Chapter Summary: When the bond between brothers is shattered and history begins to repeat itself, the dragon spirits of old decide that it is time to intervene.
Dragon's Punishment
This night wasn't the first time their blades had clashed. Growing up, they were each other's favorite sparring partners, and though the steel of their katana's had met before, there had once been a joy, a harmony, a unity in the meeting.
There was none of that now.
The metal shrieked with each crossing, as both tried to press for an advantage while the painted images of ancient dragons looked down on the conflict from overhead. Words were said that could not be unsaid, each of them fresh splinters in an already fractured and fragile bond. It would be so easy to obliterate it completely.
All it would take was one wrong step, one well-aimed strike.
And the dragons watched the brothers bleed in body and in soul, watched their hearts break as they injured themselves with each blow they dealt, and came to a decision.
"You are a disgrace to the clan, Genji." The words felt distorted and misshapen as he spoke them, as though they'd been placed within his throat without his knowledge, but it was too late for him to think about that. There's a scarlet sheen on his katana from where he'd managed to land glancing blows on Genji's arms and shoulders. Nothing serious, but enough for Hanzo to know that there's no coming back from this.
Facing him with a pained grimace from the shallow cuts, Genji stood in front of the scroll, his own blade raised and waiting, though he'd only been using it to defend himself thus far. It was an insult. Did Genji not think he would need his full strength to defeat him? Or did he truly believe that Hanzo would sacrifice everything, his honor, his loyalty to the clan, and choose to side with a frivolous spendthrift? Someone who could not even stop wasting the clan's funds long enough to aid with the arrangements for their father's funeral?
No, it was time Genji finally learned the lesson the previous kumicho had been too soft, too weak to teach him.
With an incoherent snarl of pent-up hurt and rage, Hanzo raised his katana to deal the finishing blow, and Genji's eyes widened at the sight of the blade rushing down to bite into his flesh, having never truly believed that his older brother would seriously attempt to kill him until that moment.
But before any more blood could be shed, something amazing happened, something that neither of them could have ever imagined.
Just before the katana connected, a searing light interposed itself between the two. It expanded rapidly with gale-force winds, making Hanzo slide backwards on his soles while Genji threw an arm over his face in an attempt to protect himself. By the time the light had faded, the sheer shock of the interruption had dulled Hanzo's ire, and as his sight adjusted, it became clear that some change had transpired, because the expression with which Genji stared at his arm was one of pure horror.
There were scales coating his forearm, each of them a glittering and beautiful verdant in the shrine's dim illumination. But they didn't stop. They traveled to his bicep, creeping over his shoulder and up his neck as his grass green hair began to lengthen and spread down his spine. Short, carefully trimmed nails grew and hardened into claws. Eventually, Genji's back began to hunch, forcing him to the ground as his legs and arms shortened into thick and powerful limbs.
With his mouth stretching into a slender muzzle, Genji swiveled his head in wild panic, until finally the dragon's frantic gaze fell on Hanzo who, in the face of what he was seeing, couldn't bring himself to move. "…han…zo…?"
It was barely intelligible, but when the only sounds that followed were low growls and a frightened keening, it became clear that Genji had lost his capability for human speech during the transformation.
As the green dragon, larger than a man and with a maw full of gleaming fangs, snapped and writhed and pawed at its shining scales, Hanzo felt the resentment he'd been holding onto for so long wither away and die, because if there was any one, unquestionable truth in the world, it was that regardless of what he had or hadn't done, Genji didn't deserve this.
Tossing the sword in his hand away, Hanzo dropped to his knees, then raised his head to meet the unwavering stare of the dragon brothers above him, and pleaded with the spirits, "This is my punishment, isn't it?" There was no answer. He hadn't expected one, but Genji whipped around to face him. "Allow me to share in his fate."
