A/N: Sequel to the Oni!Hanzo drabble
"Ugh."
Having assumed he was alone in his quarters, the exasperated groan had McCree nearly jumping out of his skin. He'd been lying on the top of the military style bunk bed he'd once shared with Hanzo, his tan leather boots propped up on the frame and back pressed against the headboard while he relaxed with a paperbook sitting on his chest. As it was, he jolted violently, nearly scraping his forehead against the ceiling as a hand flew to his side, where Peacekeeper rested snugly in its holster.
When the groan repeated itself, however, this time longer and even more exaggerated, he realized he recognized that over-dramatic tone, and instantly relaxed. Next time this happened, though, there was going to be a supernatural entity of unimaginable power prowling around Watchpoint with a bell around his neck.
Peering over his bedframe, McCree spotted the unmistakable pale form of Hanzo Shimada flopped down on his bunk with his head buried in his pillow. The first coherent sentence out of the demon's mouth was a strangely unmuffled, "Tell him to stop."
Though he didn't quite dare to chuckle, McCree leaned back against the headboard with a wide grin,"Genji summoning you again?"
"Yes," came the answer in the form of an emphatic hiss from below.
McCree shook his head. If anything, the archer had brought this upon himself. "Well, maybe if you actually talked to him…" He trailed off after sensing the heated glare directed at him through the thin mattress serving as a barrier between them.
The cowboy coughed to clear his throat, then promptly changed the subject, lest something actually catch fire. "How're you ignoring the summons, anyway? Thought demons couldn't do that."
"With great difficulty," Hanzo gritted out, sounding pained.
And, suddenly, the situation wasn't quite so amusing.
Mulling it over, McCree idly clenched a calloused fist, feeling the pulse of his own heart beat steadily against the pads of his fingers, his palms hot as though warding off a chill. "Ya can't keep avoiding him forever, Hanzo. It ain't fair - not to him and not to you. You deserve to strut around these halls like you belong here – cuz ya do, partner – and he deserves to have ya back. For good, this time."
There was a long stretch of silence, which McCree could only hope the demon was putting to good use by actually thinking over what he'd said. He was starting to wonder if Hanzo was waiting for him to say more, or if he'd disappeared entirely, though McCree had a feeling that wasn't the case, when the demon replied, "It has been many years since he has looked to his older brother for guidance. Not only is he no longer a child, he has others now, all of whom have far more to offer him than I ever did. He will move past this. He is... so much stronger than I." And in those words McCree could hear the pride Hanzo had for the man Genji had become, along with the self-loathing so saturated in his personality that McCree could hardly imagine what he'd be like without it.
"Strength's got nothing to do with it, partner," the cowboy said quietly, thoughtfully, thinking back to the unstable mess of human and metal he'd first met while still running with Blackwatch, the volatile cyborg that lashed out like a wounded animal at the slightest provocation. "Ya think he'll be just fine and dandy with losing you again? More importantly - and I mean this in the best way, darlin' – but after everything he went through to finally get his brother back, do ya even got the right to keep 'em from him?"
It was a loaded question, he knew, but that didn't mean it wasn't something Hanzo needed to hear. Unfortunately, pushing the archer that far could either go really well or blow up like a stick of dynamite in his face. And when the demon bolted upright, corded muscles in his back and neck coiled, chiseled shoulder blades pressing sharply against grey, bloodless skin as though threatening to cut through it, and strode purposefully for the door, the cowboy honestly thought he'd blown it with the oni, who would more than likely start shunning him now, too.
Except Hanzo hesitated at the threshold, conflict evident in the downward curve of his pale lips, in the lowered cast of his blank, glowing eyes. "Thank you for your counsel, cowboy." With the slightest of smiles, he added, "You are wiser than many give you credit."
To his embarrassment, McCree felt his cheeks flush slightly at the unexpected praise, but instead of addressing it, he casually brushed the knuckles of his trigger finger against his nose, which was Western-speak for, Aw, shucks, I ain't all that.
