They were Shimadas

The sun never seemed warm enough when Hanzo was a child. It would blanket the hallways in light, but never warmth, and so there was this constant, deep chill within his bones. It seemed only he could feel it. No one else seemed to feel the frost on their bones, and if they did it never showed. It haunted him in a way, much like the scaled creatures that rippled under his skin.

Every time the sun was away he would walk to his Father's side, absorbing the lessons, reciting each verse like it was sacred.

And there were many verses.

Their Great Aunt was to be respected but ignored. Their business partners in the shipping industry were to be taken with a heavy grain of salt; their tactics had little room for friendship. Their second cousins were deceptive but frugal; good to be held at arms distance as they worked wonders with off-shore bank accounts. Those same cousins craved the Shimada power as the streets craved Uncle's drugs. Speaking of Uncle, Father didn't trust him nor love him. The man was married into the family and while that hadn't stopped the head of the Shimada's from caring for anyone before, he held no love for his sister's husband and so, neither did Hanzo. 

Father taught him who to trust and how to trust them and Hanzo committed every lesson to his memory, branding it into his existence. It was his life, his legacy.

Auntie was sweet and good-natured, but she couldn't keep a secret and so Hanzo treated her with silent affection. Ji-chan was overbearing, wanting to influence everything, best to tell him superficial problems and listen to him scoff at them. Uncle was full of faux pleasantries, and Hanzo regarded him with disdain as Father did, so much so that the man noticed.

"Your kid makes the same face you do," Uncle chuckled one day, his smile not reaching his eyes. Hanzo felt his frown try and pull into a sneer as something in his chest growled.

Father put a hand on Hanzo's shoulder and, as poised as he always had, he put on a smile and laughed; "Perhaps you just incite the same expression out of everyone you meet, brother."

Then, Father had thrown a small smile down at Hanzo and the world warmed just fine enough, with no need of the useless sun. That spark of mirth in his Father's eyes melted the cold and kindled Hanzo's small smile.

That night, Hanzo had felt warmest. He'd glimpsed himself in one of the castle's mirrors and held himself a bit higher as the dragons he must carry in him purred. He had Father's eyes, steely and cold; calculating. His hair was long, held back, and cared for by Mother's gentle hands. His hands were trained, callused. His jaw was set. He was the spitting image of his Father, and he held himself as such when the warmth flooded through his entire body.

But he was not his Father, yet. He was not a true Shimada, yet.

Father was two people, it seemed. He was the Head of the Shimadas, and then he was simply Sojiro Shimada. When Hanzo stood by his side for interrogations or executions, the coldness dug so deeply into his heart that he thought he may as well be ice. Father certainly was. He taught Hanzo how to strike for pain, for a quick death, for a slow one, which ribs to break, and where one should snap an arm. He taught Hanzo how long it took for someone to bleed out and how much you could get them to squirm. He taught Hanzo how to look for fear in the eyes, and recognize faces of fear; the fear of death, and the fear of living.

But then Hanzo would fail, he would falter. He'd hesitate or squirm or puke and the Head of the Shimada Clan would vanish like smoke. His Father would finish the job, quickly, efficiently, and silently. He'd turn, without malice, without anger, put a hand on Hanzo's shoulder, and lead him away, his eyes made of stone. Away from prying eyes and elder judgments until it was just the two of them in a hallway, then he would squeeze Hanzo's shoulder.

"I lost my stomach the first time too, all over my Father's shoes," he would murmur, or it would be something the sort. Hanzo could remember it clearly, how he'd try to hold himself higher and pretend whatever just happened didn't. However he had failed, he simply hadn't. Father certainly wouldn't mention it further. He wouldn't even look at Hanzo, not because he disdained him, but because he didn't want Hanzo to know pity... or at least Hanzo would pray for it to be so. 

Father would help him scrub off any blood, find him a change of clothes, and they'd go to his room where doubtlessly Genji was bothering Mother for another story. The warmth would return with one of Mother's gentle laughs, a knowing look in her eyes as she took in his paleness, the tremble of his hands. She'd slowly look at their Father who would bow his head, in shame or reverence Hanzo would never know.

But Mother would beckon Hanzo closer, so close that he couldn't help but grow warm. Who needed the sun when you had dawn incarnate reciting fables?

