Hanzo considered himself a strong man, stronger than most. Despite this belief, he couldn't stop the pained grunt that escaped his lips as he launched himself up the side of a residential house gate with a bullet lodged in his hip. What kept him climbing was the harsh slap of his pursuers feet on wet pavement. Rain stapled Hanzo's shaking shoulders, each drop feeling more like nails digging into his exposed skin than water. His kyudo-gi was soaked, sticking to his body uncomfortably from the water and blood that dripped down his leg slowly. Hauling himself over the top of the gate, Hanzo landed awkwardly. Hip screaming, he limped to the houses front door. The men chasing him were close enough that he could hear their excited shouts. The hyenas were zoning in on their weakened zebra. Taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders, Hanzo kicked open the door of the small house.
Stepping inside the house and shutting the door quickly and quietly, Hanzo turned to a warmly bright kitchen. A small family sat at a table, their chopsticks held, frozen, mid-bite or reaching for more food. They stared at Hanzo. Hanzo stared back, unsure of what he expected. Slowly, he moved his hand up to his mouth, holding a finger before his lips in a shushing motion. The family seemed too shocked to even be able to make a noise. Viscous blood slipped down his metal legs from his hip, beginning to create a small puddle in the genkan. Listening intently, Hanzo heard the hyena-like shouts and whoops chase past the house. A sigh of relief left his body as he quietly thanked the storm outside for washing away blood trails he left. Several moments passed in tense silence, the family still staring at him in shock. Clearing his throat, Hanzo turned back to the family.
"Do you have a medical kit?" He asked, his voice tight and gruff with pain. The mother, seemingly snapping out of her shock, put down her chopsticks and nodded, pointing with a shaking hand towards a shut room, presumably the bathroom. Wiping his clawed prosthetics on the entryway mat as best he could, Hanzo limped through the kitchen and into the indicated room.
Rifling through the cabinet in the small bathroom, Hanzo found the medical kit. He slipped his kyudo-gi off his shoulder and lowered it below his hip. Without tweezers, he would be unable to remove the bullet. Worryingly he didn't believe he could remove it anyway, his vision was swimming. The best he could do with the items in the kit was to put a few butterfly stitch band-aids over the hole and bandage it with a soft cloth. Hanzo sat for a moment in an attempt to clear his vision. If the family were smart, they would have called the police by now. Time was running out. Yet, there was nowhere else for Hanzo to go. A zebra separated from the herd, hyenas circling outside, Hanzo had run into the lion's den.
A memory of last year at Hanamura racked itself through Hanzo's mind. A flash of silver, the afterimage of green neon lights, and an offer of forgiveness. There was one place Hanzo could go. Halfway across the world, Genji waited. Several months after Hanamura a letter had appeared in Hanzo's small hotel room. It stated merely an address and bore a drawing of a sparrow. Hanzo knew what it meant. An invitation to an old and abandon Overwatch base could hardly be misinterpreted. Despite the knowledge that the path to redemption lay in Gibraltar, Hanzo had procrastinated the journey for months more. He regretted it now. Once more his pride had gotten in the way, fighting that giving in to the urge to return to his brother's side was admitting defeat, and admitting that all the work he had done to avenge Genji's death over the years had been for nothing. Once more the debate roared in his head. Hanzo found himself wishing for the dragons guidance in the matter.
They had not spoken to him outside of battle since Genji's not-death. Sorrow and guilt flooded over his body, shame for yearning for something he no longer deserved and grief for the memories of his spirit companions. It was during this hurried introspection that he heard it. In the back of his mind, almost drowned by the storm outside and in his head, a small voice whispered. Go, it said. It was enough to have Hanzo jerking upright, his head swimming with dizziness. The low voice was enough to make Hanzo's mind up for him. It was time to return to Genji and to redeem himself. Sirens echoing outside shocked Hanzo back to the present, and back to the cold bathroom he sat in. With nothing but his bow, a few arrows, and the wet clothes sticking to his back, Hanzo leaped out the bathroom window and began his road to redemption.
The day was hot and the sun high in the sky when Hanzo landed on Gibraltar. The humidity rose as he made the journey to the remote mountain outcrop that housed the base. Not wanting to risk being followed and compromising his brother's new home, Hanzo committed himself to avoid main roads. Eventually, this led him to have to scale the sheer side of a mountain. His hands bled slowly as his skin ripped on the sharp rocks, and his hip ached with the memory of his bullet wound. His body was dirty, and his hair was greasy after several days on a small boat to the watchpoint. His skin itched at the dirt as he pulled himself over the edge of the mountain. Before him, tucked into the side of the mountain, lay a vast compound. Glancing up and shielding his eyes from the bright sun, Hanzo caught a glimpse of someone gazing down at him from the top of a building. A blink and the figure was gone. Apprehension curled itself into Hanzo's gut. Scanning the surroundings, he could see no one else. Another blink and there was something cold and terrifyingly gun shaped pressed to his temple.
