Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hanzo's mark didn't appear on his skin until about a year after his birth. His parents were, of course, unconcerned. If he had one, fine, if not, then he would be that much better of an heir. He would not be distracted by the promise of romance. Their own Union consisted of a blank canvas of skin and a faded, pale mark. A soulmate gone, words light on the skin like a scar. His mother would always think people better off without a mark at all. Losing yours felt like a stab and a twist. She counted at least one of her sons lucky that he had no soulmate at all.

“Hanzo,” Genji whispered. When no reply came, he reached out and poked at his brother’s face gently only to be met with a sound smack.

“Stop it, Genji. You can't see it.”

Feigned innocence and shock crossed his face, one hand pressed to his own chest. “I didn't ask for anything! I only tried to get your attention.”

Hanzo turned to glare at him, only nine and already the most severe person most people would meet. His mark was mostly spread out enough to read, still a little too jumbled to decipher, but it wasn't Japanese. Hanzo was still hiding it from both parents. They didn't ask to see it, and he didn't want to show them. It was bad enough that it was so long, but to not even be in their tongue? Father would not be happy.

“What do you want, then?” He asked flatly, trying hard to go back to his studies while glaring at his brother.

Genji stared for a moment, then reached for his clothes. “Just let me see it!”

“No!” Hanzo snapped, now trying to push him off and keep his hands from pulling his shirt open. He was bigger, three years on him, but Genji was naturally faster and he was a quick study with the close combat training. Hanzo preferred to be far from the action.

He was in the action now. They tumbled for a moment, fighting, before-

“Boys!” A sharp voice snapped. They both looked up. Hanzo's hair was everywhere, a tangled mess and stuck in his mouth. He had one hand pulling Genji's hand away, the other pushing him back. Genji had a handful of fabric, gracelessly trying to drag himself closer. Both of his feet were planted on Hanzo's legs, wedging himself into his brother’s space.

“What is this?” Their teacher demanded. “Genji, did you rip Hanzo's yukata? What is this?” The man stormed forward, grabbing Genji and hauling him off of Hanzo quickly.

Always in trouble. They were always in trouble. A beat of silence from both boys almost made the teacher blow up again, but just in time, Hanzo spoke up, “We were practicing the grapple you showed us, Sensei. It was a mistake.”

The man narrowed his eyes, stared at them, then sniffed. “It was wrong. Again, Genji. Like we practiced.”

Genji paused, looking at Hanzo for permission. A subtle tilt of the head and he pounced again. The form was better this time. They had someone to impress. Unfortunately, that someone caught the slip of fabric sliding down again and called them to a halt once more with a barked order.

“What is on your shoulder, Hanzo?” He demanded.

Panic fluttered up in his stomach. This time, Genji made a mad dive to rescue. He was never as good at making things up, though. “That was me! I- I did that, I scratched him, and-”

It was too late. The man reached out and gave the torn clothing a gentle tweak. He only needed to see a little more to know that it was readable, and that it was not Japanese. “Genji,” he said softly, taking Hanzo's arm and pulling him up. “Continue your studies. I will be back.”

Hanzo turned pale, looking back at his brother as he was led out. He knew better than to fight it or argue and the pair of them shared a last, worried look before they were separated.

He waited with his teacher for twenty minutes. They sat in silence in the room where his father took breaks from the day. When his parents entered, his father looked as severe as usual. Hanzo took after him that way. His mother, softer and more like Genji, looked harried and hesitant.

His father took the seat directly in front of them and leveled a look at his son. The words were directed to the adult while he studied the child. “What is so important that you've called us in the middle of the day? The boys should be working.”

“Have you seen Hanzo's mark lately?” Came the instant reply.

Both parents snapped a look at the man, then back to Hanzo. “Show me,” he demanded. Hanzo didn't hesitate, didn't meet his eyes. He only had to pull the fabric to the side a little before his teacher was yanking it down his shoulder.

Silence, heavy and overbearing. Hanzo didn't look up at his parents to see what they were thinking. He didn't want to chance it. He couldn't read it yet. His English was only just beginning and the clumsy, slightly puffy letters were too hard to discern just yet.

It was a full minute before anyone spoke, his mother breaking the silence with a ruffle of her yukata. She stood, walked out, closed the door behind her. The silence persisted.

Finally, his father spoke again. “Hanzo. Out. Go study with your brother.”

He didn't sound happy.

Still, Hanzo fled from the room like a shot and returned to Genji. He passed a room that sounded too much like sniffling, quiet cries.

“What happened?” Genji asked instantly, shooting to his feet and running to look at Hanzo. He was too grown up for a five year old, but certainly not mature by any means. “What happened? Are you okay? Are you in trouble? Did they tell you what it says?”

“Mother is crying,” was the only reply. Fixing his clothes again, he dropped back into his seat and went back to his studies.

Genji's pressure let up after that, but it could have been because Hanzo stopped fighting him. There was nothing to hide anymore. His parents knew. It was as disastrous as he has expected, but not in the way he had assumed it would be. His mother no longer wanted to look at him often. When she did, she looked either gutted or like she might cry again at any moment. His father was more severe than ever, pushing and pushing. Hanzo's classes were doubled and his playtime, short to begin with, was done away with almost entirely. His only friend was his brother, but even that felt hollow at times. Genji had other playmates, within and without the clan. He had a separate nanny. When they played, it was increasingly apparent that Hanzo had no idea how to be a child.

Genji wasn't bothered, of course. He never stopped trying to pull his older brother into games that were too young for him. He never stopped being elated that he played them anyway. He never stopped challenging him to play fights. He usually won, but he knew better than to lord it over Hanzo. He was a sore loser. They all knew it. It was a product of being pushed and pushed and pushed.

Genji found out what the words meant when he was nine. He still had no mark, which he said meant he could love anyone he wanted. He didn't say that where their father could hear.

Hanzo still didn't know what the words meant. He knew English well enough, but he wasn't trying. He had more important lessons. How to poison. Scaling a wall. Archery target practice.

“Well now aren't you the handsomest man who ever did try to kill me,” Genji said. His accent was terrible. Hanzo couldn't help but think his English in general was pretty bad, given what he'd just said.

“What are you talking about?” Hanzo asked, choosing another arrow to nock and aim. “That's wrong, by the way. It would be ‘Aren't you the most handsome man who has ever tried to kill me.’ And your accent is bad.” The arrow flew. It hit half an inch from the bullseye. He swore and picked up another.

“No, no,” Genji argued, staying back, but bouncing excitedly. “That's what it says. Your mark.”

The arrow flew, but his shock sent it careening off target and it landed in the ceiling, sticking there. “What?”

Now that he'd stopped, Genji moved closer. “I've been working on it. It says, ‘Well now aren't you the handsomest man who ever did try to kill me.’ I asked Tony-sama at the corner store. His English is really good and that's what he said.”

Hanzo was pale now, but scowling harder than before. He stomped toward the arrow in the ceiling to get it down. “I didn't ask you to tell me what it said.” Even jumping, he couldn't quite reach. Damn.

“I know, but I wanted to know and you should know what it says too.”

Hanzo grunted as he jumped again. “Stay out of my business, Genji. And I'm an assassin. If I try to kill someone, they are dead.” No wonder their mother had cried. She knew the pain of a dying soulmate. “Come here, help me.”

With a sigh, Genji took off at a run, planting his foot in Hanzo's hands to be hefted up and yank the arrow from the vaulted ceiling. They always made a good team. One day, they would make a good team in action. Hanzo was sure of that. They would lead the Shimada clan together, when Genji calmed some. He was still too flighty, like a little bird, but he was Hanzo's best friend. His only friend. He counted on him.

Back on the ground, Genji gave the arrow back to his brother. “I just think you have the right to know,” he told him quietly. “It's not fair for everyone to know but you.”

Hanzo didn't reply. He didn't really know how. Instead, he returned to his mark and nocked the arrow they'd pulled from the ceiling. He didn't wait for Genji to move. He simply let it fly right past him to sink into the target. He still didn't land in the bullseye.

Only a Shimada can control the dragons. A direct descendant of the masters who tamed them. Outliers may be able to draw power, but it takes a connection of blood and soul to use real dragons. It takes blood and soul to connect to them in the first place. When he was fifteen, Hanzo was deemed ready.

“You are strong,” his mother cooed, leading him to the offsite building where he would make the connection. “You will be fine. You will come out of this with a powerful dragon under your thumb, to command for the benefit of the clan.”

None of that quelled the churning in his stomach, or the way his hands gripped tight to his hakama. He was dressed for battle, but with no weapons. You are going to retrieve a weapon, his father had told him. You will not take any. If the dragon deems you unworthy, no weapon will help you.

That was the reason for his fear. There were stories of Shimada children who didn't measure up, who were swallowed whole by the celestial beast before they ever got the chance to bind to it. There were stories of dragons who overestimated their hosts, wrapping too tightly around their soul and strangling the life from it. A husk of themselves, putting their mate through screaming pain. There were stories of dragons who were little more than snakes, coiling around the host and latching on, drawing power to make themselves mighty to the point of being a parasite. There were generations of Shimadas wielding dragons, and it didn't always go well.

His mother’s hand stroked long hair, trying to comfort but only making him feel small and kept. The gesture was warm, but there was no warmth in it.

When the car stopped and the door popped open, Hanzo peeked out and hesitated. A simple place, an old compound in the middle of nothing and nowhere. It was well kept, huge, but looked empty.

A light, “Go on,” from his mother accompanied a prod to his back and Hanzo wished Genji had been able to come. He was better at comfort. They had stayed up late the night before, eating pocky and melonpan with Genji reminding him of stories where assassins were bound to powerful beings or dual dragons, rending foes with fire or lightning. This, they hoped, was their future. Power.

He stepped from the car toward the gates and looked back. Door closing. Car driving away. He was alone.

You have to face them alone. They will think you a coward if you bring company.

He took a shaky breath and stepped inside the walls of the lonely place. Inside, the plants were thriving, beautiful and wild. Not unkempt, but too much for anyone to try and control. A massive pair of statues leered down at him from beside the doors, dragons to welcome him to their home.

No one lived here, of course. This was where Shimadas had come for centuries to offer themselves as host in exchange for power. This home was kept for them, a respectful place to meet. Almost like common ground.

The inside was too warm, air stiff and heavy. Hanzo stopped to take off his shoes and then padded to the windows to open them. He wasn't planning to suffocate on top of everything else.

As he tied his hair, he got a better look around. The interior had no dust, kept clean and perfect by servants. It was barren, though, the whole place empty. No signs that anyone lived there. Clinical.

A sunny back room bore a small stack of black towels, a vibrant red cushion, and a fresh mat. Before that was a small pot and incense, unlit. Nothing else. It was a massive room, taking up most of the house. When Hanzo stepped on the large mat, it crunched with plastic underneath.

For the blood, he thought, before he could stop himself.

Wishing he had Storm Bow, just to calm his nerves and stop his hands from shaking, he took a deep breath. Slow steps carried him to the cushion and he knelt to light the incense.

Nothing happened.

For several minutes, nothing happened at all. The smoke rose and coiled and Hanzo watched it, scrunched his nose at the smell, like smoke and petrichor and ozone all at once. Fire. Water. Lightning. Still, nothing happened.

Until, all at once, everything happened.

Wind picked up, a breeze at first, and then a gust that threatened to blow him across the room. There was a crackle of electricity, the feeling of mist in the air on his tongue when he took a breath. The heat grew, smoke mingling with the dampness. A roar like a fire and a rush of water and a crack of thunder deafened him. Something in him ached, but he couldn't place from where.

He didn't know when his eyes closed, but when he opened them again, the swirling bodies of four dragons were all studying him.

They are predators. Do not become prey.

With more will than he knew he had, Hanzo lifted his chin, remained stoic.

A crackle met his ears, like lightning, but like a laugh. Something green flashed in and out of existence. Running water, like the roar of rapids in reply. A red claw, scarlet like blood and tinged at the edge with yellow like fire, reached out. The dragons watched him as the burning talon tugged at his kyudo-gi. The fabric tore and burned as the claw dragged it, his skin screamed as it dragged over his mark. His soul screamed. He could almost hear another human’s voice howling in confused pain.

He remained impassive, jaw clenched to keep silent.

A chuckle like the crackle of coals. More conversation in fire and lightning and the running of water. Two of the dragons, both blue, were turning to snap at the red. The green vanished, apparently unwilling to argue. The fight was turning nasty, two blue bodies swirling and snapping at a large one of red and black.

Doing nothing didn't seem to make a difference. Even being in their presence was dizzying, daunting, exhausting. He tried not to flinch as the red dragon twisted and snapped at him, held back by the knots twisted around him in blue. One last lunge and with a snarl, the sound of a hurricane pounding the ground, one blue dragon chomped down on their foe’s scales while the other dove for Hanzo.

He didn't remember anything after that but pain. Indescribable, unimaginable. He couldn't place the way it hurt. It was everywhere, nowhere. Like burning and drowning and suffocating. Something hurt down in his core and another voice was screaming from there as well, a heart wrenching sound that hurt almost as much as the jaws snapping and marring his soul.

Hanzo’s voice gave out before the pain did. His vision went black, but he didn't black out. Hours of it, rending pain and scalding burns tearing their way to the surface of his skin, up from the inside along his arm, his side, his thigh.

Then, finally, it slowed and drew to a stop. He didn't know how long he was there, but the room stank of mildewed water, pained sweat, and fresh blood. Movement was far from his mind with the way his flesh felt ripped and scoured, but he managed to look down at the twisting dual dragons on his flesh.

He was alive. Bloody and soaked with sweat, but alive.

A few more hours of lying still finally made the smell more uncomfortable than the feeling and he opted to use the shower provided, the fresh clothes already stocked for him. Water cooled the burn, but steamed off of his skin, rolled off of him almost before it could wash away the grime.

He didn't think about the other voice that had been screaming in his head, or the way a dragon might affect a soul linked to his own.

Genji was fifteen when there was suddenly a mark stretched taut across his skin, like it had been there all along. It wrapped around his neck and he alerted the whole house to it with an excited scream the moment he looked in the mirror.