Mother's stories were very different from Father's. The brothers loved them both equally, but Father's stories always held lessons, weight; some sort of importance that Hanzo felt he had to study whether it be the Legend of the Dragon Brothers or the Journey of the Tenacious Sparrow. Mother's tales were... innocent, warmth incarnate, brightness far greater than anything the sun offered. She weaved tales of forest animals, magic, and myths that had no purpose except to entertain and awe. Genji fed off that warmth, gawking and beaming in a way that Hanzo couldn't bring himself to. He could smile, of course, and he did often when Mother was around, but he couldn't make her laugh as Genji could.

Every time she looked at him, Hanzo recognize a deep pain in her eyes. She'd run a comb through his hair as if she was apologizing. She'd watch him go off with Father in the dawn, watch him depart at dusk, and she would wait until he returned home whether it took hours or days. Sometimes, when she thought he was sleeping, she'd finish whatever lullaby she'd been humming and she'd sit next to him.

"I'm sorry, my son. This life is not kind to you... I'm sorry," she'd murmur musings and apologies of the like. Lamenting something that Hanzo did not yet understand.

She knew what life they lived, she had to. She navigated diplomacy just as well as Father, just quieter. She disliked parties, she disliked the probing questions of the elders, and she disliked it even less when they came for Genji or Hanzo...

Mostly Genji.

He... Hanzo hated that he was envious. It was natural; he was the First Born, he spent all his time with his Father, and he had duties and responsibilities, of course, he was more distant from his mother. It would be so even without her... sadness. Besides, Genji was just... just a child. He went crying to their Mother when he fell or scraped a knee or broke a toy. He snuggled and played and laughed... of course, Mother was more partial to him, more protective of him when the elders whispered. Genji was a child.

And Mother knew Hanzo could take it.

Still, something under Hanzo's skin would ripple as she swooped in like a guardian angel, sparing Genji and whisking him away to safety, leaving Hanzo to suffer it all... and Hanzo would hate himself for it. His mother didn't deserve such childish feelings, Genji didn't deserve them.

She didn't mean to leave him to his own defense against the monsters of their family. She only meant to spare Genji. How could he be angry? How dare he feel such rage.

He'd snap at a particularly rude crone and the family would avoid him for the rest of the evening and he could be left to his hatred in peace, the beast within him growling and writhing at his emotions. Eventually, he'd find it in himself to swallow it; he was the firstborn Shimada. He had a duty to this family and he would take it in stride. He would not gripe about such useless things.

He was a Shimada.

The years passed and Genji grew taller, he grew smarter. He picked up his first sword at Hanzo's side, he threw his first shuriken alongside their first shared friend; Kiriko, he fired his first arrow alone in the garden. He did everything and anything he could and attempted plenty of things he couldn't. With a level of shock, Hanzo realized Genji was trying to surpass him. If it had taken Hanzo three weeks to hit his first bullseyes, Genji would not rest until he had done it in two. If Hanzo had finished the training course in five minutes, Genji needed to make himself do it in three. His younger brother threw himself into training and learning with a vivacious appetite for victory that Hanzo was almost... frightened by.

There was a level of competitive spirit, of course; a need for the elder child to win... but there was something deeper there. An older, ashamed fear. That perhaps... perhaps Genji would be better than him. Then... what would Father do?

He vaulted into his training, pushing himself to the limit each and every time until he was drenched in sweat, his hands unable to stop trembling, until his very being screamed in agony. He wouldn't allow anything to challenge his position, he wouldn't let what the elder's whisper come to pass.

He would be his Father's successor.

But Genji was tenacious and determined. He did it all with a smile and a laugh as if it didn't bother him in the slightest. He joked and jeered, learning all the ways he could poke Hanzo's buttons to make him snap... or make him crack a smile he couldn't fight. But Hanzo saw how he collapsed in bed, his head in Mother's lap as she sighed at them both.

"My boys, you worry me sometimes." Her worries were never unfounded. But Hanzo did not heed them. Judging by how recklessly Genji threw himself back into training, the youngest Shimada didn't either.

When Genji was eight, Hanzo summoned his dragons for the first time. He'd known they were there... well, he'd known there was at least one. They'd snap for him when something threatened him, growl a warning in his mind as a sort of sixth sense when Uncle's smile grew too wide, they'd purr occasionally, rumbling his soul as he sat content in his Mother's embrace or basked in Father's praise.

