Chapter Text
‘Poor lost soul’, thought Zenyatta when he came across Genji’s body lying in the snow. Like many others he first thought the prone form before him to be another Omnic - it made sense; who else would seek out the Shambali in the dead of winter?
But no, when he hoisted the inoperant body from the drifts he discovered that he held a cyborg in his arms. Part flesh, part electronic; both halves damaged badly. The man in his arms responded to the warmth of his processor core by curling closer and Zenyatta’s mind fluttered with relief, “Alive. Good,”
By the time he reached the monastery Genji shivered violently but still did not open his eyes.
~~~~~
“Brother Zenyatta… are you well?” Zenyatta turned to greet Mondatta warmly although his transcendent hands never wavered from over the damaged form laid out on a cot in their repair ward.
“I am functioning quite properly, Brother Mondatta,” He canted his head to the side and turned back to his task.
“I ask because I have not seen you maintain contact with the Iris for this long before. Is their situation so dire?” Mondatta came closer to the cot and peered at Zenyatta’s patient.
“I am not sure. His soul is far from Harmony - farther than other mechanically enhanced beings I have met. And I have not yet felt his mind awaken. I do not know how he came here but it must have been with the last of his strength,” Zenyatta’s voice synth was soft, “I am in no danger yet, and they are in need of so much healing,”
Mondatta nodded, “Remember Brother, you help no one if you destroy yourself in the process. If you need help please come find me,”
Once Mondatta was out of the room, Zenyatta crumpled a bit, letting his weariness show. He was not in danger. Yet.
~~~
It was four more days before Genji opened his eyes. Another three before he could do more than give weak affirmative or negative responses to questions. Nine days after Zenyatta had found the cyborg almost dead in the snow he learned his name.
Zenyatta had not touched such Discord as he did in this young man in a long time. Each movement seemed to hurt him, each word seemed to cost him. He all but fled from anything other than the most perfunctory of system repair. But, he stayed.
He stayed as far as he possibly could from the other monks while still being able to hear their daily meditations, but he stayed.
Watching Genji flee from the other monks, Zenyatta understood a few things. The man was hurting, Discordant in spirit and body, but he had come to the Shambali some how, for some reason. Zenyatta also understood that dogma, that rote prayer and the motions of acceptance designed for the masses were not always what was needed.
So one day, when he saw Genji lurching through the courtyard, Zenyatta carefully maneuvered himself in such a way that he would be blocking the path but completely hidden from sight.
The clang that reverberated through him when Genji plowed into him was second only to the strangled yell that accompanied Genji’s acrobatic retreat. Crouched low, sword drawn, fans whirring to re-regulate internal mechanisms, it was clear that Genji had been lost in thought and let his guard down; after all, who would expect attack in a monastery of peaceful omnic monks?
“My apologies Genji,” Zenyatta hovered serenely closer, ignoring the flashing lights and hissing vents, “But I am surprised you were so unaware of your surroundings,”
At the insult, Genji grew rigid but sheathed his weapon, “My apologies Brother Zenyatta,”
Genji turned on his heel and walked away, but Zenyatta floated after him,
“Perhaps meditation will help your awareness of the Now,” He mused. Genji remained silent but his gait widened. Effortlessly Zenyatta matched his pace, “But you really are terrible at it,” He chuckled.
Genji wheeled around to face him, an aborted retort on his lips but instead he jumped the path to escape up the side of the courtyard walls. Zenyatta watched him disappear, cataloguing the visceral reaction as a success; it was the most life the cyborg had shown since arriving.
~~~~~
Genji seethed in the room Mondatta had allocated to him. He ricocheted from wall to wall in agitation, roughly shoving his chair and simple cot, slamming his hands on the windowsill. He only stopped when he caught the edge of the desk with his foot - corner biting into a gap in his armor and lighting his servos and neural network up with pain.
With a curse he crumpled, furious at the irony that a perfect killing machine, a grotesque, mangled monstrosity such as himself, could still stub a toe. The pain and shock ripped what little composure he had away. Just like the jarring shock of bumping into Brother Zenyatta had.
Zenyatta. Zenyatta infuriated him. The Omnic Monk with too much time on his hands who was different than all the other machines around him in dozens of tiny ways but none more glaringly obvious, glaringly annoying than in his punkish attitude. He pushed and prodded and incessantly pursued Genji’s wellbeing. It was alien and uncomfortable for the ninja to experience.