Admittedly, Hanzo wasn't actually sure what he'd been hoping for. Maybe a bolt of lighting, or an immediate reversal to the transformation. All he knew was that as the seconds ticked by, it became increasingly clear that Genji would not be regaining his human form before the Elders sent their messengers to determine the victor of their duel. And what would the Shimada ninja do to a real, corporeal dragon?
Running on adrenaline and instinct, Hanzo decided it was best if they didn't find out. He ran to the exit farthest away from the distant sound of approaching footfalls, then gestured for the dragon to follow him. "Come." It refused to move, instead leveling an impressive glare at him. Hanzo groaned. They didn't have time for this. Regardless, he sprinted back to reason with the creature. "Listen, I know you don't trust me, but if we don't leave now, you will almost certainly die here."
And that is if the Elders are feeling merciful, he did not add.
With an irritated huff, the dragon struggled to comply, only to wobble and stumble due to the recent changes in the size and width of its legs. Its tail thrashed back and forth while it worked to adjust and maintain its balance, but there wasn't enough time. Cursing under his breath, Hanzo reluctantly bent to retrieve his katana. The dragon tensed, watching him with a wariness that was earned, but Hanzo never intended to turn the blade on him. Not again.
Instead he strode over the entrance, and widened his legs into a firm and stable defensive stance. "Go," he ordered, despite knowing inwardly that he had forfeited any right to do so. "I'll cover you until you get over the courtyard wall."
The steel's sharpened edge glinted crimson in the moonlight. Just looking at it now made Hanzo's stomach roil with revulsion.
Behind him, there came a chuff, a yip, and a growl, all of which Hanzo was effortlessly able to understand as his brother's vehement protests, though the exact words escaped him. "Don't worry about me." It was ridiculous to do so, anyway, when not five minutes ago Hanzo had been attempting to take his life. "I'll be right behind you."
And, of course, now that he'd said it, he actually did have to try to survive this. Though he supposed he should have made that a priority, anyway, as he was currently the only soul aware that Genji was not some mindless beast.
Accepting his assurance with a sharp bark, the dragon scrambled clumsily on the polished floors to reach the courtyard, while Hanzo blocked the first volley of shuriken from the black-clothed ninjas bearing the Shimada crest sprinting up the walkway. Most likely, hidden under the fabric masks they wore were his cousins, his aunts and uncles, yet when they saw that he stood against him, they immediately reevaluated their assessment of him, from family and future kumicho to potential enemy and obstacle. The shift he'd wrestled with for so long came so easily to them, and Hanzo didn't know whether to be impressed or appalled at being written off so summarily.
One of the nin pulled ahead of the others, breaking formation to engage and distract him while they attempted to circle around to see what had become of the duel, as was their mission. One swift glance over his shoulder revealed that Genji was still pawing at the cherry tree's trunk, his claws curling away strips of bark as he failed to gain purchase and sank to the ground.
It cried out pitifully at the same time that Hanzo pivoted to deal a blow to his adversary's head with the dull side of his blade, and moved to overtake the others. He raced into the courtyard, his sandals soundless over the gravel, and positioned himself beneath the mighty beast to give its rear a heartfelt shove.
"Climb!" His lips curled from his teeth. "Climb, you pathetic excuse for a dragon!"
Predictably, Genji's head swiveled to stare at him with the most scandalized expression ever seen on a reptile, and redoubled his efforts. Once he was finally able to sink his claws into the bark and clamber onto the bough, Hanzo stepped back to take a running start, when his calf muscle suddenly screamed and collapsed from under him, sending him to his knees in an area rapidly filling with enemies while armed with only the blade he'd nearly used to kill his brother and a pair of ancient spirits he hesitated to use.
He lifted his head tiredly to regard the crowd of Shimada ninja, including the one he'd felled earlier. However, though kunai and shuriken gleamed between their gloved fingers, their katana were sheathed, which likely meant that they intended on taking him alive if they could help it. And while Hanzo doubted that whatever fate would be visited upon him would be pleasant, he found that he was too exhausted to care. At the very least, it seemed that Genji had escaped-
Hanzo yelped when suddenly a pair of powerful jaws plucked him off the ground by the back of his hakama and hefted him over the wall. "Genji?!" At the look of self-satisfaction Hanzo could see glinting in the dragon's dark brown eyes, despite the fact that he'd very likely just exposed himself to the entirely of their clan, who would now be sent in force to collect his hide, Hanzo couldn't bring himself to scold him.