He darted from the bathroom with foam on his lips and a toothbrush in his hands. Hanzo was already up and out, the first responder to his brothers shout. He was half dressed, eighteen and filled out and with long hair still wild from sleep.

The two crashed into each other in the hallway, which had to be Genji's intent. Ninja are not necessarily clumsy.

“What? What happened?” He demanded, grabbing his brother by the shoulders and giving him a demanding shake. His eyes caught on the mark and he blinked once, twice. Japanese.

May I help you?

“I got one! I've got a soulmate, Hanzo!”

He stared, trying to comprehend. Somehow, it felt like a slap. The opposite of his own mark in every way. “It's a child,” he finally said, which was not what he meant to say.

Genji didn't like that, especially not as a first reaction. He frowned tightly, shooting his brother a glare. “It's a child right now, but they won't be a child forever. Maybe I won't meet them for a long time.”

He was still feeling dumbstruck, almost… Betrayed. Like somehow, the fact that Genji's soulmate had been born separated them. His own was destined to die, a foreign person who flirted with death, literally. Genji's blank space was filled in with their own tongue, with gentle words, kind and careful. Someone young.

Without another word, he turned and went back to his room. Every step widened a new rift between them and Genji's silence made it feel miles wide already.

The discovery of Genji's soulmate was not only a boisterous affair, but a contentious one in their home. Genji was proud, refused to cover it, which meant that everyone who had no idea knew suddenly that he had one. That meant that they all knew how young his soulmate was. Their father was unhappy that he seemed to focus on studies even less, their mother was nearly devastated that he had one at all. She was not a soft woman, never full of kindness or compassion, but she had always doted upon Genji as the favorite because of it. Now she all but ignored him.

Hanzo, for his part, tried to stay cordial at least, but all of the conversations somehow came back to it. His brothers fidgety hands led his eyes back there, tracing the words etched into his skin. Every time it happened, the lonely chill settled over him again, in the pit of his stomach. More and more, he withdrew, and more and more, Genji found his way out of training and practice to spend time with girls and boys alike. What did it matter, he wanted to know. What did it matter if he was with other people? Before, he had no soulmate to worry about, none to find or betray. Now, his soulmate was too young to worry about. He would live his life. He would not be held back by soulmates or assassins and no one could stop him

Chapter Text

The matriarch of the Shimada family died on a Thursday.

It was sudden, a shock to the system, a slap in the face. A knife to the gut.

Nothing about the death suggested anything but misguided vengeance for some wrong committed by the clan. A bullet to the chest of both bodyguards and two to the woman’s.

It was hard to tell what exactly was worst about it. Losing their mother was painful for both of them, yes, but Hanzo would be lying if he said it affected him all that much. She hadn't been much of a mother for a long time. He suspected his soul mark as the cause, but he couldn't say for sure.

Perhaps worse than losing her, though, was his father's reaction. It wasn't grief; it was rage. Pure and unadulterated. Terrifying in its glory. Was he angry at having his wife taken from him, or angry at the affront to his clan? Again, Hanzo couldn't say. (He had a good idea of which it was, but it wasn't safe to say. He shouldn't even have thought it.)

What hurt Hanzo most, though, was Genji. For years now, the youngest of them had been running off and abandoning his training. For years, the clan had taken a back seat to his fun. Arcades and boys and girls alike. Still, he was the one their mother had coddled. He was the beloved child, the one who shone like the sun was in his smile. He got away with murder (figuratively, of course. They were a clan of assassins.) without ever having to lift a weapon outside of training.

Their mother's death changed all of that. Hanzo had expected for Genji to look haunted. He had assumed he would come back to his place in the clan, but it wasn't so.

He was heading out for a mission - the mission, really - when he caught Genji sneaking back in.

“Brother.”

He halted, turned to look at him with a dark cap covering his hair carefully. He grinned and that was never a good sign. That blameless grin meant he'd done something that would get him, and somehow Hanzo, in trouble.

“Where have you been? You were meant to come with me on this mission.” Now he would have to go alone. It made him ache to the core. He didn't want this.

“I've been busy,” came the flippant reply. “I have a life, you know.”

A pause, Hanzo glaring at his brother, bow slung over his back and dressed head to toe in assassination black. Meanwhile, Genji, flashy to the very end. Even when sneaking. White pants, black jacket, neon orange shirt. He was a little surprised the shoes didn't light up at this point.

Hanzo spoke softly, tightly. “I'm going out to kill the people who murdered mother.”

Another long silence. Genji stopped avoiding his gaze, finally turning those bright eyes to him. Something dark darted in them and Hanzo had to think that maybe he was mourning, really. In his own way.

But he received nothing. Of course he did. Genji turned and stalked into the house, making no effort now to sneak.

Lovely. Another Shimada talk gone exactly to plan. At least Hanzo knew the mission would go without a hitch.

And it did. He didn't even have to break into the house. He found his perch on a wall outside, allowed himself to be swallowed up by the darkness around him. The woman came by the window first. She had pulled the trigger. Hanzo sent an arrow through her ear as she paused to touch a picture on a shelf.

The boy was next, running to check on his mother.

Leave no witness, no survivor. Remove this family from the world. Revenge is what they asked for when they took your mother and they will have it.

Hanzo repeated that to himself as he let his arrow fly, but it offered little comfort as the boy's body hit the ground. He couldn't have been older than fifteen.

It was a struggle to shake that off, but Hanzo did it, returned home and poured himself a truly unhealthy amount of plum wine before he went to bed. It took four hours and two bottles to fall asleep.

He dreamed of his mother and her scarred mark, the death of a mate and the pain of it. He tried not to think about the reasons behind someone taking revenge like they had. Did the woman have a scarred mark? Did the boy have one? Who was walking the world now with hope taken from them so suddenly?

He woke up with a damp pillow and told himself it was drool even as he tried to compress the puffiness from his eyes.

He didn't see Genji again for another three days. He didn't show up when Hanzo’s father congratulated him on a job well done. He didn't appear when they were scheduled together to spar. If he came in at all, it was after the house was asleep and before they woke in the morning. When he finally did see him, it was to a chorus of fighting.

Trying to meditate in this house was a nightmare.

With a sigh, Hanzo went to investigate the shouting, only to find his father fuming and talking over Genji. Genji with bright green hair. Genji shouting back at him with all the brass of a spoiled child.

He knew it was coming. He could see the twitch of his father's hand, ready to show how serious it was to embarrass his family. He could see Genji ready to fight the man who cared more about his name than the people who carried it. He could see how this was about to go downhill.

The hand was drawing back, and Genji would retaliate. Hanzo darted between them, shoving his brother away from the situation. He had to. He had to get him to safety, had to stay on his father's good side. “Get out, Genji,” he snapped, shoving him again. “Come back when you can respect the clan.”

Too much truth in those words, and not enough understanding in Genji's eyes. Hanzo knew he'd fucked up as soon as his brother pulled himself back together and stormed out.

That was the straw that broke the dragon’s back. Genji was never home. When he was, it was only silence and fighting. He and Hanzo snapped and snarled like never before. As their father grew ill, it only got worse.

“The Tachibanas owe us money,” his father insisted.

“I know,” Hanzo agreed, although they didn't. The books proved that they'd paid in full two weeks ago. The conversation had been happening continuously. Hanzo stopped arguing.

“If we aren't paid in two days, have Toyota break their legs.”

“Yes, father.”

Genji was nowhere to be seen. The sicker their father became, the more he was gone, and the more weight fell to Hanzo's shoulders.

The story is old. Everyone knows it. Everyone is Hanamura, anyway. Everyone in Hanamura knows, at least, because everyone in Hanamura knew about the Shimada family. They knew about the strict father and his stern eldest, the quiet mother and her boisterous youngest.

Everyone in Hanamura knew that when Genji Shimada dyed his hair green, it was bad days in the Shimada home. Everyone in Hanamura knew when the matriarch was gunned down in broad daylight that the shooter got away on purpose. They all knew that the killer disappeared for revenge.

When the head of the clan died, everyone knew. When the elder son didn't just kill the younger but destroyed him, they knew.

Hanzo Shimada was the head of the clan now. The head of the clan had to beget an heir.

The elders brought forth a young woman with as stern an appearance as his own. She had no mark of her own, which they assured him was for the best in an arrangement like theirs was to be.

Hanzo purposely said nothing about his own mark, but it felt like it burned on his skin when he looked at her. Not in the way he was told it ached when you heard the words spoken, but in a way like his body was reminding him that it was there. She may not have a mate, but he did.

Everything was supposed to just be… Normal. This was supposed to be normal. Hanzo was the last surviving member of his family. He was to lead the clan that commanded his brother's death. He was to marry a woman with no mark so that he could ignore his own.

He said nothing to her when they parted. He had been silent the entire meeting. He may be a leader, but it was becoming increasingly clear that they didn't trust him to make any of the choices in his life. Business deals, yes. Command jobs and organize assassinations? Fine. Choose a wife? Well, he hadn't so much as dated in 28 years. Besides, since Genji's death, he had grown colder and colder, more and more distant until he was little more than a shell.

The night after meeting her, Hanzo lay awake on his futon and stared at the ceiling. Unbidden, his hand lifted to touch his mark.

He thought of his mother, with her scarred letters. He thought of Genji's partner, little more than a child as their own faded away. He thought of his new mate, a blank slate like his father.

The right side held the mark given to him by his soul, something somehow sweet and bitter at the same time. His left held the mark given to his soul by his clan. Dragons that burned their way up, marked him down to his core.

He wondered a little vaguely if the dragons were connected to both of them. Could he even send them after his partner? Or would he have to take their life with his own hands?

Well now, aren't you the handsomest man who ever did try to kill me?

There is no try for an assassin. There is success or failure. There is killing or dying. One way or another, this mark meant death.

With a deep breath, Hanzo rolled off of his futon and tried not to think of the images that haunted him at night, the shock of green hair stained with crimson.

He failed. It urged him forward.

He would give no more of himself to this clan. He would let no more of his family be taken by those he shared blood with.

Genji had snuck out enough times without being heard or seen. Hanzo knew a few of his tricks, children too well trained in sneaking to be held in easily. He was older now, and had much greater purpose.

He took little with him. One pack, stuffed with as much money as he could carry, the valuables he knew were common enough to sell. Silver, gold, untraceable things. He took a credit card just in case. Three sets of clothes. Enough food to last a week, week and a half if he was careful. Storm bow. A quiver full of arrows.

He stopped and looked at the sword, untouched since his fight with Genji. There was a time when it would have been the first thing he grabbed, but now…

He turned to light incense instead, over the memorial for his brother. Fingers brushed gently over the picture, then Hanzo stood and quiet as a leaf, he was gone.

The years alone found him less alone than he had felt his whole life. Actual solitude, he found, was preferable to being alone in a room full of people. Being on his own found him with more people he understood than he had ever met in his life. He returned only once each year, making sure to pay respects to the brother he never should have let go of.

He fell into routine after what seemed like no time. He took jobs, carefully. He used the skills he’d been given by his clan to be a thorn in their side. Jobs blurred into one another, worse after finding out there was a cyborg out there with his brother’s blood.

It wasn’t his brother.

Couldn’t be.

Had to be.

Either way, he was going to find that cyborg and either put an end to it for mocking his brother’s name, or put his family back together. (He suspected the former, hoped for the latter.)

That plan came with no small amount of seeking. His contacts were always few and far between. He would need to form them, if he were going to be able to reach out.

That meant jobs. More jobs, anyway. He wasn’t necessarily very picky, either. Mercenary skills went out just as well as assassin skills, and while he preferred solo missions, he was never going to make contacts like that.

He already regretted this mission, though.

Sitting on the carrier, he stared at the pair across from him. He could smell them from where he was sitting. Like soot and illness and gunpowder, dry heat. The smaller one was shrill and loud, laughing at, as far as Hanzo could figure, absolutely fucking nothing. He was missing limbs through what Hanzo assumed was simply explosion upon explosion, if the way he was juggling bombs inside the carrier was any indication.

His big friend didn’t speak, but his breathing was almost as loud. It was concerning to say the least. How was he even going to be able to keep up with the payload if literally sitting still winded him?

The team had a few others. Two men dressed simply in black and Hanzo took little note of them, and woman who was content to play on her phone the whole time, a gun slung over her shoulder. The three seemed to be part of some outside group, like himself, and while he inwardly knew he was supposed to be making contacts, the only time he had tried to speak to one of the men, he had spoken in a language Hanzo didn’t even recognize. He gave up.

Get this job done. Find another. Make contacts on that one.

Stay away from the criminals.

Not that he wasn’t one of those as well, but at least he was a criminal who bathed regularly.

The carrier started it's descent and the woman stood, looking at her phone and then taking point in front of the room.

“Listen up!” she called, voice loud enough to be heard over maniacal laughter. He should have spoken to her - she spoken plenty of English.

A bomb slipped from the rodent’s fingers and the big man caught it.

They all breathed a sigh of relief.

“Sorry, mates! Guess I ain’t got too good a grip on me old bombs when the ship’s all jostlin’ about an-” A giant hand cut him off, covering his face and shoving him into the seat.

The woman stared for another moment and then went back to looking at the group. “Anyway, we’re touching down in King’s Row now. The three of you have been paid half of your promised sum to your bank accounts - you can check now, if you like - and the other half will be deposited upon delivery of the payload.

“Some ground rules. You are not to harm human civilians. Omnics are free game.” A whoop of excitement from the rodent, a grunt from the man, and both of the black clad men grumbling agreements. Hanzo says nothing. Omnics were of little interest to him.

“Moving on, try to keep property damage to a minimum. Don’t let the payload itself be destroyed. Don’t let the payload be taken. Don’t ask what it inside of the payload. Do not look inside of the payload. You all signed forms with us agreeing to these rules.

“Overwatch activity is suspected to be beginning again. We can’t be sure - which is why you three were hired. Do nothing unless Overwatch activity is confirmed. Mr. Shimada, you will take
to the rooftops as best you can. Provide cover if things get hairy. Mr. F-”

“Junkrat!” the Australian interrupted gleefully. “Call me Junkrat, Sheila. And this here’s Roadhog. Best to call us that over our given names. Wouldn’t want it bein’ heard too loud, right?” A wink disgusting enough to match the grime on his face.

