Title: Qualm
Author: Ri-Ryn
Genre: Angst/Drama
Word Count: 1305
Rating: M* (Content suitable for Mature Teens)
Disclaimer: Overwatch belongs to Blizzard Entertainment.
Summary: Hanzo was a weak, and deplorable, enough man to have no qualms forgetting his misdeeds against Genji during a brief reprieve. He pays dearly for it as monsters like him are not allowed to be anything resembling peaceful or content.
Warnings: Language. Self-deprecation/hatred. Graphic imagery/gore. Mental Illness and PTSD. Guilt.
A/N: Anything in [] brackets between Genji and Hanzo is in Japanese. My poor man. Why do I do this?
Definition: Qualm – 1. an uneasy feeling or pang of conscience as to conduct; compunction/ 2. a sudden feeling of apprehensive uneasiness; misgiving / 3. a sudden sensation or onset of faintness or illness, especially of nausea.
0-0-0-0-0-0-0
Hilarious, this stringed monstrosity in Hanzo's garment drawer could only be the work of Genji as no one else held access to his room sans an emergency Overwatch's sniper otherwise missed.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, the crumpled two pieces of string that posed as underwear bunched into his hand as he stalked out into the quiet, cold halls of the Watchpoint. His footsteps echoed as he reached the outdoor access, out into the tepid, bordering on unjustly hot, air of Gibraltar's late spring.
All the occupants minus the archer were out and about, some choosing to do laundry by hand, taking the last vestige of tolerable weather the year would offer as a chance to deepen bonds.
Hanzo narrowed his eyes, frown set as he zeroed in on the metal covered ass he called brother now. Genji was laughing, crouched by his omnic master, repetitiously dragging cloth over the washboard's dull metal ridges.
Now, how to go about this in a manner befitting his current station? An unwanted, antisocial, would be family murderer?
Hanzo swallowed that thought down into the trenches of his own head, hoping they would drown with time as Genji and the priest insisted they would.
Cyborg and omnic alike were unable to understand people struggled for air and that drowning was the furthest thing from a beautiful, peaceful death. It was agonizing, it was slow: a hideous fit, honestly.
He pushed forward, intent engrained into his every step. Hanzo did not miss the tense turn his presence caused the other associates his brother forced upon him.
Hanzo wasn't sure which side, exactly, he picked. He would have enemies on all sides regardless of which cause people would coerce him into.
The laughter of the others faded, leaving Genji and Zenyatta in their own world as Hanzo's sandal clad foot made contact with the ninja's back, his approach desensitized by his comrades' consistent presence the last few hours. Genji lunged forward, careening into the shallow stream and taking on water without his face plate on. The idiot hadn't thought to abandon his board and cloth to instead catch himself.
The monk's tinkling pass at laughter ceased in surprise at the loss of his student to Genji's brother's palpable ire and nature.
Hanzo ignored the looks of murder aimed his direction, waiting for Genji to reemerge spluttering. He held the stringy piece out for the visage of everyone gathered on one finger. "Genji, I was unaware I held such...preferences." He jostled the little black number at the last word, frown deeply etched into his lips and beard, a scowl forming.
Genji was absolutely delighted for having almost suffocated thirty seconds prior. "Anija," his voice was roiled with the early peals of laughter. "How scandalous! I didn't know such a sophisticated man had such tastes!" The unnecessary emphasis on words chosen to chafe at him nearly had the elder Shimada clicking his tongue in distaste, the prank holding the distinct flavor something fifteen years younger than the Shimada siblings.
"You and I both, Genji." Hanzo muttered dryly.
It was childish, beneath him, but absolutely warranted. The G-string found its way into a sling beneath his skilled hands. "Genji." Laughter morphed itself towards a more soft tone, the younger cyborg cracking his eye open to see. The lingerie was fired into the amber eye post haste.
Genji yelped, clutching the vicinity of the wounded organ. "Anija, what the hell?! [Why would you do such a thing?]"
