrow Father always described you as.

As always, your brother, Hanzo.”

 

“You’ve reached Genji Shimada, I’m probably out doing something right now. If you need me, leave your name, number, and reason why you’re calling. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks!”

The voice mailbox is full and cannot accept new messages at this time. Goodbye.

 

“Hello?”

“Oh. I have the wrong number. Apologies.”

Notes:

EPILOGUE
“Hi, you’ve reached Genji! I’m either out on a mission or meditating. When the winds of fate bring me back, I will respond to your message. Peace be with you!”

“Come back safe, otouto.”

 

Apologies for the long absence. Life caught up with me. Since I last posted, I have moved into an apartment with my partner. I'm still struggling to write the last few chapters, as they are very emotionally heavy. I aim to have them out by the end of the year at the latest. I do have them outlined, but they take a lot of emotion to write. Thank you for being loyal readers. I'll see you in the next chapter.

Chapter 23: Watching Over You

Summary:

Genji and Hanzo spend the 11th anniversary of Genji’s murder together.

Notes:

Happy (early) death day Genji.

Genji is the one who brings it up.

“ Anija ,” he says one day in the beginning of March. “Let’s take some time off together the first week in April.”

Hanzo swallows around his “no”. He plans to go back to Hanamura in April to Shimada Castle. Although he knows now what he didn’t know for the last ten years, he still feels that it would be amiss to not visit like he usually did. Besides, just because his brother was alive didn’t mean irreparable harm was not caused that night.

“I heard the cherry blossoms are quite nice this time of year, and it would only be one day,” Genji says, and Hanzo knows exactly what he’s thinking.

He doesn’t like to refuse his brother these days. It feels wrong. The more he can do for him now makes him feel like payback for what he did then.

“You book the flight.” He tries to keep the rasp out of his voice.

 

Genji books them a midday flight from Gibraltar, arriving late in the night. The two brothers make their way through customs, fake names and fake passports. The country of Japan cannot know that Hanzo Shimada is visiting, let alone that Genji Shimada is alive. Genji is the one who bought them, and Hanzo notices that all the faked documents they have for the trip do not use the names “Ken” or “Tanaka”, despite being popular, ambiguous names. Hanzo is grateful, but he doesn’t voice this. He doesn’t need Genji’s pity, doesn’t deserve it. He swallows around a lump in his throat as the customs officer waves them through.

It’s strange to be back in his homeland once again. It’s always been alienating to be a stranger in his own motherland, even worse when he’s in Hanamura. He knows the streets, grew up on them. He knows how to navigate the train system like the back of his hand, and remembers driving through the skyscrapers of Tokyo in a limo with his father. Back in the good old days.

Were they the good old days? A little voice asks him. It sounds a little like Genji’s does now. So much pressure to be a good heir, the perfect son. The bliss of not knowing how the clan elders were shaping him, manipulating him. The days when he only knew “follow” and “lead”.

A metallic hand taps his shoulder; he’s been so lost in his own head that the next stop is Hanamura. They’re pulling away from the Hanaoka station when the weight of what’s about to happen begins pushing down on Hanzo.

Hanamura is still bustling, vibrant with nightlife when Genji and Hanzo get off at the station. Genji has his visor off and is in full clothing so as not to attract any more unwanted attention then absolutely necessary. It makes Hanzo a little sick to look at the marred visage of his brother, remembering that it’s all his fault, so he busies himself with counting the things that are the same and what is different since the last time he was here.

Genji stops outside the Rikimaru Ramen right next to the arcade. His eyes light up as he looks back and forth between the two buildings he spent much of his youth in.

“Hanzo,” he starts, but Hanzo already knows what he’s going to ask.

“We’re here to get in and get out,” he reminds his younger brother. He doesn’t say no.

Genji smiles then, brightening up his travel-weary face. “I promise we’ll be quick, then.”

The two of them sit at booths next to each other. They keep their heads down, ordering and eating in silence. Hanzo can tell, though, Genji is happy. His shoulders relax and his foot taps to the beat of the music playing in the ramen shop.

Hanzo’s foot taps along too, double time. He checks his watch. Barely after midnight, but there’s a pit in his stomach. Today is the day. Was the day.

Genji makes eye contact with him from the booth next to Hanzo’s. Hanzo holds it for a beat before realizing Genji is making a face that asks if Hanzo will please pay for his otouto . Hanzo slides Genji enough for the ramen and pays for his own.