Not that the soft flow of the rest of the Shambali felt any better… They were all too peaceful, too accepting. They were a drone of voices and rhythmic movement that blurred at the edges of his senses day to day. And he itched like a burr caught in their silken shroud.
Why did he expect more from these robots? These creations parroting platitudes and dogmatic acceptance. The softness of the monastery made him feel all the more jagged. But where would he go? He had no home, he had no life. No purpose other than to kill and he. He didn’t want to. He didn’t know how to live but he didn’t want to kill anymore.
He came here because where else did the soulless go? But these Monks, with their humble robes and clean hands, with their naive desire to couple man and machine and life together in peace...
His body ached as he lay on the floor. It felt like knives were digging into him where his flesh met metal and carbon fiber, and he could feel his pulse like the boil of lava under synthetic skin. His right arm throbbed like it was going to disintegrate. Or explode. Or swell 10 times it size. He was filled with painful, uncomfortable pressure. He could feel it drag along his bones like a living thing. An invisible meat hook was lodged in his joints and pulled at him. His nerves were frayed by the constant sensation of static feedback. It never stopped. It never stilled.
He wished he could cry. He wished he could saw his limbs off. He wished he was dead.
No. He’d already died and this wretched body was his hell. The blood that wouldn’t wash from his wiring was the chains that bound him to the ground. The roiling guilt in his stomach was the disease eating at him. With a mechanical sounding sigh, the fight left his body and he let his head loll to the side.
He wished Doctor Zeigler had just completed the process. Wiped the memories from him. Wiped the emotions from him. Made him fully a machine so he didn’t need to feel this pain.
He wished that whatever lingered of his mind would have just fled with his soul.
~~~~~
It continued like that for a few more days before Genji’s thin control snapped entirely. It’s was probably the fifth time that day that Zenyatta had maneuvered himself directly into Genji’s path in such a way that collision was unavoidable. The solid thud and shrill clang of his armor meeting the Omnic’s body reverberated through Genji, fairly rattling his teeth.
Pain. Danger. Under Attack.
The rage that welled up inside him from being attacked whited out his mind. He’d sprung back, drew his blade, and surged forward before the echoes of their contact had even faded from the mountainside.
Zenyatta sidestepped his forward attack easily - and it spurred Genji on, quickly realize that a floating opponent did not telegraph their feints and would not be so simple to dispatch. Slashing faster, turning sharper, a swift thrust that passed only through air turning seamlessly into a backhanded attack - but Zenyatta was always just out of reach.
Genji could feel his joints scream when he skidded to a stop and quickly changed direction again, hitting the wall to arc over Zenyatta - as he sailed overhead, twisting, three shuriken dropped into his hand and he fired them off at the monk in quick succession, aiming for the Omnic’s exposed vertebral column.
He heard the stars connect with metal and a surge of sick satisfaction pushed the rage aside long enough to let some of his senses clear - and in that space sudden horror coursed in icy waves down his body - He had just attacked a Shambali Monk, he’d likely killed Zenyatta, he really was nothing more than a blind, blood covered weapon that had turned on the first thing to show concern for him in years.
But then the sound of his shuriken hitting the dirt reached his ears over the roar of shame and revulsion in him. He turned slowly, startled to see Zenyatta still floating serenely barely ten feet away. The Monk studied one of his floating orbs with a canted head before looking back to Genji. The small metal sphere swiveled and Genji saw a fresh gouge in the decorated surface. Two other orbs bore similar punctures. Shame chased panicked relief that he’d not killed Zenyatta, and he started stuttering out - what? An apology for trying to kill him? Excuses that he’d been startled?
Half formed words died in his throat when Zenyatta laughed his queer, synthesized Omnic laugh and said, “I win this round, Genji,”
“Nani?” his own voice synth cracked. He took a single staggering step forward before regaining his composure.
Zenyatta merely made a show of dusting his pants before smugly saying,
Could Omnics even be smug?
“Do not be discouraged, everyone begins in ignorance,”
“Discouraged?! I almost killed you!,” Genji threw his hand out, pointing to the shuriken in the dirt, “How can you be so calm?!”
