A/N: Although I did say The Rift would be updated next, I realized that it'd make more sense tonally to have this piece posted first.

Summary: The thing about a breaking point is - it has to start somewhere.

Two Birds

Not for the first time, Hanzo considered his own reflection in the full-length mirror with a scowl. His muscled legs looked slender in the tightly fitted black jeans Genji had lent him for the night, and his own white collared t-shirt rested loosely on his broad shoulders, untucked and unbuttoned to a degree that straddled the border of indecent.

The young heir's scowl deepened, hardened, as he berated himself for ever agreeing to accompany his brother and his friends to their karaoke night, but he'd promised Genji he'd spend time with him over the weekend, just as he'd promised his father that he'd look after him, and if by doing this he could keep his word to both, then he would push himself to his limits to do so, just as he always has.

Finally, he turned his back on the mirror, because he's checked the time and it's already half past sick-of-looking-at-himself. He flopped on his bed, pushing aside piles of discarded outfits so that he could watch the ceiling fan spin in lazy circles until the dread curling in the pit eased slightly, enough that he no longer felt the urge to tear his clothes to shreds and shoot an arrow through the mirror.

There must have been some way out of this, some manner in which he could keep his word to Genji that didn't require him subjecting himself to the spiky-headed deviant's chosen entourage. He could ask to postpone, complain that he didn't feel well (except a Shimada never admits to weakness, and Genji might actually cancel his plans if he thinks it's serious). It wouldn't be entirely a lie, though. The empty bottle of water and severely depleted aspirin sitting on his bathroom floor are a testament to that.

That's another reason why Genji introducing him to his friends is a bad, bad, very bad idea – they might smell the death on him. Despite his furious scrubbing last night, Hanzo thinks he can still smell the coppery tang of the police informant's blood under his fingernails. The execution had originally been assigned to Genji, as the Council willed it, but Genji never attended the meetings anymore, and so Hanzo had volunteered to do the deed in his stead, a proposal which was quickly seconded by their father, quickly enough, in fact, that Hanzo had felt within him a familiar twinge of resentment at both how willing a sacrifice he was and how willingly he was to be sacrificed.

But it was necessary. Because Genji didn't spend his nights hunched over a toilet seat when it was his turn to deliver punishment. No, his face shuttered, his hands remained steady, and shortly after the deed was done, he would laugh and smile as though nothing had happened, as though he'd already forgotten the blood crusting on his sword. Those who looked closely, though, could see the brittleness, the gradual chipping away of his boyish personality to something cold and ugly and, perhaps worst of all, cruel.

If bearing the weight of death alone was the price of keeping his brother from turning into a monster, then it was a small price to pay, and if he kept telling himself that, Hanzo was sure he would continue to believe it.

"Come on, Hanzo," Genji had wheedled shortly afterwards, catching Hanzo in the hallway before he could make it back to his room to change. He was so used to getting his invitations rebuffed, though, that it was honestly more of an exercise in dramatics than any serious attempt at convincing him, "it'll be fun." And at that, he'd swung an arm around Hanzo's shoulders, unaware of the significance of the sudden shift beneath him when Hanzo hastily moved to conceal the sullied hems of his sleeves, "Let's you and me let loose a little, act like kids. Maybe even do something wild." Silence stretched as Hanzo merely stared at him, thrown off by how surreal it felt to have his little brother asking to spend time with him for the first time in months when fresh blood spilled in his stead still dripped from his gi. Interpreting his silence as a refusal, Genji jostled him slightly, a grin spreading over his handsome features as he cajoled, "Forget about the family for once and come have a good time with me."

"Well," Hanzo relented, if only so that his brother would leave him alone long enough for him to clean himself up and maybe even patch some of his fraying edges before he disintegrated in a spectacular fashion, "I suppose I could use some fresh air."

With ill-concealed shock, Genji breathed, "Good. That's good. I mean…" He dragged a palm over his face, surprise and disbelief bleeding into the brightest sunshine grin. "I can't believe it." It was contagious. For an instant, Hanzo's thoughts weren't rooted in shadows and blood, but in tentative hope. A hope which his acid green-haired little brother naturally had to ruin when he giddily and obliviously added, "My friends have been dying to meet you!"

