Chapter Summary: Having been hacked by Talon, Genji is once again put at odds with his brother.

A/N: Since it's always good to be on the safe side, just know that Hanzo shows off some not-so-great coping mechanisms in this one.

In mere seconds, Reaper would descend upon McCree and Dr. Ziegler. Hanzo could see their plight from where he stood, engaged in a standstill with Genji, whose carapace had lost its vibrant green accents in favor of a deep, pulsing red. As time seemed to slow, he attempted to break away from the cyborg locking Stormbow beneath his blade, a blade whose edge was nearly pressed against his brow.

Hanzo was unable to help, unable to come to the aid of the pair. All he could do was quietly seethe and despair as the cowboy threw himself over Dr. Ziegler, even knowing that the bullets that would soon pierce his armor would merely delay the inevitable. Gritting his teeth, Hanzo felt the blood within him begin to sear his veins as it became electrified. A cry of rage tore past his lips.

Roaring filled his ears, louder than the sea, drowning out his thoughts.

Bullets left the barrel. Seemingly without end.

And the dragon spirits burst forth from his arm, ignoring his assailant to curl around the cowboy and doctor, allowing the bullets to pierce their scales, whereupon they dissolved into their spectral bodies.

Seeing this, Hanzo bared his teeth in a grin. "It seems," he grunted slightly when Genji attempted to take advantage of his distraction to redirect the tip of his blade towards his throat, "the dragons can be called upon to protect our allies, as well as smite our enemies."

Hanzo waited for Genji to respond in some manner, knowing how he had always despised the destructive force they wielded. But all he received in response was garbled static and a low, inhuman hiss, as though whatever had been done to the cyborg had robbed his humanity as well as his mind.

McCree, however, had no such dilemma. He shot Hanzo a sharp look from within the spiraling serpents, "Ya mean you weren't sure?!"

Meanwhile, the reaper tossed his emptied weapons at the ethereal entities, taking a step backwards when they raised their great heads to snarl in his direction. Hanzo felt his own lips curl at the sight. He planted the sole of his foot on Genji's chest, pushed, and in the brief moment of imbalance that followed for the cyborg, circled around and pulled the bowstring over his head. He pulled, pinching the tubes that supplied oxygen to his brother's brain, hardening himself against the desperate gasps and blind clawing that followed. "Genji," he whispered, "listen to me. Talon has done something to you. Dr. Ziegler can help, but you must-" The breath left his lungs. Pain registered in several of his ribs and bruising skin.

Genji had slammed the hilt of his sword against his chest. Even so, Hanzo had trained to control his reflexes, especially when triggered by pain.

He held on.

"Genji!" Mercy called out. Her wings were crumpled and sparking, her staff clutched firmly in her nonetheless steady grip. "I can destroy the intrusive nanites with a program I've uploaded into my Caduceus, but you have to fight their control! I know it's hard, but I also know you are stronger than what they've done to you." Before Hanzo could shout a warning, she pounded her fists against the wall of scales keeping her both protected and trapped, crying out, "Genji, hear me, you are not a weapon!"

While it could have been his imagination, Hanzo could have sworn a glint of green appeared within the crimson light. Unfortunately, or perhaps it was deliberate, as the former commander sensed his control was wavering, Reaper chose that moment to reassert his authority by calling Genji to his side. Genji straightened without volition, the motion mechanical in the sense that the full-body carapace almost appeared to be moving on its own. There was nothing to suggest any human will, as opposed to gears and programming responding to a prompt, were responsible for the cyborg's actions.

His synthetic limbs moved to grip Hanzo by the shoulders, the pressure of his fingertips boring into his exposed flesh, lifted him, and flipped him over his head, leading Hanzo to land in a disorienting and aching heap on the ground. He scrambled to get to his feet in time to stop Genji from returning to Reaper's side, aware that if they were to leave together, he may never see his brother again. "Dragon of the North Wind," he shouted at the cyborg's retreating back, addressing the spirit within, before fixing the full weight of his glare on the wraith that had dared lay a hand on him,"for how long will you allow this man to tame you?"

