A/N:
sugoi - amazing!
otou-san - father
hen na yatsu - what a weird guy
"You sure, hoss?" McCree asked Hanzo with uncharacteristic seriousness after Morrison filled him in on the boy's temporary living arrangements. "No offense, but you ain't exactly got the best track record with these things."
Were they not standing so close to the threshold of Dr. Ziegler's working space, well within earshot of the boy, he would have shortly found himself with the sharp edge of an arrow pressed against his jugular.
In a brief slip of self-restraint, Hanzo allowed a small portion of his bottomless ire to come bubbling the surface as he stepped closer to the cowboy, snarling, "Do you truly believe me so eager to repeat the mistakes of my past?"
McCree studied him, fingers twitching spasmodically by his thigh as though yearning for a cigar. "If you regret it so much, you shouldn't a' done it in the first place."
"You understand nothing!" There was a fire sparking to life at the tip of Hanzo's tongue, however, the urge to give into it was nowhere near as tempting as the urge to bash his fist repeatedly against this infuriating man's thick skull.
"McCree!" Morrison warned. "Back. Off."
There was a gentle tugging on Hanzo's quiver. He looked over his shoulder, surprised to find the boy staring up at him with wide, frightened eyes, worry pinching his brow. "I'd like to go now."
Shame rushed through him, replacing the air in his lungs, replacing the blood in his veins. It was a cold, unpleasant sensation, one which Hanzo accepted, as it was well deserved. He could sense Dr. Ziegler regarding the both of them with heavy disapproval. Privately, he marveled at how quickly he'd managed to make a mess of this most recent assignment. "Okay."
Though the boy could not have known where he was going, he pointedly refused Hanzo's offer to guide him, instead choosing to dart ahead into an unfamiliar location without any previous knowledge, while Hanzo trailed sullenly behind.
As they departed, McCree whistled in quiet sympathy, a peace offering. "That tyke's a handful if I've ever seen one."
Slowly, Hanzo nodded, accepting the unspoken apology, though he made sure to keep the bouncing dark head of hair and bright, swaying orange from ever leaving his sight.
It was only by a miracle that Genji had ever made it to adulthood the first time. How slim were the chances of him growing up twice?
In the distance, there was a startled shout, followed by short burst of unrestrained laughter.
Pushing his thoughts aside with the proficiency granted to him by over a decade of practice, Hanzo resumed his stride.
There would be time to deliberate over his future later. For now, ensuring that the boy lived long enough to see the next day's sunset was his sole priority.
"Sugoi!"
Upon catching up to the boy, his bow untouched but still a solid, comforting weight on his back, Hanzo was bemused to find him fussing over Overwatch's resident leading scientist.
Winston himself appeared more than a little confused by the young child poking his limbs in delight, but suffered the attention with the calm, welcoming air of one who did not much mind the presence of children, nor fault them for their curiosity. "And what is your name, young man?"
The boy beamed, "It's Genji!" Surprised, Winston raised an inquiring brow. He tried to make eye contact with the archer, hoping that he would provide some answers, but found the man rather slippery in that regard, unless the wall, ceiling, and ground were truly as profoundly interesting as he was making them out to be. "Are you really a gorilla?"
"I am a scientist," Winston corrected him, gently.
"But you're a gorilla, too, right?"
With a hint of a smile curling his lips, Winston flicked the boy's forehead protector, sending the young ninja's hands flying to his head, "Yes. I suppose I am that, as well."
After a short time, Winston politely excused himself, as there was much to be done still, enough that even a short coffee break could leave him drowning in encrypted files and paperwork, whereafter the boy allowed himself to be guided to Hanzo's quarters.
Upon entering, he promptly leapt on the bed. "Thanks, ossan!" He chirped as he rolled around, wrinkling and creasing the expertly folded, flattened sheets with the destructive force of a localized tornado.
"You should not call me that," Hanzo muttered. When the boy paused in his play to glance down at him questioningly, he elaborated, "I'm not old enough." He frowned, stroking his beard. "Or rather, I suppose I am." When did that happen?
"Yeah, you look a lot like my father." It was said so naturally that Hanzo almost missed it, the admission casual, simple talk, not meant to devastate, to rip and tear and rend. The boy was lying down now, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling, his spiky hair mussed by the pillow supporting his head, so Hanzo slipped off his quiver, laying it down well within arm's reach, though he did not expect to be putting it to use in the near future, and pulled up a chair. This certainly explained why the boy seemed to gravitate towards him, despite the rockiness of their first encounter. "It hasn't been that long since I've seen him." A tinge of distress clouded his brow, "At least, I don't think it has." Then he laughed, brightening with the light of the sun peeking out to warm the morning. "I bet nii-san's bored out of his mind with just the elders to keep him company." Propping himself up on an elbow, he cupped a hand around his mouth, then whispered conspiratorially, "Sometimes, I think they're trying to turn him into a robot."
It wasn't too far from the truth. They'd spent hours upon hours drilling into his younger self how important it was to behave in a manner befitting of the proud Shimada clan, to value all else below the clan's welfare. Though not a robot, he had truly been made a puppet, and if his own Genji proved to be as astute as the child currently regarding his continued silence with his own brand of boundless inquisitiveness, as well as the growing stain of anxiety, then his brother had known, in his own innocent way, that Hanzo's increasing devotion to the clan was not granting him the strength to lead, but destroying him in inches.
When next he looked at the boy, it seemed some time had passed, as he had returned to staring at the ceiling with his arms crossed over his chest, his yukata rumpled and excessively large scarf gathered about him in clementine pools.
"You are pouting." Hanzo realized, breaking the silence.