She stared at him again, lip curling, then sighed. “Junkrat will take point, keep an eye out for potential threats. Roadhog, you’ll stay with the payload and keep it moving. Don’t let it stop. Our men will be riding driver and shotgun. I’ll be walking with Roadhog and the payload.

“Once the payload reaches the rendezvous, the three of you are dismissed. Clear out of the area pronto and you'll have your money in your accounts. It'll be passed off to the next team and this will all be over for you.

“Are we all clear?”

A few nods, a grunt, and a loud cackle showed their group agreement and she nodded. A countdown started on the clock near the door, giving them a time frame for when they would touch down and the door would open. Hanzo stood, checking over all of his things to be sure he had it all, that it was all strapped in properly. Carefully, he slid one sleeve off of his shoulder and tucked it into his belt, ignoring an instant interest from the rat. After the sixth shout of just “OI!” he turned with a glare.

“Howcome you're gettin’ out your tit?” He asked.

He leveled the man with a look that could curdle milk, but he should have known better. Junkers were steeped in radiation. He was as good as curdled already. “You are not even wearing a shirt.”

There was a rasping, coughing laugh from the bigger man, Roadhog, he reminded himself. A huge hand smacked Junkrat on the back and he left off after that, somewhere between sending him a scathing look and looking good natured. Baffling.

The countdown reached its end. The door opened with a hiss.

Hanzo wasted no time. Getting out of the carrier was priority for him. As soon as his feet his pavement, he was at the nearest building and scaling it. Behind him, he vaguely heard an impressed noise from one of those in the team, but he ignored them in favor of scanning the area. Nothing. He reported that back and then they were on their way.

Getting to the payload was simple. It was close by and while Junkrat was loud, Roadhog seemed to do an alright job of keeping him in check. Once they were all loaded up, the crawl through the city started.

They were at the first checkpoint before incident struck. Hanzo saw it first. A blink of blue that shouldn't, couldn't be there. He drew, shot an arrow to channel the eyes of the dragons. There were six of them. One impossibly big, which was his first concern. He would take him as soon as he was close.

“Activity, on your three,” he radioed back down, watching the group turn as one to where he directed.

At first it was nothing. The payload kept moving as Junkrat circled back. He was startlingly quiet as he laid out a trap and limped away, keeping an eye out for something, anything.

The movement didn't come from their three. There was another blink of blue, then one more, and a bright laugh as a woman kicked off from the wall and fired several shots from her blasters at Roadhog.

From there, it was a flurry of movement.

The other five barreled out from their cover, giving Hanzo more than one open shot. He hesitated, though, and he would beat himself up for it later, but that was a gorilla. An honest to God zoo animal, covered in armor.

It took a moment to retrieve his wits, but he managed it. Two arrows shot at the animal, hanging uselessly from his fur and not doing nearly enough damage. Already, there was a literal angel sailing into view with a beam of yellow repeating the damage he'd inflicted.

Two quick shots at her, one taking her shoulder.

That was a mistake, clearly. Even from where he was, he could hear her call, “I could use some assistance!”

A man in red appeared beside her, a cowboy hat perched on his head. Hanzo took the advantage of the block it provided him to draw back further and fire, but the arrow pinged off of his arm and stuck for a moment in his serape.

The air was lit with gunfire by now. Explosions and maniacal laughter rang through the streets as Junkrat chased down a woman in a parka.

The drivers were still trying to push forward, but the first attacker kept them pinned with quickfire shots and sudden flashes of blue, a tiny man beside her firing what looked like scrap metal.

He fired another few shots, realizing now that no damage they did would be enough as long as their healer undid any progress. She had to go first. Three arrows aimed at her once more, two dodged and one lodging in her hip.

The shots gave his position away, though. The cowboy looked up, chewing on a cigar in the heat of battle.

Idiot.

They fired at the same time. Hanzo’s arrow hit its mark, barely, grazing the cherry and knocking it off, putting the thing out effectively. Even from his perch, he could hear the laugh.

The bullet struck at his feet, though, and while it did no damage, it sent the tiles on the roof sliding and ruined his footing, forced him into movement.

One step without firing turned into two when shots kept landing at his feet. Two turned into running along the roof and that turned into scrambling over it (elegantly, of course) when three hit his leg in quick succession. He couldn't feel it, but he could hear the sparking of electronics. By luck, a bullet had caught a seam in the armor plating.

Swearing, he took a moment to inspect. His leg would need repairs he didn't have time for. Especially when he could still hear shots behind him.

It took a moment for him to decide what should be done, but by then, he heard an explosion a little closer to home, a shout that cut off in a distinct gurgle. He'd thought these were Overwatch attackers. After the mess that had exposed Blackwatch, he would have thought they would be less inclined to do such things. Evidently. He suspected wrong.

First thing had to be first, though. He had to make it down from the roof before the damage to his leg made it impossible to do safely. That part was managed with only a little extra effort.

Favoring his sparking right leg, he fired a sonic arrow straight up.

When it landed, the arrow gave him a decent eye at the payload. The lifeless grey inside of it told him it was too late for the two men who were supposed to be driving. A turret sat on the nose of the thing as well, but no others in the group of attackers to stay and keep guard anywhere nearby.

A decision lay before him. He could leave. He had half of the money he needed. The payload would not move, and he knew it. Junkrat and Roadhog were nowhere to be found, but he could still hear the gunfire elsewhere in the city. What of the woman who had been leading them? He didn't know. Chased off with the others, perhaps.

On the other hand, there was shame in escape. In leaving like that. Running. He was already making up for his brother's death and the way it marred his honor. On top of that, he needed his reputation more than ever for these contacts, and with the way his leg was whirring and overheating, he would need the money for repairs.

Decision made, he prepared himself to come out, release the dragons and wipe out whatever was around the payload. Finish getting it to the destination and then break away to regroup.

His steps were not as silent as they were before. He crept forward as quietly as he could, but metal ground together, gears whirring as he limped. He could have hidden pain, but this was more. This was malfunction. He couldn't just mind-over-matter destroyed wires.

He could, however, throw caution to the wind.

Ignoring pain and drawing on ever-endless reserves of willpower, Hanzo ran the last few steps. He could feel his leg snapping, but both that and the sound of his shout, calling forth his dragons, was lost to the blast of turret fire, the tiny man shouting something Hanzo couldn't understand. Not when balls of molten iron were slamming into his torso.

The barrage of metal threw off his shot and he fired blindly into the air. Wasted. He wouldn’t be able to do that again in time. Not to mention the world was tilting dangerously.

He fell with a crash to the ground, shoulder driving into the ground with a crack that felt sick even to him. Should have left when you had the chance, Shimada.

The world was swimming, the shots still firing as though that turret could tell that he was stubbornly clinging to life despite the black that was threatening to cover his vision. He was bleeding, burned, and bruised as he tried to gasp in air. Broken ribs for sure.

Then, as though by a switch, the shots stopped.

Maybe they think I’m dead.

Steps were coming closer, the jingling sound of metal on the shoes accompanying the heavy footfalls. “Mercy!” the voice drawled and he knew instantly that it was the cowboy. Of course it was. But couldn’t he tell he was defeated? What was the point of asking for Mercy? “Dammit, Ang, get over here ‘fore he goes out like a light.” He crouched, a gloved hand moving the dark hair from Hanzo’s face and he panicked for a moment until he realized he was reaching to feel for a pulse.

If he was looking for signs of life, Hanzo would give him one. He opened his eyes and shot him the filthiest glare he could muster. Even through the cough bringing blood to his lips, he bared his teeth in a snarl.

“Well now,” the cowboy said, almost chuckling. The words sent a jolt through him and the glare faded to something far more shocked. “Aren’t you the handsomest man who ever did try to kill me?”

Shock, a little bit of fear, crossed his face. His heart was racing, which was doing nothing good for the way he was injured. The bleeding was getting worse, his head feeling heavy and light at the same time, his limbs going cold. He didn’t have a chance to reply before the black took the world away from him.

Evidently, he wasn’t going to be the one to kill his soulmate.

Chapter Text

When he woke again, he was cold. Considering he didn’t think he was going to be waking up at all, he couldn’t complain too much.

When he felt restraints, though, he figured complaining was a perfectly viable option. He hadn’t even opened his eyes yet and this was clearly not a good place to be.

He tried to take stock without giving off that he was awake yet. His legs were gone - no surprise there. One of them had snapped. Why they had taken his other one was beyond him. He was honestly more hobbled with it attached than not. The bed he was laying on wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t a slab either, which is what he would have given someone he had captured. What was the point of giving him a real bed? With a pillow under his head, even?

To his right there was a soft beep that he realized was in time with his heartbeat, electrodes attached to his chest. He hadn’t even noticed them until he tried to figure out how his vitals were being monitored. More on his temples. What was that? Brain waves?

The restraints were soft, leather cuffs lined with some kind cotton or wool, but he couldn’t tell how much give he had without opening his eyes. His clothes had been changed too, his belt gone and something soft and thin put on him instead. He would have taken offense to that except…

Except he’d been healed. Nothing hurt. The last thing he remembered had been drenched in pain, he’d been drowning in it. Coughing blood, breathing labored through the piercing pain of broken ribs the screaming ache of a shoulder that was probably broken too.

That was all gone now. He was in perfect shape, aside from a slight headache he knew had more to do with the dragons than with injury. He always had a headache right after releasing the dragons, which was a large reason that he kept sake on him all the time.

“Are you done?” a soft voice asked.

Hanzo’s eyes flew open, his heart rate slamming up into overdrive. The beeping was too loud to allow him to focus. The room was brightly lit, all white walls and fluorescent lights. He’d thought before he must be in some kind of cell, but this was… this was a med bay.

Wild eyes searched for the source of the words and locked on the same blonde woman from the battlefield. Her gear was gone, no more wings or halo. Not a literal angel, but someone who dressed as one in a fight. He wanted to judge, but no one ever seemed to understand his battle clothing either.

“Are you feeling better?” she asked, voice gentle, but little more than clinical aside from that. There was a lilt to her voice, but Hanzo couldn’t place the accent. German, maybe? “We thought for some time that you would not make it. Torbjorn cut his turret off almost too late.”

She paused, to let him speak, but Hanzo offered her nothing in reply. He hadn’t decided yet if he wanted them to know he understood.

After a pause, she soldiered on. “Do you know where we are? Where you are?” Another pause and her eyes tightened at the corners when he didn’t reply again.

When he did speak, it was a demand, but in Japanese. Bring back his legs. Release him.

Somehow, this had her relaxing just a little. Relief. “Ah, good, you can still speak. Now if only you and I could agree on a language.” The smallest of wry smiles, though it didn’t touch her eyes. She was trying, but she clearly didn’t want him here. She didn’t trust him any more than he trusted her. That was… a little comforting.

After a longer pause, a stalemate, she gave in once again, but with a much more convincing argument. “Mr. Shimada, you’ll have to talk sometime or other.”

His heart rate ticked up again as she said his name and he jerked at the binds on his wrists. “Release me,” he demanded. “Or am I being charged with a crime?”

A brighter smile, one that still didn’t touch her eyes. “Ah, so he does speak. No, Mr. Shimada, not at this time. Overwatch does not have the authority to charge criminals. We are simply interested in the defense of the people.”

He stared at her. “I am not interested in hurting anyone. You are the ones who attacked the delivery of the payload.”

“And do you know what was on that payload?” she shot back.

He halted. No, he didn’t. He hadn’t asked. He hadn’t looked into it. He hadn’t cared. He still didn’t, really, aside from the fact that it would have made arguing a little easier right now.

“It was an EMP,” she said flatly. “An EMP powerful enough to knock out every power source for miles around King’s Row. If you drop an EMP into a city filled with omnics, do you know what you get, Mr. Shimada?”

His glare met hers and now, finally, the emotion on her face was real. Anger. Hurt. Distrust. He swallowed that better than her false care. He preferred that. “You saved my life and healed my wounds to give me a lecture?”

“Mass murder.” She spat the words, accent growing thicker with her anger, something going a little off in her pretty, ageless face. “That EMP would have killed every omnic in the area. It would have killed every cyborg. But you do not care about omnics and cyborgs, do you, Mr. Shimada?”

Oh.

Oh.

“How do you know him?” Hanzo snarled finally, jerking at the binds. The incessant beeping, the tension of the restraints, the fact that he was all but helpless. This was not the time for someone to be backing him into the corner. Humans are, after all, just animals, and animals bite when they’re cornered.

“You have no care for-”

“Angela?” a pleasant voice at the door called out. The woman halted, stemmed her anger, and turned. The voice whirred to life, even and agreeable. Hanzo couldn’t see the door, but it sounded like the voice of an omnic. “Winston wishes to speak with you.”

With one last scathing look, the blonde woman - Angela - turned to the door and left, white coat fluttering behind her.

The omnic did not enter.

He was left to himself. He was alone.

Time to take stock again. The restraints were leather, lined with gauze, and upon closer inspection, it was previously a belt, freshly fashioned for this. Did they not have cuffs before, or was this created to keep him from waking in shackles?

His bed was faced away from the door and he could only assume that it was intentional. He couldn’t see anything but the wall and the machines hooked up to him. Heart monitor and EKG, something else he didn’t recognize, and the projection on a holoscreen of brain waves.

Angrily, he thrashed, tossed his head about to try and dislodge the wire taped to his temple.

“Whoa there, sugar,” drawled a soft voice, and steps jangled closer, gloved hands held out to him.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

He looked up at the man and the obnoxious beeping picked up again. This was him. This was his soulmate. This was the man that he had known would be the end of him one way or another. He swallowed hard and tried to force himself to calm down, not to think about the fact that he was attractive or the way his voice sent shivers down his spine instantly.

He didn’t seem to be much the wiser. Hanzo had always heard that once you met your soulmate, you knew it. You could feel it. He had, as soon as he’d heard the words. Like they had been lit on fire before they made their way into him.

“You want this off?” the man asked, reaching forward gently, like he was a skittish animal, a horse that might be spooked.