As the two of them go outside, Genji’s face turns towards the arcade before looking back at Hanzo. He doesn’t plead, he doesn’t pout. Hanzo knows this was his favorite spot back in the days when he himself was following dutifully after his father, dealing “pharmaceuticals”. Hanzo checks his watch. Their flight back to Gibraltar isn’t until nearly midday, more than 10 hours. Ideally the two will sleep before heading back, or at least Genji would while Hanzo remained alert. Hanzo sighs, pulling out his wallet. The moon isn’t set to be high in the sky until about 4 am anyway. There’s still time, isn’t there?

“Let’s make this quick,” Hanzo does not say. He silently walks into the arcade, purchases a plastic cup full of 100 yen coins, the archaic currency being the only one the machines took. He hands the cup to Genji, whose eyes light up.

Hanzo follows Genji around to various machines, watching him rack up tickets like he was a teen again.

“It’s like they never changed the machines,” Genji comments with a smile. “I wonder if my high score on skee ball still stands.”

Hanzo nods faintly. He can’t help but feel the case on his back is attracting unwanted attention. He knows the Hashimoto clan runs this neighborhood. He doesn’t want to involve any civilians in case a fight were to break out; their lives are too precious, their attention is too much.

“Play with me, anija ,” Genji says, pointing at the skee ball machine. “Let’s see if we can break my old record.”

Hanzo tries to think of an excuse, but the address the other had used for him made him weak in the heart.

“Okay,” Hanzo acquiesces. He puts 4 coins into the machine as Genji does the same on his.

Predictably, Hanzo falls quite short of Genji’s old record, but he’s not sure if he’s too distracted to play well or just unpracticed. Genji, on the other hand, with all his training in his youth, manages to hit second place on the machine. As tickets spill out of it, Genji is prompted by the machine to enter a name for his immortalization in the scoreboard. As Genji ponders what to enter, Hanzo scans the room, noticing the eyes on Genji. He shifts awkwardly and puts his head down.

“Okay, I’m ready,” a grinning Genji says to Hanzo, as if he’s oblivious to all the people staring at the mountain of tickets now in his hands. “Let me cash these in.”

As Genji does just that, Hanzo peeks at the name Genji had chosen.

“ Otouto ,” the scoreboard reads. Hanzo feels a rush of emotions flutter in his chest. He pushes them down. There will be time later to examine them. Or not.

Genji is putting his prize in his backpack when Hanzo walks up to him, a small dragon stuffed animal in his favorite green. Hanzo sighs to himself.

“Let’s go,” Genji says resolutely. Hanzo nods and the two leave the arcade.

 

The gates to Shimada Castle are as high as Hanzo remembers, the walls just as strong. The last two Shimadas alive don’t approach the gates right away; that would be foolish. Instead, the crouch on the roof of a building nearby. Hanzo has Storm Bow out, and Genji has attached his pouch of shuriken to his waist.

“Stay here,” Hanzo commands quietly. “I’ll clear the walls and garden and then let you in.”

“I’m more than able to do this,” Genji frowns. “Let me come with you.”

“No,” Hanzo says immediately, his voice rising. “It’s too dangerous. I’ve done this before; I know what to do.”

“Are you saying I’m not capable?” Genji crosses his arms.

“No!” Hanzo retorts. “I’m saying I know what I’m doing! I’ve been doing this for 10 years, you’ve only followed me in!”

Genji deflates a little and Hanzo realizes he’s yelled at his brother, started a fight. Again. He feels a bit sick. He swallows that feeling down, nocking an arrow and letting it fly at one of the Hashimoto guards defiling the gates of his ancestral home. He nocks another, letting it fly at the other guard.

Hanzo dives off the one story roof of the building, rolling as he hits the ground. He’s up in a flash, lunging at the walls of Shimada Castle, climbing up them quickly. If he hadn’t been trained, he wouldn’t have heard Genji land from his own leap. He tisked to himself. Reckless as always .

Unfortunately, their argument on the roof had alerted the two outside guards, and it seemed they had already radioed for help before Hanzo had felled them. The familiar courtyard gardens are teeming with Hashimoto goons.

Hanzo flies into action, shooting arrows wherever he sees a guard, prioritizing those with radios. He shoots to kill, and whatever guards he misses find the bite of shuriken in or across their necks, sometimes being dispatched by his brother’s wakizashi when they get too close.