Father taught him how to call on them, yelling for his own violet beast as he sliced through row after row of training figures. It took a while, a few embarrassing attempts, a few weeks of nothing, and those few, terrifying moments when Hanzo considered maybe he didn't have a dragon. Maybe he had nothing.

Rage built up within him. Anger, fear, doubt; such things under his skin rippled and he demanded they come to his bidding instead of hiding within him. He demanded they show the world that he was worthy of being his father's son. Of being a Shimada. They, naturally, didn't listen.

He grew a shorter temper, he snapped and grumbled, moping as a child does and he hated himself for that too.

"My son." His Father took him aside after a particularly nasty retort that made Genji tear up and go running to their Mother.

"I... I apologize for my actions -" Hanzo tried to begin.

"You recognize that, right? That you are my son?" Father's question took him by surprise.

"Of course!"

"Then why is there fear in your eyes?" Father asked softly. 

And Hanzo had nothing to say. He kept his feet from shuffling as Genji's did. He kept himself from biting his lip. He made himself stand tall and clench his jaw.

"Hanzo, this is natural, it takes time," Father soothed, but it only sparked the blaze.

"It's taken too much time!" Hanzo cried. "Why hasn't it answered me? Why isn't it with me!? What if I -" His voice broke as the realization set in. "What if I don't have a dragon?"

Father did not scowl, he did not sigh, he only smiled and placed a hand on Hanzo's head. "Know, Hanzo, that no matter what you are or what you become, you are my son, and that is all I can ever ask of you; dragon or no."

And perhaps it was enough for Father, but it was not enough for Hanzo. It could not be enough.

One night, he stood in the training room, ignoring Mother's attempts to call him to bed. Ignoring Father's assurances. He stood, holding his sword, and focusing on himself. He stared at his sword and tried to find some sort of peace in it. He thought of his Father. He thought of Genji. He mostly thought of his Father, of how graceful he looked with a flash of purple at his side, the roar of a dragon in the air.

Hanzo wanted that. He wanted to be that... he wanted to be better. The sword grew warm in his grip and he imagined it. He wanted his Father to be proud. He wanted the elders to cease their doubtful calls.

But they'd always whisper, always doubt:

He'll never grow out of that young face. He'll never have his Father's efficacious mind. He won't have the stomach to do what must be done. He's flimsy, too desperate to please his Father. He'll never live up to it. To anything.

Something rippled within him. Some sort of determination, some sort of fury. He closed his eyes and imagined how he'd be one day.

He'd have his Mother's grace, his Father's will. He'd be strong enough to defend himself from assassins; they'd fear him. The Shimada Clan would bow, in respect, reverence, in pride. He would keep them safe, he would keep them strong. He... and Genji.

They'd devour anything in their path. The two of them.

Something growled... and it wasn't in his head. He opened his eyes, and there, curled around his blade, gleaming a bright, brilliant blue was not one, but two dragons. Their teeth bared, their eyes unblinking. They huffed a breath of smoke in his face and for that first meeting, all he could do was stare at them, entranced and awed. They crooned under his gaze before slipping away back into his chest.

He summoned them three more times that night, ripping the training area apart. Laughing to see how easily the two dragons broke through solid cedar and oak. Their teeth gnashed in eager hunger and their roars echoed through the room as they danced with him. They flanked him, one on either side, protecting and then striking, like flowing water in a constant coil of violence.

When he stopped after his third time, panting from the exertion, his sight waning from the drain it pulled from him... he realized he wasn't alone.

Father was there, in the doorway, his eyes both amazed... and proud.

"Hanzo," his first word dripped with pride and Hanzo felt his eyes water. "Well done."

The dragons changed... everything. A Shimada with two dragons. Suddenly Hanzo was a prodigy, a shining beacon of opportunity. The elders who had once regarded him with doubt and scorn began to praise him, begged him to summon them for him, begged to see the beasts who would've doubtlessly shown how desperately Hanzo wanted to rip them apart.

The tattoo was... challenging. It was tradition, it was necessary. It would make the process of summoning the dragons easier, it would give them a stronger connection to this realm. It would cement his power.