“I am calm because I know that you cannot harm me, Genji,” Zenyatta pitched to scoop the shuriken up. He did not offer then back however.
Genji’s temper flared and he flashed forward, blade at the cables that made up Zenyatta’s neck, “If I wanted to your head would be rolling down this mountain,” he hissed.
Zenyatta merely turned to look down at him more clearly, studying the visor that concealed his scarred face, “Is that indeed what you want?”
Genji wanted to slice through the Omnic’s neck. Wanted to eliminate the annoying nuisance. Wanted to…
Wanted to…
“I want…” He let his blade drop. His body ached. He could feel the adrenaline ebbing away but it left behind a wake of static and pressure on his bones. Straightening up made his implants scream, and he staggered back, “...I want…”
The buzzing in his body roared to a crescendo in his ears and suddenly Genji wasn’t hearing anything else. Then, like the iris of a migraine reopening after the pain had passed, there was a spot of stillness.
That stillness radiated from his chest until the white noise died down and he was able to concentrate again. Zenyatta was closer now, hand held out in a peaceful gesture. One of his orbs was pressed to Genji’s sternum, a cool metal pressure pulsing with golden light. Zenyatta’s outstretched fingers wavered and the orb pulsed brighter and pushed back harder. Genji realized that he was almost leaning all of his weight on it, bearing down on the small object until he was certain there was a bruise forming under his chestplate. He allowed himself to sag against that unyielding force for a moment more before pulling back to his own feet.
In the silence that grew between them, Genji struggled. Zenyatta did not withdraw the orb which was now bobbing in front of Genji’s mask in sync with the floating Monk.
“Breathe with Harmony, Genji” Zenyatta’s voice was calm, but loud enough to be heard over the buzzing in his body that was slowly returning. He lifted his palm and the orb rose with it. Genji inhaled. Down came the palm, down went the orb, Genji’s breath hissed through the vent in his faceplate. Zenyatta did not come closer, did not speak again, and for long minutes Genji just breathed.
~~~~~
And so their days fell into a pattern of sorts. When Genji’s nerves had frayed too far they would meet in the courtyard by unspoken agreement in a clatter of metal against metal. Unlike the first day, Genji now landed blows as often as he took them. Each time a strike connected without the chase of blood, he felt an old emotion regrow in what remained of his chest.
Two weeks found him lying on his back in the dust Laughing. Laughing like he hadn’t in years, like he hadn’t since before even his days in Blackwatch. Oxygen sensors flared to life in the video screen of his visor, but still he laughed.
Zenyatta had feinted to the left ducking under a powerful attack, had grabbed Genji’s wrist and hip. In one smooth motion, like a dancer, Zenyatta spun and threw Genji head over heels onto the ground. The impact resounded through his body and rather than roll, rather than jump back to his feet to counterattack, Genji let the air rush from his lungs in a booming laugh. Giddy, punch drunk emotion surfaced with that laughter, and for a moment Genji was whole again; enjoying the satisfaction of sparring with his brother in the dojo of their home.
Abruptly Genji’s laughter turned to broken gasps, the prickle in his eyes told him that had he still possessed tear ducts he would be sobbing. Zenyatta appeared at his side, moving serenely and waving an orb of Harmony toward Genji. That now familiar, comforting weight rested on his chest and he gripped at it with clawing hands.
When his lungs reregulated themselves, and he was finally able to breathe without sharp pain in his chest, Genji released the orb and instead covered his faceplate with his hands. It was a human gesture, left over from when he still was one, but it brought him comfort nonetheless.
Genji waited; ashamed, embarrassed, not sure of what to say about his outburst. But Zenyatta just floated there and gazed around as snowflakes began to fall. Genji watched as the delicate crystals began to pile up on his armor, beautiful in their geometry. A quick glance at Zenyatta revealed an unexpected sight. The Omnic had turned his palms to the sky, face turned up with his array blinking steadily. But unlike Genji, the little flakes of white were melting on his body. Droplets of water formed on his faceplate, making the lights of his array twinkle, and eventually rivulets snaked thin lines in the dust on Zenyatta’s chest.
Genji watched, with gross jealousy burning in his gut, proof that Zenyatta, an Omnic created in a factory, had more humanity to him than he did. Whatever warmth came from Genji’s skin was trapped under his armor, banished away from another’s touch. He sat up abruptly and without care for the orb that fell to the ground and rolled a few feet before Zenyatta’s energy retrieved it.
