Chapter Text
The sheer number of files they’d recovered from Shimada Castle is enough to make the whole thing feel pointless – sorting through them all manually would take weeks of manpower the still-budding Overwatch can’t afford to spare – but it had served the purpose of saving the small taskforce they’d sent to accompany Hanzo the awkwardness of standing around watching him make his yearly “mourning” offerings to someone still among the living (and one of their friends, no less). Besides, it’s not like the intel’s all that important… the Shimada Clan is well and truly crippled after having borne the brunt of both Genji and Hanzo’s wrath over the last few years. There’s no real threat there – not at the moment, at least. So, they’d turned the files over to Athena, to be sorted through at her leisure when she’s not dedicated to more pressing tasks.
Genji was secretly hoping there would be some memorabilia among the files… some photos of himself and Hanzo, perhaps, that he could use to needle his older brother – and maybe coax him out of his shell a bit. Hanzo joined Overwatch almost a year after Genji’d confronted him and revealed his not-so-dead-ness, and it’s been almost three months since. Most of the time, it still feels like day one. Hanzo’s been civil but not overly warm with the team – no surprise there – and downright frigid with Genji. It took a lot of cajoling to get Overwatch to even consider allowing Hanzo to join up, and his general demeanor and dismissal of Genji on top of their shared history has rubbed the team the wrong way… even those who have a tendency to embrace lost causes. It doesn’t help that Hanzo spends most of his time brooding in a variety of sniper nests he’s created throughout the Gibraltar base, quite literally looking down on them.
So, Genji had asked Athena to let him know if there was anything she thought he should see in the files, even if it wasn’t intel-related, on the off chance she ran across something Genji could use to break down some of Hanzo’s walls and gently prod him into moving forward with his life – and hopefully, also, their brotherhood. It’s been three weeks since they got back to base, and Genji’s done his very best to put the whole thing out of his mind – after all, the file could simply be ledgers of monetary transactions and the like – but the message flashing across his visor indicates he might have been onto something, after all. Athena’s message is frustratingly vague and not at all urgent, but he’d take table scraps at this point, so Genji ends his meditation early and makes his way down to one of the private viewing rooms on the basement level, as instructed.
As he takes a seat, Athena’s emblem appears on the monitor in front of him, spinning slowly as she speaks. “Hello, Genji. You asked me to contact you if I found anything in the files from Shimada Castle I thought you should see – particularly pertaining to your brother Hanzo. There’s a surveillance video I think might interest you.”
“Thank you, Athena. Go ahead and play it.” Genji settles back in the chair, folding his arms and steeling himself. For a brief moment, panic flares hot and bright in his chest – Athena would know better than to show him video footage of him and Hanzo’s fight, right? But as the screen illuminates, and Genji identifies their father standing at the side of the screen, the panic fades back down into a dull buzz.
There’s a short lull where nothing happens as the video begins, and then two guards enter from the left side of the screen in a flurry of motion, hauling Hanzo down the stairs and into the main hall of the castle, hands fisted in his sleep robes as if Hanzo were a low-level thug from a rival clan caught poking around the compound and not their own clan’s heir. Genji’s eyes flick to the upper right corner of the monitor to find the time and date of the recording – some random day in November, two years before Genji’s death was ordered. He doesn’t remember noticing anything unusual that day, or any weird behavior from Hanzo in the weeks thereafter, but his memories from that time are… scattered, to say the least. He’s not sure why Athena chose this particular moment from the surveillance footage to show him, but he’s sure she has good reason, so he takes a deep breath and waits, despite the anxious, sick feeling curling in his chest.
Their father stands at the middle of the back wall, where Hanzo’s discarded sword now rests. A vaguely familiar young man kneels to his left, opposite the side they’re bringing Hanzo in from, hands bound and flanked on either side by two more guards. The stranger is nondescript but handsome, short black hair styled neatly and dressed in modest but well-fitting clothing. He’s quiet, jaw locked shut and tense, and his fingers are curled into tight fists in a poor attempt to hide the tremors racking his body.
