Kono baka yarou me - an extremely rude phrasing of 'This idiot...'
Moushiwake arimasen - a formal apology that would translate to something like 'there is no excuse'
Kobun - a follower of the yakuza
Chapter Summary: Hanzo overhears Genji refer to him as a responsibility and reacts about as well as you'd expect.
Nothing's changed.
The halls of Shimada castle were winding, having been made purposely circuitous to confuse and confound invaders, but did little against one who'd spent his formative years treading their surfaces. If Genji closed his eyes, he could imagine the sensation of wood grain pressing against the soles of his feet. Those days were long past, however. Buried by the neverending nightmare his continued existence had become.
Genji had insisted Reyes allow him on the raid. To see the clan dismantled was the only thing driving him forward.
That, and finding the man who did this to him.
Ignoring distant screams and the occasional flash of gunfire, he sprinted forward on the familiar paths with an unfamiliar body, his mind playing memories of chasing down these very halls to catch up to a back that always seemed out of reach.
He kicked down the door to Hanzo's room, knocking it off its hinges with inhuman strength, to find it disappointingly empty. The bed was made perfectly, its sheets pressed and pulled to eliminate wrinkles, but dust particles floated lazily in the air, illuminated by wispy streams of starlight. Disquieted by the mournful silence, the untouched furnishings, Genji's bloodlust ebbed.
Where was Hanzo, if not in Hanamura?. What was he doing, if not leading the Shimada-gumi? And what was the point of all this, of bringing these Blackwatch agents to destroy the criminal organization Hanzo had sacrificed his own brother to save, if he wasn't even around to witness it?
Casting his gaze around the room for something to take his frustration out on, Genji's gaze fell on an old, black picture frame lying facedown on the nightstand. Dread pooled in his lungs, rising to drown him. He reached with his cybernetic arm, recoiling when his fingertips brushed the back. While he could see the contact, could imagine the texture, he felt… nothing.
He was so tired of feeling nothing.
With the swiftness of tearing off a bandage, he snatched the frame off the nightstand, the cool wood heavy in his palm. And as he stared at the image, burning it into his brain, a pair of young men stared back at them, standing amiably side-by-side, clearly comfortable in each other's presence.
There was a sense of surrealism to seeing his past self that Genji wasn't prepared for. He couldn't remember the last time he'd smiled, let alone smiled so widely his cheeks bunched and dippled. Self-consciously, he passed a hand through his pitch-black spikes, and found to his surprise that he actually missed the green dye. It'd been one of many small acts of rebellion, but though he'd been adamantly against it at first, Hanzo had warmed up to it, eventually.
Or that was what he'd thought. What he'd believed to be true before Hanzo had tried to cleave him in two and burn the remains to ash.
A snarl rippling his lips, Genji pitched the picture frame at the wall, and when the shattered glass didn't bring the satisfaction he sought, he began tearing the room apart, ripping the scrolls off the walls and tearing them to pieces with his bare hands.
Loyalty. Honor. Family.
What did the clan know of them?
A roar of rage came pouring from his vocal filter, garbled, stuttered, and staticky. It sounded horrid, like a tortured beast, yet anything was better than the impenetrable silence closing in. Grunting with effort, he lifted up the mattress and flung it, drawing his blade as it fell so that he could cut into the fabric, slashing it repeatedly from top to bottom in diagonal strikes.
He didn't notice the little box tucked beneath the bed frame until exertion forced him to slow, to breathe. He tasted blood in his mouth from the reopened tears in his patchwork lungs, and forced his muscles to untense, breathing as deep as his body allowed, holding it, and letting it go. That was when the corner poking out from beneath the wooden foundation caught his eye. Sheathing his blade, he perched on the beam, then reached down to carefully lift it up.
It was polished to a shine, beautiful and simplistic. He opened the cover to find a bottle filled with vibrant green hair dye, a piece of orange cloth, and a sparrow's feather. Towards the bottom of the box, however, was a ceremonial blade that Genji didn't recognize. It's edge was sharpened, and in the reflection on its spotless surface, a pair of crimson eyes stared back at him, burning.
For the first time, it occurred to him that Hanzo might not even be alive, anymore.