“Genji, what troubles you?” Finally Zenyatta spoke.
“Nothing, Brother Zenyatta,” how was someone supposed to explain that they were jealous of body heat?
“Nothing would not make such disquiet surge in your soul,” came the level reply.
Genji flinched away. His soul.
Zenyatta did not let the silence stretch longer, “You are excelling in your meditation. I hope you allow yourself pride in that accomplishment,”
“My meditation?” Genji looked back, “I don’t know if I would call it excelling. Or even progress. I can barely sit still through the prayers,” he ground his teeth. The prayers were half the problem, he thought. Platitudes and talk of self worth and all so, so, so soft.
Again that was the difference between Zenyatta and the other Shambali. He was never soft like them. His voice always crackled and popped, it was always louder than the others’. And Genji appreciated it. Softness only served to show how broken he really was. Softness wouldn’t have sent him flying into the dirt in a rare and desperately needed moment of inner peace.
The look Zenyatta gave him was nothing short of exasperated; face array flaring briefly then muting, head turned to look down at Genji, shoulders hunched in a robotic sigh. He lowered himself until he sat on the actual ground with Genji, knees a scant few inches from Genji’s armor.
“You are… not very quick on the uptake, are you, Genji?”
Genji bristled, his shoulders tensing. He’d never handled being teased well, and certainly his attitude toward it hadn’t changed now.
Zenyatta waved a hand around, “What do you call this if not meditation? Does your mind not clear and focus only on the now?” a staticky chuckle, “Or a futile attempt at guessing my next move, perhaps,”
Genji’s eyebrows shot upward, not that Zenyatta could see the dumbfounded look on his face, and he mumbled, “I never thought of it like that...”
“You have much to learn. There are no singular paths to what you seek - but… If you do not change direction, you may end up where you are headed, and I fear that your destination is not a pleasant one, Genji,”
“What I seek…” leaned forward and put his face in his hands, elbows on his knees. He felt very small sitting next to Zenyatta in the snow, “What I seek is unattainable Brother Zenyatta,”
“Why come here then, if you truly think that?” It wasn’t accusatory, Zenyatta’s voice held real interest.
“Because I had nowhere else to go,” Genji said, voice lifeless.
“Then there is nothing to be lost in trying,” Zenyatta clapped his hands together and got to his feet; the sharp clang startled Genji as much as seeing the Omnic actually standing, “Genji. What is it you seek?”
Genji looked up at Zenyatta, blinking when even his visor could not filter out all of the glaring sunlight reflected from the Monk’s gleaming body, “Brother Zenyatta why do you care? Why do all this?” He waved his arms, “I know you think you were safe but I could have destroyed you that first time. Why are you continually putting yourself in danger like this?”
“I have said before, Genji, you cannot hurt me. Rage, confusion, sadness… the Discord in your soul dulls your blade, slows your reflexes, clouds your mind. I am not so fragile as you think, and you not the monster you fear you are. I wish to know the doubts that plague you, and I wish to help ease your mind and soul,”
“But what if I don’t have a soul?” Genji whispered, the words sneaking out in a breath of fear. He wished he could take them back.
Zenyatta crouched down until he was eye level and steepled his fingers. It was a very human gesture, “You think you do not have a soul, Genji?”
The ninja squirmed. He had no words, but still he babbled, “I can’t. I am... just a tool to be used for destruction. My heart beats, but I died long ago. I cannot, I cannot feel anything but pain and anger and I am only useful as a weapon! They only saved enough of my body to attach their implants to and they say I’m still here but how can I be-,”
Zenyatta let him speak, let the words rush out in an anxious burst, and then opened his hands, offering them palm up to Genji. Genji looked at the worn and scratched metal, then back to Zenyatta’s face in confusion. The Monk flexed his fingers a bit, clearly waiting. Genji stared back at Zenyatta’s hands. He was very careful not to touch any of the monks here. He was very careful not to touch anyone, really. If it wasn’t maintence, or violence, or the most dire of situations, he did not want anyone to feel the cold metal and carbon fiber of his form. Did not want to see how they flinched away from him. Zenyatta was the exception, but even then their contact had been limited to their sparring matches.