The boy huffed. "Am not."
"You are. I can tell. What is it that troubles you?"
When they were boys, Genji could never bottle up his emotions for long, nor was he capable of keeping a secret. His mouth had landed Hanzo into trouble more than once, so when the boy paused, his lips pursed as though tasting the bitter peel of a lemon, Hanzo knew it was only a matter of time before the dam broke, so he relaxed back into his chair, and waited.
Sure enough, the boy blurted, "What did you talk about with the other grown-ups while I was sitting in the clinic?" Ah. So he suspected they were keeping secrets from him.
"We were speaking about whether or not you're safe here."
The boy stiffened, "You think that I might be in danger?" Recovering quickly, he added, "That's okay. I'm not scared. I'm a Shimada. And otou-san's going to find out where I am and take me home any second."
Weighing his next words carefully, Hanzo asked, keeping his voice so as not to upset what he imagined to be a precarious balance, "Would you mind telling me more about them?" Hesitation. "Your family, I mean." Apprehension. "Of course, you don't have to-"
"No!" The boy launched himself into a sitting position, his arms a flurry of motion as they flailed with the tireless rapidity of a young sparrow. "I mean… I want to. There isn't really anyone to talk to at home, and nii-san's usually either too tired or too busy to play games."
Excited babble filled the empty room with tales of slaying dragons in the creek, dragging his brother out to town to try the latest iteration of meat dumpling that the local ramen shop had to offer, a endeavor Hanzo remembered, though he listened without comment. His room was empty of photographs, of furnishings, of anything that could be construed as a personal touch. The bed, side table, couch, and chair were all provided upon his acceptance into Overwatch. With the exception of his clothes, his weapons, and a single feather, hidden away in the back of a drawer, it could very well have been empty, and yet, at some point between the time the boy nearly choked on a rice bun and the time he'd slipped outside the gates to play a game of tag with some of the boys whose homes neighbored the Shimada castle, during which he tripped, ruining his clothes in the mud, the warmth of the moment, of his presence, began to seep into the walls, where it remained without fading, setting into motion the transformation from a mere dwelling to a safe haven.
The steady stream of one-sided conversation halted, however, when a flash of green and white slipped gracefully into the room.
"Woah." Stepping into the light, Genji looked over the boy, taking in his appearance with a mixture of feelings that Hanzo couldn't even begin to guess. He exhaled harshly through his ventilation system, the glow of his visor fixed on the child bearing the visage of his past self. "This is a new level of weird."
"So cool!" The boy crowed, startling both of the Shimada brothers as he leapt off the bed, rushing to Genji's side with a slew of questions. "What are you? Why do you glow like that? How come you're not wearing any clothes?"
Genji stopped him right there by placing a cybernetic hand over the boy's motor mouth. "I'm not?" Beneath the mechanical edge, there was an unmistakable wail of indignation, though it was all for show. "Why didn't anyone ever tell me?!"
The boy pulled Genji's hand away with an amused giggle, "Hen na yatsu."
Ever the performer, Genji clapped an open palm over his heart, falling down to one knee as though wounded, prompting the boy to flit about him, tugging on his limbs to yank him to his feet, though the cybernetic ninja refused to budge.
Hanzo allowed them this moment, burying any traces of envy with brutal efficiency.
The meeting with Zenyatta went about as well as could be expected.
He was charmed immediately by the child's enthusiasm and heart, his brashness and spirit, even after the boy requested that the monk bring him a chocolate milk from the kitchens, having mistaken him for an advanced model of the service omnics they'd grown up with.
He'd been playing with one of the monk's floating orbs when the question was posed, and though Zenyatta had seemed a little taken aback, he recovered quickly, and promised the boy that he would see if there was any in the kitchens to be found. "If it is possible, I will provide you with this sustenance." It was said with absolute seriousness, as though the omnic were embarking on a sacred mission, but the boy merely gave a curt nod, already distracted by a second floating orb.
Meanwhile, Genji was mortified, his ventilation system working overtime in an effort to expel some of his excess heat. Meanwhile, Hanzo, who had managed to absorb the entire scene with a straight face, finally quirked a rare and elusive smile.
Upon catching sight of it, his brother froze, all functioning coming to a temporary halt as he struggled with the resulting conflict of emotions that plagued him. "It has been some time since I have seen you smile, brother," he said once recovered. "You wear it well."
It was the boy who believed himself to be Genji's childhood self that had brought Hanzo this happiness, not Genji himself. The bitterness of the realization overpowered its sweetness, so when it was time for Hanzo to take the boy to his diagnostic with Dr. Ziegler, it was with a brewing melancholy that he observed their retreating forms.
Gradually, Zenyatta lowered himself to the ground. "What is it that disturbs you, my student?"
With a heavy sigh, Genji confided in his master, "I believed I wished him happiness, and if not that, peace. But seeing him like this… I kind of want to kick him."
"Certainly, your feelings are valid, but why not allow him this brief respite?"
"Because it's not real, Master." He clenched his fists, aware that he was losing his calm, his hard earned balance, but was met with limited success as he struggled to regain it. "I know who I am, and that boy he walks the halls with? That is not me."
"You feel the boy is a fake?" Though the question was posed without judgement, Genji could not help but feel foolish. It was not fair to take out his frustrations on a child, not even one who bore his likeness. "Not so long ago, your brother would have said the same of you." Zenyatta placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Everyone heals in their own manner, in their own time. If you are patient, as you have been, your brother will come to you."
Perhaps. But if given the option of a brother who was whole, unbroken by their feud and the turmoil of the years that followed, would he still…
Would Hanzo still want him?