Hanzo’s mouth opened, and then closed up again as he connected the dots. He hadn’t realized it, he didn’t feel it, because he hadn’t said anything back. He had yet to say anything to him.

One of the cowboy’s hands slid to the side of Hanzo’s head, holding it gently as he started to peel off the tape.

“Don’t think the doc’s gonna need this no more, an’ you’re bound t’hurt yourself thrashin’ around like that.” He smiled a little at him and it looked like sunshine, felt like he’d been punched in the chest.

He was really tired of the sound of beeping, the way his heartbeat kept going erratic, obviously so. Suddenly, he missed Genji. He wanted to tell him, explain that he’d found him and neither of them were dead. They were both here, and alive, and…

And the doctor knew Genji. She knew what he had done to him. He was closer than he had ever been, but who knew if he was going to make it back to him? Who knew if these people would allow him closer, let him try to make amends at all?

“You got a name, beautiful?” the cowboy asked, looking somewhere between stricken and confused. Maybe he could feel it, but didn't understand. Either way, his hands slid down Hanzo’s arm gently, starting to unfasten the restraints that held him to the hospital bed. Then they were gone, a warm presence he missed too much, too fast.

Unwilling to give himself over to this destiny he didn't ask for, Hanzo looked away and rubbed at his wrists. If he just never spoke to him, then perhaps it would never be a complete bond. He didn't deserve to have a soulmate anyway. Not while he hadn't even found Genji yet. Not when he had tried to kill him.

The cowboy let the question hang for a moment, then tried a new tactic. “Been waitin’ for ya t’wake up. Turret did a number on ya, but Mercy fixed you right up. Sorry ‘bout the leg, too. Winston’ll have you up and walkin’ in no time.”

More silence. Hanzo ached to answer, but refused. His companion was undeterred. “Name’s Jesse McCree. Most folks just call me McCree, and so can you, if’n you ever get around t’talkin’ at me. Figure at some point, you'll just get tired’a hearin’ me talk and tell me t’shut up and then at least we'll have a real conversation started.” His lips twitched up in a small smile, little more than a smirk, at his own joke. He must have seen the light of amusement in Hanzo’s eyes at that, because he grinned and pressed onward.

“Anyhow, just t’get you up to speed, we tried not to get none’a y'all too awful hurt, but both them fellas in the truck got taken by a stray bomb from your pal with the crazy laugh.” He paused when he saw Hanzo's mouth open, hopeful.

No way was he about to break his silence for Junkrat of all people, though. Even if it was only to tell him that they were in no way “pals.”

McCree sighed and moved on. “The two junkers you were with took off. We couldn't catch up with ‘em for nothin’. Got your other friend on in here, though. She was up a little while ago, but doc put her back down, on account’a her bein’ a righteous bitch.” That earned him another small smile, which the cowboy returned with another grin.

Once again, it was like being punched. His heart stuttered again, loudly, and as McCree started to speak, the door opened.

“Scheisse, Jesse, what are you doing in here?” Angela moved into his line of sight, angrily fiddling with dials and trying to fix things. “His heart rate is abnormal. Step outside, please. I need to check on him.”

The cowboy looked, at the very least, put out. Hanzo opened his mouth again to tell him not to leave, to tell Angela not to send him out, but she cut him with a scathing look and he scowled back. “Maybe I’ll see ya again sometime?” the man asked, sounding a little hopeful.

Hanzo hesitated. He would only see him again if he came back to see him. What was Hanzo going to do? Chase him down? They had taken his legs, and who knew if they would leave his arms unshackled?

Finally, Angela sighed heavily and shooed the man out again. “Get out. You can come back another time. He is not going anywhere in this condition. Go.” When he cast another look at Hanzo and shifted unsurely, she took his hand and led him toward the door.

“But I wasn’t doin’ nothin’ to him,” he argued, looking back over his shoulder.

Then he was out of sight and Hanzo had to shift, arch up and tilt his head back to try and see him. When McCree caught the effort, though, he grinned brightly and the heart monitor sounded the alert again, notifying them all to the staggered rate of his heartbeat.

Hanzo dropped back to the bed, squeezed his eyes closed, and willed the machine to be silent. It did not comply. The door slammed shut and locked McCree out with his protests. Angela came stomping back and gave him another hard look. Her face was so soft, sweet, framed by blonde hair that seemed to be fraying with stress and irritation.

“I saw the mark on your shoulder,” she said, and while her face was accusatory, her voice held something softer. “I heard the end of what he said to you.”

“That means nothing,” Hanzo spat. His heart was betraying him again. He reached up, angrily swiping for the tape that held the electrodes on, measuring the erratic beat.

She sighed. “It means a great deal. You have not spoken to him yet. He doesn’t know.” She paused, took the wires as he started to throw them away from himself and tapped at the machine to turn it off. “You are content for him to just… blindly fumble through this alone?”

“Where are my legs?” Hanzo demanded. There was no reason to dignify her with a response. Apparently, she felt the same way. “I know what his mark says. I know that you will speak to him. But you are so.. So selfish that you cannot do him the kindness of giving him that peace?”

Hanzo drew back as if slapped, eyes wide for a moment before his brows drew down in anger. “You know nothing about this. You know nothing about me. You know what happened before, and you know what these marks say, but they don’t tell you anything about my soul or the time between now and then. You have no idea what I have done to attone, or who I am. I am grateful for your healing, but I demand you return my legs to me and release me from this bed if I am not to be charged with a crime.”

Angela stared down at him for several long moments, then turned away finally, tapping at a holopad in her hands. “Your legs were badly damaged. They are in repair. I cannot give them back to you until they are finished. If you would like to be released, then I can bring you a chair and release you into the custody of another member of Overwatch.”

Something like panic swept through him. Damage meant time, for one, and money for another. With them already working on them, he could be charged any exorbitant amount of money and his arguments would mean nothing. The work would have been done, and he was trapped here until they were finished. How much longer would he have to search for his brother because of wasted time, wasted money, this wasted mission? He never should have taken this job. On top of which, she wanted to put him in a chair. How was he supposed to handle being back in a wheelchair? Would he have to go through therapy again? Certainly, this pushy woman would release him to the care of the cowboy, meaning he would have to sit in silence and listen to his soulmate prattle on.

After a heavy moment he hadn’t been measuring, but had gone on long enough that it was clear he was thinking, he cleared his throat. His voice was still thick when he asked, “How much will these repairs cost?”

Angela gave him an odd look and then wiped her face to cool disinterest. “We won’t know until it’s finished. Would you like me to bring you a chair and ask a member to be your escort? You will have to stay in the med bay until your legs are returned, but there’s no reason you can’t get some fresh air in the meantime.”

Fresh air sounded good. Being trapped with the cowboy did not. Being trapped with the cowboy in a wheelchair with no way to tell him where to go or to shut up sounded like hell to him, sounded like his heart would beat directly out of his chest.

“Yes,” his lips said, before waiting for an answer from his brain.

Another nod from the woman and she turned away toward what seemed to be a storage closet. “I have some standard issue Overwatch gear you can wear as well, until we can find you clothing of your own or yours are washed. Will you need help getting into them?” Somehow, even when she was offering him help, even when she was gentle, she rubbed him the wrong way.

“No. I will manage.”

Another nod and the doctor pushed a wheelchair over, spread the seat out, and placed the clothes on the bed. “If you need any help, give me a shout,” she told him. Her fingers carefully unhooked him from the machines and she headed for the door. Finally, he was blessedly left alone. He didn’t miss that the door was left slightly ajar behind her.

Getting dressed with no legs was nothing new. It hadn’t been for a long time, really. The pants were a little too big, but came with a drawstring. The shirt was a little too small, but most shirts fit him awkwardly. It was the price he paid for building muscle upon muscle on his chest. He was just hefting himself into the chair when he heard soft steps, followed by a gentle knock.

“Shimada-san?” a tinkling voice asked, sweet and gentle.

Hanzo twisted around to see a chubby little Chinese woman, hair pulled into a bun and large glasses perched on her nose, smiling at him. More importantly, it wasn’t the cowboy.

“Hi there! My name is Mei-Ling Zhou. Most of the team just calls me Mei. Angela said you might need to be shown around the base?” The woman came forward a little further, shuffling in truly massive boots and somehow looking both elated to meet him and shy.

Turning the chair around wasn’t exactly an easy feat, but he managed it. It had been a long time since his last stint in a wheelchair. “Yes. I would appreciate it. She had mentioned fresh air and it sounded perfect.”

Mei beamed at him like somehow he’d complimented her specifically. “Great! Would you mind if I helped to push your chair, or would you rather do it yourself? Much of this base is underground and uphill. You certainly look like you could get up there by yourself, but you are just coming out of the medbay. The biotic fields always leave me feeling a little weak in the limbs when I leave them.”

Hanzo paused again, unsure, and then nodded. “I would not mind. If you can take me outside, I do not mind if you help.”

With a pleased hum, she nodded and twisted around behind him to start pushing him out.

It took all of five minutes for Hanzo to decide he liked this Mei-Ling Zhou. She didn’t fill the gaps in speech with chatter, but she didn’t leave him in silence as they passed either. It wasn’t a tour by any means, but the woman still told him what rooms were as they passed and paused to get them both bottles of water when they passed what she said was her lab. (“I spend lots of time in here! I’m the only one from my team of ecoscientists still alive, but there is still plenty of work to do before the climate is set to rights again.” Hanzo wondered quietly what kind of tragedy could befall a team of ecologists that would leave her the only one around, but he didn’t ask.)

As soon as the last door opened, Hanzo got a face full of sea breeze and he took a deep breath. “We are at a coast?”

Mei nodded, pushing him a little closer to the edge and then stopping by a rock. He flipped on the brakes as she took a seat and looked out over the ocean. “I am not allowed to tell you where this base is located, you understand,” He did. “But it overlooks the sea. There are no omnics here aside from those that are on our team, fighting to help bring peace back to the people. It’s not perfect, but it’s our very own little piece of paradise.”

Hanzo nodded and leaned back in the chair to watch the sun move across the water, feel it touch his face. They fell into a companionable silence that he didn’t keep track of.

When they left the cliff facing, Mei rolled him back inside and then let him take over. His arms were still weak, but he insisted that he could not have her carting him around all the time. The sun was starting to set and a carrier was heading back in from the horizon. Mei seemed excited to get back and greet the team who was returning home.

“Do you mind if we just stop by the loading docks? And then I’ll take you back to the med bay or to the mess hall or wherever you would like.” There was a tint of hope, a little excitement, and something else Hanzo couldn’t place. He dipped his head in agreement and then watched her scurry off.

Heaving a deep sigh, he started to roll himself after her. She checked her speed a few times, but something was too exciting for her and he nearly lost her twice before the wheels left his grip and the ashy smell of smoke and hints of cinnamon surrounded him. When he looked up, he caught McCree looking back down at him.

“Heading off after Miss Mei?” he drawled. When he received a nod in answer, the pace picked up a little. With no way to tell him to leave him to himself without giving himself away, Hanzo folded his hands in his lap and waited. “Reckon she’s pretty excited ‘bout her friend comin’ on home,” McCree continued, unbidden. “Pretty excited myself, actually. My best friend was out on that supply run too. Think you’ll like him. He’s a good fella, Japanese like you are. Ain’t near as quiet, though.”

Hanzo didn’t reply as McCree pushed him out into the loading dock and pushed him almost to the edge of the platform. Then he left him there, heading over to help unload things. Mei was there already, helping to move crates that looked too heavy for how small she was. A massive woman with pink hair carried three crates at once, as well as a man who was even larger. From the doorway behind him, a hovering omnic emerged and paused beside him.

“Peace be upon you, Shimada-san,” it said softly. “Today will be a big day for you.”

“I have no interest in meeting these people,” Hanzo replied gruffly.

There was a soft whirr, electronics giving off the impression of a hum. “The supply carrier has brought something for all of us today, including you. I believe it is nearly time for your latest quest to come to an end.”

With a frown, the archer looked up at him and tried to discern meaning from that. Of course, he was looking into a cool mask of metal, one that gave nothing away to him. “I have only just arrived on this base, and I am a prisoner, not a guest. There is no reason for-”

He was interrupted by a familiar voice, a shout. His heart (which had been through more than enough today alone, thank you very much) felt as though it stopped entirely for a moment. When he looked up, he was met with the sight of polished chrome and glowing green standing at the edge of the carrier’s doors.

“Hanzo!” Genji shouted, throwing down the crate and earning a chastising shout from someone further inside. He ignored that and took off at a dead run toward his brother, coming to a screeching halt in front of him. “Hanzo, you came! How did you find me? Where are your legs? You met my Master! Did you already meet McCree? He’s-”

Hanzo made a panicked noise and raised a hand. “I have met McCree. I have not met your- Master? You have-”

“Genji is my student,” the omnic beside him said pleasantly.

Genji moved closer, crouching down beside Hanzo to look up at him. His face was hidden by his mask, but he remained as expressive as ever with body language. He was practically thrumming with excitement. “Zenyatta is my soul mate, Anjia. I have so much to tell you, about everything. About Zenyatta, about Overwatch, about McCree. How did you even get here? What happened? Angela sent a com to say that you were here, but we were already too far out to be able to turn around, and then she sent another when you woke and we hurried back. We have a lot of catching up to do. Will you stay?”

How he could ask such a thing, be so excited to see him after all this time, after what he’d done, baffled him to no end. Even when he saw nothing in the shining surface of his brother’s face, he searched him. Was that even his brother any longer? Was this the brother he had known, had grown up with?

“I believe,” Zenyatta said after a long silence, one that had Genji’s shoulders falling slowly. “That Shimada-san will have plenty of time to decide that while his legs are still in repair. A better question, then, would be this: Would he like to join us for dinner?”

Hanzo’s mouth opened, closed. Genji looked from the omnic to him and back, curious and slowly more interested once more.

He had no choice, really, but he appreciated that the machine at his side was generous enough to give him an out. “I will,” he said finally.

Genji let out an excited whoop and jumped to his feet. Leaning over to the floating omnic again, he touched their foreheads together and then ran back to the carrier to finish helping.