And what would he do with the bottomless rage and hate inside him if Hanzo were gone? Would it be allowed to fester? To eat at his insides until nothing remained but the husk of a battery-powered corpse?
Reyes had warned him this might happen. He'd had informants in the clan for years, observing their every move, and none of them had seen the kumicho, or even heard mention of his name. It was like the clan, assuming the younger to be dead, had erased all traces of the eldest heir, leaving the mantle unclaimed and empty. If not for the subsequent decline of the Shimada-gumi, Genji would have guessed that the elders had planned for this exact outcome. After all, after spending so many generations siphoning power from the kumichos, eliminating them all together was the next logical step.
In fact, the only thing that kept Genji from buying into the theory entirely was a reluctance to accept that his family had been so thoroughly torn apart by a bunch of power-hungry old fools. They must have known that the other clans would never accept such a breakdown in tradition, such blatant disregard for the sanctity of the kumicho and his heirs.
The Shimada-gumi was corrupt and decaying, and now everyone knew it. Everyone could see-
"I see you've found the young lord's bedroom." Genji spun around, blade in hand, to see a tall Japanese man with slicked back hair and a custom-fitted suit watching him impassively from the doorway.
Saito had aged.
Not as much or as visibly as Hanzo had once the responsibilities of leading the clan had caught up with him, or as gracefully as their father had. There were strands of silver dotting the black now, crows feet at the corners of his eyes. When Genji had been younger, smaller, more human, he'd been afraid of the kobun, and was secretly certain that Saito didn't really like him or Hanzo all that much. Worse still, though, was the niggling suspicion that Hanzo was afraid of Saito, too.
Looking at him now, though, Genji no longer suspected that Saito hated them.
He was certain of it.
Triumph glinted in his dark eyes at the destruction Genji had wrought on Hanzo's room, on the sleeping place of the kumicho he was meant to protect. Any truly loyal clansmen would have drawn their sword already.
With a low hiss, Genji advanced on him, the heat of his dragon's wrath pressing against the inside of his flesh. In the span of a blink, there was a blade pressed against Saito's throat. "Where," he growled, "is my brother?"
Saito swallowed, his Adam's apple brushing against the reinforced steel edge, but lifted his head defiantly. "The moment he abandoned the clan he ceased to be my responsibility."
Genji pressed the blade, drawing a sliver of blood that beaded and trickled down the hollow of his neck. A smirk curled Saito's mouth as he lowered his chin onto the blade, trapping it between vulnerable flesh. "He never tried to take the honorable way out, if that's what concerns you, little sparrow."
"Where is he?! Tell where my brother is or so help me-"
"Considering what we done after he first attempted to flee," Saito interrupted, deliberating over the words as though relishing their sound, "I doubt he went far."
Then he chuckled bitterly, until the blade sunk deeper into his flesh, silencing him for good.
With a swing of his sword to cast off the worst of the glistening blood trailing its surface, Genji took a step back, allowing the body to slump to the ground unhindered.
Instead of leaving before any other kinsmen found him in his brother's room, he carefully made his way to the picture frame he'd left lying on the floor. When he picked it up again, brushing off the glass shards with his prosthetic arm, he was able to assess that the damage was minimal. The photograph itself was intact - a sigh of relief was born and died in his mouth - but the frame was broken, splintered wood sticking up at the corners.
He'd never expected Hanzo to hold onto something like that. From what he'd discovered it was almost disturbingly easy to think that Hanzo might have even loved him, but then how could he have done what he did?
How could he live with it?
The thought would strike Hanzo suddenly, without any lead-up and at any time.
I cannot do this.
And with it, an oppressive wave of exhaustion would sweep over him, such as while eating breakfast with Lena or or staring up at his ceiling in the afternoon, unable to calm the turmoil of his mind.
While it had always sounded like him in inflection and tone, once he'd been able to identify the intrusive presence for what it was, until it seemed one day to have melded seamlessly with his own thoughts. Lately, as he spent more time interacting with Genji's allies in Overwatch, they appeared to be starting to diverge again. With that said, he couldn't be sure if such was for the better or for worse.