Hanzo sees it before Genji; what must be a newbie goon raises her pistol at the younger Shimada. Hanzo acts before he quite realizes what he’s doing, diving from the top of the walls were he’d been stationed into the gardens below. He shoves his younger brother out of the way as a couple gunshots go off in their direction. The shots rip through his arm and side, but he can barely feel them as he pulls back Storm Bow and shoots 5 arrows in quick succession into the goon’s heart, neck, and head. No way she’d be getting up again.

Straightening up, Hanzo realizes that this woman was one of the last goons standing, the other one quickly being dispatched by a swift strike from Genji. Hanzo sways on his feet a little, finally realizing he’s been injured.

“Are you okay, Genji?” He can hear the panic in his own voice as he tries to stride towards the other. Hanzo’s vision swims a little from pain, but he’s able to sit on one of the rocks where he’d spent hundreds of hours meditating as a child.

“What the hell was that?” Genji says crossly, running up to Hanzo, kneeling in front of his older brother, frantically searching through his backpack for the medkit Hanzo knew he’d brought from the watchpoint. “I’m glad Angela told me to pack extra biotic shots; you need them.” He begins administering the shots to Hanzo, pushing them into the older man’s thigh like an epipen.

“You could have died,” Hanzo says, vision coming back into focus as the shots began to work their scientific wonders.

“What do you mean I could have died?! I can deflect the gunshots! Does your Storm Bow do that?”

“No.” Hanzo’s voice is quiet.

“You have very little regard for your own life,” Genji says, voice softening. “And that makes me sad.”

The two brothers are silent as Genji finishes bandaging Hanzo’s wounds. Hanzo finally stands up, looking towards the entrance to the great hall of Shimada Castle. He looks back towards Genji, who nods.

Genji watches as Hanzo walks into the great hall of their youth. Hanzo approaches the banner that his father had painted with his mother’s favorite idiom. The torn edges of the cloth were stained with 11 year old blood. Hanzo kneels. Carefully, he takes out his incense sticks, kougou , and sanpai wan , placing them on the floor. The bowl that he’d put ramen in for each of the 10 years past remains empty. There’s no spirit to eat it, and even if there was, Genji had already eaten at Rikimaru. Hanzo strikes a match, lighting the incense. The smell of kyara fills his nostrils and reminds him of the sacred rituals the clan elders would perform for his family to commune with their dragons and when his family would visit their ancestors’ graves. He bows his head.

Usually he’d talk to his brother’s spirit at this point, but now he could simply turn around if he wanted to talk to his brother. So instead, he let his thoughts flow through him. 

Genji had said that he wanted him to have greater regard for his own life. Zenyatta had asked him what he was running from, what he saw in the mirror. Dr. Ziegler forgave him for the turmoil he’d put her through, even if it was only for Genji’s benefit. Cole loved him despite all his flaws, all his mistakes. 

Fat tears begin rolling down Hanzo’s face, despite him clenching down on the impulse, trying to stop them. The tears are gone soon, but it feels like an eternity. Hanzo breathes in and out for another minute, letting his cheeks dry and the incense burn down. Finally, he begins to clean up.

Genji is kind enough to pretend he doesn’t see Hanzo wiping away the residual moisture from his face. Instead, he approaches the banner as Hanzo finishes gathering his things.

The younger Shimada has pulled the dragon plushie out of his backpack. Solemnly, he strides past his older brother, placing it underneath Hanzo’s sword on the dias.

“I’ll watch over it, until you need it again,” he says.

Fresh tears begin to roll down Hanzo’s cheeks, but this time he doesn’t stop them. It’s only his brother here, after all. Genji doesn’t give him a look of pity, doesn’t reach out to wipe the tears away. Instead, he smiles, small but proud.

“Let’s go sit on the balcony and watch the sun rise, anija .”

Hanzo gives him a weak smile through his tears.

“Okay, otouto .”

Notes:

Thank you for everyone who has waited for this chapter. It was quite hard to write, which is why it's taken so long. Thank you for reading this and supporting my continuous growth as a writer.

Chapter 24: XXX

Summary:

Hanzo finally gets what he wants.

Notes:

Please note the rating change.

Hanzo is making out with Cole Cassidy on his bed. The cowboy has his hands on Hanzo’s hips, holding him in place. His lips are pressed against the archer’s. It’s not the first time Hanzo’s been in this position before, and with any luck, it won’t be his last. Because Hanzo wants this to last as long as it can. The way Cole kisses him makes him forget thoughts of whether or not he is deserving of such an amazing partner. And that’s how his cowboy is kissing him right now.