Back in the present, Hanzo groaned once more at his reflection,"That's it. This is pointless, the very height of foolishness. I own nothing suited for such an occasion, and have been assured that I possess exactly zero endearing traits. I'm staying home." If anything, Genji's companions were going to instantly compare him to his younger brother, and no doubt wonder where the gene pool had gone so terribly, horribly wrong.

Yes, it would be better for everyone if he just stayed in his room and eventually became one with his bed. He could rule the Shimada clan from his room, right? He was fairly certain there wasn't any law saying he couldn't.

"Hanzo, would you calm down?" He started at the sound of Genji rapping on the door, apparently having grown impatient with his endless prevaricating. "I can feel you freaking out in there a mile away. It's making my teeth itch." Indeed, there was thrum of tension in the air, a hum of electricity that raised the silky black hair fanned around his head. He frowned, willing the dragons within him to calm, sending thoughts within that all resembled the simple message of safesafesafe as the spectral guardians were merely reacting to his own agitation.

When the silence had stretched for an uncomfortable amount of time, there came the sound of metal scratching metal from the doorway. Genji had broken out his lock-picking kit. "What are you even doing in there?" The lock popped open with a click, much to Hanzo's exasperation, followed shortly by Genji poking his spiky head in with a raised brow.

"I'm drafting my epitaph." Hanzo said shortly. "Apparently, I was killed by a nosy brother with no respect for the privacy of his elders."

"And mine killed me through the sheer force of his stubbornness," Genji retorted as he pushed his way in, "I already told the guys you were coming tonight and they're really excited to meet you." Almost against his will, Hanzo flicked his dark eyes to see Genji looming at the side of his bed, looking as though he was seriously considering dragging Hanzo to the karaoke bar by his feet. There was a fist planted on his hip, and an overall assumption of body language that Hanzo recognized as his little brother at his most obstinate. This was a Genji who could not be reasoned with. Either Hanzo would leave on his own volition or he would spend the short side of eternity dealing with a glowering malcontent, because Genji wasn't stepping foot outside the Shimada Castle without him.

At long last, Hanzo swallowed down a lump of saliva that tasted like sour milk in his mouth, and rolled out of bed, slightly rumpled but still presentable. He didn't fail to notice the stiffness melt from his brother's shoulders at the sight of him apparently ready to step out into the world and meet people, though Genji did his best to mask it with an appraising glance up and down the length of his body and a satisfied crook of his lips. Settling on the jeans, he commented in the tone of someone who was extremely pleased with themselves, "I knew those would look good on you."

All said, it seemed a little anti-climatic, but Hanzo had long run out of excuses to make. It was time to face his demons, even if his demons were a handful of teens with the latest fashion and bubble-gum for brains.

It wasn't until they were walking out into the courtyard, however, that Hanzo realized they were really doing this. He was leaving his home behind in the snow that swallowed it up after distance had rendered it small enough to fit in his palm if he angled it right. And could every kami in existence just make note of the fact that he was walking past the boundaries of the Shimada Castle to fraternize with his so-called peers, because this was a momentous occasion that was highly unlikely to ever occur again.

As was the state of Genji beside him. For once, he wasn't covering up simmering anger with an apathetic shrug or an arrogant, challenging smirk. This wasn't Genji forced into a spar he had no desire to participate in, or strong-armed into a meeting about clan politics that he couldn't care less about. This was Genji in his element, among the bustling crowds, blinking lights, and neon signs.

Whereas the Shimada Castle seemed to inhabit a space outside of time, the city was unmistakably modern, with skyscrapers and fast food restaurants galore. Even with hair the color of radioactive waste, Genji had never looked more at home. Every now and then, though, when he thought his brother wouldn't noticed, his eyes would flick to Hanzo, to the awe illuminated on his features by the passing headlights of cars and signs on the street, and his lips would part slightly in surprise, his eyes going wide, as though he was having just as much difficulty accepting that this was real as Hanzo was. This was the first time in months that he would be spending time with his brother outside of training, and even that time had severely diminished once he'd started skipping sparring sessions, ditching meetings, and staying out until the early hours of the morning.