It certainly had nothing to do with how Genji was holding him up with his mouth and could very well drop him whenever he pleased.
They raced across the fields, kicking up clops of dirt as his claws dug into the earth, and Genji tossed Hanzo onto his back, where he landed gracelessly as his hands and feet found little to hold onto, and he nearly slid off the dragon's back. Biting back a furious and agonized shout at the constant jostling of his wounded leg, Hanzo dug his fists into his brother's mane, squeezed his thighs around his hindquarters, and then yelled a warning when a cloud of shafts arced in the sky. For an instant, the moonlight dimmed, only to burst to brilliance as an ominous whistling surrounded them.
Genji swerved to avoid the onslaught in a move that caused him to lose his grip on the wet ground, and he slipped, nearly crashing onto his side before he managed to right himself. Meanwhile, Hanzo watched the skies and the forest line, occasionally calling out directions so that Genji could duck and weave his way through the worst of the projectiles. He knew exactly how far their family's best archers could follow them before they were successfully out of range.
It wasn't so long ago since he'd been one of them, after all.
"Genji!" Gripping the dragon's scales with one hand and striking out with his sword with the other, Hanzo managed to swipe away an arrow that would have embedded itself in his younger brother's forehead. Simultaneously, he felt a stinging, burning sensation in his right shoulder blade, and hissed. It drew the dragon's attention, as it twisted its head to look back at him when it should have been directing its full attention to not losing its balance. After hastily repositioning his body so that it covered almost the entire surface of the dragon's back, Hanzo muttered, "Nevermind, I got it," which seemed to placate the dragon, as it acknowledged the words with a nod and huff before focusing once more on the path ahead.
As Genji's galloping gait brought them to the shadow of the treeline, Hanzo urged him onward, and prayed that he wouldn't lose his footing before they were safely past the forest's outer rim, then gave into impulse and cheered when the pines and oaks at last enveloped them, shutting out the moonlight and bathing them in a darkness that promised concealment and protection. There were several loud thuds as Genji trotted ahead, the thunk of arrows sinking themselves into thick wooden trunks, and he swiveled his long neck to stick a lolling tongue out at the castle they were leaving behind.
Eventually, they were able to find a small cave near the mountains and set up camp. Once he'd dismounted, Hanzo threw his katana onto a patch of dirt outside the cave, then left to search for some dried leaves and twigs he could use to start a fire. Though his shoulder protested oddly whenever he shifted it and his leg throbbed from the kunai that had luckily dislodged from his flesh at some point during the escape, the discomfort was more annoying than anything, certainly not incapacitating. Old tutors and trainings whispered that he needed to care for the wound or risk further injury or infection, but when the morning sun had not yet risen and the night was so cold, keeping Genji warm was a priority over all else.
Despite his appearance, there was no way to be sure that he was coldblooded, but there was also no way to be sure that he wasn't.
When Hanzo at last returned with his arms full of good fire-lighting material, he cast a tentative glance towards the dragon huddled towards the back of the cave, its reptilian body pressed against the cool stone as it stubbornly refused to look at him. Years of living with his brother told Hanzo that Genji was stubbornly giving him the silent treatment, but it was the knowledge that he deserved it, deserved to be shunned and so much more, that made Hanzo feel a million times worse than he already had.
He cleared a space on the stone floor of rocks and dust, then laid the plant matter in a pile with several sticks laid over the top in a triangular formation, only to realize that he hadn't the slightest clue as to how he was going to light the fire. On any other day, Genji would have laughed at him. Settling back into a kneeling position with a sigh, Hanzo chanced to look over his shoulder at the dragon and started, "I don't suppose you could…" The dragon twitched, its long ears pressing themselves against its skull, and Hanzo quickly shook his head, ridding himself of the idea.
