Summary: McCree thinks he knows what Hanzo is hiding underneath his cybernetic armor, Genji needs healing, DVa just wants to do her job, and Mercy needs a vacation.

I Need Healing

It was three weeks after Hanzo joined Overwatch that McCree finally mustered up the courage to talk to Genji about his older brother in private, because he had questions about the man, particularly his eating habits. Or rather, their complete and utter absence.

Sure, the archer would sit at the table for breakfast or dinner, and even participate in the conversation occasionally, but the mesh mask was never removed from his face, no matter how much Angela nagged him about a proper diet.

He'd even managed to resist Reinhardt by effortlessly directing the conversation to the old man's past exploits in Overwatch.

Hanzo, as luck would have it, was excellent at shedding attention, which must have come in handy more than once on his travels when his cybernetic suit of armor was highlighted with bright, glaring orange. Anyone who saw him and Genji in the same room would think that Hanzo was cut from the same cloth, except Genji insisted that he had never harmed his brother, and Jesse was inclined to believe him.

But a lot could happen in a decade.

"Now, no worries, partner," McCree assured the startled cyborg when he found him standing over a cup of steeping tea in the kitchen, "I just want to talk."

It was late at night, and Genji clearly hadn't expected any company, because he noticeably stiffened, before cutting straight to the heart of the matter, "I have told you before, McCree. My brother is not like me."

Carding his fingers through his unruly bedhead in frustration, McCree argued, "Then why does he wear his casual clothes over that armor?" Every time Hanzo was spotted in the training grounds, he was either mission-ready in all of armor or wearing a loose pair of grey sweatpants over it. But McCree kept going, not understanding how Genji could be so blind to something that to him was plain as day. "Why do you think he refuses to take off that damn mask and eat with the rest of us?" There was a thud of flesh on wood. McCree looked down to see he'd slammed a fist down on the table. Noticing Genji's gaze drop to his clenched hands, McCree forced his fingers to loosen, then laid his palm flat on the table's surface. More calmly, but with a bitter taste in his mouth, McCree asked, "Doesn't it remind you of a certain someone?"

Silence followed his words, lasting long enough that McCree began to wonder if the cyborg had no plans on speaking at all, until a harsh breath through a mechanical filter robbed him of those doubts. "I didn't harm him." And the way it was said was so quiet and sad that McCree almost wished he could zip back through time like Lena and make it so that this conversation never happened. When Genji spoke again, it was firmer, but no less pained, "That night, though he did his best to goad me, I never fought back."

The cyborg's lights flared with the increase in his heartrate, throwing translucent green over the surfaces around him and reflecting off of the tea. It was like no time had passed since they were in Blackwatch together, and Genji was coming apart at the seams. But this wasn't the past, and Genji wasn't the messed up kid he'd been when Blackwatch first got their hands on him, so when McCree reached out to lay a heavy hand on the already mostly composed cyborg's shoulder, he didn't feel too bad about saying, "Darlin', just because you didn't harm him doesn't mean he wasn't harmed none."

He took a step back to give Genji some space while he digested that, and watched without comment as he drained the teabag – Jasmine, if he had to guess by its faintly floral scent- and then gathered the steaming mug in his palms. There wasn't much in the cyborg that could stand directly ingested liquid, so McCree knew he hadn't made the tea for himself.

Leaning against the table, McCree asked with a very deliberate casualness, "You hopin' that tea will get him to open up a little?"

And though the faceplate obscured any expression he might have made, McCree was certain he heard a smile somewhere in those robotic tones when he replied, "One cannot drink tea with a mask on."

It seemed the cowboy wasn't the only curious cat on base.

I need healing.

Hanzo winced. The repeated call was grating against his calm.

Unlike the others, who'd gone ahead to scout out the area, and seemed to be encountering some minor resistance, Hanzo had volunteered to stay behind with the doctor inside the emergency clinic they'd erected in the middle of the desert, so that he could assist her with the preparation of her medical equipment. After stooping to grip the edge of a cot, Hanzo asked, "Does he say that often?"

There was a time in their youth when Genji had cried at every stubbed toe and scraped knee, but Hanzo had assumed he'd grown out of it.

Once they set the cot down next to its twin, Mercy straightened, her posture unbelievably stressed, while her fingers massaged a crease between her brows that was growing more pronounced with every new request for her aid.

"When he first joined Blackwatch, we could never get him to admit when he was in need of repairs. He'd just come crawling through the door, barely functional, and only then would he let me treat him."

"He sounds like a handful," Hanzo said sympathetically.

"In a way, I suppose this is preferable, but sometimes…" Startled by the darkness brewing in her gaze as she stared off into the distance, Hanzo took an involuntary step back. "I can't help but wonder if he does it because he thinks it's funny."