Bolts of scarlet, jagged and jarring, crossed Genji's body. He stiffened, clutching his head with a groan. Reaper spared him a glance before gliding to the archer, who refused to give up any ground. He would not leave Genji to the mercy of a mad man, to be twisted and warped beyond recognition. For as long as his heart beat, the man once known as Gabriel Reyes would not be permitted to do to the sparrow's mind what had already been done to his body.

In one fluid motion, the Reaper plunged his sharpened claws into the archer's thighs, eliciting a low hiss. Hanzo reached up the loose sleeve of his gi to reveal a hidden kunai, and plunged it into the wraith's torso, which dissipated upon contact, turning nebulous and intangible. Chilling laughter poured from beneath the wraith's pale mask.

Even knowing it was futile, Hanzo plucked an arrow from his quiver to drive into the ghoulish mercenary's throat, only for his entire form to turn to smoke, cloying and heavy and choking. It surrounded him, enveloped him, robbed him of breath.

"Hanzo," McCree had Peacekeeper cocked and aimed, and there was something unrecognizable in his eyes, "call off your beasts and let us out of here!"

Ah, Hanzo thought distantly. The cowboy believed he was going to fail them.

Forcing out a cough, Hanzo rasped out, his attention now focused solely on the agonized silhouette that could barely be made out through the dense tar-black clouds,"I thought this was what I wanted, as well. Blind obedience…" The smoke tightened like a vise around his lungs, "but I was wrong. You were never meant to live in a cage." He bowed his head, his vision swimming.

A voice, deep and malevolent, whispered in his ear, "That cyborg is mine. I'm the one who made him everything he is. He belongs to me."

Hanzo closed his eyes, sinking to his knees. "He is not," a harsh cough ripped at his abused throat, "your possession." Cold steel pressed against his neck, nestled beneath his chin, and he forced his eyes open so as to see Genji standing above him, his katana once more a hair's breadth from exacting the vengeance that was ten years overdue.

But not like this.

Desperately clinging to consciousness, Hanzo asked quietly of his brother, "Is this truly a battle your heart cannot win?" Through the contact, Hanzo felt the katana's tip begin to tremble, enough for for the blade to slip, drawing blood from a shallow cut that welled around the edge, dripping down his neck.

And as the last dregs of consciousness left him, the swirling black void behind his lids fled, chased away by green fire.

Stuck in the clinic due to the injuries he'd sustained during the battle, Hanzo idly snapped his fingers, watching the blue sparks that leapt from the contact with a bored expression. He repeated the action, leaving the skin raw and blistered, much to Angela's displeasure. Sternly, she threatened to put oven mittens on his hands if he didn't cease such foolishness, and grudgingly, Hanzo obliged her, if only so that she would not commiserate over his actions with Genji.

There was a secret among the Shimada that, if the hint of pity in her gaze was anything to judge by, Genji had either made her aware of or she had guessed - the dragons harmed only those their hosts considered their enemies.

An image appeared unbidden to Hanzo of his brother watching apathetically while engineers worked to repair burned and melted prosthetics so that he may be thrust back into the battlefield.

Dr. Zielgler had told Genji he wasn't a weapon. Did she mean it? Did she believe it?

...Did Genji?

Turning to the armchair in the corner, Hanzo felt a frown curve his lips as he gazed at the slumped form of what remained of the wayward child their father had spoiled, the young man he'd nearly destroyed.

He was so quiet now. As a child, he'd snored softly, but now it was as though he existed on a separate plane, close and far and forever out of reach.

"How long must I remain here, Dr. Ziegler," Hanzo muttered, careful to keep his tone even and calm so as not to wake his visitor.

She turned from her monitor, glancing at Genji before answering, "Only a few days. Several of your ribs are broken." Yes, well, that had made itself clear to Hanzo well before he'd awoken. "There's major bruising, though no internal bleeding, so that's something. As for your legs…," she trailed off for a moment, her gaze distant. Though he could guess the cause, Hanzo held his tongue. "Replace your bandages at least twice a day, and refrain from any strenuous activity. Give it fourteen days, and if everything goes well, I'll clear you with Winston."