As though reading his mind, Hanzo huffed a gusty laugh, cool and dry as an autumn breeze.
Since it was clear that the archer was leaving, and since McCree very much wanted to see him again without the need of a pentagram, he made sure to say something he'd been thinking about for some time, something he should have told the man so much sooner, "You're always welcome here, Hanzo." After opening his arms in a wide gesture that encompassed everything, McCree continued, "This here's your room, too, after all." And before the moment could get too mushy, he added, "But knock next time, would ya?" Lowering his voice to a grumble that he didn't fully intend for the demon to hear, he finished out of the side of his mouth with a muttered, "Damn near gave me a heart attack."
Having clearly heard him, Hanzo curled his lips back in a toothy grin, flashing a mouth full of fangs at the cowboy, before taking another step towards the threshold, after which, quickly as he'd come, he vanished, leaving nothing but swirling smoke and the musty scent of dried leaves behind.
It wasn't meant to happen. Not like this.
It should have been him. It always should have been him.
Not Genji. Not his little brother. Not again.
It was Dr. Ziegler and Winston who gave him the news that an abandoned building Genji had been merely passing through while evading enemy fire collapsed after the impact of a mortar shell destabilized its structure. There hadn't been enough time for him to escape before four stories of concrete came crashing down on his head.
Upon recovery, they found his metal armor mostly intact, which had cruelly given them hope, only to find that what little organic tissue he'd possessed had either been compressed by the weight of the debris piled on top of him or ruptured.
The cessation of brain activity recorded by his synthetic body after the collapse suggested that death had been instant, but standing in the medical bay, his gaze transfixed by the sight of his little brother lying battered, cold and unnaturally still on the gray observation table, Hanzo could take little comfort in it, for he knew that this death was as premature as it was undeserved.
And so he sought out Ana Amari, a woman who had cheated Death once before, who proudly wore the Eye of Horus around her left eye, because if one could have the foresight to ward off evil, then they must have believed in its existence. If the Angel of Mercy couldn't bring his brother back, then Hanzo would look to other, darker forces to do it.
The old sharpshooter had listened to his request without interruption, her weathered features, still carrying traces of the youthful beauty she'd had as a girl, now elegant in their severity, were unexpressive with the exception of a slight dip between her brows.
Death had chewed up Gabriel Reyes and spat him back out, but it seemed to have gotten a taste for Genji Shimada, as though collecting on a debt he'd incurred over a decade before.
The boy, she decided, deserved a second chance.
Despite any misgivings she may have had, she drew out a summoning circle for Hanzo, wrote a list of the ingredients he would need to complete the ritual, and mentioned that he would need something that had once belonged to the deceased, something of great personal value that yet contained a remnant of their essence.
That same night, before the funeral, Hanzo snuck into the med bay, moving soundlessly across the tiled floor until he stood once more by the metal slab his brother's body laid upon, and unlatched the protective green visor to reveal the scarred features of the man beneath the armor, a face so familiar Hanzo nearly gave away his presence when the start of an anguished cry slammed against his tightly pressed lips.
With the visor in hand, he absconded from the sterile clinic as quietly as he'd arrived, lithe and silent as a panther creeping through the jungle, until he returned to the pentagram he'd drawn in the training room, to the spell waiting to be cast.
He called upon the demon that had once dogged Jesse's steps, demanded it appear before him now, when its presence was finally desired, and yet, for the longest time, nothing happened.
Incense burned down to their wooden nubs, the curling smoke dissipating as Hanzo continued to call the creature, fully intending to pester and harass the demon until it showed itself. When more time passed, however, he changed tactics.
Becoming very quiet after calling and imploring for the demon's aid for over an hour, he fell to his knees, then bowed, curving his spine until his forehead nearly rested against the cool linoleum flooring. "Please," his pride spent, the only thing left to do was beg, "help me bring my brother back..." He exhaled softly, allowing a single truth to settle heavily over his heart, one he had scarcely permitted himself to think until this point, let alone say aloud, for fear that it would truly and irreparably break him. "He is all I have."