The base was quiet when Hanzo wandered out of his quarters with a craving for camomile tea that was brewed with the proper amount of time and care, as opposed to boiling it indiscriminately in a cheap electric pot as he had become accustomed to during his time as a mercenary. After all, when presented with the opportunity and means to do so, it would be remiss not to take advantage of them, especially when fortunes had a tendency of changing.
As he made his way silently down the hall, however, a familiar voice seeped out from one of the rooms. It wasn't his brother's room, of that Hanzo was certain, but it was his brother's voice, edged with frustration. "He won't even look at me, Master." There was an agitated rhythm, like someone pacing the floor. "It is as though I do not even exist to him."
"Why did you invite him here, Genji?" Hanzo heard the monk inquire serenely in reply. "What did you hope to accomplish?" And though the archer was well aware this was not a conversation meant for his ears, he lingered, as the question the monk had posed had certainly been on his mind, as well.
The atmosphere, already tense, became nearly unbearably so as the silence stretched. Hanzo thought of cable wires and piano strings, of the damage they did when snapped. "I wanted to help him move forward," came Genji's answer at last, "as you once helped me. But in sparing his life," he hesitated, and in his thoughts, Hanzo envisioned Genji tugging fingers through his wild hair, "I feel I have acquired a certain amount of," a rough exhalation followed, short and mechanical, "responsibility for it."
Shaking his head with a rueful smile, Hanzo took a step away from the room, then another, and another.
So, he truly was just a burden, after all.
This new life Genji had forged… a specter from his sordid past held no place in it.
Forgoing the tea in favor of something more strenuous, Hanzo allowed his feet to carry him to the target range. A bow was propped up against the rack, along with dummy blasters and even a paintball gun, though it hadn't been put to use yet. He ran his fingers over the smooth yew wood of the longbow, getting a feel for the length and width, before rotely attaching the string. It was supple, flexible.
Not Stormbow, certainly, but serviceable.
He tried to lose himself in the motions, in the rhythmic thud of the arrows hitting the targets. The first hit the target dead center, sinking its shaft into the straw - I will never fight you - The second veered to the left, a poor shot. Lowering his bow, Hanzo forced out a breath through his teeth, releasing plumes of vapor that rolled like fog before ultimately dissipating in the chilly wind.
Nocking the bow a third time, he narrowed his eyes in an attempt to limit his focus. There was no world outside the target, no distractions - You are a disgrace to the clan, Genji.
The arrow missed the target, burrowing its head into the ground. Hanzo shook himself, trying to dislodge the memories welling to the surface. His lips remembered mouthing the words, his tongue tasted copper and metal in the air.
You are nothing.
He buried his head in his hands,
Hanzo, wait!
then snatched one more arrow from his quiver, nocking it with jerky, agitated movements that reflected nothing of his characteristic composure. Feeling the pressure in him building, rising to an unbearable degree, he channeled the guilt, the self-loathing, the anger down his arm, too overwhelmed to think much of the jagged azure bolts flashing over his skin. And with a roar that sounded more draconic than human, he loosed the arrow, only to quickly realize he'd overcharged it, as the projectile left a path of burned earth in its wake, along with an impressive crater where the target used to be.
Embarrassed by the property damage he'd inflicted, he winced upon hearing the voices of others arriving to investigate the commotion, but otherwise didn't move. The bow was still in his hand, the trail of singed, blackened flooring leading straight to him. Upon seeing him standing there, his jaw tight and pallor approaching a sickly grey, his fellow agents fell silent.
He couldn't stand it. Not their silence, not their judgement. So when Genji came striding in next, Hanzo decided he'd had enough. "I'll repair this," he muttered, then headed briskly for the exit, the bow still in his hand, enclosed in a bloodless fist.
Genji caught up to him in the hallway. "Anija, what is it? What is wrong? I thought," for a moment he seemed at a loss, "I thought you were starting to like it here."
Hanzo brushed him off. "Leave me be, Genji."
"No!" Eyebrows raising, the archer looked down to see prosthetic joints wrapped around his wrist. Genji looked down, as well, but held firm. "We are not doing this, Hanzo. Not again." And with a cry of frustration that had been building up for much of his life, Genji pleaded, "Talk to me!"