Hanzo didn't doubt it, but as to how anyone could be so brave as to test the doctor, he had no idea.

After discreetly exiting the tent, leaving her to her brooding, Hanzo felt his metal boots begin to sink into the sand and sighed. It was going to take weeks before he was sand-free again.

It didn't take him long to catch up to DVa patrolling the perimeter in her MEKA, though that was less to do with his own skill as a tracker and more to do with the constant whine of her machine's hydraulics and the trail of dinosaur footsteps it left behind.

Once he'd come within range of her periphery, he called, "I take you are not often deployed on stealth missions, then?" It would certainly explain why he'd never seen her on the roster for his own assignments, though the MEKA seemed to also have its advantages. From what he could observe, the machine was built to accommodate its driver in extreme weather conditions, as Dva wasn't even sweating inside her cockpit.

She spared him a mildly irked glance, like a horse acknowledging a gnat, and snuck her tongue out. Hanzo quickly turned his head away so she wouldn't see him smile.

While he sidestepped a tall cactus and other desert vegetation in his path, she trudged over it without pausing, her gaze focused ahead of her. "I heard Genji calling on the radio a while back. Is he okay?"

"He may have been clipped in a brief firefight with a local gang, but he and McCree made short work of them. Mercy is probably looking after him as we speak."

They continued on in silence, with DVa crushing the native flora with every step she took, even stepping into a spider's web at one point, but though she grimaced at the webbing splayed over her cockpit window, she didn't seem overly bothered by it. Hanzo was quietly impressed by how professional her demeanor was in the field, as off it, she behaved in a manner befitting a girl her age, with teasing and jibes and pranks, and a passion for her hobbies that often led to her prioritizing her games over proper rest and nutrition.

Well, Genji had been the same way when he was her age.

"Aren't you hot?" Pulled out of his thoughts by the innocent question, Hanzo turned to see the young soldier side-eyeing him from her seat with a raised brow and a touch of subtle concern.

In fact, the sections of his armor that touched his organic skin were searing. He was certain that he would have blisters to take care of once this mission was done, but it would not impact his performance, and thus did not bear mentioning. "I am fine," he said shortly, not wanting her to probe him on the matter any further.

Of course, that only provoked her curiosity more, but just as she opened her mouth to press the issue, the side of her mechanical suit was rocked by a projectile that exploded upon impact, kicking up dust and spewing smoke as the force nearly sent her careening off the edge of the cliffside before she kicked open the emergency hatch and leaped out onto the path, unarmed except for the pistol in her hand. In one fluid motion, Hanzo unslung Stormbow, nocked a scatter arrow, calculated the RPG's trajectory, and then fired it into the collection of rocks above them.

"It's an ambush," Hanzo growled as the flailing body of a man wearing the Deadlock insignia on his shoulder careened past them. The path they were on gave them limited mobility, which would make dodging any future projectiles dangerous, not to mention that the impact could dislodge some of the rock. Hanzo reasoned that even if he didn't manage to lodge an arrowhead into the cliff to halt his fall, he'd likely survive, but outside of her suit, Hana had no such luxury.

Falling back on his instincts, Hanzo gripped her by the wrist, ignoring the question in her eyes at the contact. "Run."

As they sprinted to find some cover, a place where they could defend themselves without fear of the ground collapsing beneath their feet, Hanzo glanced back, having picked up on the soft plink of metal hitting the ground, to see three unpinned grenades lying several feet behind them. Thinking quickly, he wrapped an arm around Hana's waist, plunged an arrow into the rock, and then shielded her as much as could with his own body. The path shivered beneath their feet, rocked and destabilized by the explosion as chucks of it plummeted into the canyon below, but enough of a ledge held that Hanzo never had to rely on his arrow to support his and Hana's full weight, though it did help him maintain his balance.

A rock the size of a baseball slammed against his shoulder, drawing out a hiss, and he glared at the edge above them, his gaze searching for any gangsters that might have gotten it into their heads that throwing stones was better than wasting ammo at this point.

Ignoring the painful throbbing the blow had left him with, Hanzo carefully guided Hana off the narrow ledge, then fired another scatter arrow at the boulders while she reserved her pistol for closer targets. There was no sense wasting bullets when she couldn't see the enemy, after all. And flushing rats out of their holes was Hanzo's specialty.

"See with the Dragon's Eye." The world took on a bluish tinge, the edges becoming blurred and undefined as he searched the mountain for their remaining assailants. Distantly, he heard DVa suck in a sharp breath, but refused to let it distract him.

There. Behind the boulder on their top right were three heat signatures glowing scarlet against the mountain's cold grey.