The seconds of silence that met his words stretched into minutes, yet Hanzo remained still, refusing to raise his head. There was no back-up plan, no second chances or miracles waiting in the wings. If the demon did not appear now, then Hanzo knew he would never be able to move past this moment.
It was when his neck and back began to ache, the muscles in his thighs protesting from maintaining the seiza for so long, with sweat gathering at the tip of his nose, that a cruel, lilting voice emerged from within the pentagram, "Now that's a good attitude." Hanzo jolted, wincing when his body protested at the sudden movement after an agonizingly long stretch of immobility. He raised his head sharply to see the bald, black-skinned coyote staring back at him, its teeth curled back from its fangs. Sunken yellow eyes, glittering with intelligence and malice, remained fixed on him as it continued, "And about time, too. I was starting to get bored." It didn't seem to be lying, yet there was hunger evident in the ribs protruding from its chest that undermined the claim. For whatever reason, it was starving, yet Hanzo did not doubt that the pentagram was all that stood between him and a gruesome, violent death.
It could have waited for hours if it'd wanted to – there were always other deals, other humans to manipulate and deceive –but Hanzo didn't regret his actions. He'd have held the uncomfortable seiza position for days if that was what it took, so long as the demon made good on its word.
Skipping pleasantries, Hanzo dove straight to the heart of the matter, "In exchange for everything I have to offer, bring Genji Shimada back to life. Heal him, and you will have me."
The demon barked its amusement in a grating fit of laughter. "And what would I want with you?" It jerked its rubbery, tar-black neck to the side in a mockery of an inquisitive tilt. "What makes you think your tarnished soul is of any worth to me?"
It was a fair enough question, one for which Hanzo held no answer, as he shared in the belief that his own soul was of little value, and yet, "Then perhaps I should endeavor to employ the services of another demon?" The archer bore his teeth in a bitter smile that stretched across his face like a wound cut into the flesh. "Surely, not all would be so quick to spurn this tarnished soul of mine."
"And what exactly are you offering, human?" Sitting back on its haunches, the demon licked the edges of its mouth with a tongue split cleanly down the middle. "With such loose terms, I could take so much more than your soul."
"Then do it," Hanzo challenged, unafraid. "I don't care. Fulfill your end of the bargain and I will fulfill mine. What is mine to give is yours to take."
Something shifted beneath the demon's skin – a muscle, perhaps – leaving Hanzo with the distinct impression that the creature was honestly irritated, though at who or what he didn't know. It studied him silently for a moment, before its body relaxed, its shoulders drooping as it raised its head, averting its gaze when it finally replied with exhaustion and a note of what Hanzo assumed to be disappointment saturating its tone, "…You are foolish, indeed, but it is done. Your brother will be returned to you when the sun's first ray strikes the earth."
Within his chest, Hanzo's heart swelled and soared, yet he carefully smoothed his expression, keeping himself composed even if he could not completely strip the resulting brightness from his dark brown eyes, "And the price?"
Thinking back, the look the demon fixed him with then could almost have been described as pitying, "Do not fret, human. You will know when the debt is paid."
As the abomination began to fade, becoming translucent as it shifted through many forms – a grey-skinned hunter, a mother with sunken cheeks, a genderless child with long, black locks that hung like thick curtains around a pale, skull-like face, and then back to the starving, mangy coyote, its yellow eyes bulging and bloodshot - Hanzo's dragons writhed beneath his skin, panicked as though thrust into the path of a forest fire, yet the archer paid them no heed. Now that the deal had been struck, it was too late to think about the consequences. Though he resolved to face them when they presented themselves, whatever form they may take, it was with a distracted resolve, as the majority of his focus was consumed by the scream of every instinct urging him to climb to his feet and sprint to the infirmary. Even so, he stayed to make certain that the demon was truly gone before pulling himself shakily to a standing position, after which he broke the chalk's circle with the heel of his sandal, preventing any other such abominations from slipping through the cracks of the window he'd created.