Serape and shirt on the floor, Hanzo can hear Cole wrestling with his belt buckle. The gaudy thing always got in the way at the worst times. Hanzo lets his hands wander from their place on Cole’s own hips to his front, the damn belt buckle. They both fidget with it, hands tangling with each other. Hanzo moans into Cole’s mouth and not-so-subtly rubs his hands across Cole’s front. Even through the jeans, Hanzo can feel how much Cole wants this and that makes the blood in his veins thrum faster.

“Hanzo,” Cole groans against his partner’s lips. “You’re drivin’ me crazy.”

“I want you,” Hanzo says instead of his usual deflection of compliments. Cole has a special way of making him feel like he has to accept. Ever since the other man opened up to him, ever since they started making out after missions, Cole has been finding new ways to make the voices in the archer’s head quiet down.

Cole fumbles with the belt that ties Hanzo’s gi together as he kisses down the archer’s neck, scraping his teeth along the flesh there as he goes. Hanzo moans, louder than he wants to, when the gunslinger sucks and bites at his neck. Talon could nuke Watchpoint: Gibraltar right now and Hanzo would die a happy man.

He slides his other arm out of his shirt and helps Cole as he struggles to get Hanzo out of his pants. The black haired man sits back for a second while he watches the cowboy shuck off his jeans as quickly as he can. Then they are both in their underwear. This is the furthest they have ever gotten with each other. They sit there for a while, two middle-aged men visually exploring the other’s body.

“God, you’re beautiful.” Cole breathes into the silence.

Hanzo is aware of his good looks, but hearing it from the other man makes it seem like something special. He wants to squirm under the praise and can’t help but flush under Cole’s scrutiny. Hanzo wants to say something back, but every compliment dies on his tongue when Cole drops to his knees at the side of the bed and begins placing kisses to the inside of his thighs. Hanzo whines, high and desperate in his throat. Cole takes his time kissing and sucking the flesh of Hanzo’s thighs before his fingers find the edge of Hanzo’s underwear. The gunslinger brushes his fingers over the tent in them before grabbing at the outline of Hanzo’s shaft.

Hanzo bites his lip hard enough that he thinks he might draw blood when Cole’s lips finally close around the head of his dick beneath the cloth of his underwear. The cowboy hasn’t even made contact with the skin of it and Hanzo already feels like he could cum.

“Keep that up and this won’t last very long,” he manages to gasp out.

“You’re doing great, darlin’,” Cole says, taking his mouth off Hanzo for a brief moment. Hanzo whines . Cole grins. “Liked that, didn’t ya? Well, there’s more where that came from if you can be good for me.”

Hanzo nods unconsciously, spreading his legs, trying not to buck his hips up. Cole fingers the elastic of Hanzo’s underwear, dipping his fingers in every so often, forcing Hanzo to shift his hips around, seeking the friction he’d been receiving until moments before. Finally, Cole pulls the offending article of clothing off of Hanzo. The air on the archer’s member is cool and the flushed organ stands proud against his stomach. His hips twitch; he’s trying not to be needy. Cole has a glint in his eyes; he’s seen how much Hanzo wants this, wants him.

“Patience, darlin’,” the cowboy says and leans closer. “You’ll get what you want soon enough.” He carefully wraps his lips around Hanzo, tongue teasing the tip, tasing the salty precum gathered there. “Mmm, you taste so good.”

Hanzo groans, hips bucking off the bed, trying to get Cole’s mouth to envelope him the way he wants, but Cole pulls back, wicked grin on his lips. When Hanzo’s hips finally still, Cole’s mouth goes back on him. He feels Cole’s flesh hand squeezing his thigh, sliding up towards his crotch, rubbing circles into him. The fingers reach their goal, rubbing Hanzo’s rim as Cole’s mouth slides sloppily along his cock. Hanzo shifts his hips, trying to push Cole’s fingers into him or get more friction on his aching cock, but Cole pulls back just enough to make him ache . Hanzo hears the telltale pop of the cap of lube. He braces himself for the jolt of cold lube applied to his flushed skin, but it doesn’t come. Cole warms it up for him before putting his fingers back on Hanzo, rubbing him, coaxing him to loosen up and let him in.

Cole has three fingers in Hanzo before he’s keening, whining, begging for his cowboy’s dick.