It was a stupid idea, anyway.
Even if Genji could breath fire, there was no way he would help him.
Instead of asking for the impossible, he gathered some of the dead branches and leaves he'd found and laid them in the pile beside his katana. The thought of touching it again made him ill, dizzy and sweaty and breathless, but there was little else he could do. And so he reluctantly gripped its hilt once more, then spun with a roar to slam the blade against the cave wall.
There were a few sparks, just as he'd hoped. And though the sharpened edge was chipped and jagged, it would still serve to make more. He slammed it against the stone, breaking off splinters of steel as his mind played for him all the many hours he'd spend keeping it sharpened and polished, for their weapons housed ancient spirits and thus needed to be treated with the same reverence with which one might regard the upkeep of a temple that housed a god.
Thinking back to those hours now elicited nothing from him, nothing except a wordless lament for all of the precious time and effort he'd wasted.
After his third strike, there was a smoldering glow pulsing amongst the dried leaves, and Hanzo dropped to his knees to shield it from any moving air and nurture it into a small flame, which he then carried into the cave where he could deposit the catching fire onto the larger pile of detritus and forest scraps he'd made within.
In time, the fire grew stronger, as Hanzo continued to feed it at a steady pace, until it painted orange and gold on the cave's interior and he finally allow himself to rest, if only for a little while. Someone had to keep watch to make sure they hadn't been followed, and it very well couldn't be Genji.
Noticing the distorted shape of his own shadow on the floor, Hanzo slipped his fingers into his hair to find that it can become a tangled mess over the course of their exodus, with half the forest captured in its strands. To an observer, he must have looked wild, or even like a youkai in his snow white hakama, but he couldn't bring himself to care.
Curled over the fire, his cold hands stretched out over the flames, Hanzo quietly said, "I'm sorry I listened to them, Genji. I'm sorry that your anija is so stupid." The last was a biting snarl that ripped from his throat and tore him apart as it left. Digging his nails into his scalp as his eyes burned and watered from the fire's smoke, he continued to speak, despite not even knowing if his little brother was listening or even cared. "And I'm so, so sorry this happened to you, but I swear to you that I'm going to fix it."
Though his vision blurred and his head ached, Hanzo strained to make out Genji's new form in the meager illumination, and when he succeeded, the first thing he noticed was that Genji was closer than he'd once been. Even knowing it likely had more to do with the heat from the fire than him, the sight warmed him, but the second thing he noticed, a crimson stain on the dragon's brilliant and shining scales, stole that warmth and all the breath in his lungs with it.
Clambering to his feet with an uncharacteristic awkwardness, Hanzo wearily approached the dragon, concern overriding his caution, but only just. "Genji," he said softly, "are you hurt?" When had it happened? Was the injury from the arrows that had dogged their escape, or was it a remnant from their own aborted battle. Either way, Hanzo considered it a personal failure.
He watched as the dragon twisted its slender serpentine neck to regard the dried and tacky blood with a quirked brow, an expression so human and familiar that Hanzo had to bite down on his tongue to stifle a hysterical laugh. Genji sniffed it, even going so far as to give it a lick, to Hanzo's disgust and disbelief. At once, his massive brown eyes widened, and he spun to face Hanzo with an expression that, had he been human, would have surely been described as terrified. He pawed at the ground, flicking his gaze from Hanzo, who was struggling to understand the cause of the change, to the cavern floor. Once he tried to follow the dragon's gaze, it soon became clear exactly what had upset his brother. Pooling by the fire and tracking all over the cave was a trail of drying blood, a trail which led not to the dragon, but to a pool at Hanzo's feet. Feeling oddly numbed by the revelation, he rotated his calf to see that the puncture wound was still weeping, and then pressed a hand against his back to find his hakama was soaked, and the back of his hand came away glistening and scarlet.