"There are three hostiles remaining." He glanced at the girl sprinting beside him on the uneven and foreign terrain. Her face was flushed with heat and exertion, the tie in her hair coming undone so that sweat-soaked bangs stuck to her cheeks. But her pistol was held aloft, her lips pressed into a thin line that reminded him more of a lioness on the hunt than a rabbit on the run. Though she'd lost the protection of her suit, there was no doubt in his mind that she was far from helpless. Thus, it was with a teasing lilt that he commented, "Think you can handle it?"

And the grin he got in return was positively wolfish. "Who do you think I am? An amateur?"

Despite the direness of their situation, Hanzo nearly laughed at that. DVa held no such restraint, though. She was still snickering when her foot landed on a pressure switch.

There was enough time for her to realize what had happened, for her eyes to widen in shock and fear as momentum carried her forward, before Hanzo grabbed her by the arm and threw her as far he could manage.

She hit the ground hard, and was forced to dig her nails into the dirt to keep from rolling right over the edge. There was an unbearable wave of heat, a ringing in her ears, and a shower of dirt and shattered rocks that forced her to curl into a ball to keep the worst of it from striking her head.

By the time the dust and smoke had settled, she was practically buried in the stuff. Groaning, she shook herself off, a grimace twisting her features because the ringing in her head was killing her and everything hurt. It wasn't long before she realized exactly who had taken the brunt of the explosive, though.

Staying low to the ground, she crawled to the sudden, jagged drop a few feet ahead, directly where she'd been standing.

"Hanzo?" Thanks to the feeling of mud coating her throat, it came out sounding like a hoarse croak, but she persisted, and was eventually rewarded by the sight of iron grey fingers dug into the ledge. "Hold on, I'll pull you up."

A grunt was all she got in response but then she hadn't expected much else. If the gangsters overhead realized they hadn't died in the explosion, there was a good chance that she'd be dealing with the next assault alone, but leaving a team member behind was out of the question, so she grabbed Hanzo by the wrist, and tried not to look down when she hauled him over the edge.

It was easier than she'd thought it'd be, but it wasn't until she got a good look at his legs that she knew why.

There was nothing there, just loose and sparking wires where his knees should have been. And she had so many questions – how did he lose his legs being the main one – but there was no time. Every second wasted brought them closer to a second assault, one which neither of them were in any condition to face.

While Hanzo focused on righting himself, she knelt with her arms held out behind her, "Climb on my back." After looking back to see him staring at her like she'd suddenly grown a tail, she snapped, "This is so not the time for your stupid man pride. Come on!"

And he acquiesced, curling his arms around her while she hefted him up on his back. Even without his limbs, most of his weight was concentrated on his upper torso, and she bowed slightly, but instead of commenting on it, merely set her jaw and trudged determinedly forward. Once they'd moved several years without harassment, Hana puffed, "Once we get back to base, I'll pay you back for saving my life with a coffee. How does that sound?"

After a moment's hesitation, Hanzo replied, "I am afraid coffee is not quite to my tastes."

Though she was in the middle of navigating a tricky dip in the path, Hana glanced over her shoulder to gape at him, "You don't drink coffee? What's wrong with you?" Hanzo shook his head. This was not a conversation he'd imagined he'd be having in the middle of a mission. "How are you even awake right now?"

"...Exactly how much coffee do you drink?"

The disapproval in his tone must have been evident because Hana's eyebrows shot up to her hairline. "Are you really going to nag me about my caffeine addiction? Now?"

Resolving to resume this conversation at a later time, Hanzo settled back into silence. Just to be safe, he activated his second sight once more, and scanned every rock, every corner, every crack for an enemy lying in wait, but their luck held out, allowing Hana to carry Hanzo the entire stretch of land to Mercy's emergency tent. Perhaps they truly believed that the pair had perished, or more likely, they'd found a more pressing matter to attend to.

Once they were close enough that revealing their survival was no longer a risk, Hanzo called into the comm with a touch of mischief, "I need healing."

The answer was immediate, Don't you start with me, Hanzo!

DVa grinned, teeth white against sweat and dirt-streaked skin. "She's gonna kill you for that."

As it turned out, she did not, in fact, kill him for that, though Hanzo inwardly debated whether or not such a fate would have been preferable to the silent seething she engaged in while she assessed the damage done to his damaged prosthetics. He was sitting on the edge of the cot he'd set up not too long ago, feeling very much like a scolded child as she scribbled down notes and muttered fragmented sentences under her breath.

The dark shadows beneath her eyes spurred a wave of guilt within him, causing him to honestly try to make amends. "I apologize for the inconvenience this has caused you, Dr. Ziegler."

