You can skip the remainder of these beginning notes, but please read at least the last paragraph of the end notes.
"Daaamn, HIC! Back at it again with making characters suffer!"
I sure am, friends. However, once again I'm not sure of how things turned out/how certain things are written. I also apologize for any inconsistencies I may have missed. Anyway, I hope it turned out okay—enjoy!
P.S. Sentences like, ". . .it's still my fault for letting it continue to affect me..." are NOT how I view mental illness—it's the way I wrote the character(s).
Genji sighed, sitting on his bed at the Watchpoint. His visor was off and sitting on the nightstand, even though it was mid-morning. He knew that the people most likely to bother him were out on a short mission that would only last two days, today being the second, when everyone would return. Genji had been kicked off the mission at the last moment, and even though he knew logically it was only for practical purposes, that little voice in his head that always pointed out the negative put him down incessantly:
No one wants you there.
You're not good enough.
You'd only be a burden.
You're better off dead.
He had already been having a rough time over the past few months, depression and self-hatred taking over his mind. He didn't talk to anyone about this for fear of worrying them and only being more of a burden—so the self-deprecating thoughts and hatred only continued, growing stronger each day.
He was sick of it.
I never used to be like this, Genji thought. And even if I were to blame Hanzo's actions as the cause, it's still my fault for letting it continue to affect me...
He stood up and crossed the room to open one of the drawers in his dresser He moved a few clothes out of the way, revealing a small metal container with a sliding top. It was just big enough fit a single-edged razor blade in lengthwise.
And small enough that anyone but me finding it is extremely unlikely, Genji thought as he removed the container from the drawer and slid the top open. He took out the blade, turning it in his hand and thinking of the last major time he had used it, almost three months ago when Hanzo had shown up at the Watchpoint.
Genji knew that he was the one who had insisted on inviting him, but his brother had given him a panic attack on the first day, causing old, long-buried memories to resurface, even though it hadn't been intentional. Hanzo hadn't realized that Genji was in the room when he revealed what he had done to Lena and Jesse, causing Genji to have a flashback and—
Best not to think about that.
He sat down on the edge of his bed and began to remove the armor and plating that protected his left arm—the only completely intact, only human limb he had left.
A few more pieces of plating and the synthetic material that they attached to were removed, and his arm was completely exposed. He brought a shaking hand up to trace the scars there. Some were from superficial scratches, others from deeper cuts—and, of course, the scars from that night. Most of the scars were almost completely faded, but there were some that were still that angry shade of pink. He lingered on one from when Hanzo arrived that probably could have used several stitches, but had managed to heal without. Every single scar had a story that he would never forget, no matter how hard he tried.
But would I really want to forget?
He reached for the blade, smiling bitterly. Maybe it will actually kill me this time, he thought. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves, yet he still hesitated.
"What's wrong with you, Genji?!" he muttered harshly to himself. "You've done this plenty of times before. Stop being a baby and just. fucking. do it!" On the last word, he dug the edge of the blade into his skin and pulled hard. He looked down at the blood that was already dripping from his arm.
"That's certainly deeper than I meant to go..." he mumbled, yet positioned the blade to cut again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And before long, he had made a decision: he would finish what Hanzo had started.
The mission had gone off without a hitch, and everyone was coming back safely—the most severe injury being a papercut McCree got on his flesh hand while flipping through the mission directives.
"Alright everyone, we're landed safely in three. . .two. . .one! Seatbelts off!" Lena said over the ship comms as she cut the engines. McCree, Hanzo, Angela, and Winston stood up and stretched as Lena jogged out of the cockpit and blinked through the ship's open door.
"Warm bed, here I come!" they heard her yell from down the hallway.
"But it's eleven in the morning!" Winston yelled back.
"Doesn't matter!" she replied cheerfully, her voice fading completely a second later.
Everyone filed off the ship—McCree, Winston, Angela, and then Hanzo. But as soon as Hanzo stepped out, he had a gut feeling that something was wrong. Very wrong. I need to make sure Genji is safe, he thought, and started to run towards his brother's room to look for him there first.
"Hanzo! Where are you going in such a rush?" Angela asked as he bolted past her.
"Something is wrong," he called over his shoulder. "I can feel it."
"What do you mean? Hanzo? Hanzo!" Dr. Ziegler hurried after him, wondering what in the world he could be talking about, and fearing that—god forbid—he was right.