“Cole, please. I need you, need to feel you, I don’t know how much longer I can last if you don’t, please ,” Hanzo moans loudly.

“Shhh,” Cole soothes, slowly dragging his fingers out of Hanzo. “I hear ya, pumpkin.” Cole lubes himself up and lines up the head of his cock, slowly beginning to push in. 

Hanzo slaps a hand over his own mouth to keep himself from screaming as Cole slides all the way in. “Cole you feel so good, want you, need more, so good,” he babbles.

“You’re bein’ so good for me,” the other man soothes, pulling out and then thrusting back in, setting a healthy pace.

“I’m not going to— Cole, I— I’m close.” Hanzo fumbles for words as the head of his cowboy’s cock drags over his sweet spot on every thrust. “I feel so good, you feel so good, I’m, ah!”

“Show me how good ya feel.” He lightly nips at Hanzo’s ear before whispering, “Be good and cum for me, darlin’.”

And Hanzo does. He whites out from pleasure as he cums, vaguely registering Cole reaching his own orgasm, spilling inside of him. When he’s next aware of himself, his cowboy is handing him a plastic cup of water and helping him sit up on the bed. The gunslinger himself sits on the bed next to Hanzo with a rag, probably for the cum that’s slowly leaking from his ass.

Cole is tender with him as he cleans them both up. Hanzo can only hope this is the first time of many.

Notes:

I hope you enjoyed this more, uh, intimate chapter. Love to my cowboy, as always.

Chapter 25: Yurushi (許し)

Summary:

Hanzo apologizes.

Notes:

In Japanese, 許し (yurushi) means "forgiveness".

Zenyatta and Genji are getting off their transport ship from Nepal when Hanzo all but corners the former after greeting the latter.

“I need to speak to you,” he says curtly. “In private is preferred.”

Zenyatta’s etched on eyes betray nothing, as usual, but his orbs glow a little brighter. He and Genji look at one another before Genji heads off in the other direction, grabbing Kiriko into a headlock as he leaves.

“This is a change,” Zenyatta says as Hanzo leads him towards a private meeting room. “I was starting to think you didn't ever wish to speak to me.”

He's being brutally honest, Hanzo knows. Zenyatta is trying to set an example for him; if the monk is completely candid, then perhaps the archer will be as well. Hanzo ignores the omnic’s words.

Once they are alone in the meeting room with the door shut, Hanzo positions himself in front of Zenyatta and kneels. The monk goes to kneel as well, but Hanzo stops him with a hand.

“I must… I must…” Hanzo starts. The words are sticking in his throat, but he pushes through. “You took in my brother when he was at his most volatile.”

“He was in need and it is my creed to help those in need.”

“He told me that he was volatile; he used the word,” Hanzo explains. “He said that he was… in pain. Both physical and mental. I know he hated me then, and I do not blame him. I know it was hard for him to grapple with how someone who was supposed to protect him, someone who was always supposed to be in his corner could do such a thing to him.”

“Indeed,” Zenyatta agrees, but says nothing more.

“I don’t…” Hanzo starts. He pauses, collecting himself. He had tried to make a plan, figure out what he was going to say, but every time he practiced, he found it hard to predict what the monk would say so he could figure out how to respond. He’d given up after many tries and decided to be spontaneous, but here he was, regretting his decision. “It would be remiss of me to explain what happened, how I came to do such evil. It does not matter; Genji was full of anger and hurt after what I did. He often wished that I’d finished the job during his Blackwatch days and had little regard for his own life; Cole has alluded to as much.” Hanzo takes a breath. It was hard to speak Genji’s past suicidality into the world, especially since it was because of him. “I don’t know what you did to make him change his mind.”

“One can only change if they are ready,” Zenyatta says. “When Genji came to me, its true that he was tired of living, but most importantly, he was tired of living in suffering. Can you relate to that?” The monk waits patiently while Hanzo gathers his thoughts.

There is a long pause. Hanzo closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. Another one. And another. Hanzo thinks of his singular meditation session with Zenyatta. “A mirror only reflects what can be seen,” the monk had told him then. Perhaps it wasn’t a platitude, but something deeper that Hanzo was refusing to see because, as Zenyatta had alluded to, he was running from himself. He remembers what Zenyatta said to him the first time they met. “What of the enemy within?” The enemy within himself, the ugly tiger, raring it’s head. But he was a Shimada, a dragon. He could best any enemy, including those within. He just had to figure out who, or what, the enemy was.