“He is very excited to see you again,” Zenyatta said softly. “This will be difficult for you both, but most especially you. I am grateful for your presence, however short it will be.”

Hanzo, again, did not reply, watching as Genji chattered at McCree as they carried boxes. He couldn’t be sure that he turned to look at him after the cowboy shook his head, but the visor certainly turned his way for a moment.

How could such a small slit of light feel so heavy on him?

Chapter Text

“No, McCree, I need to speak with him on my own,” he heard Genji tell his friend gently.

“I ain’t gonna be in the way,” the man protested, sounding almost desperate to push his way in. His eyes fell to Hanzo again, over Genji’s shoulder and the archer looked away, jaw tensing. “I just wanna go with y’all. Make friends. Might be it’s easier for ‘im to talk t’me if we’re with you an’ Zen.”

“Jesse,” Genji said firmly, putting a hand on McCree’s shoulder and turning him away. Hanzo glanced up enough to see that the man kept his eyes on him as he was guided away. He gave him a hopeful little smile when their eyes connected, but in an instant, he was looking away again. He heard a snap that was terribly metallic. Genji must have snapped his fingers. “ Jesse , pay attention. It has been a long time. I’m sure you can… make friends with Hanzo soon, but right now, I need to speak with my brother. We haven’t seen each other in a long time.”

There was a moment of silence, tempting Hanzo to look up again, but before he did, he heard the man speak again. “He ain’t said a word to me, Genji. Not one word.”

“I know,” Genji replied softly.

When Genji returned to his side, he was far more subdued than he’d been before. “Why don’t we take dinner outside?” Zenyatta asked softly. “I will retrieve food and meet you in the garden, if you would like.”

Hanzo was silently grateful, but with McCree’s eyes still heavy on him, he couldn’t even bring himself to look up.

“Good plan,” Genji nodded, once again leaning forward to touch his forehead to Zenyatta’s before the omnic floated away and the cyborg started to lead Hanzo down the hall.

After the initial excitement, Genji cooled down quite a bit. Something about the more tempered demeanor felt like it was somehow McCree’s fault, but there was also a peace to it that Hanzo was unfamiliar with. The Genji he knew had a temper almost as hot as his, was excitable and bouncy, and this man was calmer. More reserved. Disciplined in a way that Hanzo was familiar with, but that was totally foreign to him. Somehow, his brother felt different.

It could have been all the cybernetics.

Somehow, Hanzo didn’t really think that was the case.

Once they made it outside, Genji took over the chair, pushing him over rocks and grass until they made it to a gathering of tables and chairs. He pushed another chair out of the way, then took a seat and settled across from him. One hand raised and the visor hissed as he unlatched it and released it from his face.

Predictably, Hanzo looked away. He couldn’t see Genji’s face right now. He could barely stand the metal of it in the first place. The scars and the synthetic flesh were too much.

“Anija,” Genji murmured, voice soft. “I am glad you have come. I didn’t think you would find me.”

“You didn’t leave me any direction to look, so neither did I,” he shot back hotly. “But I… I have been seeking to repair the honor destroyed when I ki- when I injured you. If you are Genji, truly Genji, then the only way I can repair that honor, is through you, is it not?” Looking directly at him was difficult, but he finally managed it and was a little shocked at the softness he saw directed back at him.

The man shifted, leaning forward on his forearms, metal scraping against metal. “Brother, I have forgiven you. Now all that is left is for you to forgive yourself.”

His temper rode as high as ever. It seemed he would never learn how to keep a cool head. “How can you say such a thing? How can you forgive the man who did this to you?”

“I have learned more than you can know in the time we were apart,” Genji replied gently. “I have found the other half of my soul, the one who completes me. I have learned peace and balance and have honed skills my family tried to give me for years. If I had stayed with the clan, I would have been miserable , I would never have met Zenyatta. We would both still be there. This is a course that was rough and hurtful, and there were certainly other ways to reach the place we are currently at, but this is the way we were given, Hanzo.”

He reached out, offering his hands, but when Hanzo looked down at the cool metal, he recoiled. Genji remained unfettered. “Zenyatta is my soulmate, but he is my teacher as well. He has taught me peace and forgiveness and tranquility. I was angry and hurt for a long time after what happened, but I have been given a new life, a new body, and a new family. I am happy here. I am happy with him.”

“You are not the brother I once knew,” Hanzo murmured, anger and bitterness welling up. Decades of wallowing in self loathing had led him here, trapped at a table in a wheelchair, in a foreign base, and with a soulmate he doesn’t deserve to talk to and Genji is happy here.

A nod before he pressed on. “No, I am not. I am stronger. I am happier. I am free. And you will be too, if you stay with us.”

Hanzo had half a mind to tell him he had come here just to see him, that he had been searching for him, but it felt like he was showing too much of his hand, like he was giving Genji too much power. The spats from when they were boys still rang loudly in his head.

Instead of answering straight on, he replied, “Do you know the cowman well?”

A brilliant smile lit Genji’s face and, there it was. The last bit of the brother he knew showing itself. The beaming grin, the one that looked like trouble in the form of an angel. It was scarred and broken, but still wicked and devastating. “He has been my best friend since I came to Overwatch the first time. He was here when we were young as well. I knew from the first moment he spoke that he was your soul mate.”

“And have you told him?” That was asked perhaps too quickly.

Genji let out a soft laugh. “Of course not.”

Hanzo shifted in the chair, getting comfortable. Not fidgeting. Shimadas do not fidget. “What does his mark say?”

“No.”

Hanzo blinked. Baffled, he frowned at him. “Genji, what does his mark say?”

Again, Genji simply replied, “No.”

As heat started to rise in him, the omnic monk appeared at their sides, still floating and bearing a tray laden with food. He settled it on the table and plucked a steaming cup from it before settling at a height closer to the brother’s.

“Good evening. Shimada-san, this plate is for you. Doctor Ziegler insisted that you eat certain foods. She was quite adamant.” A metal hand reached over and passed him a plate. It looked fairly standard, as far as plates went, but she couldn’t know, of course, that his own diet was fairly strict already. The same hand lifted another plate, which only had cheese fries on it, and passed it to the younger brother. “Genji.”

“That looks like garbage,” Hanzo grumbled, poking at what looked to be very plain chicken with his fork.

“It is,” Genji quipped. “But I can taste it, and it has no damaging factors on my inner workings anymore. It doesn’t matter what I eat.” He grinned and lifted a fry dripping with cheese to his mouth.

“In his time at the monastery,” Zenyatta offered, “He cycled through any food we could offer. Most does not have quite the same taste as before, but these retain enough that he enjoys them.”

It wasn’t barbed. He knew that. It was almost funny, even, but Hanzo felt like every word cut at him with renewed guilt.

“I see,” was all he offered, poking at bright green vegetables now. Suddenly, his appetite was failing him. “Why will you not tell me what the cowman’s mark says?”

As Genji opened his mouth, Zenyatta lifted a hand to silence him. It was a move their father had tried on him many times, only this time, it worked. And Genji didn’t seem angry. How curious. “It is, perhaps, for the best that you do not know for the time being. If you are to keep McCree in the darkness, it is perhaps not in the best taste to shine the light for you as well.”

Hanzo opened his mouth, ready to argue, but he felt… oddly chastised. His mouth closed again. With a frown and a soft huff, he sat back to finally eat the food he’d been given.

“Now, Shimada-san, how is it that you have come to join us at this base?” the monk continued, lifting the cup. “I hear that it is quite the tale. Would you recount it over dinner?”

Once dinner was finished, Hanzo had to be returned to the med bay. It was frustrating, to say the least, that he had to be “returned” like some kind of rented appliance, but Angela was there already and she tipped her head to them both. The two actual agents received a warm greeting, a small smile, and Hanzo returned the flat look she spared him.

Despite saying (repeatedly) that he didn’t need help getting out of the chair again, the doctor urged Genji to get Hanzo back into the bed. Finally, he relented and accepted the help only to get her to stop using that patient, firm voice that made him feel like he was being treated like a child. After running one more diagnostic check on him. Angela bid the three of them farewell and pressed a light kiss to two metal cheeks before she left.

Genji hung around long enough to promise to come again tomorrow and Zenyatta (he was beginning to be alright with the omnic) tugged a small holopad from his robes and passed it over. For someone with no expressions, he managed to look terribly conspiratorial as he simply said, “88359q.”

Hanzo assumed that was a password to something, considering it didn’t make any sense at all.

Then the two were gone and Hanzo was fiddling with the holopad from the hospital bed. There were only a few programs on the device. A game he had never played, but with outrageously high scores that suggested Genji still had his knack for video games. A reading app that pulled books from the monk’s personal data library. It seemed to be mostly populated with religious texts, history files, and technical manuals on omnics. Finally, a program that allowed him to watch videos, both streamed and from a private database.

Uninterested in playing games (as he always told himself he was), Hanzo eyed the reading and the videos. It was difficult to say whether or not it was wrong to snoop, since it had been handed over to him with the password. It was fair to say he couldn’t possibly know what was and wasn’t off limits, wasn’t it? Besides, he had all night to sit here with it.

He started innocently. The religious texts of a monk held little interest, but he looked through them anyway. The most read ones were from the late omnic Mondatta, and Hanzo guessed that he had been a follower, or perhaps still was in his own way. Followed by that were several other texts, of varying types. Hindu, Buddhist, Christian, Islam. Zenyatta seemed to have a wide range outside of what was clearly more apt for him. A well read scholar. Hanzo may not have any fondness for them, but he could at least have respect for the sort who would read up on everything.

Next, he poked around in the omnic manuals, only to find that they were not only omnic manuals. He’d expected to find nothing of interest in such a thing, but after a few files that seemed nothing more than care and maintenance for Zenyatta’s model, he found schematics for a cyborg. Opening the file required a password, as he had guessed, but it wasn’t the one Zenyatta had given him. Cursing to himself, he glared at the screen and tried to think of what else it might be. After trying Genji, Genji Shimada, Shimada Genji, and Mondatta , he gave up. He would have to talk to the omnic tomorrow and see if these were classified or not. Perhaps being back in Genji’s life would be easier if he understood more about the way his new body worked. Moving on, he found several more files on the cyborg, all of them similarly locked down and the given passcode working on none of them.

With a heavy sigh, he moved on again. Overwatch history. This seemed to be compiled largely of newspaper clippings, which held only common knowledge. Not to mention, Hanzo couldn’t really find it in himself to care too much about the history of the organization. Everyone knew the story well enough. He did hit a photo file, though, one that held a large group of people. One in particular stood out enough to have him enlarging it.

It was a photo of a photo, a little blurry at the edges, with a big “CONGRATULATIONS!” written on a banner behind the group. Genji stood to the side, in full cyborg form with his hands on his hips. He wore clothes that were different enough, but almost too similar to what he used to wear when they were young. When Genji still had need of clothes. When he was alive.

There were other people in the picture, but it was hard to focus on anything but his brother. At least, until he caught who was standing beside him. McCree looked younger in this, fewer lines on his face, less muscle on him. Both arms were still made of flesh, the grin on his face boisterous and excited. He still wore the ridiculous hat.

The focus had shifted and something in Hanzo almost burned to find more. He had started out idly snooping and that had turned into digging for more on his brother, but now he wanted everything he could get on this man. Backing out of the picture, he scrolled through more text files until he found another one. This, too, was a photo of a photo, but in faded sepia. When he enlarged it, he was greeted with another group shot. McCree was in this as well, and he ignored the rest of them again in favor of studying him. Much younger now, almost a teenager. How long had McCree been working for this company? The hat still in place, a bit of foolish hair on his chin. He had a grin on his face that made Hanzo’s chest feel tight. Was that jealousy? Was it because he had never gotten to see such a thing, or because he had never made such a face in his life?

After a study that took more time than he would like to admit, Hanzo moved on again. No more images of Jesse, and when he performed a quick search of the words Jesse, McCree, and Cowboy , he found there was nothing that related to him specifically.

The reading app would offer him nothing else, but perhaps there was something of him in the videos. He had the option there of choosing to stream films, shows, and videos or using the private bank. The private data bank required a password.

88359q

Zenyatta was too smart, Hanzo was beginning to think.

Two files were before him, personal and classified. He ignored the latter, heading into the personal bank. There was nothing particularly of note in it. It was filled with simple things workers had deemed interesting enough to be saved onto the Overwatch cloud, but not so embarrassing that they couldn’t put it there for anyone to see. There were videos of birthday parties with piñatas and massive cakes. There were videos of costume contests held by members on Halloween, Christmas parties. Several videos had a handsome blonde man reminding everyone of simple workplace or mission etiquette. McCree featured in more than a few, and so did Genji. He would have liked to see him as he was now, not this cocky child, but it was the best he had. Hanzo watched nearly thirty before he fell asleep with the holopad on his chest and the lights on around him.

When he woke again, the lights were in the process of going dim. The sound of a footstep had him shooting up and turning to look. Angela stood in the doorway with one hand holding a tray and the other turning down the lights.

“Oh, you’re awake,” she said softly, like she was still trying not to wake him up. “I’ve brought you something to eat.” With the lights still turned down, she moved to his side and offered him the tray. Nothing on it was spectacular, eggs and toast and fruit, but he was grateful for it. As much as he liked eggs over rice, one could eat that only so many days, weeks, months, years in a row before it was good to have a change of pace.

He didn’t thank her, but he did at least give a grateful tilt of his head as he took the tray and settled it on his lap. “Will my legs be returned to me today?”

Angela paused, lips going tight and eyes turning thoughtful. She wasn’t studying him, though. Her eyes were unfocused, pointed at the wall. “I will check again with Winston. He has been working on them, but there were some pieces badly damaged and it may take another day. Not much longer. After you eat, I can provide you with a place to wash and another set of clothes if you like?”

He had to stop himself from letting out a sigh of relief. He hadn’t showered in at least two days, although he knew someone cleaned him when he was unconscious. (He tried not to think about that too deeply.) Even so, he felt grimy, would have given his right hand for the use of a soap and a cloth. After a moment that he used to school himself back into flatness, he nodded curtly. “It would be appreciated.” Not to mention, he hadn’t gone to the bathroom since just after dinner the night before.