With his lips parted in wordless surprise, he attempted to take another step closer to the panicked dragon, except his legs refused to cooperate and collapsed from under him. He pitched forward, but before he could hit the ground, a cool muzzle pressed against his torso with a low, anxious keen. It prevented him from falling any further, though with what little strength Hanzo still possessed fleeing him at an alarming rate, the truth of the matter was that it wasn't so much supporting him as holding him up.
After trying and failing to blink the encroaching darkness out of his vision, Hanzo stared into his brother's worried brown eyes, and tried once more to apologize, though for what, he wasn't sure, and in the end, it didn't matter, as the darkness claimed him before he could so much as utter a sound.
When Hanzo next regained consciousness, it was to a forest full of screaming cicadas and the bone-deep certainty that he'd slept too much, been still for too long. His joints and muscles were sore and complained when he gingerly pulled himself off the cave floor. After catching sight of the sleeping green dragon huddled further within the cave, Hanzo took a moment to take stock of himself, and realized that the bloodied upper half of his hakama had been cut away so that his shoulder and calf could be bandaged with its strips.
He rotated his shoulder blade to a twinge of pain, but otherwise found it tolerable. And his leg supported his weight with only a subtle tremor, which meant that his wounds had been well cared for and had already begun to heal since he'd lost consciousness.
But who could have cared for him whilst he slept? Hanzo looked around, half expecting to find his benefactor sitting somewhere within the cave. As he looked, one of Genji's long, furry ears twitched, and his great maw opened with a tongue-curling yawn that displayed each and every one of his fangs. He cracked open a single eye to see Hanzo staring at him, then seemingly settled back to sleep with an exasperated huff that was followed shortly by the dragon shaving a few years off Hanzo's life when it leapt to its feet with a startled yelp.
It padded over to him, bumped its cool nose warily against Hanzo's injuries, and then drew back with a chuff, as though satisfied with its own work. Even knowing that it was impossible, Hanzo couldn't help but venture to ask, "Did you do this?"
Scales rippled in the sunlight when the dragon nodded, its dark brown eyes glittering with mischief. "But how could you possibly…?" It sounded ridiculous even as he said it, and he waited for Genji to let him in on the joke. When he never attempted to do so, choosing instead to plod to the mouth of the cave where he then proceeded to flop onto the earth and bask in the sunlight, Hanzo was forced to consider that a dragon with no opposable thumbs had somehow managed to clean and bandage his wounds…
He decided he wasn't going to think about it. That way lied madness.
In the face of everything that had happened, it seemed that Genji had briefly forgotten his anger towards him, for which Hanzo was grateful, if only for the reason that staying on the run with a creature of myth would be leagues more bearable if said creature wasn't obstinate and bull-headed at every turn just to spite him. They would need to work together if they were going to survive.
While Genji lazed at the entrance, his tongue occasionally curling in a wide yawn, Hanzo located the arrow that had formerly been lodged deep within his muscle – it was blessedly whole – and set about gathering saplings and supple branches to craft a makeshift bow out of. Though a sharpened katana could determine the outcome of a battle, it was little better than a dull blade in the wild, and Hanzo used it as such, taking a vicious sort of pleasure in destroying the very instrument he'd wielded against his brother in his endeavors to keep him alive.
There were times when he caught Genji watching him in his periphery, but whenever he turned to look, the dragon was staring off into the forest, watching the bees flit among the golden flowers in the clearing. When he licked his chops, however, Hanzo decided it was time to intervene. "See if you can resist getting stung long enough for me to come back with a deer," he said as he climbed to his feet, though a grimace belied his boast when his calf muscle seized. He shouldn't have remained still for so long when he'd carved the bow, his leg had gotten spoiled. "A rabbit would also be suitable to-" he cut himself off at the flat look the dragon shot him. It stretched its powerful front and hind legs, then trotted further into the forest, ignoring Hanzo's calls for its return, because while his torn and bloodied hakama and black, disheveled hair certainly lent him the frightening appearance of a yurei, he was still leagues less noticeable than an ill-tempered, troublesome, thoughtless and patently ridiculous-looking green dragon.