Curious that she would mention Winston, not Morrison. The reason was likely that Morrison would send him into the fray, still injured or not. Winston was the main obstacle to Hanzo immediately returning to the field, and the archer could not decide whether he was more grateful or annoyed by the fact.

Minutes passed in silence after that, filled with nothing but the steady beep of Hanzo's heart monitor, a scritch of pen on paper, and the rhythmic tap of keys. Beneath it all, though, was a constant - a droning of machinery that easily faded into the background.

In lieu of making a request of the doctor that may ease his discomfort, Hanzo licked his dry lips, managing, "How is he?"

A gusty sigh left her. She massaged her temples as though warding off a building migraine. "He's shaken. And he certainly doesn't need any extra stress right now," she said, adding the last part somewhat pointedly. When Hanzo said nothing, she continued, meeting his gaze with steel in her eyes, "This doesn't make him any less human, Hanzo."

"They wrested control of his body away from him. Turned him against his allies. Superseded his will with their own."

"If that were true, you would be dead, not sulking in my clinic." At that, Hanzo physically bit his tongue to smother a retort. "He stopped himself from killing you. He fought their control." Although she wasn't comparing them directly, Hanzo heard it still, knowing once again that when faced with the opportunity to take his life, Genji had instead chosen to spare it. What he couldn't understand was why. He'd allowed the clan to convince him that killing his younger brother was the right thing to do. He'd destroyed Genji's body, trapped him in a metal shell. And even still…

"-anzo?" Hanzo glanced up to see Dr. Ziegler looking at him with what appeared to be genuine concern, and wondered with a flare of panic how many times she'd already called for him.

He forced himself to focus by pressing his thumbs into the bandaged wounds on his legs, ignoring the pang of guilt undermining the doctor's care brought forth. "Forgive me, doctor," he said curtly, keeping his expression neutral. "Please continue."

Though she observed him for a moment longer, in the end, she reluctantly acquiesced. "As I was saying, I am doing everything in my power to make sure something like this never happens again." As was evident by the shadows gathering beneath her eyes. When was the last time she'd slept? Sinking into her seat, she murmured, so quietly Hanzo couldn't help but wonder if the words were truly meant for him, "This isn't the first time we've lost an ally to Talon. And I'm just... so relieved we got him back." Genji was alive and breathing and himself. It was enough for her.

Aware that she was watching him still, a symptom of her distrust he usually appreciated, as it meant that there was someone in his brother's vicinity who had the sense not to trust a former yakuza and kinslayer, Hanzo suppressed the urge to bury his head in his hands, keeping them concealed beneath the sheets. Slowly, she reached under her desk, pulling out a bag made of plastic netting filled with colorful cranes, a couple hundred at the least. "He wasn't able to finish before he fell asleep," she explained. "Once he told me that when he was sick, you attempted to fold a thousand cranes for him." A humorless laugh left her. "I remember thinking about how it was hard to believe that anyone who used to be so kind could grow up to be so cruel."

Hanzo retrieved one of the cranes from the bag, thinking back to Genji's disinterest in the craft of origami when they were children. It had always been so difficult to interest him in stationary activities. The wings were uneven, the delicate heads and tails folded clumsily, but still they were leagues above what he'd been capable of when they were boys.

After letting him examine the paper bird, Dr. Ziegler returned the bag to its place, allowing Hanzo to keep the green crane in his grasp. "Is it enough?" She asked him, her words hitting with an intensity Hanzo hadn't been prepared for. And he delayed his response, spinning the crane between his fingers as he silently watched for the rise and fall of Genji's chest through the armored plating. And then, though it had taken some adjusting to after waking, the soft inhalations and exhalations, filtered though they were, made themselves known to Hanzo's ears.

"Yes," he rasped through a throat strangely raw and tight, "it is."

A/N: Long time no see! Hope you all enjoy the double update.