As Hanzo drew closer to Genji's room, his dragons stirred.
Something is wrong with Genji, one whispered.
Our brother dragon within him calls for help, the other said.
Hanzo ran faster.
His heart was hammering in his chest as he finally reached the door to Genji's room. He put his ear up to it—usually Genji had some sort of annoying pop music playing, but Hanzo heard only silence. He raised his fist and pounded on the door, shouting his brother's name.
"Genji? Genji, open the door!" No answer, but Hanzo knew that he was in there and that something was terribly wrong—he hadto get in there, and now. He didn't know where Dr. Ziegler was with her universal key card, and he didn't have time to go find her.
"Athena, can you open this door?" Hanzo asked, desperation in his voice.
"Negative," Athena replied. "It is against protocol to let one agent into another's room without permission."
"This is an emergency, Athena—you need to let me in there right. now."
"I am sorry, but that is against proto-"
"Protocol be damned!" Hanzo roared. "I am his brother, and he is in trouble. I will take the blame for any violations of your precious protocol, so let me in there NOW!" There was a moment of silence, and then the door lock clicked.
"Very well," Athena said as the door finally slid open, and Hanzo's blood froze as his dragons roared deafeningly in his mind.
"G-Genji...? GENJI!" he shouted, rushing over to his brother who was sitting on his bed, slumped back against the wall with blood flowing from his arm and soaking the blankets. His face was the kind of pale that only losing that amount of blood can cause.
Hanzo grabbed Genji's wrist, almost afraid to feel for a pulse, but it was there—faint, but still there. He wasted no time, practically tearing out the ribbon holding his hair back and tying a tight tourniquet around his brother's upper arm. As he did so, Genji stirred slightly.
"Genji...?" Hanzo asked, and the cyborg cracked open his eyes, struggling to focus on him. "Genji, why would you do this?! What were you thinking?!" he yelled.
"Just. . .finishing. . .what you started. . .brother..." Genji replied weakly with a small, but genuine smile, and Hanzo wasn't sure what part of this situation was scaring him the most. Does he— Does he actually think he is doing me a favor?!
"You idiot! You are not— Genji? Genji, stay awake! Genji!" Hanzo shook his shoulder gently—careful not to risk loosening the tourniquet— but it was no use as his younger brother slipped into unconsciousness. Luckily, it was that moment when Dr. Ziegler finally caught up to him, appearing in the doorway with a gasp. She was still holding her Caduceus Staff and immediately locked the beam on Genji, doing her best to stabilize him. She turned to Hanzo.
"We need to get him to the medbay. Can you carry him?"
He nodded silently, Genji's words still ricocheting around his mind. He scooped his younger brother up in his arms, and Hanzo and Angela ran side-by-side to the medbay, where McCree was waiting outside to get some painkillers for a headache. He looked up at the sound of two pairs of hurried footsteps, and he felt his heart skip a beat.
"Athena, open the medbay doors!" he shouted, and Athena, having realized what was going on, did as instructed without any fuss. As they rushed past him, Hanzo barely heard her breathless reply to McCree, "Thank you, Jesse!" Instead, he focused on Jesse's melancholic comment of, "Not again, Genji..."
Again...? Hanzo thought. AGAIN?! How many times has this happened?!
Hanzo laid his brother down on the bed Dr. Ziegler pointed to, only halfway aware of what he was doing. Angela strapped an oxygen mask to Genji and began a blood transfusion, but her actions barely registered in Hanzo's mind—he was filled with so much regret and so much guilt and the crushing, horrible knowledge that though Genji had made the decision, he had been the catalyst.
Angela continued to work on Genji, hooking up IV drips, checking his pulse, double-checking the transfusion as Jesse stood in the doorway, watching with concern for Genji in his eyes.
Hanzo turned and walked slowly out of the medbay, past McCree, and headed towards Genji's room to clean up the blood, feeling as if he were in some sort of terrible dream.
Genji drifted in and out of consciousness several times over the course of the next week.
The first time was about three hours after the transfusion; he was confused and vaguely aware of a sharp pressure on his upper arm. He barely had time to wonder what it was before he slipped back into the peacefulness of sleep.