Hanzo shakes his head, clearing it, realizing he’s been lost following the rabbit hole of his thoughts. He hasn’t answered Zenyatta’s question. He’s not sure he wants to.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Zenyatta says, reading Hanzo’s mind once again. “It’s up to you to answer that for yourself.” He waits for Hanzo to nod before continuing. “Genji was tired of living in suffering,” he reiterates, “so he came to the Shambali, famous for our healing techniques. His physical body was already healed then, but he still felt incomplete, as you may have gathered. I see many similarities between you and the Genji that came to me after Overwatch’s fall. This Genji was ready to make a change to his life; he simply needed to be pointed on the right path. I meditated frequently with him, asking him to answer hard questions. I waited until he was ready to respond; we took things at his pace. There were many times where he walked away from me, days where he would take what little meals he ate in his room alone. I can only assume he meditated on what I asked of him, what would help heal his soul most. But I also know that there were days when he simply brooded, stewed in his own misery, especially in the beginning. In the end, I did nothing but supply him with the tools he needed to heal himself.”

Hanzo shakes his head at Zenyatta’s modesty. “I am forever grateful for what you did for my brother, small as you think it may be. I…” He pauses. “There is a reason I wanted to speak to you today.” He takes a deep breath, centering himself. He can feel the carpet beneath his knees; he’ll surely have the pattern of it imprinted there for hours since he’s been kneeling for so long. But this is important; lowering himself to Zenyatta for this is important to him. “I’m sorry,” he says, and bows his forehead to the floor. “I’m sorry for making you calm the storm that was my brother after I so selfishly and blindly raised my sword against him.”

Hanzo keeps his head to the floor until he feels a warm hand on his shoulder. He knows this is part of the Shambali healing technique; this is Zenyatta’s healing orb creating the warmth.

“Raise your head, Hanzo,” the monk says. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

Hanzo sits up from his bow, but keeps his head lowered. “I owe you much.”

“You owe me nothing,” Zenyatta says. Hanzo begins to protest, but the omnic holds up a hand. “If you find it necessary to make it up to me, I would only ask one thing of you. Think of all I have said to you, everything you find difficult or unpleasant, anything that has made you resent me. Think of it, and ask yourself why you find it such. Wanting to change is the first step towards actualization; knowing yourself is the second.”

“Thank you,” Hanzo quietly rasps out.

Zenyatta’s healing orb glows warmer before the monk withdraws it and leaves the meeting room. When the last of the warmth fades from Hanzo’s body, he finally stands.

---

Weeks later, Hanzo cuts himself while woodcarving. He’s not sure if he subconsciously did it on purpose and he knows he doesn’t have to go to the infirmary for such a minor injury, but he does anyway. It’s high time he talks to Dr. Ziegler.

When the doctor sees him walk into the infirmary, she instantly points to Baptiste and then Hanzo, directing the Haitian medic to take care of him. Baptiste starts towards Hanzo, but, after swallowing to unstick his throat, Hanzo calls, “I’d like to speak to you, actually, Dr. Ziegler.”

Her eyebrows shoot up immediately before her professional mask slips into place. She gestures towards a chair. “Well, sit down then, Hanzo.” He sits. “What seems to be the matter?”

Years of needing to read people well means that Hanzo can tell she's skeptical about what's going on. He holds out his injured finger.

This time, Dr. Ziegler doesn't mask her annoyance.

“You are fully capable of taking care of this yourself,” she says, but rummages in a cabinet for antiseptic and bandage. She takes his hand and begins cleaning the wound. It stings a little, but Hanzo's been through much worse. “What are you actually here for?”

“It's…” Hanzo starts. “Those.” He points towards the filing cabinets where he knows the physical medical records of all the agents who joined since the recall are stored, as well as where all of Dr. Ziegler's personal research is.

“My research?” She asks, eyebrows raised. “I'm surprised; I didn't think you were interested in becoming part of our medical team, or medical research at all.”

“It's not that,” Hanzo responds. “Well, I suppose it's related.” She waits for him to continue. “Your research on biomesh and synthetic organs, especially lungs and hearts.”

Her voice has an icy edge when she says, “Oh, that. You know how all that started, of course.” She folds her arms.

“I do.” His voice is quiet. “My worst mistake, raising my sword against my brother.” He pauses. “I only know my side of what happened that night. I can only imagine what you had to deal with, fixing what I so thoughtlessly had broken. You shouldn't have had to do that.”