Hanzo drew in a sharp breath, averting his gaze from the visor, knowing well the scars it concealed, and the youthful, unblemished visage superimposed over it. "I have nothing to say to you." He tried to disengage, to escape to his quarters where Genji would be forced to give him time to collect himself, but it wasn't to be.
"What am I to you, anija?" Genji demanded, easily keeping pace. "Am I little more than a shackle to a past you wish to forget? Is that why you avoid me, why you cannot even bear to look at me?!"
"You know well why I cannot," Hanzo whispered.
Genji froze in his tracks, falling behind. Hanzo decided to take advantage of the pause to gain some distance before stopping, as well. "As I have said," the cyborg started slowly, carefully, "I have forgiven you, brother-"
"As you have said," repeated Hanzo sardonically, steeling his spine to confront an emotionless mask and the ruined man beneath it, "but that does not change what I've done." Genji stiffened, bringing Hanzo an uncomfortable sense of triumph. "You accuse me of seeing you as a link to a past I'd prefer left buried," he continued in that same biting tone, "but is that not how you see me? Is that not what I am?"
"I may have cut my ties to the clan, but I never-"
"I was the clan, Genji!" Hanzo roared, his gaze lit with an unearthly flame. As quickly as it came, the fire dulled, leaving him deflated and listless. "In your eyes, I still am." He turned his back, intending that to be the end of it then, on second thought, said over his shoulder, "I will submit my resignation to Winston tomorrow."
Though it felt dishonorable to go back on his word after he'd promised himself to Overwatch's service, the fact of the matter was his presence was a distraction, an unnecessary risk, and an obstacle to true cohesion. It was common practice when planting bonsai to remove dead or dying branches so that the whole of the plant would not waste its nutrients on limbs or leaves that were too sickly or damaged to contribute and too stubborn to let go. That was all this was. Pruning.
Given time, Hanzo hoped that Genji would see that any attempts at rekindling their bond were as useless and needlessly detrimental as a tree attempting to salvage its dead leaves, and come to forgive his decision. The others would surely be glad to be rid of him, and all of the baggage he carried. While Winston was shaping up to a very different commander from Jack Morrison, anything that decreased in-fighting within the ranks had to come as a welcome relief. Besides, Hanzo knew well that the only reason the recently instated commander had accepted him into the fold was as a favor to Genji.
It had been a test, an experiment of sorts. But the experiment, despite their best efforts, had failed. Now, it was time to move on.
"Kono baka yarou me..." The insult took the form of a low, fury-laced growl that gave Hanzo pause. He turned to see Genji's form standing hunched and tensed in the middle of the hallway, his visage cast partially in shadow, his hands curled into fists at his sides. It bore some resemblance to Winston's own posture when he let his rage get the best of him.
Hanzo watched him warily. "What did you say?"
"You heard me," Genji snapped, closing the distance between them in a stride. There was a scream of feedback from his vocal processors thanks to the increased volume and emotion that made Hanzo wince, yet he didn't seem to notice. "You do not get to come here, allow me to hope that we might someday be a family again, and then leave when it gets too hard."
"Genji-" He was silenced by a sharp, bruising jab to the chest.
The cyborg leaned in, bringing his visor so close that Hanzo could see his own reflection in the illuminated sliver of surface. Static hissed from the overstressed vocal processor as steam seeped from the cyborg's vents. "I am not some toy," Genji said lowly, though his voice began to climb, "to be picked up and put down whenever you see fit. I am a proud member of Overwatch, the son of a kumicho, and you will treat me as such!"
When he was finished, Genji was breathing harshly, his shoulders moving in time with the heaving of tattered lungs. It was the only sound, as though the rest of the base had fallen into a void, leaving the ground they stood on as the last bastion of solidity before they inevitably fell as well. For Hanzo, however, such an assessment was too kind. He'd been falling into a void of his own creation, pulling others into its depths like a drowning man struggling to breath by sacrificing those around him.
He bowed his head, "Moushiwake arimasen," he said stiffly. Genji took a step back, shaking his head. His arms began to raise as though he could stop the words, make them unspoken. "If I have disrespected you, it was not my intention."