When Hanzo turned to look at him, though, after they had crossed the street (at the crosswalk because, in public at least, they could project the image of proper law-abiding citizens) it was to see something ominous roll over his features, nebulous as the roiling, writhing clouds of an oncoming storm, rueful and twisting. Afterwards Genji lengthened his stride so that he outpaced Hanzo as they climbed the steps to the high glass building that contained the hotel and karaoke bar, a low mutter of, "I should've done this ages ago," slipping past, and Hanzo slowed, hovering uncertainly at the entrance threshold, wondering what he'd done to trigger the change. But Genji waved at the receptionist with a glowing smile, seemingly back to his usual self, and Hanzo felt his own anxiety ease at the sight, although that really only succeeded in smoothing over his concerns regarding his brother, as the thought of meeting his friends – (people outside the family, who wouldn't – couldn't understand) – still left him a hair's breadth from spinning on his heel and marching home.

But he couldn't disappoint Genji. Not this time. He'd already done so too much and too often, even if he hadn't always had a choice in the matter.

When at last the impending doom could be delayed no longer and Genji was holding the door open, inviting him wordlessly to step inside the booth where his friends were already participating in a rousing rendition of a sappy romantic power ballad about living on after loss. Instead of focusing on that, however, Hanzo zeroed in on how appropriate it was that his entrance be greeted by lyrics commonly associated with the tragedy of the once said to be unsinkable ocean liner that had sunk to the bottom of the sea, taking with it the lives of those who had pinned their hopes and dreams and futures on its success.

Gods, no wonder Genji said he was depressing.

But the teens didn't seem to care for the context, as they belted out the high notes with the gusto of a tone-deaf cockatoo, substituting ability with feeling and boundless energy. The air was thick with the tang of sweet alcohols and sweat, but they grinned openly when Genji added his own dulcet tones to the chorus, and hurriedly passed him a microphone. Hanzo pushed aside a purse sitting on the plush cushions of the scarlet too-soft couches with a slight frown, and waited patiently for the song to reach its grand conclusion.

If he didn't know better, he would have sworn that the furniture was actively trying to swallow him. He kept readjusting himself in an effort to remain upright, but it was a struggle. Still, he was the heir of a powerful criminal syndicate and not to be bested by cheap polyester and stuffing.

Once the song was done, and the white, swirling cursive on the small television provided to them for this activity disappeared from the screen, Hanzo was beset by the bright-eyed youths, all of whom had apparently been as eager to meet him as Genji had claimed them to be, though Celine Dion had, of course, taken precedence.

"So, you're Genji's older brother," the boy wearing loose pants and a Kinjaz t-shirt stated with a hint of mischief. "He'd told us a lot of about you." He reached for a handshake. "I'm Hiroshi. And these dorks behind me," he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the young woman with tanned skin and an abundance of pearl eyeshadow. He would say she was Genji's type except Genji didn't have a type so much as he had a species. As though sensing his thoughts, she cocked her head to the side with a grin and a wink, a gesture that allowed her long hair to cascade over her glittering top in bronze waves, "is Reiko."

And the one standing beside her with a furrowed brow and tension in his shoulders was Daisuke. None of them volunteered their family names, which wasn't too strange amongst the newer generations, so Hanzo didn't think much of it, only offered his hand. He waited, arm raised, as Daisuke seemed to think it over, and didn't miss the pleading look Genji shot his friend before he finally relented. "Like Hiroshi said," the boy's voice was surprisingly pleasant, "we've heard a lot about you. I can honestly say I didn't actually think you were going to show up tonight."

That certainly answered the question of what exactly the nature of Genji's tellings had been. It would seem he wasn't the sole occupant of the room putting his personal feelings aside for his sake.

Daisuke's grip was firm when they shook, but not overly so, and Hanzo allowed himself a grim smile.

This was going to be a long night.

The screen blinked white, before a bubblegum pink title took up residence on its surface and Reiko let out a delighted squeal. Leaping over the table with surprising grace to plant herself in front of the lyrics, she crowed, "Leave this one to me, boys."

"PON PON set it free," she belted out, copying the cutesy dance moves to perfection, to the point of even sticking out her bum and giving it a light tap to match the beat, and while Genji snickered freely at the display, Daisuke and Hanzo shared similar expressions of pain. "C'mon, let the crazy show."

"Everyday is PON," she threw her arms into the air, "Everytime is PON!"

And just has soon as Hiroshi had dared to mutter that it probably couldn't get any worse, the chorus began, "PON PON WAY WAY WAY PONPON WAY PON WAY PON PON WAY WAY PONPONPON WAY WAY PON WAY PON-" They managed to suffer through its entirety but by the second chorus, nerves were frayed, ears were bleeding, and Hanzo had taken to passing the time by begging whatever deity that would listen for a meteor to crash through the roof. It was by its third repetition that Hiroshi voiced a desire to use the restroom, and then accidentally caught his sneaker on the power plug.