He reached out, hands faltering. But Zenyatta did not move. With a steeling breath, Genji placed his hands in Zenyatta’s outstretched ones and allowed the Omnic to haul him to his feet.
“Thank y-,” Genji’s words were cut off by a firm embrace. Zenyatta had tugged him close, wrapped his arms around him, hands flat against Genji’s back. Genji stiffened automatically, but then he was clinging to the Monk, faceplate pressed into where the Zenyatta’s neck pistons connected to his shoulder.
A hug. How long had it been since he’d been hugged. How long had someone touched him without fear and revulsion, or scientific fascination. How long since someone had held him, comforted him. His shoulders shuddered, emotional, desperate for the connection but terrified that soon the pain of contact would surface. It always did. Soon the static would ride over his limbs until he ached and wished for nothing more than the oblivion of unconsciousness.
Instead, he just felt the pressure of Zenyatta’s embrace. There was no static, no pain, no blurry roar of feedback from his nerves. He could feel the sharp points of Zenyatta’s chassis pressing into his own armor but it wasn’t overwhelming him. He could feel the low vibration of Zenyatta’s inner machinations but it didn’t clang against the quiver he usually felt inside. And like a life saving salve, he could feel warmth radiating out from deep inside Zenyatta’s chest. But he felt no pain.
~~~~~
His pattern changed again. Now Genji sought Zenyatta out daily for sparring, and afterwards, a grounding hug. Life in the temple began to feel real to him, like he belonged with the Shambali instead of being a dangerous nightmare in their dreamy little world. Genji spent more time out of his quarters, more time listening to the other monks instead of being a silent ghost. He learned names and personalities and he took on chores and tasks to give his time meaning. He took moments to appreciate the sunlight, or the smell of the fresh mountain air, or how the snow glistened under the moon. He found himself laughing at the jokes the Omnics told, learning more of what their humor and personalities could be.
He was more comfortable than he had been in ages, in a lifetime. And that proved to be the next breaking point.
Genji lay sprawled in the dirt, laughing breathlessly as Zenyatta hovered above him, array twinkling with the Omnic’s laughter as well.
“Once again you’ve bested me, Brother Z-….” All at once roaring filled Genji’s ears and his tongue glued to his synthetic hard palate. His vision swam as a memory crashed over his senses. Blood. And a blade. Blue Dragons. The taste of blood the taste of blood the taste of blood -
He couldn’t hear Zenyatta. Or he could, but it was like the Monk’s voice was filtering through a brick wall. Muted. Dumb on Genji’s ears as the wet, slapping, slashing noise of a butcher’s cleaver overpowered the here and now. His body went rigid, snapping into a grotesque shape as he clawed at his chest, his throat, his shoulders. It wasn’t a butcher’s knife. It was the sound of his brother’s katana hacking into his flesh.
The taste of blood the taste of blood the taste of blood. Choke out the words. Choke on the blood. Choke on the joke. He’d always known he’d die making a joke. CHOKE.
~~~~~
The noise Genji made froze Zenyatta right down to his subroutines. It was an animalistic shriek of pain, distorted by the overtaxed voice synth. Until Genji had made that horrifying noise, Zenyatta was more or less in control of himself. Worried, confused, but in control. He’d been hesitant to touch the other while so clearly in the throes of some type of episode, instead charging his orbs with comforting, healing energy and speaking calmly, soothingly repeating the mantra of prayer that he found Genji favored above others.
But then that horrible, frightened, anguished, shriek clawed it’s way from Genji’s throat. Zenyatta almost fell on Genji’s prone body, but recovered just barely and crouched over him instead. His hands shot forward but he stalled - was it wise to touch Genji? Should he wait the episode out? Would touching him make it worse? The last time his impulse to touch the cyborg had turned out favorable but he knew just how lucky he was that his spur of the moment decision to hug Genji hadn’t undone all of their work together.
A second, shuddering, gasping howl of anguish and pain made Zenyatta’s decision for him. He scooped Genji from the dirt and icy slush of the courtyard and cradled him close to his chest. The first time he had found Genji in the snow the man had been silent, almost dead, but his human nature had sought out the warm of Zenyatta’s core. Many humans were surprised at how warm most Omnics were. Unless concealed behind heavy armor… Zenyatta shook his head.