Genji’s gaze slides over to his older brother. Hanzo had clearly been deep asleep when they’d come for him… his long hair is mussed in a way he’d have loathed to know was caught on camera, eyes blinking blearily against the weight of sleep and the light in the room, and there’s hints of confusion in his expression he’d never have allowed if he was fully aware of himself. He looks young, vulnerable in a way Genji wasn’t sure if he ever saw back then, let alone now.
The guards abruptly come to a stop, and Hanzo straightens in their hold, coming face to face with Sojiro. Something’s wrong – the guards should have released Hanzo as soon as he’d been delivered.
“Father?” Hanzo breathes, blinking up at Sojiro. Neither of them had outgrown their father before he was killed, and at the time this was recorded, Sojiro’s still got a good three inches on Hanzo.
Sojiro doesn’t react, and Hanzo’s questioning gaze flicks over their father’s face for a long moment before the young man on the ground makes a soft noise, and Hanzo’s eyes land on him. Hanzo freezes, every muscle in his body tensing so quickly and violently Genji’s worried some of them will snap, and Genji can feel the way Hanzo’s stomach drops to his feet. His eyes go wide with panic, his shoulders jumping with a sudden intake of breath, and it’s the most visceral reaction Genji’s ever seen on him – a man so thoroughly trained not to let his emotions show. The young man’s shoulders soften with a sigh as they make eye contact, even as Hanzo’s features become clouded by fear. They must know each other, then, must mean something to each other, although Genji’s not sure what.
“Mm,” Sojiro hums, “as I expected.”
Hanzo’s eyes dart back to their father’s, and Sojiro shakes his head. With a flick of his wrist, the guards drag Hanzo backwards five paces. Hanzo struggles a bit, lurching forward almost unconsciously. Genji can see the gears turning in his head, the questions.
How did he find out? How can I get us out of this? What is he going to do?
As Sojiro reaches behind himself, understanding, and then horror, dawns on Hanzo’s face. It’s unsettling, witnessing so much range in Hanzo’s typically single-toned emotions, and witnessing them so nakedly displayed. His older brother was always confident, since Genji’s very first memory of him, strong, iron-willed, and eager to take on (and win) any challenge presented to him, and while Genji has been getting to know other sides of Hanzo in their recent, reluctant, time together, this is… different, somehow. This is a side of Hanzo he’d never want Genji to see.
The thought almost makes him turn the monitor off, but now that he’s seen the start of whatever this awful moment was, it feels like a betrayal to abandon this young, vulnerable Hanzo to go through whatever this was all alone, again. Besides, Athena had marked this clip as something Genji needed to see, and maybe it would help him understand Hanzo better, would give him some insight for how to help Hanzo on his healing journey.
A soft sound brings his attention back to the recording. “No,” Hanzo whispers, so quietly Athena has to boost the sound, creating small crackles of feedback in the speaker. Genji’s heart thumps loudly in his chest. “No,” Hanzo repeats, a little more strongly, “Father, please.”
Sojiro scoffs, curling his lip. The item he’d been reaching for comes into view of the camera – a bow, not too dissimilar to Stormbow, but stained in the reds and blacks their father was known to be fond of. “You’ve been warned, Hanzo.” Sojiro produces an arrow from a quiver stashed somewhere behind him, nocking it on the bowstring. “This tendency of yours is detrimental to the clan and will not be tolerated.”
Hanzo makes a more concentrated effort of struggling against the guards. “I promise it won’t happen again, Father. Never again. Just please, don’t do this!”
Sojiro’s expression twists, and he storms the distance between the two of them in a flash, rearing his empty hand back and striking Hanzo across the face. Genji flinches away from the screen, the harsh smack reverberating in his audio sensors. Hanzo’s whole body had followed the movement, and he hangs limply in the guard’s arms for a long moment before drawing himself up to his full height and meeting their father’s gaze. Something in the back of Genji’s mind notes that their father hitting Hanzo must not have been an unusual occurrence. Hanzo opens his mouth to say something, defiance etched into every line of his body, but Sojiro’s hand clamps onto the bottom of his jaw, cutting him off. “Not another word from you, boy,” Sojiro growls. “You will learn this lesson as I see fit, and you will thank me for it.”