Time itself seemed to slow as he waited, each passing second more agonizing than the last, until somehow Hanzo knew with a certainty that slammed against his skull with the weight of a spiked mace that the sun was hovering directly below the horizon, that any moment its light would strike the earth, and he was running, unsure of when he'd even made the conscious decision to do so, or if he even had. The fluorescent cylinders illuminating the barren hallways he streaked through flickered, creating a strobe effect that consistently threw ominous shadows into his path, shadows which he barreled through without a second glance.
It's not until he's standing outside the infirmary, chest heaving beneath his blue gi, hands balled into white-knuckled fists at his sides, that he allowed himself the luxury of wondering what he would do if the only thing waiting for him on the other side of that threshold was a rapidly cooling corpse.
A dark impulse whispered that if the demon did not uphold its end of the bargain, then he would find it once more, put an end to its miserable life, and then find somewhere isolated, a place where no prying eyes would ever find or mourn him, and join his brother. It was his duty as the eldest to look after him, after all. Such things did not end, not even after death.
But a quiet, surer, and perhaps, moderately mechanized voice countered that such an action would not be for Genji's sake, but his own, as Genji would have wanted him to stay, to protect his friends, to make sure they were safe.
And so, regardless of what waited for him on the other side of that door, he would.
Though he would certainly despise every second of it.
Cursing his own cowardice - and not just for lingering outside the infirmary like a child in need of comfort, but for being too lax, too slow, too proud to save his brother from death a second time – he pushed against the door with the flats of both his palms, hyperaware of the grain pressing against the pads calloused from years of perfecting his aim…
It swings open too quickly. It only takes an eternity.
And then he's standing in the doorway, staring, helplessly transfixed by the sight of Genji sitting up on the observation table without the visor Hanzo carried within his grasp, revealing a scarred brow and shimmering brown eyes with flecks of gold around the iris as he rotated his cybernetic limbs over and over, overcome by wonder and sheer disbelief at the life still thrumming within them.
He sensed Hanzo's presence before the archer recovered enough to approach, and turned to face him, a question he didn't quite know how to ask sitting at the forefront of his mind, because even though it was impossible, even though his older brother wasn't a doctor or a healer that could bring back the dying from the brink, something deep inside Genji knew that, somehow, Hanzo had been the catalyst for this miracle, had brought him back.
"Hanzo," there was a sharp intake of breath, just short of a cry, and then strong, gentle arms wrapped around the cyborg, and his dulled sense of smell picked up on traces of chalk and smoke, and he buried his head in it, shaking.
He had died once more, become nothing, but though the chill of death still sat heavily in his thoughts, in his body, Hanzo's embrace was warm, his grip was firm, solid, an anchor to hold him steady against the crash of conflicting emotions threatening to drag him down, and it was enough.
He would stay.
Their next embrace was after Hanzo made the mistake of instinctively moving in front of a bullet to shield his younger brother, recalling too late that, unlike himself, Genji did not fight unprotected.
He cursed himself for his own stupidity as gravity took hold, replacing the emptiness his departing strength had left behind with an irresistible weight, and he fell, backwards, into the cybernetic arms of his brother.
It was a stupid death worthy of a stupid man, but taking place in the company of one who was far more than he deserved. And Genji begged him to stay, desperately pleaded with emotions that pushed through the limitations of a vocal filter equipped for the purposes of a weapon and a tool. Not the man that was both, and none of it, and much, much more.
As he laid his head against his brother's chestplate, allowed his weary lids to slip closed as he listened to the too fast thump of his brother's heart, Hanzo regretted leaving him, regretted so much, yet he took some comfort in knowing that Genji would recover from his loss. He had a new family now, one which would protect him, and support him in ways his own blood never had.
Satisfied that Genji would overcome this, as he had done so much else, and confident that he had, at long last, earned his redemption, Hanzo reached for peace. For rest.
But it was not to be.
The shadows behind his eyes, in the darkest recesses of his mind, came alive to swarm his soul, wrap around it like a barrier that no light or heat could ever hope to penetrate.