Though it must have been difficult to keep a straight face when confronted with the matching pouts of both Reiko and his brother, Hiroshi apologized profusely, and even diplomatically offered to give her another turn. But Reiko refused with a huff, her arms folded against her chest as she plopped down on the couch, accidentally jostling her partner-in-crime in the process.

After uttering a hushed sigh of relief, Hanzo glanced at Daisuke to see that his gaze had gone unexpectedly soft, as he regarded the casual banter between them with a subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Once the karaoke machine was restored, Genji insisted that he be given the next turn, since they had all so cruelly started without him. And for further prove that the universe itself would bend over backwards to aid him in his quest to be as annoying as was humanly possible at all opportunities, the randomly selected song was revealed to be none other than Mr. Roboto.

Instantly, his natural accent became oddly stilted, as though the ridiculously simple Japanese sprinkled through the English song was foreign to him, and he marched in place, arms pumping robotically, and his audience clapped along with the rhythm, having been carried away by his energy and the sheer force of his magnetic personality.

The last, lingering note came fast, so fast it took them by surprise, but Genji poured his soul into it, and held it without pausing for breath or lessening in volume for an instant longer than the song's own artist had, before pulling it to a quick and clean close.

There was a whoop, a cheer, and then a hearty round of applause from all parties present. Grinning, Genji bowed to each of them, "Domo arigato."

Then he tossed the microphone to Hanzo.

Hanzo caught it reflexively, only to fumble it upon realizing exactly what it was he'd been tossed. He shot Genji a wounded look, but he only shrugged, entirely unbothered by the theatrics, while Hiroshi and Daisuke both appeared somewhat apologetic. Reiko, on the other hand, held absolutely no reservations about forcing him into the spotlight, as she pulled him to his feet and pushed him to the front, where he stood stock still for several agonizing seconds before his brain reluctantly acknowledged the reality of his situation.

Reiko was watching him expectantly, waiting for him to choose something with her chin propped on her hands. The others seemed more wary, but nonetheless supportive.

At first, Hanzo considered Enka, something traditional, slow and crooning, but his nerves wouldn't allow him to spend anymore than the absolute minimum amount of time centerstage, so anything less than a galloping pace was out of the question.

He scrolled through the categories, only half-paying attention while his insides curled up and died under the scrutiny, before landing on K-Pop. He regarded it curiously, thinking back to the many lessons he'd received in the language and brief overview of the culture. After hitting select, and ignoring the questioning glances that were no doubt being exchanged behind him, he thumbed the remote to land on a song entitled, HERO.

And as luck would have it, it actually wasn't entirely unknown to him.

Okay, maybe his knowledge was relegated to watching the moves once or twice when looking over his brother's shoulder, but he was confident that he could imitate them to a passable degree. The booth was cramped, and it didn't always feel like there was enough air flowing through the vents to sustain them, but whether it was a burst of confidence or oxygen-deprivation, Hanzo was suddenly certain he could pull this off.

The introduction consisted of the band announcing its name with no small amount of flare, and then Hanzo, in a perfect American accent, said, "Ya'll know what it is, man." And Genji leaned so far forward he almost fell out of his seat. A short, amused laugh bubbled out of him, and then he spread his arms out wide, growling the lyrics, "Monsta. Monsta," before snapping along to the beat. He stepped forward, a boyish grin spreading up his cheeks when the song really hit its stride. "Okay, man," he glanced back, satisfied by the matching expressions of shock he witnessed, "let's go."

It wasn't often that he got to display his flawless Korean, and so he took great joy in doing so as he dragged his feet across the floor to give the impression of sliding, arced his torso in sensual waves, and even leaned back to occasionally flash his well-sculpted abs.

His comfort level rose with each new verse, as the Korean flowed effortlessly and the choreography proved easier to imitate than he'd anticipated, until he was striding around the room, serenading Genji's friends in turns.

"I can be your hero. I can be your man," he sang directly to Reiko, causing her to sworn dramatically on his brother. It was the first time she'd taken her eyes off him since he'd lifted his shirt. An unusual spike of tension prompted Hanzo to cross to the other side of the room. And he grinned at the shade of rose petal pink that dusted Daisuke's cheeks when he did, while Hiroshi sagged heavily against his companion, laughing so hard into the hands clapped over his mouth that he'd lost the ability to remain upright.