It was everything Hanzo could've wanted. He designed it himself. He spent hours tracing the arm it would decorate, dreaming of it.

But...

It was painful.

Father had to hold him still as his instincts screamed at him to pull away from the fiery pricks that hadn't been so bad at first but grew to an agonizing existence. He bit his tongue until it bled and the coppery taste drowned his senses. He refused to scream, not in front of the elders, the family; Genji.

Genji watched, his young face was not nearly as stone-faced as it should've been. In those moments Hanzo dared look out from the chair, he would see Genji wincing or grimacing, occasionally reaching over to hold Mother's hand for... comfort? Mother, who was just as stone-faced as Father, would smile at him when their eyes met, her eyes always sad. Always, forever heartbreaking, but warm.

It took over an hour, easily. Probably more than four. How Genji didn't grow bored, Hanzo would never know, but when it was over he took a long, shaky breath and knew nothing else except relief. The air on his irritated, infuriated skin twinged and burned, but he could breathe again. He glanced a look over at the area that he had dared not stare at while the artist worked, but now he could take in the lineart... and smile.

They'd color and detail later, in future sessions that needed not be such a public event, but for now, there were two dragons dancing on his chest and down his arm, a perfect reflection of the dragons in his heart.

He'd traced them lightly with a finger, wincing only slightly at the pain and smiling. The dragons already felt closer. Like they were writhing right under his skin, waiting for permission to erupt. They scared him, a bit, but in the same way that a storm would scare a young child. And yet, they felt like him and having them close only made his world a bit warmer.

He looked over and saw his Father smiling at him... and he knew, at that moment, his future was sealed. He was the Shimada heir, he would be the future of this clan and he would succeed in all aspects expected of him.

The dragons hummed to affirm it.

Much changed after that...

He was nearly always at Father's side. Their business partners knew his face well, and they knew his potential even better. The news rippled through Japan; another Shimada heir, this one even stronger than the last. Father knew the dangers that came with fame and he walked Hanzo through every part of their castle's security. He made sure Hanzo knew every face and every danger. The guards with familial ties to the clan were trustworthy, usually - but they were also prone to ambition. The mercenaries held a bought loyalty and while that made them fickle, it also meant their faithfulness could be easily held thanks to the family's wealth. For many mercenaries, the Shimada's were their one constant source of income, that in itself bought some sort of fealty.

Mother grew more distant. Hanzo was with Father near constantly and the times he did glimpse her, she was with Genji. Still, she tried to connect with him. They'd go for walks in the evenings and she would ask what was on his mind. She'd try to offer advice, but mostly, she'd just try to get him to talk.

"Your father consults with me, I want you to know you can do the same. Whatever irritates you, whatever frightens you, whatever keeps you awake at night, my son. This family is a burden, but it is one we must share with each other," she smiled at him, but it did not reach her eyes.

Hanzo looked away and managed all he could. "Nothing frightens me, mother."

Her gaze only grew more solemn, pained.

"Fear is natural, I should hope it inflicts wounds on you just as it infects your Father. Fear keeps you cautious. It keeps you alive. Do not be ashamed of fear, Hanzo. We all have it." She sounded like she spoke from experience.

Hanzo said little to Mother after that.

The greatest change, however, came from Genji. The elders, after seeing what Hanzo could do, turned their expectations on his brother quickly. If the elder brother had two, surely the younger shared his promising potential. Genji, at least, seemed to hope so. He begged their Father to teach him how to unleash his dragons and when his Father was busy, which he so often was, he would beg Hanzo.

Hanzo helped as best he could... but it never seemed enough for Genji. Genji was... emotionally turbulent... if Hanzo had to pick two words. He never learned to hide his emotions, to save face. Or, he'd chosen to ignore those teachings. He was an open book for anyone who tried to read him, especially when he was desperate for something. He grinned like a fool and scowled like a child... it was endearing. It was also dangerous.

The world knew how much Genji wanted it. They saw his desires plain as day. They saw his struggle, his frustrations, his victories, his failures. They were all written in his expression, in his bright lively eyes.

Hanzo knew his mind well, which meant he knew Genji's even better; Genji was desperate to not disappoint. He threw everything he had into training, growing stronger and stronger so that the whispers of the elders may either come to fruition or vanish in the sound of their awe. Mother threw her praise on him like rain in the spring, but Father could not offer it so readily.