She nods in agreement.

Hanzo doesn't want to make a spectacle in the infirmary, doesn't want to draw too much attention to himself and Dr. Ziegler’s conversation. He thinks that she wouldn't care for the traditional deep show of apology anyway. Instead, he lowers his head, bowing it.

“I'm sorry,” he says, voice unwavering. “I'm sorry my mistakes have I have caused you so much work.”

“You're right,” she says. “I shouldn't have had to do that. Thank you for your apology. Now, I must go attend to other matters.”

Hanzo hears her shoes clicking away from him, but his head remains bowed until he can no longer hear them over the ambient noise of the room.

---

Hanzo approaches his brother when he is awake late one night, or up early one morning. It could be either, but what matters is that his brother is alone.

“I have… something to say.” He clears his throat to go on, but his brother interrupts.

“I know that you talked to Zenyatta and Angela,” he says. “You apologized to them.”

Hanzo nods.

“And I can guess what this means for our conversation.”

Hanzo nods again, and swallows around the sticking point in his throat. He goes to kneel; Genji tries to stop him. He can't get the words out. Why can't he get the words out?! Frustrated tears bead at the corners of his eyes.

“Oh Hanzo,” Genji says. He gets to his knees as well, wrapping his arms around his older brother as fat tears roll down Hanzo's cheeks. “You don't have to say it. I know. I see it in the way you carry yourself every day. It’s OK. You already know that I forgive you.” Hanzo nods into his brother's shoulder.

They stay like that for what feels like an eternity. Hanzo in Genji's arms. Years of shame, fear, guilt spill from Hanzo's eyes until they dry up when he can no longer breathe around the snot.

Genji gets up then and returns with a box of tissues. They sit in silence on the kitchen floor for a while, until Hanzo's breathing evens out again.

When he's sure his brother feels well enough, Genji leans over and gives Hanzo a tight squeeze.

“I think you'll find that there's only one person left to ask for forgiveness,” Genji says softly. “Don't rush; he'll be waiting for you whenever you're ready.”

Hanzo nods. He's not sure how long it will take him. Days, weeks, months, years. Maybe even lifetimes. But he knows that Genji is right; he'll be there when he's ready to apologize.

---

When he's finally ready, Hanzo opens a new word document. He pauses. He's not sure what to call this thing, this writing endeavor he's beginning. He thinks for a bit, centers himself. In the title slot, he types, “Cherry Blossoms in the Rain”, and under that, he begins his first chapter: “Atonement”.

島田半蔵、許しくてする。Hanzo Shimada, I forgive you.

Notes:

And there you have it. Things have come full circle. As you can tell, there is still one more chapter to go, but this is where it all began. Thank you for coming on this journey of forgiveness with me.
- Hanzo

Chapter 26: Zenith

Summary:

The night of April 8, 2067, Genji Shimada, 25 years old, is brutally murdered by his brother, Hanzo, 28.

Notes:

Obviously a warning for major character death and description of injury.

It’s early in the morning of April 8th, 2067 when I call for him. He’s at the arcade with his friends. He asks if it can wait. It can’t. The elders said it had to be now, and even though I’m oyabun, I am disinclined to refuse them.

He asks for one more game. I acquiesce. Even with the elders’ ultimatum hanging over me, I can allow him this.

I wait for him in the largest meeting room in Shimada Castle, underneath the banner our father made for our mother, his calligraphy as strong as he was. I wonder, briefly, what he would have done in my position.

Genji arrives late; he always does. I am unsurprised by now, but disappointed nonetheless. I know it makes me look weak that I cannot control my own brother. He’s at least tipsy, probably a bit crossfaded. His clothes are rumpled and his hair wild.

“You’re late,” I say, like he doesn’t already know.

“Sorry, aniki,” he says casually like he doesn’t care.

I don’t correct him on the way he addresses me. It hasn’t been long since Father died, less than a year. He’s still getting used to me being oyabun. Father’s death hit him hard, I know this. I see it in the way he’s been sober so infrequently, the way he ignores most of the clan duties I assign him. It’s tedious to clean up after him all the time.

“Genji,” I say sternly instead.

“What?” He asks, straightening up. There’s a stain on his collar, likely Rikimaru ramen.

“You can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what?” Now he’s on the defensive. He crosses his arms.

