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Chapter Text

Hanzo Shimada was all too accustomed to the feeling of loss. It surrounded his family like a plague, indiscriminate in who it took without a care for the impact it left behind. The loss of his mother and later his father took enough of a toll on the Shimadas, but the one that ate at Hanzo the most was the one he had caused. The moment replayed itself in his mind cruelly: the blood that stained the ground and coated his hands, his younger brothers pleas for Hanzo to stop, to come to reason, ceasing as the air was enveloped in a heavy silence only cut by the clattering of a blade as the dragons squirmed and writhed beneath his skin. After the fateful incident, he abandoned what remained of his clan and therefore any wealth or power that came from the Shimada name. After the travesties he suffered, the benefits were no longer truly worth it.

His blade had long been replaced with bow and arrow, after the unforgivable act he had committed against his own kin the thought of ever holding the hilt of a sword was unappealing. His time was spent honing his skills, an effort to keep his mind from the dishonor he had brought to his family, the disappointment he was sure his father would have felt for his eldest child. Killing the one he was meant to protect, even if Genji did not adhere nor listen, Hanzo's duty had once been to protect him and he had failed. He could not keep his brother safe from their elders, or from himself. These were the thoughts that ate the man, raging to degrees where sake would be the only thing to tame the thoughts that tried to scream in his ears, tried to mimic his family and tell him he was a disgraceful monster. A disappointment. On the day of Genji's death, not even sake nor his dragons could provide the relief he seeked, visits to the Shimada castle helped briefly lull the pangs of guilt that ate him as he honored the memory of his brother.

The encounter with the supposed assassin at the castle still played clear in his mind, seeing that Genji was indeed alive but.. no longer himself. At first, he refused to believe it was indeed his brother even after seeing that familiar gaze he remembered far too well, he didn't want to come to terms with the idea that he left Genji there to bleed, that he didn't ensure the job was done and instead left him to suffer. This was no longer his brother, every part of his rational told him this was not Genji, that he was gone but the confirmation of his survival shocked his system. All this time he had been mourning a brother who was alive, and as abruptly as they had rejoined Genji was gone into the night once again. His mind had been ravaged by questions that turned into accusations, both against the remaining Shimada and himself as he tried to reason with what he had done yet could not stop the guilt from seeping into his bones. He truly was a monster, and whilst redemption seemed impossible it was the thing he desperately needed. The recalling of Overwatch almost seemed like either a destined fate from a higher power, or a nightmare that he was not truly prepared for. It wasn't hard to catch wind of, a strike team coming back together was hard to keep under wraps and it was something that caught Hanzo's interest. Perhaps.. this was the chance he needed to restore his honor, to finally wash his hands of the blood that he thought would forever taint them.

Joining Overwatch was the least difficult part, adapting to the others would be the real challenge. His eyes silently assessed the watchpoint, deciding that it seemed relatively safe though he didn't entirely expect a gaggle of agents upon entrance and he could feel the dragons writhe beneath his skin as if they felt as unsettled as him, keeping closer to the wall in an attempt to avoid conversation as much as possible, narrowed eyes observing the room critically and briefly passing over the many faces. Loud voices melded together in his ears and faces blurred quickly as he tried to focus on anything else, hearing the dragons try to drown out the noise with their own. His eyes closed as he tried to prevent himself from becoming overwhelmed, he did not remember the last time he heard such ruckus in one room. He felt eyes lingering on him, far longer than comfortable, piercing eyes snapping open to glare harshly in the direction of the starer, meeting a pair of warm brown eyes that seemed interested in him, full of curiosity and maybe mischief as well. He lingered briefly before tearing his gaze away, though when he caught a glimpse of a green visor, he could feel the dragons coil beneath his arm. His jaw clenched, growls echoing into a space only he could hear, knowing all too well his dragons had noticed Genji's presence and by the way his head had turned in his direction, the others dragon must've noticed him as well. He could feel what he only assumed to be some form of rage build up seeing his younger brother, abruptly leaving his spot at the wall to step outside. He needed a break from the noise and people anyhow, a moment to collect his nerves as he stepped into the breeze and inhaled any scent on the air. This would be a struggle.

Chapter Text

Hanzo already had grown a disdain for the strike team and he had hardly been there a month. Training constantly and watching others get to leave on missions whilst he was forced into waiting, likely to evaluate if they could even trust him. It wasn't surprising, the name Shimada was far too welly known for criminal activity during the height of the clans power, however that too was gone and now? It was simply a ghost of the past, words with nothing behind them and the reminder of a once powerful clan with no members to count for beyond Genji and Hanzo. It was as much of a burden as it was a blessing, the clan and it's horrors would die with them yet he couldn't shake the crushing weight that his father was disappointed in him. Even after his fathers death all he wanted was to make him proud. Maybe somedays all the training wasn't so bad when it offered as a distraction, something which he desperately needed.