As occupied as the eldest son of the Shimada was with pacing and venting out his frustration, he didn't realize that Genji had returned until a low growl from the underbrush halted his mutterings, and he spun to see a freshly caught buck hanging limply from his jaws. He raised a scaly brow in amusement, and Hanzo faked a cough to spare himself the embarrassment of asking just how long he'd been listening.
The answer was, of course, long enough.
Gradually, they fell into a rhythm. Genji would hunt during the day, bringing wild birds and large mammals, such as pheasants and wild boars, and sometimes even the occasional serow or giant salamander, while Hanzo would be responsible for skinning and cooking the meat until he healed, though he sometimes tried to contribute to their meals by sniping rabbit or squirrels from the clearing.
Once he was well enough that his wounds no longer threatened to reopen, Genji began sneaking behind him while he was trying to focus, a feat which should have been impossible, and whipped his legs out from under him with a swift swing of his tail, sending him to the forest floor in an ungainly sprawl. Hanzo, for his part, wasn't quite sure what to make of it. The dragon's scratchy snickering at his expense was certainly typical of his younger brother, and yet Hanzo couldn't help but wonder if he hadn't been forgiven too easily.
Perhaps it had something to do with how on their second night, shortly after he'd fallen into a natural sleep for the first time since they'd left their home, a miracle had occurred, and Hanzo realized what Genji had known for longer but hadn't been able to convey – that the ancient dragons and guardians of their clan had indeed heard his prayer.
Soon after their departure, rumors would spread that said the eldest of the Shimada clan had been spirited away after murdering his brother, and the clan became shunned by their suppliers, clients, and fellow criminal syndicates alike, for the fate of their heirs was said to be a curse visited upon them for the duplicity and corruption dwelling within their castle walls. Since their disappearance, it rained every day over Hanamura, drowning their crops and driving the townspeople away by the droves, further weakening the Shimada. The rain only stopped on one day each year, the day of the brother's first and final conflict, when they'd drawn their swords with bitterness and hatred in their hearts. It was then that a ghost with a dragon spirit padding at his side would come to the shrine to pay their respects to the place where their former lives had ended, and for a brief few hours, the skies would clear.
It was on one of theses trips that Genji's phone pinged with a message from an unknown number. Taking his sweet time because the guards this year were new and ridiculously easy to deal with, Genji thumbed through a vast history of selfies, with the occasional pic of a mostly dour looking Hanzo scattered here and there, to finally land on his most recent video file. Leaning nonchalantly against a crimson column, he watched in quiet astonishment as a gorilla fumbled with the camera, then went on to give a rousing speech about why the world still needed Overwatch. Genji glanced down at his brother to see that he was paying close attention to the primate's speech, and the images of destruction and chaos that accompanied his plea for the reformation of the once disgraced organization.
When the screen went blank, the gorilla's speech having ended on a high note in the form of a challenge, Genji shrugged with a smile playing on his lips. "It's not like we have anything better to do, right, anija?" His grin widened when Hanzo merely rolled his eyes, because that definitely wasn't a no. Even Mr. Straightlaced could get bored of forever being on the run.
It was about time they shook things up, raised a little hell. And maybe even made the world a better place while they were at it.
It ended up being the decision that brought a ninja with a green-tipped ponytail and a dragon to Overwatch's doorstep. The current members, both new and old, were an eclectic bunch to be sure. There was a Korean girl with pink stripes on her face that was something of a superstar among the gaming community. Tuning into her streams had given Genji something to do when it was his turn to possess opposable thumbs, and as much as he enjoyed his brother's company, it was nice to listen to a fellow gamer gush and rage over the latest betas in a community that had once been like a sanctuary to him.
And beside the Internet celebrity was an old man with a receding hairline that looked suspiciously like the former commander in a goofy-looking visor.