“For starters, you can’t keep shirking your clan duties.” I mirror him. “You’re part of the main branch of the Shimada Clan. We run an empire that protects the citizens of Hanamura, Hanaoka, and Kanezaka. We run an internationally successful pharmaceutical company. You’re not just some yakuza grunt that can do as he pleases.”

“I don’t think I am,” he shoots back. “I’m on the streets, “protecting the citizens” in ways you don’t even know or care to understand.”

“Genji,” I say, a warning tone in my voice. “You have to fall in line. Just because Father let you do as you please doesn’t mean I can afford to.”

“No,” he snaps. “You need to get that stick out of your ass and realize that protecting people means talking to them, not just “disposing” of anyone you think will ruin our reputation. Protecting the citizens is more than just dealing arms and pills. All you care about is kissing the elders’ asses.”

“Genji,” I plead. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“No, Hanzo, you don’t know what you’re saying. You’ve let power go to your head ever since Father died.” He turns away from me.

“Don’t bring Father into this,” I snap. “You don’t understand what he wanted at all. You were too busy fucking off to do whatever you wanted to take the time to learn how to run the clan. I was trained as a scion; you preferred the arcade. I know what this clan needs, I’m the only one of us who knows how to carry on Father’s legacy!” My dragons stir beneath the surface of my consciousness, agitated as I am.

“Fine then,” he says, turning back to me, brown eyes flashing. “If you’re the only one who knows, If you hate who I am so much, then kill the man I am. Come on, I dare you!” He taunts me. It’s like he knows what the elders told me, the ultimatum.

My sword is drawn before I even know what I’m doing. There is a flash of something in my brother’s eyes, but I’m not sure what it is because then he’s drawing his sword, taking a defensive position and parrying my initial strike.

I once boasted that I could beat him blindfolded with my hands tied behind my back. Asa-sensei had me put in my place then, and I never made the mistake of thinking myself so much better than my brother again; we were both trained by her, after all.

We clash over and over again, parrying and dodging strikes where we can and letting ourselves be sliced through when we can’t. My blade carves deep lines through his face when he can't protect himself. I'm doing what the elders asked me to do; I strike to harm, to kill.

I know exactly when he realizes it. He stumbles back, blood on his lips, white clothes torn and stained with much more than just the Rikimaru ramen from earlier. He looks extremely upset, furious even. He comes at me with a renewed force, and though he may be little match for me in his state, I've learned not to trust opponents who feign weakness; I know my brother is stronger than that.

“Do you yield?” I ask, wiping blood from my nose.

“Like hell,” he snarls, leaping at me.

I roll, dodging his attack easily. He chases me out onto the balcony. We are at opposite ends, but in one swift strike, he leaps towards me. I roll out of the way, lunging across the balcony to get away from him.

I'm barely thinking. I survive on instinct alone. Parry, dodge, strike. Repeat. Kill, kill, kill. He comes at me with a vengeance.

We are on the balcony. We are on the balcony at opposite ends. We are on the balcony at opposite ends when I flash my sword in front of me. We are on the balcony at opposite ends when I flash my sword in front of me and yell.

“Ryuu ga waga teki wo kurau!” I summon my dragons. They come bursting out of my skin. I don't even realize what's happening until it already has.

He screams. I’ve never heard anything like it before. The screams of pain coming from my brother’s mouth, the screams I hear from my enemies. I’m doing the clan proud. I’m doing the right thing. He asked for this, he asked for this. He doesn’t stop screaming. He’s surrounded by a pool of his own blood, screaming. Finally he collapses as my dragons dissipate. I stride towards him, kicking his sword off the balcony as I go. I doubt he’ll get up, but I cannot afford the chance.

He’s there in a pool of his own blood, red liquid bubbling from his mouth as he sits on his knees, almost begging.

“Hanzo, please,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

I drive my sword home between his ribs.

I wait for his body to stop moving.

I toe at it, waiting for it to move. It doesn’t.

In the end, I roll it off the balcony, following the sword.

The next thing I know, the elders are there.

I kneel, one hand on my sword. Blood pouring from my wounds.

“It is done.”

I black out.

Notes:

And that's the end. Thank you so much for going on this journey with us. I feel better having written this, like I've gotten a huge weight off my chest. I'm sorry it took a year and a half to finish, but I wanted to tread carefully and make sure my writing was the best it could be. Thank you for sticking by, and I hope you enjoyed it.
Much love to my wonderful husband, who, without his support, I could not have done this. Love too to my brother. Thank you.