Angela replied in kind, but with a knowing look on her face that bordered on smug. As she headed to the wall to turn the lights on entirely again, she continued, “Eat your breakfast while I find you clothes. I assume you will not need any assistance, but I’m certain your brother-”

“I will not need any assistance.” Truthfully, he hadn’t meant it to be as sharp as it was, but it was still difficult. The worst thing about losing his legs had, shockingly, not been the pain or relearning what he had known. It was the fact that even once he was more than capable, he was still treated like he was helpless if he was without his prosthetics.

He didn’t look up to see her reaction, but he was silently pleased that she didn’t press the topic. They said nothing else as he ate, as she sought out clothes. When he finished, he finally looked up to find her rubbing her eyes as she leaned over the computer. A pile of clothes beside her told him she had finished her task first and moved on, but didn’t interrupt him.

He didn’t like thinking of her as thoughtful.

The plate was put aside and the woman turned, surveying him with the critical eye every medical professional develops before long. Finally, they finished watching one another (mostly, he was just glaring back out of some petty need to feel like he hadn’t lost) and she took up the chair and the clothing.

Without preamble, he reached down, locking the brakes before heaving himself into the chair. Maybe a show of how independent he could most certainly be would get her to stop treating him like he was some helpless thing. Luckily, when he chanced a look at her face, she seemed the least bit impressed.

“ Wunderbar , now if you would follow me this way, I’ll show you to the showers.” She tilted her head, guiding him out of the medical ward and around to a communal bathroom. There was a time in his life when he would have sneered at it, but he’d gotten used to worse things. Privacy would have been better, but he would take this.

Angela hesitated at the door, unsure. Clearly, she wanted to offer help further, but was making a valiant attempt at being respectful. “Shall I… come back and check on you in half an hour?” she asked.

Hanzo shifted in the chair, throwing the brakes before he climbed down and pulled himself to the shower carefully. “An hour,” he told her, before flicking the curtain closed and starting to undress.

Really, he could gladly have stayed there all day, under the hot spray, but he managed to cut it down, then go to the bathroom with time to spare. Back in the chair, he glared at the mirror that was a little too high to be useful for him. Not that he had a razor anyway, but with two days worth of stubble, he wished dearly that he did.

“Oh!” came a voice from his left. When he looked up, he caught sight of another of the people who had been on the mission - the one who had left the blue streak behind her. This time, she was dressed casually, in pajamas and slippers. The glow of some blue machine under her shirt caught his eyes and he tried to work it out. Perhaps another cyborg, like his brother. “Sorry, love. Forgot folks still used this old place. Most of the rooms’ve been outfitted with new plumbing and the like.”

She gave him a small smile and sidled closer, peering at him in the mirror as he stared directly at her. “There is no shower in the med bay,” he told her finally.

“Oooh, I see. Ange didn’t give you a razor either? You don’t seem like a scruffy bearded sort.” She scooted back when she was met with a scathing look, hands up in surrender. “All I mean is that I’m sure I could get one for you if ya like. Loads of fellas around here. Gotta be that one of ‘em shaves, hm?” She tried again with a smile, small and open. Inviting. Friendly.

Hanzo hated her instantly.

“That would… be appreciated,” he said finally. He would have to ask for one eventually if he wanted to look like something other than a ruffian and it would be better to accept help than to ask for it.

“Righto!” Suddenly cheery, she was gone in a zip of blue light. Hanzo was left blinking at the empty space she had occupied. He was fast, Genji was faster, but that was unreal .

For several long moments, he was left on his own, unsure and floundering. The silence stretched on for several long seconds before he remembered he had other things to do.

Halfway through brushing his teeth, the worst occurred. The building could have been burned down and it would have been less horrifying for him in that moment.

“In here!” he heard the girl call.

The reply of, “Lena, I can follow you just fine without you tellin’ me what door we’re goin’ in,” made him freeze.

With a sudden start, he grabbed his towel and threw it over both shoulders. He was wearing a shirt, but there was no reason to take chances with the thin white material when he was still damp. He couldn’t let the cowboy see the words.

The jingle of spurs preceded the face of the cowboy as he came into the bathroom. The woman had come in first, but Hanzo barely saw her at all. He stared at McCree for a moment, then looked quickly back to the mirror scrubbing his teeth with a renewed fury. Probably harder than he should be, but what was a little gum damage if it kept him from saying anything stupid in this moment?

“Howdy there, Shimada-san,” the man said, voice soft and dark and gravelly from what could only be years of smoking. It shivered it’s way down Hanzo’s spine and he may or may not have gotten somehow more aggressive with his tooth-brushing. “Lena said you needed a shave kit?”

There was a moment of tense silence and if he had been strung any tighter, you could have played notes on him. When he finally gave a terse nod and spat into the sink, starting to rinse his mouth, McCree continued. “Well, I don’t use mine so often, only when we got a mission that requires me to look like a respectable fella, but you’re more’n welcome to it.” Another silence as Hanzo rinsed his mouth and refused to look up at the cowboy. If he looked at him, his heart was going to pound it’s way right out of his chest.

“Um,” Lena said finally, shifting restlessly from foot to foot. “I, uh, gotta… go… wash my hair.” Despite being in the bathroom already, she bolted, leaving a streak of blue in her wake.

The silence shifted around them like some kind of living thing, wrapping it’s fingers around Hanzo’s throat and choking him. What was he supposed to say? What was he supposed to do? He didn’t deserve this soul mate, had grown up knowing - knowing - that he would kill this person. Now they were offering him a shaving kit like it was the most natural thing in the world.

All at once, though, he realized it was no longer silent . McCree was talking to him, moving closer with a hand falling to the back of the chair he was still in. “Darlin’?”

Looking up was a mistake. A big one. McCree’s face was closer, not into his personal space, but closer than before. He could see the lines of age, the freckles that dusted his cheeks, the bags under his eyes. Had he not slept the night before? What was keeping him awake? Was it Hanzo?

“Sweetheart, I asked if you needed some help with the shave?”

At that, he finally snapped back to the real world. No more fantasizing. Not only that, though, but he couldn’t reply. And put what on McCree’s skin? “Sure I would love a shave.” “No, I can do it myself.” That would be foolish.

Instead, he scowled and shook his head, taking the kit from him a little more roughly than he intended.

Digging through, what he found was simple, but effective. Nothing like his own, but he didn’t have his own. Shaping his beard would be difficult, but he could manage it.

Out of the corner of his eye, in the mirror, he could see the cowboy watching him with what looked like both interest and pain, like it physically hurt him to look at him.

You are content for him to just… blindly fumble through this alone?

Part of him wanted to snap at him to stop staring.

The rest of him screamed at him not to give himself away. Not only was that a rude first thing to say, but now it had been too long. Whatever he said, it had to be… it had to be good . It had to be perfect.

“So, I think Winston might be able t’get your leg fixed up soon.”

Hanzo ignored him, or did his best to ignore him. His attention stayed as focused as he could force it to be on the awful aerosol shaving cream he was slathering over his face and neck.

McCree shifted unsurely, still watching him, keeping an eye on him in the mirror. “You oughtta join us as a group for dinner tonight. It’s Miss Mei’s night t’cook and she makes an awful good sesame chicken.”

Again, he ignored him, starting in on trying to get the most amount of stubble off of his face, warm water running from the sink. The mirror was a little too high, but it would have to do. He couldn’t stand to have this on his face much longer. Especially if McCree was going to keep staring at him.

“That mirror ain’t right, sweetheart. Here, lemme-” The man cut himself off, digging in the kit again and finding his prize. After shining it on his sleeve, McCree crouched down a little, holding up a mirror just barely big enough for Hanzo to be able to use it.

Shit .

This was not going to help him with his attempt at ignoring him. The way his face burned under the thick layer of shaving cream didn’t help, nor did the torrent of butterflies trying to beat their way out of his stomach and chest.

Swallowing hard, Hanzo nodded his thanks and used that mirror instead. His shaving was meticulous, as it had always been. It wasn’t as close as he could get with his own tools, but at least it was back to the shape he liked. And through the entire ordeal, he could feel the massive brown eyes boring into him, tracking the reveal of skin on his face like it was discarded clothing and not a growing beard.

Finally, when he could get no closer a shave, when his hands were threatening to shake from the scrunity he was under, he wiped his face for the last time and cleared his throat, urging the mirror away.

“You are somethin’ else,” McCree said softly, breathless.

Quickly, he looked away again, combing his fingers through his hair in lieu of a brush.

Don’t say anything, don’t say anything, don’t say anything, don’t say-

He never thought he would be pleased to hear the good doctor come back for him, but he heard the soft click of heels on the tile and his head shot up. “Are you ready to return, Mr. Shimada?” she asked, her face uncommonly soft when her eyes met his. Or, perhaps, it was perfectly common. Just not for him. Her hand landed gently on McCree’s shoulder where he was still crouched, looking up at Hanzo with some odd mixture of awe and pain.

He couldn’t reconcile the reason for either one.

“Mr. Shimada?” she asked again. “Hanzo? Do you want to go with McCree instead? It could be-”

“No,” Hanzo finally said, choking the word out as his gaze swiveled up to her. The edges of her lips tightened at that and out of the corner of his eyes, he could see the other man nearly crumple. It took a moment to clear his throat, but he finally managed and finished, “I would rather not.”

Throwing the brakes again, he rolled back, away from McCree, and toward the door.

Angela didn’t follow immediately and when he looked back, he could see her leaning over to talk to the man still kneeling. McCree was rubbing at his chest, looking hurt, tired. Definitely worse than the day before.

Chapter Text

Hanzo would have to wait another day to get his legs back. Much of what had been damaged had to be completely rebuilt and while this Winston, whom he had yet to meet, was a genius, he was also spearheading the recall of Overwatch, as well as coordinating missions and supply deliveries. Not to mention, there were things they were going to need to be able to rebuild. Angela took measurements to ensure the piece would fit back exactly as it had before.

He could feel this draining his bank accounts, the longer it took. He had still not been told what the cost would be. On the other hand, what did he need money for anymore? Not like he had before, anyway. He’d found his brother. Not that everything had suddenly become perfect. Hanzo was still one huge exposed nerve, as he had been for most of his life, but it was worse now. He was ridden with guilt as well as both a superiority and inferiority complex. (Not that he was going to admit to either of those, even to himself.) On top of that, he was bedridden and living in a place where, at any given moment, his soul mate could come around and he would have to shut down entirely.

Needless to say, it was not ideal.

Luckily, though, not many people seemed too interested in spending time with him. Mei returned later in the afternoon, checking up on him with a friendly grin. Angela came and went with as little speaking to him as possible. Genji and his Omnic master/soulmate were in most often. Zenyatta asked a time or two about how he was liking the tablet, with the sort of knowing voice one would expect from a teacher. Hanzo hated him a little bit, but a fair amount less than he hated most people.

That night didn’t keep up with the uneventful nature the rest of the day had started. Hanzo was starting to drift off, something he usually never did. He suspected Angela may have given him something to regulate his sleeping after last night’s bout of two hours. (It wasn’t his fault he didn’t feel safe here. Not that he had felt safe anywhere since he was twelve, really.)

Through the haze of sleep that was trying to take him over, though, he caught the lights outside of his door going a dim red. The rest of the drowsiness fled when an ungodly alarm screeched its way through the base.

The sound of running footsteps in the hall had him sitting up. The chair wasn’t near enough for him to get down into and with the lights off entirely, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get down and to it safely. Unsure what else he could do from here, he shifted uncomfortably in the bed and watched the door.

All at once, said door flew open and flooded the room in red light. Angela darted in, wearing the gear she’d had on before. She looked like an angel. As much as he hated to admit it, she could have passed for one with the glowing brilliance of her wings.

“What’s happening?” he asked tensely.

“Talon has made an attack at a city in Greece,” she replied quickly. “We are sending a team there to try and minimize casualties and heal the wounded. It should not take more than a day or two, and by then your leg will be returned to you.” With her bag packed with all she needed, she snatched up her staff and headed toward the door.

“Is Genji going?” he called after her, twisting in his seat.

Vanishing down the hallway, she called back, “He and McCree will both be on base here!”

He had known that knowing Genji would still be here would be a relief. He had not realized that knowing McCree would be around would feel like a weight off his chest. He didn’t want to see him. Being around him was trouble. Why did it feel like a knot loosening when he found that he wouldn’t be away and in danger?

The tablet at his side lit up with a friendly ping and he turned to look at it. A message on the screen showed that it was a chat box - one he hadn’t noticed downloaded before. Hanzo unlocked the screen to read it before he could think better of it. Luckily, it was for him.

ZENNY: Greetings, Hanzo. Mercy has conveyed to me that you were inquiring as to your brother’s state for the mission. Would you like more information?

ZENYATTA: Yes

Oh good, he was still on the omnic’s screen name.

ZENNY: As it was conveyed to us, the mission will take place in the coastal city of Ilios, Greece. Talon has taken a number of hostages and potential casualties are nearing double digits. The team sent is as follows: Mei, Mercy, Torbjorn, Reinhardt, Pharah, and Tracer. It is a mission expected to take no more than three days.

ZENNY: Was this information sufficient?

ZENYATTA: Yes.

ZENYATTA: Can you find out another piece of information for me?

ZENNY: I will learn what I can.

ZENYATTA: A man named Winston is to be working on my leg, but I have heard nothing from him. If you can convey the message for me, I would be grateful. I need to know when it may be done and what the cost will be for these repairs.

ZENNY: Understood.

Hanzo sat back against the bed again and dragged a hand over his face. It was unfortunate for the lot of them that they had to go out like this, but yet more unfortunate to lose their healer for such a mission. Hopefully, someone else here knew anything at all about reconnecting cybernetic limbs. Genji, perhaps.

He tried not to think about that.

The alarms had stopped going off, the lights in the hallways dimmed again, but the restlessness lingered in him. The door was still wide open. The medication he had been ready to curse seemed to be unwilling to return and grant him sleep.

A soft knock at the door had him turning again and he saw the silhouette of the man he both most and least wanted to see.