And then there was a cowboy.
An actual cowboy with a honest-to-god Stetson on his head, spurs on his boots, and a belt buckle so garish Genji could actually feel his brother's hope for humanity's future shriveling up and dying. "Now I know our dear Winston sent you an invite," the cowboy drawled, "but ain't no one said nothin' about you bringing your pet dragon."
Grinning cockily at the welcome party, Genji jabbed a thumb at the azure dragon standing with regal posture beside him, "This is Hanzo. He goes where I go."
His brother paid little attention to the introduction, however, as he was still regarding the cowboy with an expression of disgust that Genji recognized and was happy enough to share.
While the two men attempted to silently plan their next move – Overwatch needed all the help it could get, but could they really risk such an unpredictable variable? - fearlessly approached to ask if she could touch him. "I never even thought dragons were real until five minutes ago, let alone had the chance to pet one," she enthused, and Genji found himself instantly warming to her.
After directing a quick wink at his draconic companion that drew out a resigned huff in response, he said to the girl, "It's okay with me. But just to be safe," there was a dramatic pause, "why don't you come closer and ask him first?"
With only the slightest amount of hesitation, she ignored the soldier's and the cowboy's warnings, darting ahead before they could grab her, and then stepped in front of the dragon, who watched her patiently with a quirked brow and dark, round orbs that glittered with intelligence, as well as something else she couldn't place.
Thinking back to a movie she'd seen once as a kid where a boy had confronted a similar creature and convinced it to let him ride it by bowing and being polite, slowly dipped her head, only to let out a yelp when the dragon slipped its snout beneath her to lift her up off the ground like she weighed nothing at all and then gently deposit her onto its back.
Once the initial shock faded, she scrambled up into a sitting position and let out a joyous whoop, delighting in the deep-bellied chuckle that shook the back of her great and fearsome stead.
She didn't notice the tension running thick between her allies and the ninja, or the three shuriken that had appeared between Genji's fingers.
"See that?" He said conversationally, in a tone just low enough so wouldn't pick up on it. "She's fine. Now do me a favor, gentlemen, and take your fingers off those triggers." And as if to drive the point home, the light caught his stars at the exact angle needed to make their deadly edges gleam.
And so, while marveled at her spectacular luck and showered the rather smug-looking dragon beneath her with compliments, as was appropriate with such a beautiful and noble creature, the soldier and the cowboy lowered their weapon and holstered it, respectively. In an instant, the shurikens had vanished up the ninja's sleeve, and Genji fixed them with a smile that was positively charming, which admittedly rattled them worse than the implied threat. Later, McCree would relate the whole meeting to Winston as negotiating with a mobster and his crazy blue dog.
"Do you think you could take us to our quarters?" Stretching his arms, the ninja gave an impressive yawn. "Not that it's a big deal, but I'm pretty sure I haven't slept in three days."
They were a strange pair.
Though Genji Shimada, the second son of a once formidable criminal empire, was friendly enough and adapted quickly to their team dynamics, there always seemed to be shadows beneath his eyes, as though he were always just shy of receiving less than the minimal amount of sleep necessary to function. As a consequence, Mercy prescribed natural sedatives to aid in his getting the proper amount of rest, but though he accepted them without complaint, he showed no signs of improving.
It wasn't until the plane ride home from a particularly grueling escort mission that the Overwatch team discovered why the ninja had so much trouble sleeping, as the moment his head began to droop, the azure dragon curled up at his feet unleashed a roar that caused the heart of every member on board to skip at least three beats. "Hanzo," Genji muttered with his eyes screwed shut, "bro, I've got to sleep some time."
"Shimada, can you tell your dog to be quiet?" McCree grumbled without so much as lifting the brim of his hat. "Some of us are trying to get some shut-eye around here."
"Keep calling him a dog, Jesse McCree, and I will gladly have him eat you."