"Hanzo, wait-" Stepping forward, Genji reached out, his fingertips brushing the silken fabric of Hanzo's sleeve, but Hanzo recoiled, hastily clutching his arm to his chest as he ducked into his quarters, the door sliding definitively closed behind him.
Desperate, Genji pleaded with Athena to circumvent protocol, just this once, and soon she relented, but when he barged into the room it was to find it empty, the window tellingly open and wide, a mouth gaping with silent laughter.
He stared out the window for a long time.
Not anymore.
A grunt drew Hanzo's attention to the edge of the outcrop he was sitting on where a gloved hand scrambled for purchase, then a spurred boot. The tip of a wide-brimmed hat appeared, accompanied by a series of muttered curses that made the owner of these disparate body parts crystal clear. As the cowboy struggled to lift himself onto the ledge, red-faced and huffing, Hanzo carefully moved his sake flask and cups out of range of the flailing limbs, before grudgingly rising to heft the cowboy onto the outcrop.
"Couldn't have helped sooner?" Jesse panted. "I think I saw my life flash before my eyes."
"If you cannot reach this place on your own, you do not deserve to be here."
Jesse threw him a look of pure exasperation. "And here I was worried about ya. Silly me."
Hanzo knelt down,"And what cause have you to worry about me," pouring himself another cup of sake. Then he wordlessly removed another cup from the pouch strapped to his sash, filled it, and offered it to McCree, who muttered his thanks, then drained the cup in a single gulp.
He spun the cup effortlessly on his finger, brows furrowed."Yelling in the halls ain't exactly the best way to keep your affairs private, archer." Hanzo attempted to conceal a scowl by taking another sip of his drink. McCree pretended not to notice. "Seems to me your little blow-up could've gone better. Could've gone worse, too."
"I do not see how," murmured Hanzo, thinking back to Genji's quiet, simmering anger and subsequent outbursts.
"Well," McCree dug out a cigar from a chest pocket, lighting up the end so that it glowed golden in the dim light of dusk, "one of you could be dead."
Squeezing his eyes shut, Hanzo inhaled sharply. He kept a grip on his cup that threatened to crack the porcelain, but feared that if he dropped it, the ware would go plummeting down into the frigid waters below, lost beneath sheets of ice and snow.
Glancing sideways at the archer, McCree exhaled a pillar of smoke, watching for a moment as it climbed higher and higher, dissipating before it could reach the stars. He sighed, waving a hand idly, "When I was head shorter and a mite dumber, I got involved with what some would say was a bad crowd, did some bad things, made a name for myself." A small frown flit across his face. "Reyes managed to find me before a bullet did. He and Captain Amari showed me how to fight for something bigger than myself, though I can't say I ever really got around to repayin' 'em for it…" A glaze came over his gaze as he stared out at the sea, black and deceptively still in appearance from their vantage point. Up close, those tiny white crests would be waves that swept a man off his feet and dragged him under. "My point is, archer, while I ain't sayin' he's right, Genji's always had a habit of takin' more on his shoulders than he can carry, and if ya ask me, his heart's in the right place. He's tryin' to do right by you, but responsibility ain't never been a one-way street." He rummaged under his serape for a moment, eventually pulling out a half-empty bottle of whiskey. "Drink?"
Instead of replying, Hanzo snatched the bottle from his grasp and took a long pull, savoring the burn.
Life does not always work in extremes. Not all that is said is the worst that will ever be said. Not all that is done is the worst that will ever be done. Life, for most, is a series of small tragedies. Of slights, forgiven and unforgiven, that are as often as not forgotten, swept away by the passage of time. Of joys and laughter, moments that pass as sand through our fingertips yet stick stubbornly to the threads that make us.
Hanzo, naively, had believed that the worst tragedy of his life had passed. That nothing he ever did or said could ever compare to that single act of betrayal that defined him. But life is a collection of choices, of decisions, and ultimately, was a slow death through the culmination of harsh words and disappointment not a tragedy of its own?
A thousand shallow cuts was just as fatal as a lethal strike. The length merely prolonged the torment.
Was that all either of them were capable of now? Drawing blood with the sharpened edge of their silence, drowning in each other's despair?