This time Genji fought against him. Hands like talons scraped across Zenyatta’s faceplate. Lights and fans and cybernetic features flickered and screamed under duress as Genji’s body tried to keep up with wherever his mind was, tried to compensate for what was actually happening in face of the input given by his brain.
Zenyatta turned quickly, intent on rushing Genji to the repair ward, but then with an explosive surge of electricity and a last scream, this time more than just aimless, painful sound, Genji’s entire body went dark and slack in Zenyatta’s arms. The screaming stopped. Genji’s breathing stopped altogether. His heart stopped. Panic consumed Zenyatta.
“MONDATTA,”
~~~~~
Mondatta found them in a much similar situation as he had the first time. Genji unconscious, Zenyatta with his transcendent arms gleaming an optic array searing gold. But unlike last time…
Genji was cradled in Zenyatta’s physical arms, Zenyatta’s body hunched protectively over him like a terrified animal. Zenyatta’s arms did not hover serenely over Genji’s form this time - instead, golden hands gripped whatever limb they could reach and the strain of effort sparked around the two figures like lightning. Zenyatta’s orbs collided with each other as they swirled haphazardly around him.
“Brother Zenyatta, what happened?” No response, “Zenyatta?” Mondatta approached cautiously, with a growing foreboding in his core. He could not detect a heartbeat from Genji. Zenyatta wailed, his mantra nearly unintelligible as he poured the harmonic, healing energy of his connection with the Iris into the still form in his arms.
Mondatta reached out, calmly gripping Zenyatta’s shoulder. A full body jolt shook him when the discord that wracked his brother crashed into his own mind. Mondatta’s processor stuttered a moment, and he placed his other hand over Zenyatta’s on Genji’s chestplate.
“Zenyatta, experience tranquility. Panic will not help Genji,” Zenyatta gave no indication he had even heard his brother’s voice, “Zenyatta!” a little shake.
“Mon.Dat.Ta,” Zenyatta voice was staticky, disregulated, “Monda.Ta. Help!”
Had Mondatta ever heard his brother sound so lost? So frightened? Perhaps in the beginning, when they had first met, first discovered that spark that allowed them to buck their programming to become the individuals they were now. But since then, since those first few rocky months of self discovery, Zenyatta had cultivated and worn his confident and, at times yes, snarky, personality with grace and peace no matter the circumstances.
Mondatta hummed, leaning forward until his forehead pressed against Zenyatta’s and spoke, “His heart Zenyatta. You need to restart his heart,”
Zenyatta nodded shakily, then seemed to steel himself - at any rate the quaking in his frame stopped and his orbs regained their careful circular movements. He readjusted his grip on Genji and then all 3 sets of golden hands overlapped on Genji’s chest. In a move that mimicked a deep breath, Zenyatta’s energy pulsed and shot through Genji’s heart.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Wretched gasping filled the oppressive silence of the courtyard, a stark contrast to Zenyatta’s exclamation of joy. The Monk curled his body around Genji’s, voice synth stuttering as he sobbed in relief. Transcendent hands roamed frantically, touching Genji’s faceplate, the back of his head, his chest and arms, his legs, curling around his back and dragging his body as close to Zenyatta as possible.
Mondatta kept his hand on Zenyatta’s shoulder, watching with interest as the other cradled Genji’s body. It wasn’t what he expected, though he knew that the two had grown closer as of late. Omnic’s did not tend to desire or have a use for physical affection, for actual touch. Yes, he had his hand as a steadying pressure on Zenyatta’s shoulder, but it was a decidedly human action - learned and propagated to put the humans they interacted with at ease.
Omnics, well, many of them designed to work closely with humans, had the programming within them to react with what humans deemed appropriate emotions depending on the situation. After the awakening call of the Iris, after the Crisis… Emotional displays were not for everyone - human or otherwise. But Omnics in general were better in control of their emotions.
It was unusual that Zenyatta was being so vocal, so openly distraught. Acting so ‘human’ as some would say. Sobbing did not have the same release of hormones in an Omnic mind as it did in a human’s. Bodily contact did not have the same effect on an Omnic as it would a human either. Mondatta had the sensory ability, as did Zenyatta, to hear Genji’s heartbeat, hear his breath. He did not need to hold his hand to the slight opening of Genji’s mask to feel the breath. He did not need to put his ear to the man’s chest to hear his heart. But that was just what Zenyatta was doing.
