I apologize for not updating this as much as I should. There have been a lot of things happening all at once last week. I really appreciate it if you're still reading this fanfic! As always, please leave kudos and your thoughts! Thank you, as always, for supporting me!

Demons Never Sleep

Chapter Two: Survivor's Guilt

"How dare you!" A slap echoed across his face. Hanzo never faltered from the screaming woman before him. "How dare you allow your brother to be killed! How dare you show your face in my sacred home!" Her hair had fell from its tight traditional hairstyle. Strands of black hair covered her pale face. Her eyes had been red from the grief that was wrought again in family tragedy.

Hanzo blinked.

"Are you okay, Mister Shimada?" asked the policewoman as she placed the paper cup filled with warm coffee on the table. "We were going over your eyewitness account about what happened on the…" Her words were muffled by the papers shuffling in her hand. She was a bit stout but she was very well-groomed and seemed extremely calm and collected. Her hair is tied up in a professional manner and her lipstick was bright on her lips. Hanzo saw nothing but grey in this brightly lit box they were in. He hadn't changed his clothes. The mark of Genji's blood had dried.

He looked down.

"And on top of that, you've allowed those filthy Americans to desecrate his body! 'For science', a Shimada would never!" her screams echoed in the empty hall. Hanzo would never dare to look his mother in her eye. "A Shimada could never! You know better than this, Hanzo! You know what blood flowed through his veins!" She smashed another vase. The vase's loud noise echoed and made Hanzo want to jump from fear. "You know what could happen… You don't want this blood to be exposed…"

A sigh escaped his lips.

"Just sign here. We'll have to do an autopsy, Mister Shimada." A tired older man passed him papers. He couldn't understand it. Everything blurred. He stared at it and he heard the older man sigh. "Do you need a Japanese translation, Mister Shimada?" He could read English fine; speaking it was the challenge. He slowly shook his head. He signed the document to the best of his abilities. He didn't have a choice but to give up his brother's body. Thankfully, he had become human again before he had passed on.

A tear slid down his cheek.

It rained that day. The ceremony was quiet. He had made a promise to his mother: after the funeral service, he would leave the Shimada clan. He will be as dead to her as Genji and his father was. He would never be welcomed again on the estate. He accepted the conditions.

The Americans refused to give up Genji's body which only fueled his mother's justified anger. They had claimed that they had somehow lost it in within the other nameless victims of the train. Hanzo was the only survivor found on the train that night. He did his best to never grieve - he didn't deserve to. He survived somehow. It should've been him instead of Genji. Relatives and business contacts came to give their funeral penance. Some tried to console Hanzo but he didn't respond. Most of the sympathies went to his precious mother who tried her best to keep it together. She couldn't help herself. She lost herself in the grief of losing both a husband and a son to this cursed demon blood. The surviving son was the one who shed his skin early and yet, he survived without a cut. The only blood that was found on him was Genji's and Genji's only. It was hard for her to appreciate that someone survived from that massacred train.

"Sign here, Mister Shimada. Things will be okay."

And yet, those words somehow comforted him even when his mother officially took him off the family register.

.x.

The sound of ice clinking against each other was the only connection he had to earth. It had been a handful of years since. Hanzo had lost track of time. He had long since left his home country, Japan, and settled in America. The man didn't have anything to remind him of home so he had gotten a tattoo of the family's dragons from his shoulder to his arm. He had cut his hair short, but still long enough to put in a ponytail.

Over time, he assimilated and he kept an eye out for the Deadlock Gang.

"Yeah, you ain't heard of them? They're the ones who massacred everyone on that train that night. I'm surprised you haven't heard of them."

He would do odd jobs, mostly courier work within the state of New Mexico, in case he would hear of the gang again. And he did.

"Man, that McCree sure is something!" His ears perked as he took a bite of his long-awaited dinner. Still, he had to act like he didn't hear the familiar name. As time went on, and the more research he did, he would hear the name 'Jesse McCree' pop up here and there. Rumors made it apparent that he climbed the ranks and something about his infamous Deadshot. From the intel Hanzo had gathered, Jesse had been orphaned when he was young. For a while, he was in foster home after foster home and he didn't seem to have a very good adolescence. The young man had become a juvenile delinquent though often, it was because he kept stealing and didn't seem to stop no matter how much help the state offered him.

Hanzo didn't care about that. He just wanted to know where he was. Maybe he could help Hanzo regain his honor.

The ice clinked again as he tried to keep up his docile appearance although with the passage of time, it's getting harder and harder to do.

"I hear he's finally rising to the ranks of the gang!" the young punk behind him gloated. "Maybe my chances will rise since he's one of us!" He laughed in amusement. Hanzo couldn't help but assume he was in a similar situation – an orphaned juvenile delinquent looking for his place in this world.

A slap was heard – Hanzo assumed the punk was blabbing about things that he probably shouldn't have.

"Shut up, Kyle. Don't talk about that kind of shit when we're out in public like this. How many times I gotta tell you?"

"Sorry, sorry, I-I guess I got a little excited there, Jay. I-I promise that I won't mention that shit out in public again."

"You're lucky that guy over there probably don't understand English, or we'd be in some real deep shit."

When the punk named Jay pointed Hanzo out, he nearly choked on his sandwich. He slowly turned around and spoke. "You boys," Hanzo started.

"Oh shit," Jay said. As it turned out, the rough looking punk named Jay had quietly placed a gun on the table to ensure Kyle's, a skinny teenaged boy who could use some clean clothes and a shower, silence but it looked like it was in vain. Still, Hanzo was confident in the words he was about to say next would spare everyone's lives.

"Tell me how I can join the Deadlock Gang."