Turning around slowly and raising his empty hands to the sky, Hanzo managed to get an awkward view of the person holding him at gunpoint. It was a small woman, skinny and short. Orange tinted goggles covered her eyes and spiky brown hair framed her little face. Upon her face sat a small but pronounced button nose, sprinkled with freckles, and thin pink lips. Her outfit was strange, with a machine strapped to her chest and tight orange leggings. Hanzo felt his eyebrows raising as he stared at her, it was nearly impossible to sneak up on him. It was possible the machine was to blame, but Hanzo still didn't like it.
"Hiya, love! Pardon me, but I don't believe I know you, and this building is strictly off-limits to strangers!" A cheery voice accented smoothly with a British accent interrupted Hanzo's speculation. Focusing back on the woman's face, he was met with an expression far too severe for the happy tone of voice she was using. Hanzo moved his hand slowly, down to the pocket he sewed into his kyudo-gi when he started his journey. The woman's eyes tracked his hand, her trigger finger tensing slowly as two of his fingers dipped into the pocket. Hanzo kept his movements deliberate, slow, and easy to follow. Pulling out the small, crumpled manila paper that Genji had left him so many months ago. The scrawled address bared for the woman to see, Hanzo slowly held it out for her.
"I believe I was invited," He murmured. The sudden voice seemed to startle the woman slightly, but thankfully her trigger finger stayed relaxed. She confiscated the paper from him, looking it over quickly. Narrowing her eyes towards him, then looking back at the article, then again at him, she slowly lowered the gun.
"Names Tracer, love. Nice to meet ya," the woman, Tracer, offered a small salute. "Pardon again, but I'm gonna have to escort you further into the watchpoint 'ere so I can get a second opinion." Hanzo felt the gun against the small of his back as she began to lead him towards the buildings. The pressure of the gun so near his injured hip made Hanzo want to groan, the pain of the bullet wound welling up once more. The scrapes on his hands had stopped bleeding by now, thankfully, so he could hide the injury for now. Trying his best not to limp and succeeding greatly due to the constant training to show no weakness he faced as a child, Hanzo followed the continual pressure of the gun into one of the buildings and to a small reception-like area, just without the receptionist.
Tracer murmured something cheerfully into an earpiece, turning back to Hanzo shortly after. "Alright, then! Calvaries on their way now! Won't be long," she tittered. The small woman was so full of energy it made Hanzo tired as if she was sapping his to add to her endless supply. His fingers itched to remove his bow from where it lay strapped to his back, but he knew that would be perceived as a threat. Instead, he settled on observing his surroundings.
The heat and humidity from outside seemed to have followed them in, and Hanzo could see no air conditioners in the small space they occupied. The moisture pressed in on his skin, and he had a hard time catching his breath. Hanzo focused his face and body posture into one that was complete neutrality, hiding his failing breath and apprehension. Sweat was pooling on his skin and dripping slowly into his eyes, and his head swam slowly. The room they were in was surrounded by large windows, letting the too bright sunlight into the space. Cobwebs and dust covered nearly every surface, signs of disuse. It disgusted Hanzo, and he couldn't stop his lip from curling at the sight.
The sounds of footsteps shook him out of his thoughts. He turned to face a whole mass of people walking towards him. Tracer really wasn't joking when she said the cavalry was coming. An afterimage of blue glow stained Hanzo's eyes, and suddenly Tracer was among those walking towards him, chattering to a...a gorilla? Perhaps Hanzo really was overheated. Despite his shock, Hanzo schooled his expression back into neutrality, meeting the group strongly. The urge to arm himself grew when he spotted the many guns that decorated the people's bodies.
When the group reached him, they stopped. Hanzo felt himself being appraised, judged, and sentenced. Hanzo stared back, holding his head high as his pride refused to back down. The silence stretched for several long moments. The tension in the room grew along with the quiet, crackling like the dragons before they struck. Breaking the silence were soft, metallic footsteps pushing through the small crowd. A silver, masked head stuck itself out from between the gorilla and a blonde woman who Hanzo recognized as Angela Ziegler, a world-class medic of former Overwatch. Hanzo felt his heavy breath still in his lungs at the sight of the masked man, silver metal shining almost as brightly as the neon green vents that spotted his body. Genji strode up to Hanzo quietly, meeting his stare behind a visor.
"Brother," He said, his voice so familiar and yet so foreign, the overlay of robotic tone a harsh reminder of what had become of him. "I believed you would not come." His voice pitched up as the sentence concluded, a teasing tone of voice he used to use when discussing Hanzo's rare outings or lovers. "I am glad you did," Genji concluded warmly. Hanzo felt his shoulders relaxing at his brother's words, despite the constant flashes of his brother's bloody face that smattered themselves against his eyelids when he blinked.