Hanzo drops his eyes and Sojiro releases him, resuming his position at the altar. The young man at his feet shifts, angling himself towards Hanzo. “Hanzo?” He prompts quietly, his voice trembling and thick with tears. He’s local to Hanamura, judging from the accent. Hanzo wilts, swaying forward in the guard’s hold and loosening his fists. His hair falls forward to curtain his face.
“Hanzo!” The young man tries again, louder this time, straightening up and sitting back on his heels. “Hanzo please, do something!”
Hanzo’s chest heaves with what looks suspiciously like a sob, and Genji’s hands clench around the edge of the desk he’s sitting at.
“Don’t you dare look away, Hanzo! I’m here because of you!” The young man shouts, struggling against the binds around his wrists – and now that Genji looks more closely, his thighs and ankles too. His movements are panicky and uncoordinated, so not a fellow Yakuza… probably just some poor kid from the village.
Hanzo reluctantly lifts his head, avoiding the young man’s gaze, and levels their father with a pleading look that makes Genji feel ill. Hanzo’s eyes shine with unshed tears, but he speaks clearly, voice unwavering, “I have never asked you for anything, Father. I am loyal to you, and to the clan, and I will bear whatever punishment you deem fit. If I could just have this one thing, I will never ask you for anything else, ever again, and I will do exactly as you say. Just please… don’t hurt him.”
Everyone in the room stills for one long, weighted moment as their father stares down his nose at Hanzo, chewing on his words. It’s so quiet Genji can hear Hanzo’s labored breathing through the speakers. Then, Sojiro makes up his mind. He shifts his weight, raises the bow, and aims the arrow directly between the young man’s eyes. He’s at point blank range, the tip of the arrow scraping across otherwise unblemished skin. Genji’s heart rate spikes and a yellow warning light flashes across his visor. He dismisses the nudge, turning his gaze to Hanzo. Hanzo, who’s struggling so profusely now that one of the young man’s guards has crossed the room to come up behind him and wrap an arm around his neck.
Sojiro draws back the bowstring, flicks his eyes over to Hanzo. “Let this be the only time I have to teach you this, Hanzo.”
Hanzo roars wordlessly, thrashing against the guards. His elbow collides with one of their noses, shattering it and making him lose his grip with a shout, and Hanzo gains some momentum. He surges forward, taking the remaining guards with him, and makes it about three steps before one of their feet catches Hanzo around the ankle and all three of them fall forward into a heap. Hanzo’s caught beneath them, and the guards get their hands on him before he has a chance to wriggle away, pinning his chest and legs to the floor. Sojiro tilts his head, and one of them wrenches Hanzo’s face up with a hand on his jaw.
Their father, satisfied that Hanzo’s immobile and forced to bear witness, pulls the bowstring back a couple more inches, the fibers creaking in protest. The young man’s chest flutters as he succumbs to panic, and he turns away from the arrow pointed at his head to meet Hanzo’s eyes. Hanzo’s mouth moves in an attempt to say something, but his breathing’s too choked off to make a sound. The young man lets out a hiccupping sob, tears streaming down his face.
“You said I was safe! You promis-” The end of his sentence gets cut off by a loud squelch, and there’s a dull thud as the arrow sinks into the floor. Genji’s hands tear clean through the edge of the desk he’s sitting at and his chair clatters to the ground as he stands, little bits of wood falling through his fingers. He knew it was coming, but fuck.
The arrow had gone clean through the young man’s eye socket, turned as he was to look at Hanzo, and the angle forced his body into an awkward, unnatural arch backwards. Genji watches as his head slowly slides down the shaft until it hits the floor, blood gurgling from the wound. Hanzo’s face is only about a foot away, reddened from the lack of oxygen and the blood splatter that had landed in flecks and streaks all the way from his chin to his forehead. With a flick of Sojiro’s wrist, the guards release Hanzo. He immediately drags himself over to the young man, hands fluttering around his corpse as he tries to sort out how to make him more comfortable.