And was it courage or cowardice to run in an attempt to stave off mutual self-destruction?
No matter how much Hanzo repeated the question, he never found an answer. All he knew, in the end, was that he was tired of running.
He found Genji in the training arena, running through katas with a bokken. Hanzo watched him flow through the motions without speaking, curious as to how he could have achieved such grace with a mechanized body, though this answer was not hard to find. Years of training, diligence, persistence. All things he'd never believed his younger brother capable of.
Genji paused in the middle of a thrust to acknowledge him, "What do you want, Hanzo?"
And Hanzo left the threshold, approaching cautiously, "Do you remember the last thing you said to me? Before…" He couldn't say it. Even after all these years, the words tasted of rot on his tongue.
Luckily, it didn't need to be said. Returning to his exercises, Genji answered the question with a clipped,"No."
Undeterred by the chill in his tone, Hanzo continued, "You asked me to listen to you."
He hadn't realized he was within striking distance, having underestimated the sparrow's enhancements, until Genji spun with the wooden blade raised, "You're not listening to me now!" And Hanzo stumbled in his haste to increase the distance between them, getting an arm up just in time to block a strike that would have slammed against his shoulder. Through clenched teeth, he hissed with pain, and cast wildly about for something, anything he could use to defend himself. Meanwhile, Genji advanced, steam gushing from his ventilation system, "I thought you'd changed, but you are just the same as you have always been, caring solely about yourself and your goals to the exclusion of all else." Pivoting on a heel, Hanzo attempted to disarm the cyborg with a high kick, but Genji was faster, taking advantage of the maneuver to quickly duck and thrust the hilt of his bokken into the archer's midsection, winding him. "I refuse to be an afterthought to your self-pity." While Hanzo fought to regain focus, Genji grabbed a bokken from the rack and tossed it to him, then charged, his own blade raised, "I will not be used as a tool for your own self-destruction!"
Acting without thought, Hanzo caught the wooden blade and deflected the blow, then when Genji struck again, shielded himself with the bokken, fending off the worst and bearing the rest. Eventually, their blades locked, as neither of them were willing to disengage. And Hanzo chuckled without mirth or humor, knowing that Genji could press his advantage at any moment and win their little duel, but that had always been the difference between them.
Genji had never wanted a victory. "Do you want me to leave?" His heart raced, memories threatening to overwhelm him, but he shoved them down, condensed them into something cold and dense and waiting to explode. It would only prolong the inevitable, but Hanzo wasn't asking for days or hours or weeks. Only minutes.
"I…" The pressure on Hanzo's blade lessened as the cyborg lifted his head, then cocked it in confusion. "What?" Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Hanzo moved swiftly to kick the bokken from his grasp, sending it spinning sideways until it hit the ground and skidded across the wooden floorboards.
"Do you want me gone?" Hanzo repeated breathlessly. His heart pounded in his chest, so loud he could barely hear his own thoughts. His lungs felt too small, his sash too tight around his core.
Even so, he struggled to remain upright and steady, knowing from experience that the dizziness would pass.
"Hanzo?" he heard Genji say urgently, his filtered tones muffled by a roaring like that of waves. "Anija, calm yourself. You need to breathe."
But Hanzo did not have time for pity. He bared his teeth in a snarl. "Answer me, Genji!"
Not alone
And was surprised by the sensation of arms wrapped around his torso, squeezing, keeping him contained. It took all of Hanzo's will not to cast them off him. "No," Genji whispered. "That is not at all what I want. This," he tossed Hanzo's bokken away, his shoulders curled inwards, "is not what I want. You are not bound to this place, anija. Do you truly want to leave?"
Laughter, choked and wet, a mix of amusement and pain, spilled from Hanzo's mouth. His body trembled. "Hanzo?" Upon hearing the fear and uncertainty in his brother's voice, he reasserted control over himself as best he could, diminishing the tremors to muted shivers, and slowly shook his head.
Unsure of what else to do, Genji tightened his grip on him, ignoring the way their sharp edges clashed, and held on.
A/N: Thanks to everyone who decided to favorite/follow this series. I'm so happy you're reading my work and hope you're having a great 2019 XD