Just as Genji had quickly found a place in Overwatch, so too had his dragon, as Hanzo proved to be adept at distracting enemies from agents in need of a breather, as well as for clearing a path when they needed to beat a hasty escape. , in particular, became accustomed to seeing the dragon appear shortly after setting her MEKA to self-destruct, as he would stay with for as long as it took for her mechanized bodysuit to reassemble. There was no doubt that he was an effective guard, for there were few on either of the conflict who knew how to defend against his powerful jaws and claws that could cut through flesh and bone.
Before long, his teammates had borne witness to the ninja in various degrees of irritation, exhaustion, and grumpiness, but it wasn't until the dragon was injured on the battlefield with buckshot spray in its hind leg that they truly saw him enraged. The ease with which he'd sliced through the Talon forces on that day had been a frightening sight to behold, though it only served to further emphasize what Overwatch had learned very early on about the ninja and his dragon.
They protected each other.
Once they landed, and Genji had wordlessly shambled to his room to get some much needed rest, McCree realized with a pang of conscious that he hadn't seen the ninja eat anything the entire flight back to base. Groaning, he set up a nice tray of tea and sandwiches in the kitchen, then trudged his way to Genji's door, feeling downright foolish. The poor guy was probably fast asleep, already.
His door, however, was actually open a crack, as though he'd been too tired to even shut it properly before he'd passed out on his bed. McCree reached out to grab the handle, intending to shut it, when a flash of white from inside the room caught his eye. Now, it wasn't in him to be nosy, but since this was a matter of a teammate's safety, McCree peeked through the gap to get a good look at whatever was rustling within, and witnessed exactly two things which made him question his sanity.
The first was an older Japanese man sitting on the windowsill. He was dressed in traditional white robes with long black hair spilling down his back to give an ethereal appearance, though it was offset by the fond expression he wore that dramatically softened his cut-from-stone features. As for the second, there was another dragon, this one with a longer mane and scales greener than grass. In other words, it was the exact same shade of green as Genji's hairstyle, and the cowboy didn't believe in coincidences. It was decidedly more playful, too, as it alternated between rolling around on the mattress and kicking its hind legs up at the ceiling.
Somewhere, there was a sound like helium rushing out of a balloon. It took the Japanese man whipping his head around so that their eyes could meet for McCree to realize that the sound was coming from him, and then the door was slammed shut in his face.
The next morning, at breakfast, the cowboy barely said a word to anyone, and the others were just beginning to get concerned when Genji shambled in with Hanzo plodding at his side. Upon setting his sights on the wary cowboy, his eyes lit up. Leaning in close, he whispered, "You saw him, didn't you?" Unable to do much else, McCree nodded from his seat. Settling back with a triumphant smirk, Genji said, "Well, then, I believe a reintroduction is in order. This," he gestured grandly to his scaly companion, "is my older brother, Hanzo."
And when the best McCree could muster in response was a weak little wheeze, the dragon's lips curled back in a toothy grin and uttered a short series of soft chuffs that made the cowboy's cheeks burn when he recognized the sound for what it was – the sleek blue dragon's husky equivalent of quiet laughter.
A/N: The inspiration for this came from one of my mom's favorite films, which is about a knight who is cursed to turn into wolf at night and his love who turns into a hawk during the day. Maybe its because the irony of their curse appealed to me (or I just really love transformation fics), but I've had this idea ready to go since either the beginning of this series or since around the time Beauty & The Beast came out. Anyways, I'm excited to share it with you and I hope you enjoyed it!
Guest: Hi! I saw your request and even tried making an outline, but in the end, it wound up feeling a little too repetitive to me. I have eighteen or so more story outlines ready for this series, including sequels, and I usually wind up expanding whichever one catches my fancy next, but since I haven't exactly chosen my next chapter, maybe you could help me? For instance, if I gave you the option of seeing Nightmare!Talon!Genji, the last chapter to the Omnic!Hanzo arc, or the last chapter to the Ghost arc, which one would you like to see next?