“Heya, Hanzo,” McCree said softly, as though he thought the man might have been able to sleep through the alarms going off. “Don’t know if anybody had a chance to explain what’s goin’ on after the alarm there went off.”

They had. Hanzo shook his head anyway.

Taking this as an invitation to come closer and take a seat at the bedside, the cowboy turned on a light and moved to thump heavily in the chair nearby. “There's some Talon shit goin’ down over in Greece right now. Wanted t’go on with ‘em, but…” He let out a soft laugh and shrugged, unable to finish.

Hanzo knew why. He looked awful. There were bruise-like marks under bloodshot eyes, skin starting to look a little pale despite the natural tan it held. This was his fault. This was because of him. Still, he was grateful that they hadn't sent him. Hanzo would have gone out of his mind with worry.

“Anyhow, they got a real good team over there. Winston stayed behind t’keep workin’ on that leg o’yours. Mercy woulda been the one to attach it, but she ain't here now. Don't you worry, though. I got plenty’a practice gettin’ limbs all hooked back up.” When he caught the look Hanzo was giving him, McCree laughed softly and lifted his mechanical arm to show it off. “I got one’a my own. Ain't as fancy as yours, but I've had to do the port-reconnects myself a time or two over the years. You got nothin’ to worry about, angel. I'll take good care of you.”

Replies bubbled up in Hanzo's throat, fighting for a place on his tongue. So many at once that it choked him. He wished dearly that this was not his soulmate, that there were no stakes here. That what he said didn't matter.

I'm sure you would. Did you call me an angel? How long have you had your prosthetic? How did you get it? I'm sorry I was not there to protect you. Let me take you to dinner.

Instead, he simply… sat there. Like an idiot. Like a fool. Like a man who didn't deserve the one the universe was promising him. That it had already seen fit to give him.

In the silence, the cowboy dragged a hand down his face and sighed. “Sorry. I just… I couldn't stop thinkin’ bout you bein’ stuck in here all alone while the alarms were goin’ off. You want me to go?”

The urge to shout no strangled him and he opened his mouth, pinched his thigh to shut himself up. When McCree stood, though, he reached out and caught the edge of his shirt, clinging like a child.

Don't leave. Stay with me. Please.

He didn't say any of it. Didn't even look at him. Just held on and hoped the message came through.

Finally, he took a seat again, smoothed his hands over his thighs and leaned forward. “You know, Ange and I used to play an awful lotta cards in here. Bet I could find those, if ya want? You know how t’play Texas Hold ‘em?”

Hanzo looked up finally, a smile nearly touching his lips. Just barely, he tipped his head in a nod. The grin on Jesse's face nearly wiped out all of the stress and sleeplessness in his features.

As he watched him root around the desks, Hanzo sat up further and fussed with the bed until it laid flat. Once that was done, he shifted around and smoothed the blankets until he sat at the head and there was a wide expanse before him. They could have dragged over a table, but this gave him something to do too, and as much as it pained him to admit he wanted it, it got Jesse just barely into his bed. Sort of.

“Ah ha!” Came the victorious crow from across the room. He turned back to brandish a pack of cards at him. “Knew she held onto these old things.”

He came back and without question, kicked his shoes off and sat cross-legged at the other end of the bed.

The cards he started dealing out were old and battered, but the back held a print that looked like a large bandage rather than a traditional image. Hanzo chuckled softly as he inspected one.

Getting through the game without speaking was surprisingly easy. Jesse seemed content to carry the conversation on without help, cursing and swearing at Hanzo's poker face and lamenting that it was cheating for him to bat his eyes to distract him.

(Hanzo did no such thing, but he liked the thought that he was distracting him that much anyway.)

After an hour or two, the cards were put away again due to Hanzo yawning for the fifth time. Jesse fussed over him as he helped wrestle the bed back into place, stretched the blankets back over him. He swallowed hard when there was nothing left to do, giving him the most tender of looks.

Hanzo would have given anything to ask him to stay, would have forfeited his legs entirely to just have him crawl into the bed and sleep beside him for one night.

(He thought this as he watched him go and did nothing. When he sank back into darkness, he called himself a liar and a coward for it. He ended up not sleeping after all. The holopad was still beside him and a new file had been added to the personal library when he looked. The effects of rejection on soulmate pairs. His stomach twisted when he realized the implications and he put it away again.)

The next morning came too early, with his breakfast arriving in the hands of his brother. Zenyatta floated serenely behind him.

“Good morning, brother,” Genji greeted him, choosing their native tongue with no others around.

The plate he settled beside him wasn't as healthy as the one from the day before, but Hanzo wasn't very hungry anyway. He picked at the toast first, nibbling on the corner. “Morning, brother,” he replied. “Zenyatta.”

“Good morning and good news,” the omnic replied, his Japanese as perfect as theirs. Hanzo wondered idly if he had simply been able to download it. “Your legs will be returned to you shortly. Winston estimates the repair to be finished before lunch today, perhaps even within an hour or two. He is putting on the finishing touches now.”

“Good,” he nodded, giving up on the second triangle of toast and trying now for the small bowl of oatmeal. “Has he said anything about cost?”

Genji’s head tilted. “Angela did not speak to you about that?”

Shaking his head, Hanzo gave up on the oatmeal as well, returning it to the table. “She did not, no matter how much I asked of her. I have money, but I have no assurance I will be able to pay whatever fee is required of me, and if I have to go and get more money, I will need my legs to retrieve it.” Not to mention, he would prefer not leaving here just yet. He only just got his brother back. Losing him so soon would be yet more tragedy in a story with too much heartache.

“I assure you, there will be no issues found with payment. Winston will speak to you about it when he comes in to present your legs.”

Hanzo nodded, laying back again on the bed. “Thank you, Zenyatta. Hopefully, it will be soon.”

“Brother,” Genji said softly, standing to peer down at him: even not seeing his face, he could tell when he was being studied. “You are not eating. Did you sleep last night?”

Suddenly, he wished he had a metal mask to hide his face as well. As good as his metaphorical mask of a blank expression was, Genji seemed to be just as adept at reading him as he always was.

“You didn't. You look like shit. You look like McCree. ” The cyborg moved in a little more and the frown was audible in his voice. “You cannot avoid this forever, brother.”

Zenyatta floated closer, hand clinking softly on a metal shoulder to draw him back before they could fight. “Perhaps,” he mused quietly, “it would be best to not interfere, my student.”

Genji stared for another moment, then took a step back. “You are hurting yourself, Hanzo. You are hurting him.”

“I will hurt him either way,” Hanzo replied. His voice was soft, but held enough venom to rival a snake. “He should never have been tethered to me in the first place.”

“He is a good man, Hanzo. He will be good for you. And he is tough enough to handle you. I have known him long enough.”

Hanzo frowned tightly and shook his head. “A good man should not have my words on his skin. I will not burden him with them.”

“If I may,” Zenyatta interjected. “He is already burdened with words. Your choice to withhold them changes nothing of his destiny. However, it is your choice to make. Now-”

He was cut off by the sound of deep, loud voice nearing the room, along with heavy, oddly uneven footfalls.

“-took longer than I thought, but they were highly sophisticated prosthetics,” he was saying. “It's a wonder that you managed to damage one so critically in the first place.”

“Just a damn good shot it all, Winston,” Jesse's voice replied. “‘Sides. Part’a me thinks destiny might’a had a hand in that one hittin’ just where it did.”

A soft chuckle was the reply and Jesse rounded the corner. Behind him was a gorilla.

Despite himself, Hanzo shot up in his seat, wide eyed. The gorilla from the field was here and it was not, as he had thought, a wild animal. Contrary, it was fucking speaking. It wore glasses.

And if this was the Winston they had mentioned before, it built his goddamn leg.

“Mr. Shimada,” Winston said genially, thumping closer with one arm full of prosthetic. He offered the other hand to him. “A privilege to meet you. Sorry I couldn't make it in before. Between organizing missions and repairing your leg, it didn't seem like a prudent use of time.”

“I see,” Hanzo replied, dazed a little. He shook his hand (paw?) and tried to keep his expression neutral. From the tense set of Genji's robotic shoulders and the amused look on Jesse's tired face, he wasn't succeeding.

“Now,” he moved closer and laid the pair of legs out on the bed. They were identical. If Hanzo hadn't known which was the damaged one, he wouldn't have been able to tell they weren't both new. “Zenyatta tells me you are concerned about the notion of the cost. Would you prefer to discuss this before, or after the reattachment of your appendages?”

Hanzo was silent for a moment, then managed an eloquent, “Ah.”

Winston nodded seriously and cleared his throat, straightening his glasses. “Yes. I see you have noticed that I am, in fact, a gorilla.”

Jesse coughed, covering his mouth with one hand. Genji snorted and turned to bury his face in Zenyatta’s shoulder.

“My apologies that you hadn't been warned beforehand. I assure you, I am nothing if not civilized and I remain one of the leading scientists in the world.” When he got no response, he continued awkwardly, “Will my… presence here make you uncomfortable?”

“N-no,” Hanzo choked out. From the corner of his eye, he saw the cowboy take a few steps closer. “No, it will not. It was just- just a shock. I would prefer to have the matter of payment settled before my legs are returned to me.”

Winston nodded and dropped onto his haunches. “Very well. Would you prefer to have this discussion in private?”

Hanzo's mouth opened, then closed. Yes, he would, but if he asked Jesse to leave, he would have to come back. If he asked Genji to go, he may not return to be there when they reattached his legs and there was a weak part of him that craved the support. If he asked Zenyatta to go, Genji might go with him.

“No. This is fine.”

Again, the gorilla nodded. “In the past, Overwatch, myself, and Doctor Ziegler have been known to give assistance to both those who need it and those who have helped our cause. While we would like to be able to do the good we once did, as with your brother,” Hanzo flinched and looked away. Winston pressed on more gently. “Resources are spread thin.”

“I understand there will be a cost ,” Hanzo nearly snapped, frustrated now, and irritated that an open wound had been touched in front of these people. “I am not asking you to do this for nothing, I am asking you to give me your price.”

“The thing is, Mr. Shimada, you have something more valuable to us than money at the moment.” Hanzo gave him a sharp look, frowning, but he pressed on with an earnest look. “Our organization is still small from the recall and recovering from years of inactivity. Our best defenses are often offenses and that does little to help us. What I- what we are proposing is that rather than paying us for the repairs and medical treatment, you join Overwatch. We could use a sniper, and even on our last legs would have the resources to keep you safe from your previous clan better than you could alone.”

The archer blinked, dumbfounded. “I am a criminal.”

“I was a criminal,” Jesse interrupted. “Reyes plucked me up outta Deadlock Canyon and dusted off the grit and grime t’make me a soldier.”

Hanzo looked at him, baffled, then at Genji, back at Winston. “I am well known to all here for betrayal.”

“The one to whom that would matter most has forgiven you,” Zenyatta interjected. “All others will follow his example and trust can be built on the foundation of what was broken.”

He turned and looked at the omnic, back to Winston. “I-”

“Hanzo!” Genji nearly shouted. The mirth was gone from his voice, but excitement had taken it's place. “Don't be foolish! This is what I came to you to for in the first place! Join Overwatch. Stay.”

The metal mask once again hid his emotions and Hanzo wished he could see his brother’s face. The tone of his electronic voice gave enough away, though.

Jesse moved in closer, hands on the edge of the bed. Dark eyes bore into Hanzo's and the exhaustion he felt started to melt away. “Stay,” he agreed softly.

Hanzo returned the stare, then swallowed hard. Finally, he looked back at Winston. “Alright.”

A loud whoop came from his left, Genji punching the air with his metal fist. Jesse grinned up at him and, despite looking worse than Hanzo felt, he seemed to almost glow with delight.

“Wonderful! I'll have the paperwork drawn up,” Winston beamed, massive teeth showing as he smiled. “In the meantime, why don't we get you back on your feet?” He chuckled at his own joke and started to help set things up.

Genji helped get the bed laid flat. Zenyatta helped untangle him from the bedsheets. Jesse assisted with reattaching the undamaged leg with gentle fingers brushing against his knee. Winston fretted from afar and checked over the other leg.

With cybernetic limbs, replacing one that had already been is easy. The port was already in place and the whole thing was calibrated properly to the unique body it belonged to. A new limb, however, had to be adjusted to the body. Initial calibration required an adjustment of wires until it was right. Initial calibration meant flooding every nerve it would be attached to to ensure it was attached to the right ones.

Initial calibration was pain.

Hanzo had done this twice before. First, when they had been given to him. It was the only time his father allowed that showing pain was not weakness. Second when one leg had been damaged in a botched assassination attempt on his father. He had passed out the second time.

This time, the room had more people than it ever had before, most of them strangers, and one of them his soulmate.

“Ready?” Jesse's voice asked softly.

He nearly replied. Very nearly. He stopped himself, though, and gave a sharp nod that Genji relayed.

To his credit, most people screamed more. Most people had not had dragons attached to their souls, though. Shimadas were never most people.

When all was said and done, Hanzo was not, in all fairness, really himself. He was dazed with pain and overwhelmed, covered in sweat. Every muscle ached from tensing up. He felt like he was floating.

Eventually, through the blood roaring in his ears, he heard the soft, deep croon of the cowboy close by. Through the lingering ache in his legs, he felt a warm hand smoothing his hair back gently.

“You're alright, angel. Deep breaths. There ya go. Ya did good, Hanzo. All done, good as new.”

The words could have been anything, he knew, but the cadence of his voice soothed something in him and he felt like recovery was going faster than it ever had. He could have stayed there forever, that warm hand brushing through his bangs and the soft voice murmuring to him. The lack of sleep from the night before was starting to catch up, but he was feeling better. More than he had in some time now. When his eyes opened, he caught the shining yellow of an orb floating overhead.

At the furrow of a brow, Zenyatta floated into view beside him. “An orb of harmony,” he explained serenely. “To assist with your recovery and help to bring peace to your soul. If you are not comfortable with my involvement, it can be removed easily, however.”