Occasionally Mondatta wished he had a more emotive face. This was one of those moments. He wished he could smile fondly at his friend. He could not, so,
“He is alive, Zenyatta. You’ve saved him once again,”
“He was Dead, Mondatta,” Zenyatta’s voice cracked, “I don’t know what happened. It was so sudden… so violent. He was in so much anguish that he died?” Zenyatta trailed off in a hopeless question.
“What happened Brother?”
“Meditation. Sparring. I threw him but I did not think it would do such DAMAGE! He had even laughed. He said I had bested him once again... and then he was swallowed by Discord,”
Zenyatta shuddered, clearly replaying in his mind the moments that led till now. Then, calmer, “I believe he had a, a mental episode. I can only suspect it was a flashback? Perhaps to a battle or.... Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps,” a sigh, “I can only know what I saw happening. I do not know what he was thinking about when it happened and to speculate will do no good here,”
Mondatta stood and helped Zenyatta get to his feet without disturbing Genji too much. Zenyatta was cradling the cyborg as gently as possible, his careful movements belied by the increasingly annoyed, reverberating hum he was voicing.
“Brother, speak your mind,” Mondatta’s voice synth was soft and even.
“He’s... fine,” Zenyatta’s reply was short and curt, but then the Transcendent Arms retracted and he clutched Genji’s body a little tighter, “He is physically fine. There are no malfunctions, no injuries. He isn’t even bruised anymore, Mondatta,”
“And you are worried because he has not woken up yet,” Mondatta nodded, “I agree it is… odd that one with no malfunctions would remain unconscious like this - especially after you connect with the Iris,”
Zenyatta nodded back, “Yes, but. Mondatta. Brother, his heart stopped. Whatever just happened… it literally killed him to experience,” a shudder that was more than just adaptive programming rippled through Zenyatta.
“Humans react very viscerally when visited by traumatic memories,” Mondatta offered blandly. He knew it wasn’t much, but he didn’t know what else to say. Zenyatta had always possessed more emotion, more understanding of the organic experience than he. Zenyatta, to put it simply, was more human. What Mondatta knew about the inner workings of Human mental health he had learned from Zenyatta. Mondatta knew the masses… Zenyatta knew the people themselves.
“I want to help him,” it was quiet, like a confession Zenyatta feared Mondatta would admonish him for admitting, “I have been very proud of him in the last few weeks. I will tell him that when he wakes up,”
“I think that he will appreciate hearing those words, Brother Zenyatta, I truly do,” Mondatta stopped with Zenyatta at the main entrance to the Monastary. Zenyatta had taken a step toward the repair ward and then stilled. His frame wavered as he debated a second step, or turning the other way. Toward their personal quarters.
“You said he is undamaged, physically, yes?” Mondatta asked, “If he needs no bodily repairs… no healing, then surely he will be more comfortable waking up in the comfort of a bed than the repair ward,”
It was all the validation Zenyatta needed to speed off toward the living area with Genji’s still body, dropping a hasty agreement over his shoulder in his hurry.
Mondatta shook his head fondly, then his array darkened with worry. Zenyatta believed in helping others, while he believed in helping society. Mondatta was … prepared to accept that not everyone; omnic, human, or otherwise, could be saved in the end. Zenyatta did not. He hoped Genji would awaken soon - for Zenyatta’s sake.
~~~~~
Zenyatta walked rather than float. The rhythmic sound of his footsteps served to ground his fraying nerves. Shuffle, click, click, shuffle, walking fast enough that the fraying hem of his dhoti fluttered around his ankles. Genji’s quarters were at the end of the hall, he could see the broken door propped in the frame. Zenyatta’s footsteps stilled. He looked to his side, at his own door, then pack down the hall. Genji’s room had holes the cyborg had put into the walls. It was dark because of the windowshade he’d broken. It held more memories for him - Zenyatta had seen the painting and the small keepsakes. He didn’t know what else Genji would see, would remember, if he woke up in there surrounded by his past. He didn’t know what Genji had experienced just now. The man’s room was filled with just too many variables.
