Chapter Text
Zenyatta had long mastered the art of staying calm under any circumstances. But even he had to admit this situation was…less than ideal.
It had been three hours since Genji had left their hotel room in Hanamura for Shimada castle. He hadn’t been sure exactly when Hanzo would show up, only that it would be sometime that night. After a few months of research, he’d come to the conclusion that this was the best, perhaps the only time he could reach out to Hanzo. The only place he was sure Hanzo would be—once a year, every year, the anniversary of Genji’s death.
There was something about that that Zenyatta found distinctly unsettling. Problematic. Humans were not always logical—not that omnics always were, either—but this action was confusing to him. Hanzo had been an outcast from the Shimada clan for years, returning to the castle meant risking his life. Did he do it in remembrance of his brother? If he was willing to die to do so, why did he try to murder Genji in the first place? Very troubling. It spoke to unpredictability, and a deep cognitive dissonance that Zenyatta remembered well, from the first time he had met Genji.
There is nothing so dangerous as a man at war with himself, Zenyatta had thought at the time. When Genji had first stumbled in to the temple, exhausted from the cold and bitter climb up the Nepali mountains, Zenyatta had seen him only as a desperate lost soul. But the closer he got to the man, the more he could see the fire burning inside him-rage, pain, guilt. The torn and toxic memories of his family left Genji at odds with himself. Unable to face his anger towards his brother, he turned his hatred inward. He wished for death, but did not want to admit his pain. He called himself past redemption, yet he had come to the Shambali anyway. Difficult, difficult.
But there was a light under all his pain, the soul of the person he had once been. Zenyatta dug it out, slowly, with care. He held the little light and let it grow back into a person. Genji was a different man now. That was not to say he had completely recovered, of course. He would never be the same as he was before the incident. Some nights, in the quiet of the dark he would wake up screaming, dreaming of steel and blood. Zenyatta could not cure this. He had no power to remove those memories, or to reverse what had occurred. But he could hold Genji as the man sobbed, his human lungs gasping, water dripping from his non-cybernetic eye. That seemed to help matters. When the morning came, Genji would be whole and present again.
But Hanzo…Zenyatta could not foresee Hanzo’s actions. He could not imagine what would make this dangerous, unpredictable man “whole” again, but being surprised by his dead brother was probably not it. What would he do, when confronted with his sin? Somehow, Zenyatta doubted his reaction would be peaceful.
Zenyatta did not doubt Genji’s fighting ability, of course. The man was a former Overwatch operative with a cybernetically enhanced body. He was an extremely capable fighter.
But Zenyatta could not help thinking: Genji had been a capable fighter in his youth, too, and that hadn’t stopped Hanzo from tearing him apart. It was not like the gap in their abilities had been so great that Hanzo could rip him to shreds and walk away with barely a scratch. It had been that Genji hadn’t wanted to fight. He didn’t want to hurt his brother, hadn’t understood Hanzo’s murderous intent. Genji had almost died, still not believing that Hanzo would ever really hurt him.
The angry, volatile Genji Zenyatta had met years ago would not have made that mistake. But Genji had evolved since then. He no longer welcomed violence, no longer used his anger as a weapon. Zenyatta could not help but worry that this may be his undoing, should Hanzo come after him again.
As Zenyatta contemplated this, the orbs floating around him shook, their golden hue turning a sour purple. He caught himself. He had promised Genji that he would not interfere with what was about to happen. Despite his misgivings, he had to trust his student. He cleared his mind, focusing on the night around him. The sounds of the street below. The feel of the tatami mat below him. The glinting of stars outside the window, like the light glinting off Genji’s helmet in the Nepali sun…
Troubling. He could not focus, his thoughts drifted away from Hanamura and back to his student. The feel of his hand in Zenyatta’s. His bright smile. His confession, only a few months ago, that he saw Zenyatta as more than a teacher, or even a friend…Zenyatta returning his sentiment. He couldn’t lose that, not to the likes of Hanzo Shimada and his hatred. The orbs shook violently, breaking his calm control and shifting into their discord forms. He could not, he could not sit here and wait-
“Master.” A gentle hand lay on his shoulder. Zenyatta jerked out of his stupor. The orbs shifted back into their neutral forms and dropped to the ground with a resounding clang.
“Did I…make you worry?” came the soft voice. Genji knelt down beside him. Zenyatta could not answer for a moment. It had been a long, long time since he had lost control, not since Mondatta’s death. He found himself feeling…what, shame? He was the teacher, he had to be better than this. Zenyatta uncurled his hands, which had twisted into fists without him realizing, and reached out to the orbs. With a dull hum, they rose off the ground and began circling him again.
Steadier now, Zenyatta scanned Genji, looking for any sign of injury. The smallest divet caught his eye on Genji’s faceplate, that was new, he was sure of it. As if he knew what Zenyatta was thinking, Genji reached back and released the faceplate, setting it aside. His eyes glittered in the dim light. So pretty, he was, Zenyatta had always thought so.
“Master!” His voice was louder, more insistent, and Zenyatta returned fully to the present. He had been lost, lost in some kind of daydream of worry and fear. He wondered if this was what nightmares felt like to humans.
“Genji, I…I am sorry. I was worried, and I allowed it to fill my soul with discord. I did not mean to startle you. Are you…did it go well?”
Genji watched him for a moment, then smiled. His smile was always a little crooked, due to a disfiguring scar that wrapped around the corner of his mouth, and it gave him a slightly mischievous look. He reached one hand up to touch the side of Zenyatta’s face.
“After all the times you’ve sat up with me at night, after all the trouble I’ve given you…I don’t think you need to apologize to me for feeling upset. I’m sorry for causing you so much worry.” He leaned forward and kissed the top of Zenyatta’s head with his scarred lips. “As for how it went…I don’t know. I think maybe I was able to reach him, but I guess we’ll see.”
Relief washed over Zenyatta. Taking Genji’s hands in his own, he said softly, “I am so proud of you, my little sparrow.”