When next he woke, it was to find a headstone sitting at the edge of the cliff outside Watchpoint, its smooth, black marble surface interspersed with shimmering flecks of a blue that had been carefully chosen to emulate the radiant azure of his dragons' scales.
Beneath a gray, overcast sky, he traced the letters of his name with a hooked nail, noticed for the first time the bloodless pallor of his skin, and knew without quite knowing how he knew that beneath the soon to be dampened and compacted earth, rested the body of Hanzo Shimada.
Brother.
Friend.
Proud member of Overwatch.
All at once, the dark clouds above, filled to the point of bursting, unleashed their burden upon the earth. He tilted his head towards the sky, looked straight into the downpour…
And felt nothing.
When it came to a summoning ritual, the value of the sacrifice was determined by demon itself. This meant that every potential summoner was required to attain at least some knowledge of the demon they wished to call upon, otherwise the ritual would be unfocused, acting as a portal through which any bottom-feeding cretin could crawl through.
Hanzo stopped outside the training room with the scent of incense clogging his nostrils and sake on his breath. Without even stepping inside, he knew that Genji now sat where he once had, pulsing a soft green in the makeshift gym's dim lighting. It's not the first time he'd called Hanzo to the corporeal plane nor, Hanzo suspected, would it be the last. It was, however, the first time Hanzo had chosen to seek him out instead of waiting for the deal to expire, which could take hours, since the value assigned by the archer to each of the items Genji offered to the ritual only increased over time.
From the looks of things, Genji seemed to be meditating. His legs were crossed in the lotus position, fingers interlocked and lying relaxed in his lap. If not for the restless buzzing emanating from within the cyborg, as well as a growing discontent only a demon could sense, Hanzo might have even been fooled.
Swallowing down the press of new instincts that urged him to pinpoint the weakness and sink his fangs into it until a deal was made, and a fresh soul wriggled between his claws, Hanzo raised a fist to bang on the steel door and announce his presence, but the temptation to simply leave, to keep avoiding the issue by forgoing any contact with his brother, crashed over him.
He knew well that Genji would not have persisted in these summonings if he did wish for this meeting, and yet…
Hanzo sunk the tip of a fang into his lower lip, drawing out a liquid that was too pale, too watery to be blood, but the shock of pain was enough to steel his resolve, and he stepped through the door, trusting that Genji's desire to see him would outweigh any concern for propriety.
Before Hanzo's sandaled foot had fully touched the clean wooden planking of the training room's floor, the cyborg twitched, tilted his head ever so slightly, as though struggling to place the melody of a half-remembered song, then spun in a streak of neon color to fix the demon with his unwavering gaze.
In the face that intensity, Hanzo suddenly found himself speechless. He hadn't thought so far ahead as to prepare what he was going to say, though he realized now that he should have, but most of all, he longed to see the scarred and weathered face beneath the mask, the expressive brown eyes that could shift from warm to hard and cold with frightening speed – What emotions did they show now?
With a quiet cough that was more out of residual human habit than need, the demon raised a clawed hand in awkward greeting.
He did not know what to expect, nor could he bring himself to move another step forward, and so he watched, silent, as Genji pushed himself to his feet, a subtle tremor running through his limbs, and turned to stride toward him, hands held loosely at his sides, movements fluid with an edge of harshness.
Holding his body still, Hanzo suppressed a flinch when Genji closed the distance between them, stopping only when he was close, so close, too close, and disconcertingly quiet. Vents unleashed a cloud of steam. Hanzo blinked.
And a metal fist slammed against his cheekbone, jerking his head backwards with a force that could have broken a human's neck, though his feet remained rooted to the ground, and Hanzo recovered, fangs bared in a snarl that died when Genji threw his arms around him. Now that Genji's cybernetic body, warmed by the recent release of his vents, rested against his cold chest, Hanzo could feel the shudders, the hitch of choked emotion that swelled beyond words, the relief and hurt and anger threatening to drown them both.
Slowly, so as not to startle, he rested his clawed hands on his little brother's back, pressing gently, and held him steady until the shudders gradually began to fade.