"Now hold on," A voice drawled from the corner of the group. A man leaned there, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a blanket on his shoulders. Hanzo blinked a few times, his head swimming once more, but the assless chaps and spurred boots remained no matter how many times he tried to blink them away. First a disappearing woman, then a gorilla, and now an honest to god cowman. "Did ya say brother there, Genji? 'Cause correct me if I'm wrong, but the last I heard your brother there's the one who laid you open all those years ago. Now I ain't the sharpest saw in the shed, and I haven't seen ya since ya were knee-high to a grasshopper, but a man who does that seems a few bricks shy o' a load, and I don't feel too great about lettin' him in here," The man continued.
Hanzo blanked. Had any of what the cowman just said been English? He felt like he was back in his elders first English lesson, grasping at straws for a meaning behind gibberish. He felt his jaw open slightly, his cool facade failing for a few moments as he tried to process the complicated idioms the man had used. Based on the ending, he was sure it wasn't in his favor.
Genji turned to the cowman, a somber demeanor taking over his body. The air chilled for a moment, and Hanzo swayed. Thankfully most of the attention was now on his brother and the cowman, and his lack of balance went unnoticed.
"I have forgiven my brother, Jesse, but he has yet to forgive himself," Genji started, his tone reflective and confident. "He is an excellent strategist and marksman, and I believe his skills could be needed here while we work on our relationship." A moment lapsed between speaking as if Genji were taking a silent breath. Hanzo was unused to these words coming from his brother; he had been half expecting his old, flamboyant brother to arise from the dead, but Hanzo saw the foolishness in this hope now. "I hope that you all, too, will find it within your hearts to accept him," Genji reached up and unclasped his mask, and Hanzo looked away in shame. It took a moment before he could force himself to look back at Genji, who had turned to address the whole group. "He has made many mistakes." His gaze hardened, "However everyone deserves a second chance."
The cowman, Jesse, looked away from Genji at that. He chose instead to look Hanzo over and then seemed to take notice of Hanzo's gentle swaying. He raised a bushy eyebrow but said nothing. Hanzo could hear another deep voice talking now, and then Tracer's cheery one cutting in. A melodic female voice also added, angry sounding. Hanzo paid no attention to the conversation on his worthiness. Genji wanted him here, the dragons wanted him here for all their one word spoken in over 10 years. He had no doubts that he would be allowed to stay, even if it were in a cell. Instead of listening to the argument that was slowly developing, Hanzo chose to gaze back at the cowman, meeting his eyes unwaveringly.
The heat in the room was constantly giving out to chills, and Hanzo could no longer feel the sweat that used to decorate his body. His head swirled, but he kept his footing. Something was running down his thigh, and when he looked down, he saw that it was blood. Climbing the mountain had probably ripped open his poorly healed bullet wound. When he refocused his gaze on Jesse, he could tell the man had noticed the blood too, but still, he said nothing. For that Hanzo was grateful.
Eventually, Hanzo was forced to tune back into the conversation when he heard his name being called. Genji's scarred face was looking his way, along with the faces of the other current members of the room. Doctor Ziegler wore resentment, but the gorilla and Tracer seemed to hold a cautious hopefulness in their eyes. The other occupants of the room, a giant man with no eye, a dark-skinned woman with an interesting tattoo under her eye, a young girl with pink triangles on her face, and a dreadlocked man who wore neon colors, all seemed to look at him with reservation and thinly veiled dislike painting their expressions.
"Hanzo? Did you hear me?" Genji asked softly, finally taking notice of his brother's paleness and gentle swaying. "I said they have agreed to let you stay as a provisional member of Overwatch, but you must be under guard at all times until they can trust you." He continued, and Hanzo nodded absently, the words not really sinking in. Genji thought it must have been what talking to younger him must have been like, in one ear and out the other. "Brother? Are you alright?" He asked, and Hanzo simply stared at him.
"I think," Hanzo started, his voice more uncertain than he expected. "I may have torn open an old wound. If you would-" He paused for a breath, the room seeming suffocating and the light far too bright. Why was the light so bright? Someone should turn it down. Heat pressed in on Hanzo, and he swayed dangerously. "If you would lead me to your nearest medical kit, I would like to redress it." He mumbled, unknowingly switching back to Japanese halfway through his sentence. As another cold shiver ran through his body, the world shifted. It was so bright. Was Genji always so fuzzy? He could hear Genji speaking, but he couldn't understand. It was cold, all of a sudden. The world was tilting so much he couldn't tell why. Then suddenly, everything went out. His vision went black, and he felt himself falling. He could feel someone catch him, but he wasn't sure who. The last thing he heard before he succumbed to the darkness was a gentle whisper, proud and strong, in the back of his mind. Rest now, young master. You have arrived.