Genji can tell he’s already gone… there’s no twitch in his fingers, no rise and fall of his chest… but Hanzo tears through his bindings anyways, the young man’s arms falling limply to the ground and his legs unfolding from beneath him so he’s not positioned so awkwardly. When Hanzo’s hands reach his face, he breaks. Jagged, halting sobs tear into the otherwise silent room, and he collapses over the corpse, curling his fingers into the young man’s clothes.
“Ichiro, Ichi, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Hanzo cries, burying his face in Ichiro’s chest. Blood begins to pool on the floor, seeping into the hem of Hanzo’s robes, and Hanzo’s long, unbound hair spills over his shoulders and surrounds them, curling in the liquid like ink. Genji can tell Hanzo’s trying to stifle his sobs, to stay quiet, even as he unapologetically clings to Ichiro’s body.
Genji’s gaze darts over to their father. He’d known Sojiro was a cruel man – you’d have to be, to lead a Yakuza clan – but Genji had never seen it firsthand. He’d assumed the same was true for Hanzo, but it’s clear now he was wrong. So, so wrong. Beyond that, who was Ichiro to Hanzo? He’d never had anything more than acquaintances, vaguely familiar faces that would come and then go just as quickly. Genji had never seen him grow close with anyone… he’d always considered himself Hanzo’s only friend.
Movement on the screen draws Genji’s attention. Sojiro’s handing his bow off to one of the guards, regarding Hanzo’s turmoil like it’s nothing; slightly disgusted, maybe, but otherwise stoic. He takes a step towards Hanzo, and Hanzo curls impossibly tighter around Ichiro’s corpse.
“You clearly haven’t had enough interrogation training if this is all it takes for you to beg,” Sojiro snaps, waving the guards closer. “Come, let us work on that.”
Hanzo flinches, and it’s a full body thing Genji has never seen before, and never wants to see again. His heart aches, and as Hanzo jerks forward, quick and sloppy in his haste and desperation, leans around the arrow in Ichiro’s eye, and kisses his blood-stained mouth, Genji understands. He understands Hanzo in a way he never thought he would, and his heart breaks for his big brother. “Oh,” he breathes, fists uncurling and sending more pieces of wood falling to the ground. “Oh. Oh god, Hanzo…”
The guards pull at his shoulders and arms, and Hanzo latches himself onto Ichiro’s body, turning his face to glare at Sojiro through his hair. “What are you going to do with him?” He demands, voice strained with grief but carrying a hint of that stubborn thick-headedness he’s known for.
Their father’s expression darkens, and he rounds the opposite side of them, knocking his boot against the side of Ichiro’s head. “We’ll dispose of it, make it disappear,” he replies, reaching down and tangling a hand in Hanzo’s hair. He yanks him up and away from Ichiro’s body, and Hanzo’s hands scrabble for Ichiro’s clothes as he barks out a curse. “Just like your filthy habits,” Sojiro spits, then turns and throws Hanzo to the guards.
Hanzo fights wordlessly, snarling and snapping and leveraging his full weight against them, but the guards manage to bodily force Hanzo away from Ichiro’s corpse. Hanzo’s movements are desperate, unthinking, mostly fueled by emotion, and he’s subdued pretty easily in the end. The feed pauses just as Hanzo disappears off the screen, the back of his head disappearing down the steps that lead to the basement.
Genji looks Ichiro over once more, and the symbol emblazoned on the breast of his crumpled shirt strikes a chord in his mind. It’s a delicate blue flower, one that Genji recognizes, somewhere in the back of his mind. He screenshots the image and has Athena run a search for it. It comes up as the logo of a small flower shop at the edge of the castle, one that Genji remembers perusing from time to time, but it’s not enough to warrant how clear the image of it is in Genji’s memory.
After a good five minutes or so, he finally remembers – Hanzo had come home one day with a tiny, barely-noticeable tattoo, one that Genji had loudly discovered and teased him for the day before it disappeared behind the brand of the Shimada crest newly seared into Hanzo’s shoulder.