“No,” he mumbled, eyes falling closed again. He almost missed the way the hand on his brow stiffened at the contact. Sleep was so tempting now, between the peace Zenyatta was providing and the peace gained from Jesse’s hand smoothing over his hair.

He hadn’t felt this relaxed in a room with other people in it since he and Genji had started growing apart, had never felt this relaxed with strangers in the room. At that thought, his eyes flew open again and he started to sit up. Instantly, metal hands moved to help him sit up - five of them.

He swatted at all three men trying to help him, in varying stages of robotic origin. Only Genji, with his cool fingers, insisted on helping him, and still holding him in the bed. “I have been in bed for days. I need to get up,” he snapped.

“You have just had your leg put back on. You need to let it rest,” the cyborg insisted.

Hanzo sighed heavily. “I have had worse, but if I sit in this bed one more minute, I will go mad. I need to walk. I need to exercise.”

With his face plate on, Hanzo couldn’t tell what his brother was thinking the way he used to. Not to mention, his body language didn’t give him away as it once did. The gleaming metal moved very little aside from doing exactly as it was told, when it was told. Finally, he sighed in a way that sounded half like breath and half like whirring fans. “Fine. But you must take someone with you.”

“ No ,” he said again. From the corner of his eye, he saw Jesse flinch again. He ignored it for now, but there was an idea tickling at the back of his mind. He would deal with it when he was alone. “I just want to be on my own, left to my own devices, for an hour. Find a gym and catch up on lost training. Is that so much to ask, brother? Or does the offer of a place here come with a requirement that I be under observation too?”

It was Genji’s turn to flinch back. Before he could reply, though, Winston made his large presence known again with a cleared throat. “Actually, Shimada-san, until you have been cleared by Doctor Zeigler to be on your own, it would be best to have you under observation. Not as a danger to the base or to yourself, but to us. From her. She can be quite testy about her patients.”

“It is true,” Zenyatta confirmed. Somehow, without the use of facial expression, he looked amused. “Tracer once attempted her daily run without clearance after an injury. Not only was she scolded and put back to bedrest for an additional two days, but Winston was given quite a stern talking to and removed of peanut butter for the duration of her stay.”

“Dark times,” the gorilla muttered softly.

Hanzo heaved a great sigh, looking to the ceiling for assistance from on high. It seemed that none would be coming.

“I could keep an eye on ‘im,” Jesse said softly, his voice unsure somehow. Like he wasn’t sure his offer would be welcome. Hanzo could hardly blame him. He’d been nothing but rude. “Angie trusts me plenty and I’ll make sure he don’t do no harm to himself. ‘Sides, I’m the most human of the ones we all got gathered here. Makin’ sure he won’t overwork his body’s probably gonna be easier for me than y’all.”

The rest of them fell silent for a moment. Part of Hanzo wanted to object, but some deeper, traitorous voice told him he needed this. They both did. They needed to be around one another. The file he hadn’t read flashed into his mind and he looked away.

“A sensible solution,” Zenyatta finally said, breaking the tense silence. “Now, as I understand it, Hanzo’s clothes have been laundered, but as they are his only clothes, and he has not had a chance to go shopping as of yet, he will need something else to wear while he exercises. Genji. Do you have any remaining clothing?”

“Nothing suitable for training,” he replied thoughtfully. “But I can get some while you guys help him get acclimated to the new leg.”

Without waiting, he was gone, fled from the room. The rest of them sat there in silence for a moment until Hanzo turned and swung his legs over the side of the bed. One was still aching, raw, but he had never let that keep him down. Carefully, he put weight first on the familiar leg. Awkward after a few days, but not difficult.

Putting weight on the other was painful, but not unbearable. He wondered if that had to do with the orb still bobbing innocently over his head, or if he was just so used to pain in general that he was all but numb to it. The first step was wobbly, but he forced himself to straighten out. Before he knew it, though, a gentle hand was at his waist.

“Careful there, Angel,” Jesse said softly. “Don't want you back on your feet only t’have ‘em fall right out from under ya.”

Hanzo's mouth opened, then closed quietly. The warmth of that hand was right there on his back, steadying him, another on his waist. Of course, he was then quickly reminded how good Genji’s timing had been for ruining things.

“Fareeha won't mind sharing, I think,” he said as he came back in. “You're about the same size probably? I think.”

“Genji, her clothes ain't gonna fit him,” Jesse sighed.

Hanzo looked at the bundle in his brother's hands. It didn't hold nearly enough fabric for his liking, for one, and when he took the clothes, he found shorts that seemed long enough, but would be skin tight and a muscle shirt that was cut almost all the way down both sides. Not inappropriate, really, but less modest than he would have liked.

“They will totally fit!” the cyborg argued. “They'll fit fine. Now come on. You can wait in the hall while he changes. Master and I were going to meditate after this and Winston will have a check in with the team soon.”

“Oh, that's right,” the gorilla mumbled, hurrying from the room.

Hanzo shook his head, sighing heavily. A stand up team he was joining, obviously.

“I will remind him later to draw up the contract for you,” the omnic said mildly, floating over the bed and to the other side. “As well as assist with finding you accommodations.”

Genji nodded, looking excited. “Once you're all set up, we can go shopping for something for you to wear! I don't get to really wear cool clothes anymore. I'm going to dress vicariously through you.”

Chuckling softly, Zenyatta grabbed his student and soulmate by the bicep and led him out. Genji in turn snagged Jesse by the shirt front and dragged him along. “No peeking!”

Left to his own devices, Hanzo took a few moments to himself. Stretching, walking, bending. Using the restroom and then finally undressing. The leg was finely made, on par with his other one without being more finely tuned to off balance him. They looked nearly identical, which he appreciated as well. Right now, he was just glad it was entirely done. He could almost feel his body going soft.

The clothes weren't as bad as he had feared. The shorts left little to the imagination, but the fabric stretched a little more comfortably, like biking shorts. The muscle shirt probably only accommodated his shoulders because of the split. His entire soul mark was exposed this way, though, and he floundered as to how to cover it discreetly. Finally, he settled on a hasty bandage slapped over it.

Before he stepped out, he looked to the pad one more time. Jesse could wait, couldn’t he?

Booting it up, he started to pace, allowing himself to get used to the walking sensations again, feeling the mechanics calibrating with little shocks as he walked. The file lit up when he tapped it. His eyes dropped to the bookmarked sections down at the bottom of the page.

The first of those took him to a paragraph on the first page.

“ Effects vary from pair to pair, but the most common are as follows: Loss of appetite, restlessness, inability to sleep, fatigue. Following the initial stage of rejection come more serious effects. Depression greatens, while mind processes begin to break down. Inability to focus can be attributed to the lack of the body’s interest in recuperating. Forgetfulness follows, and on the heels of that, the subjects often begin losing comprehension of speech.”

Hanzo tore himself away from that. It had never occurred to him that a rejection could really be something that serious. It was a part of your soul, though, so it shouldn’t have surprised him.

The next bookmark took him further in, all the way to the fourth page.

“However, if the bond is partially completed upon meeting, both parties will feel the effects at varying times. The speaker will be first, invariably, as they were the one rejected. For some, it’s difficult to tell what exactly was the purpose. They have not heard their words, and there are cases of the speaker falling ill as a result of these effects without ever having known. Many of these cases remain unconfirmed. Other times, they remain close by. After a time, if the phrase marked on their skin is common, reactions to it will begin to heighten from discomfort to sharp pain across the mark itself. This pain will either greaten until the speaker is unable to hear the words from their mate at all, or until they go entirely numb and become unreceptive to it.

“The spoken to knows inherently that they have met their mate, but for reasons unlisted, they have not replied and completed the bond. (It is important to note that this is different from speaking to a person who has an atypical mark. In this case, atypical refers to marks from those who cannot speak or cannot hear.) Similar effects to the ones found in the speaker will begin with them, but at a slower rate. The varying rate of increase often hinges on the direct interaction with their mate.”

His breathing was coming a little faster now, his head aching. He was doing this. He was doing this to both of them. To Jesse. One more bookmark. This one took him near to the end of the document and he was gripping the pad now so hard that it was creaking in protest.

“Treatments for these symptoms are unknown. Outside medical attention can prolong mental health from dipping to extreme cases, but little can lessen the physical effect it takes on the body aside from proximity and interaction from one’s mate. This method is likely to breed dangerous levels of co-dependency and insecurity when the question is begged as to why the rejection took place in the first place.”

The pad let out another creak and the screen cracked at the side. Tightening his jaw, Hanzo placed it on the bed and promised himself he would use some of his wages (when and if he actually got them) to replace this one for the omnic. It was Zenyatta’s fault , but he would still replace it.

When he stepped out, Jesse was leaning against the wall, chewing an unlit cigarillo. Once again, he looked like hell. Tired, gaunt. A bone deep exhaustion that Hanzo knew was his fault.

He was being selfish. Cowardly.

The cowboy smiled around the brown paper and pushed off of the wall. The way he kept his eyes on Hanzo's face told him he was trying hard not to look at the rest of him. (If he was pleased about that, well, no one needed to know.)

“C’mon. I'll show ya the trainin’ rooms,” he said thickly, voice unsure. “Don't suppose you'll need a sparrin’ partner neither, huh? Don't you worry, none. I won't be a bother. Just keep an eye on ya’ in case anything goes on. Winston ain't built a limb in a little while, so he's a mite nervous it'll malfunction, but I'm sure it'll be more than fine. You oughtta let ‘im know later on that it's okay.”

They walked slowly as Jesse prattled on. He must have gotten used to Hanzo not replying. Not a good thing, really. He hoped it didn't mean he was quietly resigning to his fate. He wondered if they were going slow because of his leg or because Jesse just walked slowly, ambled like he was in no rush to be anywhere and never would be. Maybe the cowboy was just dragging out time with him a little longer.

That thought surprised him. Not because it was unlikely, but because he found himself pleased with every extra second the slow pace gave them. Gave him. Even if he wasn't paying attention, the smooth rumble of his voice made it worth the time it took.

He stopped listening to the words and focused on the voice. It would be stupid to deny that he wanted this. Wanted him. Wanted the life that could be his if he accepted the fate destiny chose for him. But he had no honor, a killer with little to offer. A criminal by birth and by profession.

Jesse was one too though. He had said it. Maybe destiny wasn't being kind. Maybe destiny was giving him a match it saw as equal, but one he could never hope to see why. Or maybe, as Genji had told him again and again all those years ago, destiny does not care about good or right or deserving and it deals the hand it deals. Like the poker they had played the night before. The game itself does not care about good or right or fair. You make your way and win or lose with the hand you are given.

But that drew him back, again, to what he was supposed to say . Would it simply come to him? Did he know it already? Genji had refused to tell him, although the idea that had tickled his mind just a little while ago bloomed to life again. Had Genji told him? Had he simply not understood?

By the time they'd reached the room and Jesse punched in a few digits, Hanzo was so lost in thought that he walked directly into him.

“Whoa there,” the cowboy chuckled, turning and holding his arms. “Don't let those new feet go takin’ you away.” The smile on his lips was warm, but his eyes were a little too hollow.

What if he had waited too long?

“Now, I know you probably don't want an audience, so I'll just go on and grab some drinks or somethin’ while you warm up, okay? Gonna need some-”

“No.”

Jesse blinked, baffled. Hanzo hoped he didn't look as shocked as he felt. Had he just said it? Let it happen?

“Sorry?” Jesse asked, voice breathless.

Hanzo opened his mouth again, but nothing came out. He was used to being silent now, used to the quiet. Trying to force words out felt like he was choking on air. Now that nothing was pushing him to speak, he didn't know what to say.

Slowly, the cowboy took a step forward, nearly in his space, but not quite. “Come again?” The words were soft, hopeful things, something that could so easily be swatted down.

“No.” His breath was coming faster, and it was only made worse by the way Jesse looked like that one syllable rocked through him like a wave. “I just meant- I just meant I wanted you to stay,” he said softly, lamely.

Had he been in the other position, he would have been furious. Would have lashed out, tried to punish his mate for making him wait, for the hell he had been put through. Proving they had less and less in common, Jesse swept forward and snatched him into a hug that lifted him off his feet.

“Angel, I been waitin’ to hear you say that my whole life,” he mumbled. The words were muffled by the meat of his shoulder, but it was alright. He could feel them.

Carefully, tentatively, he lifted one arm and wrapped it around him, followed by the other. “You are not angry that I held off so long?”

“You angry I shot you?” Jesse countered, putting him down and pulling back enough to look at him. He didn't let him go, arms still secure around his torso.

Hanzo's lips pinched. “Are you angry?” He repeated.

Jesse sighed and leaned down, pressing their foreheads together. “Sugar, I been angry about a lot of things in my life, but findin’ out I got the kinda soulmate who chose me ain't one of ‘em. You knew and so you didn't say it and I get it. Maybe you didn't want me, or didn't want a mate. There's lotsa reasons and I woulda made do. But it wasn't forever ‘cause you picked me. That's… that's more’n I ever would have even thought to hope for.”

Their eyes closed. Silence fell. Before, it had been familiar. Now, it was comfortable. There was a peace in him that he hadn't felt in a long time, maybe ever. A peace he thought maybe was the reason Genji would have fallen in with a monk.

“Baby,” Jesse said softly, the word thicker than before.

Hanzo hummed, rolling his eyes. “You have progressed the nicknames very quickly.”

“I ain't slept right since I met you,” he rumbled, the words heavy and low. “I ain't been able to eat nothin’ in a day or so. I been doin’ okay on it, but I am damn tired now. Can we come back to the training after while and just go lay down for a spell first?”

Idly, Hanzo let his hands move over the man's arms before he held them firmly and pushed him away. “Yes.” That was his fault too. That was his doing. He could help fix it now.

A smile stole over the cowboy’s lips slowly. His grin was devastating now that it lit his face like that. “Angel, I been waitin’ my whole life for you t’ tell me no, but damn if that ain't the sweetest word I ever did hear.”

“I have more words, Jesse,” Hanzo said softly, leaning a little closer with a hand on his chest. His lips hovered close, nearly brushing. “You will have time to hear them all.”

Grinning brilliantly, the cowboy closed the kiss and swept his archer off his feet once again.