The practice range was characteristically empty, other agents weren't exactly buzzing to get in and practice on weapons they've used more times than countable on a stationary subject. Hanzo, however, found a brief sense of sanctuary when it was quiet. No training sessions with words echoing off the walls, loud footsteps on the ground, or weapons constantly firing. Instead he was alone and it brought some sense of inner peace that was otherwise unachievable. He reached for his quiver, drawing out a lone arrow that simply rested in his palm for a second, eyes scrutinizing as if to make sure the arrow was completely perfect. Hanzo made his own arrows, he never fully trusted another person to make them quite to the same quality and he liked to think perhaps he had fine tuned his skills, though he let those thoughts leave him as the arrow was nocked, bowstring pulled back by experienced hands. He didn't release right away, allowing his eyes to close for a brief second as if trying to rid himself of the unpleasant thoughts, eyes snapping open as he finally allowed the string to release from his fingers, the arrowhead imbedding itself into the robotic head of Hanzo's target. He gave his shoulder a slight roll, perhaps to alleviate some tension, before making his way to the target, careful when removing the arrow to avoid snapping it. His attempts to get it out intact were not to be celebrated long, as his ears caught the sound of loud footsteps and a jingling sound, quick to nock a new arrow as he spun on his heel to see who had been invading his quiet, bow raised. It was that cowboy again.

The bewildered expression was enough to show the man wasn't expecting anybody to be there, nor to have a drawn bow pointed in his direction. Hanzo eyed the man warily, slowly lowering the bow as he watched the figure make a casual descent down one of the staircases to the range. "Well howdy, didn't reckon anybody else would be here. Practicin' all by yourself?" His drawl was thick, and Hanzo narrowed his eyes at the man, lips pressed into a thin line as the cowboy hat tipped down in a form of what he assumed was greeting. He recognized those eyes that peered at him from the shadow of the hat, the person who was watching him on his first arrival. The dragons tensed beneath his skin, jaw clenched as he kept his guard high, waiting for the other man to make a move, in case he had to defend himself. Instead a hand was offered to him with a seemingly warm smile. "Name's Cassidy, pleasure to meetcha. Was gonna say somethin' your first day but you seemed in a hurry, figured I didn't need to bug ya." He seemed friendly enough, though Hanzo was still wary, unable to stop the scoff that unintentionally escaped him. "What a brash approach." Perhaps he had been expecting more respect from this Cassidy character, yet it was rude to not introduce himself in return. "Hanzo, at your service." It was simple enough for his taste, watching as the hand drew away to fall back to his side whilst a metallic hand reached into his holster and produced a revolver.

Hanzo had been thoroughly put on edge seeing the weapon, bow raised once more as the dragons waited impatiently to take care of the threat. He expected an attack of some kind, instead all that he received was a blink of vague surprise before Cassidy simply brushed past him, his flesh hand offering a light pat to Hanzo's shoulder, feeling the fabric of his serape temporarily brush across the skin. "Welcome to the team, Hanzo. Lookin' forward to seein' ya in action." Just as the man had been there, he disappeared from Hanzo's sight though the smell of cigar smoke and likely gunpowder lingered, along with the distant shots of a revolver which told Hanzo the other was still there just out of sight. He hardly thought about that though, his bow lowering as he reeled from the interaction. Just who was this man, seemingly unphased by a weapon pointed in his direction, his life hanging on the balance of Hanzo's decision? He despised the curiosity that was sparked but he felt a need to learn more about Cassidy, something that he now vowed himself to doing.

Chapter Text

His first mission, finally he was given something to do at Overwatch instead of just training and remaining idle. Perhaps he had proved himself worthy of their trust or they were simply growing tired of seeing him around the base, he chose not to question it. He was ready to finally do some good, his combat skills had been prepared for.. simple assistance of civilians? This was hardly the type of thing he was anticipating, and the initial news made his eyebrow crook, as if perhaps he was waiting for different orders or a joke before he was given his actual assignment but there was nothing. The excuse was 'it would be easier on a rookie' as if he didn't know how to defend himself, couldn't handle the tougher missions, however he couldn't complain either. He wanted something, anything to get him off base and he finally got it, so he accepted the mission, albeit a tad reluctantly.

The ride on the dropship was far from comfortable, though perhaps that was to be expected of a strike team that has reformed. Things weren't going to be any sort of comfortable, and his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting provided by the lights inside. It wasn't reassuring to hear the occasional rumbles from somewhere deep in the ship, but he wasn't exactly a mechanic and so he kept his lips sealed as he instead decided to examine the fellow members of the team: an odd omnic monk, a girl that certainly didn't look old enough to be there and a mech that somehow seemed to be everywhere with her from the times Hanzo had seen her, chattering with an Or-15 model who didn't fully seem to understand but nodded along regardless. Across from him was a woman who looked tired with age, but retained her beauty nonetheless, and to his side was none other than Cole Cassidy. That familiar stranger he often saw at the practice range with him when he was not on missions. The team seemed.. well rounded enough, he supposed.