The next was twelve hours after that. The sharp pressure had been replaced by a dull, throbbing pain in his shoulder. He tried to think of what could have happened to cause it, but the snippets of conversation he could hear distracted him: "That w. . .quick thinking, Han. . . You saved. . .s life." Why would... Genji thought, struggling to put the pieces together. Whose life. . .would need saved? He tried to open his mouth to ask what they were talking about, but a blurry figure walked over beside his bed, reached up and fiddled with something, and Genji went back under with a warmness that felt almost like he was floating as the pain in his shoulder disappeared.
Five days after that, the dull, throbbing pain had subsided for the most part, and it wasn't quite registering in Genji's mind that he couldn't feel anything below where the pain was. When he fell back into unconsciousness this time, he had nightmares about that night. The events—the memories—were fuzzy, but the pain of the blade was a sharp as ever.
On day seven, the nightmares were clear as day and he was screaming, pleading in his sleep for Hanzo to stop, please, I'm so sorry I'm so fucking sorry please forgive me please, I—
"GENJI!" someone yelled. It sounded like Hanzo, which only made him panic further. In his nightmare, Hanzo leaned over him with rage twisting his expression into a snarl, and Genji somehow found the strength to push him away using his least injured arm with a scream.
"Get away from me!" he shrieked, curling in on himself, ignoring the searing pain all over his body. There were voices in the background, arguing over something, but Genji didn't care because this is it, this is the end, "Just let me fucking die in peace you traitorous bastard why can't you just let me die already I just want to fucking die I can't take this anymore I can't it hurts too much and I—"
Suddenly a familiar and gentle, yet strong voice cut through the haze of sleep.
"Genji. Genji, you need to wake up. You're having a nightmare. It's okay—you are safe here now, and you need to wake up."
Genji slowly, carefully opened his eyes, scared to believe Dr. Ziegler's voice because even though the pain was gone, That felt too real to be a nightmare, it couldn't have been, it just couldn't have been it felt too real it was real it wasn't a—
Yet it was. He opened his eyes completely and there was Dr. Ziegler, looking at him with a kind, concerned expression.
"That's it. See? You're safe now, Genji. It's okay," she said, taking his right, mechanical hand in hers. He took a deep, shaky breath and moved to lean back on the pillow, wiping away the tears streaking his face with his left hand—or rather, the cybernetic replacement. Genji froze in horror as he realized that what was touching his face wasn't flesh and blood. He slowly sat up, bringing his—the hand away from his face so he could see it.
"A-Angela...? What's— What's this? W-Why is—" he stammered, unable to finish the sentence. Dr. Ziegler knew she had to go about this carefully.
"Genji, please remain calm. Do you remember what happened?"
"Wh-What do you mean, what happened? I wasn't on a mission where I could have gotten any injury, I was—" he stopped, realizing where this was leading. "I— I was—""
Depression and self-hatred.
The blade from his dresser.
A decision.
Blood.
So. much. blood.
"The tourniquet Hanzo tied saved your life, Genji, but there was too much damage to your arm—there had been too little bloodflow for too much time. I still tried everything I could to save it. I'm sorry."
"No... No!No no no nononononono NO! This isn't happening! That— That was the only human part of me left!" Genji said, his voice rising in to hysterics.
"Genji, please calm down. I know this is hard, but—"
"Hard?! I'm not— I'm not human anymore! At all! I'd rather die than be like this! That son of a— Why didn't he let me die?! WHY DIDN'T HE LET ME DIE?!" Genji swung his legs off the side of the bed and got up, stumbling slightly. Angela didn't know what he was going to do, but she wasn't going to take any risks. She discreetly pressed a button on her communicator and moved to stand between the cyborg and the door.
"Genji, you need to lie back down! You're going to hurt yourself or someone else, and I know you don't want that!" Angela said sternly, but there was still desperation in her voice. Genji was acting like he did when he had first joined Blackwatch—extremely aggressive and volatile. He wasn't thinking clearly, and anger was driving his actions. He shoved her out of the way and continued towards the door, blinded by rage.
He reached them, and they slid open, but now Jesse was blocking Genji's path. Before Genji could react, Angela shouted:
"Jesse, hold him!"
And Genji almost, almost dodged, but his reactions were still slow from the cocktail of painkillers he had been on. Jesse grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back, holding Genji's other arm against his side as he struggled against him.
"You motherfucker!"
"You'll thank me later, partner."
Angela strode over with a syringe, and there was a sharp prick of pain in Genji's neck. His knees almost immediately buckled from the sedative, and his breath hitched as he realized the situation he was in and what he was doing. He let out a sob.