Zenyatta hummed. It wasn’t a gamble he was willing to take. Shouldering open his own door, he reasoned that it would also be best if Genji were close to him, and in his own room Zenyatta would be able to use his charging station without leaving his friend alone.
Standing there Zenyatta saw a small problem; he did not possess a bed in his quarters. He shifted uncomfortably a moment. Did he lay Genji on the floor for the time being? Would the bare flagstone be too cold for him?
A quick knock at his door broke his anxiously spiraling thought process.
“Brother Zenyatta? Brother Mondatta told us you might be in need of some assistance,” Sister CODA’s slightly garbled voice gave him a moment’s notice before the door opened to reveal three Shambali Monks bearing gifts. CODA held Genji’s bed easily over her shoulder, Sister Opeth’s single arm was laden with bedding, and Brother Sepultura balanced a tray laden with food and water, as well as a teapot.
Sister CODA jerked her head to indicate the tray of food, “Brother Mondatta explained that Genji might be hungry when he awoke. And that you were keeping him under observation here so…” a heft of the bed, “He asked us to bring these to you,”
Zenyatta’s forehead array flashed warmly, his core processor whirring with emotion. His Brothers and Sisters here were kind hearted souls, and he cherished that.
If his voice flickered more than normal when he thanked them and directed where to put the bedding and tray the others had the decency to not comment on it. They helped him arrange Genji’s still unresponsive form on the bed, padding his head and neck, covering him with a blanket against the natural chill of the old Monastery in winter, and then made their way out. Sister CODA paused in the doorway, and Zenyatta saw the muted lights under her smooth faceplate shift from him, to Genji, and back again.
“The Iris be with you both, Brother Zenyatta,” She said after a pause. Zenyatta wondered what she had planned to say at first... but it was no matter; Genji was as comfortable as he could make him, and according to all of Zenyatta’s sensory ability he was in no physical danger whatsoever. Now Zenyatta merely had to wait for him to regain consciousness.
So Zenyatta folded his legs back into his accustomed floating lotus position and bowed his head. He would meditate until Genji stirred.
After a moment he rolled the pistons and gears that made up his shoulders, hearing the pressure locks release in his spine with tiny puffs of air.
His fingers twitched again and he repositioned his hands in his lap.
He twisted to realign his acetabulofemoral joints, feeling small burrs of metal rasp in the sockets. Idly he knew he would need to perform repairs on himself soon as well.
He grabbed an orb from it’s circuit and shined it on his sash. Now the rest seemed too dingy. Ten minutes passed as he polished and inspected his mala, turning the worn orbs over in his fingers.
He settled back in the air again, in perfect form, but an askew knickknack on his desk caught his attention and he floated over to rearrange his things. He toyed with the small nutcracker for a moment before putting it back in its place. Then shifted it to the left. To the right. Rotated it so that the doll faced the door. Turned it back to staring straight ahead from its perch.
Zenyatta snatched his hands back to his lap with a burst of anxiety he couldn’t control. Now that he was certain Genji was as safe and as comfortable as he could make him, there was nothing left to distract him from fretting over his friend. From replaying the moments before his episode over and over again. He had done all he could, so all that was left to do was worry.
Last time Genji had been unconscious for four whole days. Last time, Zenyatta reminded himself, Genji had been suffering severe frostbite, hypothermia, and a myriad of lacerations, broken bones, and structural damage.
This time he was dead, a small voice whispered. Zenyatta’s internal fans whirled as he angrily pushed that thought away. But no, he pantomimed taking a deep breath - even without lungs the motion, the sound, the act of breathing was a grounding thing, and brought that thought back to the forefront of his mind. Holding an orb and turning it over in his fingers like he was manipulating the thought itself he forced himself to think critically of the situation.
Yes. Genji’s heart had stopped.
That horrible stillness.
Yes, his lungs had stopped.
That atrocious noise.
Yes, Genji had died.
Screaming. In his arms. In PAIN.
But Zenyatta had restarted his heart. His lungs were working. He was alive. Just unconscious. Not dead.
“You will be okay, my friend,” Zenyatta had ended up hovering beside Genji’s head. Zenyatta sank to the floor, and rested his forehead against the hard metal of Genji’s shoulder, “You will be. Okay,”
With that small bit of contact, and with those words as a new mantra, Zenyatta finally managed to fall into meditation.