Rather than softening, her gaze seemed to freeze with an unspoken fury that made Hanzo question if he hadn't been safer on the mountain with the thieves and bandits. "Do you think I blame you for this?" She managed to say through her teeth, and he scrambled to find where he'd misstepped so that he could come up with the correct response, the one that would calm her ire.

Her hard gaze flicked over his face, taking in the panic evident in what little she could see of his features, and she pulled away with a sigh. "I don't blame you for saving your teammate, Hanzo. I just wish you hadn't sacrificed your body to do it."

"There wasn't a choice," he insisted, thinking of the wide-eyed terror he'd witnessed when Hana stepped on the trigger, the certainty that she was going to die.

After setting her notepad down on the tray holding her instruments, Mercy collapsed into a chair by the monitor she had displaying Hanzo's strong heartbeat. With the air of someone repeating a very old and worn argument, she muttered, "Because you believe your body makes you expendable."

Though sympathetic, Hanzo could only nod his agreement. "I can be repaired, Dr. Ziegler, but Hana cannot. That is an undeniable fact."

And then the steel was back, the iron in her spine. She leaned forward, "Yes, but you are not a machine. Nor are you a weapon. When you are hurt, it hurts those closest to you, as well." Then she threw out a hand to pull the curtain so that he could see the teenaged girl sleeping soundly in the chair behind it. There were scratches on her cheeks, bruises on her limbs, and a fine dusting of dirt and sand in her hair, but otherwise, she was unharmed. Only exhausted.

On the whole, Hanzo thought dragging her into the argument was rather unfair, but conceded the point. Still, he would much prefer she mourn him, if it meant that she would be alive to do so.

Sensing that the argument had run its course, as neither of them would be changing the other's opinion anytime soon, Mercy shifted the topic to a question that had been burning at the tip of her tongue since she first discovered the extent of Hanzo's prosthesis, "If you do not mind me asking... how did this happen?"

"The yakuza are no stranger to the use of amputation as a tool to teach obedience." Chuckling bitterly, Hanzo added, "I suppose I never did learn my lesson."

There was little warning besides a clink of spurs before McCree barged through the entrance, saying, "Hey, Angie, so I think me and Genji got most of 'em. What's this we heard about Hanzo needing healing?" Then he caught a glimpse of the patient in question, who'd gone absolutely rigid at the unwelcome intrusion, and froze.

It'd been a long time – years - since Hanzo had felt so helpless. But without his legs he couldn't move, couldn't run or hide, could only sit still and watch as comprehension and horror dawned on the cowboy's rugged features, after which a second figure pushed their way into the tent, grumbling, "Move, Jesse. There is not enough room in here for you to be standing in the-" Upon spotting his brother, Genji allowed the sentence to die prematurely.

There's the instant before the volcanic eruption, the sight of the approaching tornado or the circling of a shark, all of which carry with them a certain impending sense of doom, and yet none of them could compare to the dread Hanzo felt watching his younger brother stand on the threshold with the tent flap still lifted and resting on his arm.

With the exception of a subdued whir, no one dared make a sound. Instead, they waited for the lava, for the storm winds, for the snapping jaws and blood in the water. But all that came was single question, uttered quietly and without emotion, "Did I do this to you?"

"No."

Staring at the mess of sparking circuits where his legs should have been, Genji nodded once, then turned and disappeared through the flap, leaving Hanzo both speechless and burning with shame.

Despite his own struggle to process this latest revelation, Jesse tracked his exit with his eyes. He sighed on his way out, "I'll go talk to him."

Hanzo didn't realize he was shaking until a slender hand snuck into his grip, and he looked down to see Hana staring up at him with a solemnness that seemed out of place on her youthful features. He had an urge to tell a joke or otherwise make light of the situation to wipe that sudden seriousness away, but levity had never been his forte, and he feared he would only make the situation worse if he tried to underplay its significance, as he had tried to do with the doctor.

Ignoring the weight of the doctor's gaze, he resolved to say nothing, because words weren't what was needed, not in this case, and instead offered a reassuring squeeze in return. He watched as the tension eased out of her shoulders, and dared to wonder if placating Genji would also be so simple. By all rights, Genji had even less of a reason to be upset, since he had suffered a similar grievance at his hand. To be dealt such a fate could be called karmic – Hanzo had certainly welcomed it as such – so perhaps Genji would not take the revelation quite so badly as he had feared.

Almost on cue, the cowboy's rumbling timbre rolled in through the loosely sealed flap, "Darlin', it's a fifteen mile trek to the nearest airport through the desert and you're dressed like a tuna can." Whatever Genji snapped in response was too fast and heated to make out. "Look, if you're that determined to go and start another international crisis with the Japanese government, at least let me drive you."

With a quiet groan, Mercy pressed a palm against her brow. "Jesse."