An accent cut through his reverb, interrupting his observations to instead glance to his side, able to notice that the cowboys eyes were on him despite the way they were mostly hidden by the hat. The staring irked him, but when he realized Cassidy was talking to him, asking him questions, he made a semi-effort to tune back in. "So, a bow guy eh? I can respect it, but reckon that wouldn't do ya much good in quick combat. Appreciate a man who can use a traditional armament such as yerself." He could practically feel the wink and it caused Hanzo's nose to scrunch in a bit of judgement. "Have you ever fired a bow?" The question was simple, and it got a shrug from Cassidy. "Never gonna see me firin' a pulse rifle. Some of us got standards, reputations to uphold. 'Sides, think me 'n deadeye do just fine." A hand reached to pat the revolver at his hip as Hanzo stared at him blankly.

"You named your weapon."

"Yeah, what 'bout it?"

"That seems like a rather.. American thing to do."

He could hear Cassidy's disdainful huff but he didn't bother to acknowledge it, simply glancing away once more to look at other things in the dropship. Though he heard the question about his tattoo far too late, feeling a fingertip make contact with his skin, the dragons perking up under the flesh. He was quick to react, grabbing Cassidy's wrist like a lightening flash, storm clouds in his eyes. "Do not rouse the dragons." The cowboy was lucky his finger was still allowed to remain in tact, releasing his grip as Cassidy pulled his hand back. He could tell the man was about to say something, but was interrupted from the woman sitting across from them. "Cole, behave." The motherly tone she took seemed to be enough, the cowboys mouth closing as he slouched in his seat, arms crossed. "I don't believe we've met. My name is Ana, welcome to the team." The woman offered Hanzo a brief smile, one which he nodded at in return before the dropship jostled and began it's descent. The others occupying the area began to rise to their feet, and Hanzo followed suite, watching at the hatch lowered.

The sight before him was indescribable. Smoke billowed from buildings angrily, flames dancing across pieces of rubble, cars overturned in whatever conflict had occured here. They were sent off into teams of two, and went about their task of rescuing any civilians who were left behind and escorting them to a safety area set up by Overwatch. Of course, he had to be stuck with Cassidy, as if he wasn't on edge enough that they would be attached, having an overconfident cowboy with him didn't help. He must have learned his lesson from the dropship, as there were no words really exchanged between them. It seemed everybody had been evacuated already, which Hanzo found relieving. He couldn't deal with panicked people recovering from an attack on their lives. "Area's clear, reckon we start intel searchin', over." Cassidy radioed to the rest of the team before turning his gaze to Hanzo. "Anythin' ya see that looks suspicious, grab it." That resulted in a simple eyeroll as Hanzo left to do just that, quipping with a 'You are not my boss.' before disappearing for his evidence search.

The hours had passed, sun dropping low into the evening sky when the team had met back up. Ana and the monk had apparently been assisting at the safety station for those injured, whilst the girl with her mecha and the OR-15 model focused on corralling civilians and asking them if they knew anything. Hanzo hadn't seen Cassidy since they split to search for evidence, and when they had both returned Cassidy seemed frazzled, talking to Ana. He caught a snippet of conversation as he approached.

"Lotta shotgun shells layin' 'round, ya don't think..?"

"We can't say anything for sure, Cole. Keep focused."

Their gazes both turned to him as he approached, immediately going to the object held cautiously with his finger. A singular shotgun. "I found this whilst investigating. Rather careless to leave a weapon lying around." Hanzo looked at the two for confirmation, hit with a bit of surprise seeing the distant look in Cassidy's eyes as he gazed at the gun, eyes wide. As if he was remembering something. Hanzo would have asked, but they were all commanded to get inside by the pilot before they were left, so that was exactly what they did. The ride back to base was silent, not even Cassidy spoke as the rumbles filled the silence. It had been a long day was all Hanzo could assume.

Upon their arrival, their findings were reported. It wasn't hard to chalk up that this was a Talon attack, perhaps a chance to get them to act, and the shotgun was proof. After all, it belonged to one of Talon's most dangerous members: The Reaper. A murdering machine with no remorse or sorrow for the havoc he brings. Hanzo was vaguely aware of Talon, as he assumed most would be, and he expected some disdainful quip from Cassidy. Instead, there was silence, and when he glanced over he saw the cowboy staring at the projected image of the Reaper, jaw clenched and fists curled into tight balls. Something wasn't right, but Hanzo didn't ask. Cassidy's personal affairs were not his business, after all.