Genji, Hanzo realized a little too late, was jealous. Just as he had been at his age, Genji yearned for parental affection but where Hanzo had wished for their Mother to hold him as she held Genji, his brother chased after their Father's praise like a starved dog chased a rabbit. He dislocated his shoulder just so that Father may see how expertly he navigated the obstacle course. He nearly broke his legs in a training exercise that Hanzo had not dared attempt until he was twelve. He pushed and pushed and every crumb of pride Father granted him only fed that desire.

The elders saw. They recognized it and they said the same things about Genji that they had said about Hanzo and, just like always, Mother swooped in like a guardian angel to spare her youngest. She'd compliment a kimono or a hairpin, divert the conversation to a recent skirmish or the prices of groceries, and Genji would be allowed to slip away, poorly hiding the fury in his eyes as he left whatever family gathering he was tortured to attend.

Hanzo would watch him go, and he'd say nothing about the quiet tears he'd hear later that night. That was the only part of his emotions Genji did learn to hide; the mastered art of silently crying.

It was a sort of dance they did around each other. They saw so little of each other, but they understood one another in different ways. Hanzo, admittedly, tried to get closer to his younger brother. He'd been so engulfed with his own desire to prove himself that he'd deprived his younger brother of... well, a brother. And now, now he had two dragons and a cemented legacy to fill, so he wanted to fix that - he could fix that. They would throw each other a smile in school hallways. Genji was always the more popular one, but he'd wave to Hanzo from across the schoolyard and Hanzo would wave back. Hanzo would help him with his homework in the evenings and Genji would drag him to his favorite TV shows, filling him in on all the episodes and plot points he'd missed.

It wasn't a perfect world, but it was theirs. They were Shimadas; It was always theirs.

And then... the world shifted. It started small if you could call attempted murder small, which Hanzo would. At least compared to all that came after.

The assassin came for Hanzo. After years of warnings, stories, and training, Hanzo still wasn't ready. He'd just been... walking. Just, enjoying the dusk air. The sun was still up, and still not nearly warm enough, but it was warm with Genji next to him, rambling about Power Rangers.

The dragons warned Hanzo first, they snarled and Hanzo turned on his heel, following their senses. Immediately he was blinded by the sunlight but he drew his sword nonetheless, just in time for something to embed into his shoulders. For the first time, he thanked his Father for demanding they always remain armed.

"Hanzo!" Genji's screech drowned in the bellow of Hanzo's dragons as he called on them. The sun was in his eyes but the dragons sensed the attacked and sought after them.

Suddenly, he tasted copper and his feet gave out from under him.

There was... there was a kunai in... in his throat.

His dragons were roaring in fury, curling around him protectively. Genji was...

Genji.

Hanzo held his throat, panic and fear fueling him as he tried to orient himself. There was blood... a lot of it. He was drowning in it, choking on it, crying as his hands were covered in the slick crimson. His fingers fumbled awkwardly around the kunai and while the lessons drilled into him lectured that he leave the blade in, a more childish panic was growing louder and louder, wailing to get it out, get it out, get it out!!

There was another roar, not one of his dragons... but strangely familiar. It resonated in his chest and even though his ears had never heard it, in his soul he felt like he'd been hearing it his whole life. It was so familiar that his dragons parted and Hanzo saw clearly why he was still alive. Genji had drawn his sword and was attacking the assassin clad in warm brown. The foe was trying furiously to hit his brother who danced around like a dragonfly... his sword was accompanied by a small, electric-green dragon.

Genji had called on his dragon. His singular, small, dragon.

Hanzo felt both fear and pride and disappointment. Such a dragon was minuscule compared to Father's and it was nothing compared to his own... but Genji had summoned it so young... and he danced like fury itself as he tried to push the assassin back.

"Gen - ji," Hanzo choked on his blood as he tried to stand. His sword nearly fell out of his hand.

A kunai finally nailed down his smaller brother, biting into his arm and bringing a heart-breaking cry to Genji's lips that crescendoed into a scream as three more sunk into his side.