The lyrics came faster as the song segued into its rap portion. Hanzo was dimly aware of Genji cheering in the background while he focused on keeping up, then slowed back down again, allowing him to return to jumping and making odd movements with his hands.

When the song finally ended, he was breathing harshly, with a thin sheen of sweat coating his skin. Daisuke seemed grudgingly impressed, while Hiroshi just shook his head with a wordless smile.

But then, "Genji?" Although she'd been sitting throughout the duration of Hanzo's performance, Reiko's cheeks maintained a healthy flush.

Genji blinked. "Yeah?"

"I think I just fell a little bit in love."

"Me too," Hiroshi chimed in, his smile having morphed into a full out grin, and Hanzo felt his face heat all the way to the roots of his hair. The congratulations, including a heartfelt slap on the back from Daisuke, gave him a warm, heady feeling, the likes of which he'd never experienced before, but none so much as his brother's, who spent the rest of the night unashamedly showing off how proud he was of his cool older brother.

But it all burst, like a fragile soap bubble, when Hanzo reported his observations to their father later that night – that Genji's companions had seemed like little more than average teenagers, though it had been a bit odd that none had introduced themselves by their family name - only to be bluntly informed that Reiko, Daisuke, and Hiroshi had each been identified as the children of rival gangs and crime syndicates.

It was then that Hanzo realized it had all been nothing but a pretty dream. He had been a fool to pretend otherwise. He rebuffed every attempt Genji made to invite him out again with unconcealed scorn, answered his pleas, "They miss you, Hanzo. You don't know how often they ask about you, " with a curled lip and a sneered, "They already have one Shimada in their possession. What need have they of another?"

Eventually, their father called them to a meeting, and they sat on the ground together in the darkened room where he resided in a ceremonial chair of plated gold, ornate with the wrathful dragons carved into its armrests. "Genji, it has come to my attention, that your friends are the scion of our rivals," Hanzo felt his brother's accusing gaze flick to him, "but you already know this, do you not?"

Ducking his head, Genji swallowed. "I did not judge their lineage to be of any importance."

Thinking back to Reiko's unabashed laughter, to Hiroshi's calm demeanor, and Daisuke's protective streak, Hanzo found himself agreeing. But their father's word was law. If Genji did not cut his ties with them now, there was no telling what tragedy might befall them.

When at last he was dismissed, Genji strode out the doors with tension thrumming through him, only the barest hint of iridescence in his eyes betraying the storm brewing within.

For a time, Hanzo remained seated, silent, thinking. "If we continue to stifle him like this," he began softly, "he will only continue to rebel. " It was dangerous to speak out like this. The elders had ears everywhere, and speaking against the will of the kumicho carried heavy consequences, even for his sons, but he had to know how their father, who so obviously favored Genji, could simultaneously drive him away.

And for the first time in his life, Hanzo witnessed the years of accumulated stress and grief age him a decade, erasing the lord, erasing the dragon, and leaving just the man, who regarded Hanzo as something very close to an equal when he said, "A cage with gilded bars is still a cage. It is vital that he understands that even the Shimada, with all their influence and power, are far from free."

He didn't say anything more after that, and eventually, Hanzo left, though he did so with more questions than before, only to be shoved roughly against the wall once he passed the threshold. Instead of fighting back, Hanzo forced himself to relax. He knew exactly who his assailant was, had even anticipated the assault.

"I never should have invited you," Genji snarled, baring his teeth with unshed tears in his eyes. "Stay in this prison and rot, Hanzo, if that is your wish, but I will not join you in this slow death."

He broke off, releasing Hanzo as though he wasn't even worth hurting, then stalked into the shadows with his fists curled at his sides and wisps of ethereal green smoke trailing in his wake.

A/N:

My Heart Will Go On - I currently live in China and this is, to my knowledge, still one of the most requested karaoke songs in Asia.

PONPONPON - A special thanks to Amanda Lee for translating this adorably perky song.

Mr. Roboto - While this song was made famous by the Styx, the dance moves and general attitude for Genji were inspired by Jimmy Fallon.

HERO - Since Hanzo was raised as heir, it's likely that he's fluent in several languages, but Genji never listened when told that watching K-Pop bands like Monsta X on the internet didn't actually count as studying.