Chapter Text

The meeting about Talon had concluded after what felt like painstaking hours, watching members of the strike team throwing plans at a metaphorical wall to see what stuck. Anything was hardly conclusive. Talon seemed steps ahead of them no matter what precautions were put in place or whatever attempts they made to outwit them, though maybe Overwatch was simply too passive in approach. It wasn't Hanzo's place to attempt to say anything, he had only just completed his first mission and doubted anyone would appreciate advice from a new member. So his lips stayed sealed until the meeting was adjourned, his attention darting to Cassidy, who fled the room the moment it was over. It didn't take a genius to tell the cowboy was perturbed by something, ever since they retrieved that gun he seemed.. off. Oddly quiet for somebody who had been running his mouth earlier in the day. His gaze had seemed distant the entire discussion, as if his mind had been somewhere else entirely, but Hanzo knew better than to pursue it or push the issue. He was in no position to pry into another person's internal strives. He still had plenty of his own to deal with.

The other members had begun to flood out, talking amongst friends or resigning quietly to their rooms after a long day, and Hanzo would've taken a great solace to do the same had he not felt a presence lingering in the room. Despite everybody else leaving, he was all too aware of another entity in the room. Hanzo wanted to ignore it, but he also knew better than to have his back turned to anybody, turning to face the only other person, or he supposed cyborg, that stayed behind. A sheen of gray and a stripe of green were the only things he saw, yet he could feel the eyes of his brother watching him, as if analyzing him to see what he would do. Perhaps to try and predict if Hanzo would attempt to kill him like he did the last time they crossed paths. The eldest of the two was still, eyes coldly staring at the metallic plate, brows knit tightly together. "Brother." The word felt tight in his throat. Was it right to call this.. thing his brother? Whatever machine stood in front of him wasn't the Genji he grew up with, despite knowing his scarred and battered face remianed underneath. How could he be sure it wasn't a deception of his eyes? It didn't make sense but he wanted to cling to the false reality that Genji hadn't survived. That his own hands hadn't condemned his only brother to the cold cybernetic hell which he lived.

"Brother, it is good to see you again." There was no malice in his voice, yet Hanzo wanted there to be. He didn't want Genji to forgive him. How could he? Normally, he would have had a remark to make but.. he wasn't entirely prepared to have a conversation with the cyborg, yet that certainly didn't stop the conversation. "You seem to be fitting in well. I heard your first mission was today, you got off much luckier than me." There was a slight chuckle, undertones of a robotic voice ever prevalent. This didn't feel right. This didn't sound like Genji, carefree without a worry or woe in the world. A party animal with no sense of reason nor responsibility. Yet, he sounded truly older than his age in this moment. As if he somehow matured. Maybe he had and Hanzo didn't want to believe it, his hands balling into fists. Was this all a rouse? Was Genji trying to get his guard down for revenge sake? He wouldn't harbor any resentment if that was the case, perhaps he deserved it. No wound ever came though. Instead, Genji stepped closer as a cold hand rested on Hanzo's shoulder, his skin raising in vague goosebumps. "I am glad you joined Overwatch. I hope we talk more soon, brother." The words sounded far too genuine, and the archer wanted to question it but the chance was gone. Genji had disappeared, leaving Hanzo alone to think.

He didn't linger in the meeting room long, walking out briskly and making his way down the hall to escape into his room. Hanzo didn't have any interest in talking to the other agents anyhow, not feeling any sense of relief until the door closed behind him. It hardly occured to him how tense he was until his muscles relaxed, realizing that Genji's presence likely disturbed the dragons. He took a moment to soothe them before allowing himself the respite to sit down on his bed. Sleep was in order but.. how does one sleep after an encounter like that? Shaking things off wasn't difficult, and Hanzo wanted to think the one sided talk with Genji would be easy to ignore. Yet it plagued him. His brother.. wanted him there. He didn't seem spiteful, nor did he seem to harbor even an ounce of resentment, unlike himself. He hated what he had done to Genji with every fiber of his being. The Shimada clan had not been a clean name in years, perhaps even centuries, and he further desecrated it. After the supposed death of his brother, and the untimely departures of the clan elders, Hanzo slunk to the shadows of Hanamura with intents to never be seen in the light of day. Yet things changed, and now here he was in, forced into a position of teamwork with unfamiliar people. One's with the capacity to stab him in the back if they so chose.

Perhaps Hanzo thought too lowly of others, or always had a sense of distrust embedded into his DNA, it didn't matter. His guard would remain raised. Those thoughts, however, became disregarded as the archer allowed himself to lay for the night, feeling an exhaustion he hardly noticed until his head hit the pillow. Eyes skimmed along the ceiling of his room, waiting for sleep to take him into its welcoming arms. The comfort mixed with how tired he was lulled him away faster than expected, eyes closing as he settled in for a night of rest.