"I-I'm sorr-y, I didn't m-mean... I just— I- I..."
"It's okay, Genji," Angela said softly.
"We've gotcha," Jesse added.
But Genji had already passed out.
As Genji woke up for the second time, he heard footsteps walking around the room. He hoped whoever it was wouldn't approach his bed, as he dreaded his next encounter with anyone—the events from what must have only been a few hours ago ran through his mind as he stared at the ceiling, really wishing he was dead. Surely the news had spread to everyone at the base.
So he laid there, staring at the ceiling and hyperaware of his replaced arm—it felt foreign, like it shouldn't be there.
Because it shouldn't.
But above all, Genji felt empty. The only remaining completely human part of him was gone, and it was all his fault.
Stupid. Stupid, stupid, STUPID!
Genji heard the footsteps leave, then the door opening, then footsteps slowly approaching his bed. He turned over on his side to stare at the wall and avoid any eye contact, not even bothering to see who it was. He could take a pretty good guess, however.
"Go away, Angela..." he said tiredly. He didn't have the energy to deal with anyone, much less the person he cared about who he had almost hurt.
"I am not Angela, but I can still leave, if that is what you wish," Hanzo said. "But I must warn you that it will be her who comes in if I do go. She doesn't want you to be left alone."
"And why is that?" Genji asked bitterly without turning over to look at his brother. He knew exactly what the answer was.
"Well, because. . .you are—" Hanzo started, but Genji finished the sentence for him.
"A suicide risk."
Hanzo was silent; the tension in the air was almost palpable. Eventually, it was Genji who broke the silence.
"Why?" he asked quietly, finally sitting up and looking at his brother. "Why are you making me live?"
Hanzo winced at the wording and looked away, refusing to meet Genji's eyes.
"Look at me, Hanzo. Look at me and tell me why you did it." And Hanzo finally, reluctantly looked up. He saw the anguish in Genji's eyes, but he did not regret his actions.
"Because you are my brother," he said. "You are my brother, and I cannot bear to lose you again. I missed you, Genji. Every single day since that night I have wished I could take my actions back. I regret what I did so, so much—I felt I deserved death. ...And if I am being honest, I sometimes still do.
"But I got a second chance—a second chance that you gave me to be with my little brother again, who I had missed for all those years. And so when I. . .found you like that, I knew I had to return the favor. You, unlike me, do not deserve the hand you have been dealt—you deserve so much better, and I am determined to give you that."
It was now Genji who looked away, reluctant to meet his brother's eyes.
"Genji, please..." Hanzo said. "I want to help you. Everyone here on the base does, because everyone here is your friend and cares about you. They do not want to see you suffer as much as you do not want to suffer—and I am sure you do not want them to suffer like they would if you— if you were gone. If you will not live for yourself, Genji, then please live for us."
Genji was silent for several long, agonizing moments, still not looking at Hanzo.
"...I'm sorry," he finally said, looking up. "I don't know what else to say besides I'm sorry, and that's not enough."
"You do not have to say anything, Genji. You are in a rough place, and you were not thinking clearly. I— We understand that. As I have already said, we want to help you. But we can only do that if you let us."
Genji looked away again, and another tense silence edged in.
"Please, Genji. Let us help you. You will not be 'burdening us', because we want to do this—we want to help you so we don't lose you. Please."
Genji took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds, as if teetering on the edge of a decision.
"Okay," he finally said, letting out a deep sigh with the same breath. "Okay. I— I'll let you help me."
"Thank you, Genji," Hanzo said, smiling softly. "Now, Dr. Ziegler has a few things to double-check, and then we can get out of here and start working out how the rest of us can help."
Genji gave a small smile back—timid, yet hopeful.
"That... That would be good."
I have had my own personal struggle with depression and suicidal thoughts for many, many years—which was difficult in and of itself. It was made even more difficult by the additional diagnosis of Oppositional Defiant Disorder, which made me—get this—extremely oppositional and defiant towards any sort of demand, instruction, or suggestion. So when everyone kept pushing for me to try to overcome this stuff and "get better", my only thought was, "LIKE FUCK I WILL!"
I tell you this because some of my own personal experiences may have bled into this fic—specifically the opposition to my own recovery—and I don't want to make it seem like I'm opposed to any sort of recovery from mental illness. Anyway, I honestly cannot tell if those experiences did or not, so apologies if they have.