Then, like the sound of the vengeful heavens opening, they heard an earth-trembling roar. From the roof, likely leaping out of the upstairs window, landing silently save for the rageful violet dragon, was Father. For a blessed moment, all was perfectly still. The leaves of the trees danced in the air, the grasshoppers sang, and a few sparrows flew overhead... then it seemed the very air shattered as Father struck.

He leaped towards the attacker, intercepting their lunge for Genji. The orchid dragon's jaws snapped shut around the foe's arms and their scream ripped through the air as their limb was torn from their torso, unused kunai clattering to the wood.

Their blood covered the wooden porch walk as they scrambled to try and escape the fury of the purple dragon. Father turned on his heel and refused such a useless attempt, the dragon and his sword swinging low this time and slicing through an ankle like it was warm butter. It took only a second and Hanzo watched it all in the wondrous cold dying sunlight. Father's guards were on his heels, one kneeling down at Hanzo's side and nearly getting their hand bitten off by the blue dragons.

Hanzo didn't even have the mind to call them off as he watched his Father slam the foe against the wall, his sword pressed to their throat.

"Who sent you?" Father's words were ice incarnate, his dragon snarling and twisting around him like a coiling snake.

The assassin stayed silent and Father's dragon snarled once before the leader of the clan threw the bleeding foe to his men.

"Keep him alive!" Father snarled like his dragon and then sheathed his sword, rushing over to Hanzo's side.

The dragons immediately quelled at his presence, sinking into Hanzo's skin and resting in his elaborate tattoo beneath his clothes soaked in blood.

"Hanzo," he heard his Father breathe as callused hands took his neck and stemmed the bleeding with far more confidence that Hanzo's own fingers. "Get a doctor!" the yell was not meant for him, but it resonated in his head like the tolling of a bell.

"Ge... Gen - " His vision began to fade and all he could see from his Father's arms was his younger brother collapsing against the wall, his green dragon growing close to his chest as if to comfort him. His brother, also covered in blood, and no one around him to help him.

The rest of the memories were of colors and shapes, yelling and shouts; a tone his mother had never used before as she demanded to know who had done this. A mutter from his Father thanking the useless universe that the assassin hadn't used a gun. The smell of medicine and alcohol, and the cold; the terrible, terrible cold.

When the world returned to him a few days later, he was alone in a room of the castle he had only known in passing. The I.V. in his arm dripped slowly, softly, but it was the only sound in the room. There had been three guards at his bedside and as soon as his eyes opened one raced out the door.

The other stopped him from trying to sit up.

"Young Shimada, you mustn't."

"Wh-" his words rasped out with a spike of pain that made him gasp and bring his hand to his bandaged throat, tender to the touch even under thick layers of gauze.

He was eased back down only for a moment before the memory of Genji pressed him to shoot upward, his dragons snarling with him.

"Shimada!" they tried to calm him, urging him to sit down. He could not speak, but he would not be stopped. He would not -

"Hanzo." His Father's voice soothed his resistance and his presence even more so. The man had rushed into the room and was at his bedside before Hanzo had recognized it, slowly leading him back into a resting position, holding him as if he would break which Hanzo both despised and loved.

He tried to speak, tried to ask, but all he could do was gently hold the pain that was his neck and whimper.

"You will make a full recovery, our doctors assured me. The pain is only temporary, as is your muteness. Rest, you're alright, you're safe -"

And Hanzo's dragons flared because he could've given less of a damn about his condition; he knew he was alive!

"Gen -" The simple syllable made him keen as he threatened the stability of his stitches or... however they had patched him up.

Then and only then did Father seem to understand. He grabbed Hanzo's other hand and cradled his face.

"Genji is alright. He is with your Mother, already out of bed and wishing he'd recover faster. He is alright, my son... You are alright."

His voice broke and Hanzo felt himself startle. He met his Father's eyes and did not see anything different. The coldness was there... his face showed nothing other than a gentle smile.

Then, Father gestured for everyone else to leave which they did expediently. He waited until the door closed, and then he let out a shaking breath. Suddenly there was a very different man in the room. A man who dropped to his knees, tears in his eyes as he cradled Hanzo's face and took long, heavy, wet breaths. He pressed a kiss to Hanzo's head and then pressed their foreheads together, his entire body trembling as Hanzo had never seen. They stayed there for a very, very long moment, his father holding him as if he was about to break apart.