Hanzo contemplated the question needlessly, hand ruffling his beard. "[Excellent question, little brother.]" Deep brown eyes sank into the younger who shrank back a little. "Perhaps it was deeply unflattering on my person. You have no class." Hanzo sniffed, "Green hair, after all."
Genji was stunned, briefly. His brother. His brother playing along.
Genji was glowing by this point... "You fiend, how dare you! [I refuse to take such insult to my genius.]" Water was in his hands instantly and flung using the washboard, right into Hanzo's relatively nice yukata for when he was off missions.
Hanzo hissed. "[Genji! Behave.]" The archer said this despite kicking another lash of water into the ninja's open, chortling mouth. He was as absolutely insufferable as he was incorrigible.
"Never second best, Anija." Genji lunged, taking Hanzo by surprise with his own words being thrown back at himself, and dragged Hanzo down into the water completely.
The disgruntled, mild mannered screeching was worth it. All of Overwatch was shocked into silence, dumbfounded. This was Hanzo, brother killer and the local specter on base who went out of his way to avoid them, not that anyone but Genji and Zenyatta were stupid enough to genuinely desire his company, to want it.
This was a thirty eight year old man, greying at the temple, and his thirty five year old, cyborg little shit of a brother tussling in a manner more befitting of teenagers. Legs and arms kicked out as they ignored their spectators, rolling through the semi-shallow stream. Every hit was traded, Hanzo smothering the younger Shimada with his former laundry before Genji flipped them both, whipping Hanzo with the wet underwear for the first casualty he had suffered. It lasted until both were seated, leaning on knees only a foot away from each other breathless.
It was unintended, Hanzo would lament later. He leaned forward, hand coming to cradle the back of Genji's neck toward himself, meeting halfway with their forehead's touching. Hanzo laughed deeply, far beyond the disgust with a pure, simple amusement at two men of their station dissolving into little heathens in front of strangers. His eyes were watering jovially, mixing with the wetness of his skin.
Hanzo's eyes peeled open. "Ah," he chuckled a touch admonishingly, "Otouto, really?"
Genji was slacked jawed. "Again." He could see the confusion the demand startled Hanzo into. "[Please!? Again.] Laugh once more, please, Anija." Genji was begging. This was something he had not heard in decades. They were healing.
The magic was broken here, Hanzo recoiling from the metal Genji was now made of. The scars, how had he forgotten them right in front of his eyes? The metal jaw because Hanzo had needed to cut out Genji's screams?
I took his arms, too. Starting with the wrist. Hanzo was on his feet in a blink. Does it taste good in your stomach? I consumed him from a desire for power. How could I forget?
The archer was up and bolting past everything, past the two and three cries for him to come back.
Genji's blood is in my stomach. His stomach gurgled, churning the rancid within. It's in my flesh.
Hanzo slammed the door shut behind him and locked it; locking out Athena, Overwatch, Genji. Everything.
Finesse was nowhere inside his cell as he vomited onto the floor, incapable of simply making it to the toilet. The wet splatter was an overtly loud squelch to his ears, acid burning his throat, caught in his beard.
Deplorable. His mind provided.
Hanzo retched again. Droplets decorated the lower hem of his already drenched yukata.
He dry heaved, the sight of the liquid blurry now. He breathed deeply, hunched forward with his back to the white door and trying to calm himself before blinking again.
Red, viscous. It moved slowly along the seams of the floor and suffocated everything.
Dry and tacky, it painted every inch of his being, nothing to shear it from his skin. Copper made the air toxic, something organic smelling of open, bleeding wounds. Dismemberment. It's in your stomach. It is you. He could feeling the fingers stroking his stomach, shards from the broken bones of limbs clogging his gut as flesh crawled up his throat and the severed jaw lodged itself into the tendon of his foot. The world rang around callously to deafen him.
Hanzo screamed.
FIN