"My son, my son, my son..." He muttered it like a prayer, or perhaps a thank you. "I almost lost you. I'm sorry... I'm so sorry -"

Hanzo wanted to say it wasn't his fault, that it couldn't be his fault. As he grew older, however, he'd realize exactly what his father was apologizing for. The same thing that brought such melancholy to his mother's eyes. The same thing that gave them a grand life, a grand castle, the grandest of names.

He was a Shimada, and such a life is not easy.

He recovered quickly, and was in peak health in a few months; modern medicine worked wonders when you could afford it. Father traced the assassination back to a rival family in the south who had a connection to the clan through their Grandmother. It was a last-ditch attempt to delay the inevitable, or so Father claimed. That clan had produced a single heir and had put all their chips on the idea of that child becoming the next Shimada heir.

The attempt itself was terrifyingly close; a single assassin had no hope of success, but he had come close. Mother's voice grew soft when she spoke of it, trembling with either fear or rage as she voiced how thankful she was the assassin had held a sense of honor and refused to use firearms. Had he struck with a sniper - had Hanzo died... His mother would've made the entire Shimada clan collateral for such sins.

The family who hired the assasin fumbled horrifically... their attempt to hide their mistake was poor. Their job was sloppy. Their attempt was laughable.

Father retaliated in a much cleaner fashion. A brutally efficient response that the Shimada figurehead did almost eagerly, but not before conferring with Mother. Hanzo had never seen her like that... Stoic and expressionless as Father laid out the plan for her, the pictures of those who had spilled her boy's blood resting underneath her fingers.

"Spare the child. The rest I care nothing for." Her words felt like the fall of an executioner's ax, and they may as well have been.  At her words, only the would-be replacement Shimada heir lived, orphaned at five - a second cousin never to know the Shimada name again.

It was a message sent, an unmistakable one. Hanzo wouldn't go another family gathering without hearing it whispered somewhere in the room. Someone had tested the waters of the Shimada sons, and the consequences matched such a crime.

After the attempt, the entire extended family avoided Hanzo and Genji for the next year. It was the greatest time of Hanzo's life. It gave them all enough time to turn their attention to Genji's dragon. Hanzo trained with him, sparred with him, and gave him every ounce of instruction Father had granted him and everything he'd learned about his own dragons.

Where Hanzo's dragons felt like forces of nature, hard to summon and harder to contain, Genji seemed to like referring to his as one would a pet. Her name was Soba, she liked to emerge even when he wasn't in battle. The dragon would curl up on his shoulder and rest softly, opening an eye lazily to regard Hanzo before letting out a soft and gentle purr.

It didn't take much effort for Genji to summon her in a smaller form, though it drained him as it drained Hanzo when he used it for battle. The day Genji got his tattoo, he shed very few tears and made not a sound. They were all proud of him, and he was even prouder judging by the way he showed off his arm every chance he got, whether to his classmates or to Hanzo for the umpteenth time.

"Look! Look! Hanzo, she's flying!" He would laugh as he flapped his arm eagerly. Hanzo would roll his eyes and Genji would snicker.

"Look! Now she's eating you!" There would be a surprise tackle, a grunt from Hanzo, and a few precious seconds of ground wrestling until Hanzo came out on top or Genji resorted to tickling - a foul trick in Hanzo's humble opnion.

Genji was growing with each day. His agility was nothing short of impressive, and when they fought Hanzo struggled to keep up with his speed. They were nearly equally matched... nearly, Hanzo had never been bested.

Genji was... happy.

If Hanzo thought long and hard about it, that was probably the happiest he'd ever seen his brother; that year before his tenth birthday. He'd gotten all caught up on Power Rangers and discussed them fervently with Hanzo who couldn't tell them apart even with the egregious color palate. Their mother allowed them to go to the arcade down the street, as long as they went with a guard or two and Genji died for days like those. Sometimes their guard would come in the form of Kiriko and her mother, the family swordmaster, Asa Yamagami. She was a truer Aunt than anyone else in the family and the boys adored those rare moments, treasured them, even. Genji would spend hours in the arcade; laughing and grinning, doing everything he could to get Hanzo on the dance-dance board that Hanzo swore he would rather die than step foot on. Kiriko only fed that insufferable argument with her infectious giggles.

Genji had Soba, he had father, he had Mother, he had Hanzo... and Hanzo had him. Maybe... if Hanzo admitted it to himself, that was one of the happiest times of his life too.

But they were Shimada's. Life was not supposed to be happy.

Mother grew frail. A form of lung cancer, caught two stages too late for anyone to do anything. In her good nature, she would joke about how it was probably her father's smoking habit that got her here, and then she'd laugh weakly and warn the brothers about some sort of life lesson that Hanzo couldn't care less for.

Father still had responsibilities, duties, a face to keep, and a clan to run, but Hanzo and Genji didn't. They went to school and as soon as they returned they were at her side, doing homework dutifully or playing board games on the coffee table next to her. She always bested them in strategy games and she'd smile at their frustrated faces. She even tried to learn Mario Kart, which was the one place Genji dominated.

Some days, she'd seem sadder than she'd ever been. On those days she ask one of them to come closer, she'd hold their cheek and smile as if seeing them both pained and saved her.

"I love you, my sons," she'd say to them both.

"Watch out for your brother, Genji. He is going to need you."

"Stay patient, Hanzo... remember you are still a child. You will always be someone's child."

Many nights, Genji would fall asleep at her side. She'd run her fingers through his hair, her tired eyes full of love and sadness. Then, she'd look at Hanzo and ask if he'd carry Genji back to bed. Despite his age, Genji was still small enough for Hanzo to take him, and she knew it.

Hanzo would hesitate, but eventually nod. Sometimes, right as he'd be leaving, Father would return and they'd meet in the hall or in Mother's bedroom. That was the worst he'd ever seen his father; when that strong expression melted into a pain Hanzo could not describe. He'd leave his parents, quickly, Genji stirring in his arms. He would tuck his brother into bed before curling up himself.

Many nights, he'd cry. The dragons under his skin rumbling, perhaps trying to offer comfort, perhaps mourning themselves. Some nights, far past midnight, Genji would wake up with a gasp before silently sneaking over and creeping into Hanzo's bed.

Hanzo never said anything, he always held the blanket over and let the warmth consume his mourning, at least until morning. They'd stay, cuddled together like pups in a den and the world would seem a little less hopeless.

The day it happened... they were in school. The sun was shining. The world got inexplicably colder under those harsh golden rays.

When their Father himself showed up to pick them up, they both knew what it meant. Genji wasn't able to make it out the door. He stopped as he saw Father on the threshold, a strange sound erupting from his throat. He collapsed right then and there in the middle of the hallway and sobbed so, so quietly. Hanzo fell with him, trying to support him so that it may hide just how weak his own legs had become.

Genji's tears did not stop. His dark eyes were always puffed and red. His jaw was always set. Not a day passed it seem when a shadow of pain didn't haunt those young eyes.

For the funeral, Father knelt down before them both and put a hand on one of their shoulders before they even left the house.

"Everyone will be here... as much as it hurts, you must try to stay composed. We are Shimadas... they expect much of us. Too much."

Hanzo took those words and held them as close to his chest as he could. Every time her voice leaked into his memories he would clench his fists, bite his tongue, and repeat the mantra to himself. He forced her face out of his mind's eye and pretended he felt nothing at all. He pretended his heart was stone and nothing more, just like Father did.

He was a Shimada. He was a Shimada.

Genji tried. Hanzo could tell he tried as hard as he could, tear slipping silently down his cheeks for most of it. They stood at their Father's side through it all, and he held off the hounds well enough. Every time someone approached one of the boys, Father was there, an interceptor, diverting their attention, allowing the boys to stand there silently if they wished. And oh did they wish it so.

It allowed Hanzo to pour each and every part of his energy into holding himself high, as Mother would want him to. As she once had.

It was sunny as they cremated her, and the sun had never felt colder. It dared to show its face through the windows as they all said their last goodbye to a cold corpse.

It was the final goodbye where Genji broke, and though Hanzo tried to stop him, he couldn't. The moment before it happened, his dragons gave him a small warning, a small sorrowful call as Genji's lip quivered.

But Hanzo never managed to grab him in time.

The boy was at her casket's side, falling to his knees as a broken wail ripped through his throat. He cried no words, he simply cried, gripping her lifeless hand as he collapsed. At his first sob, there came a sudden mournful rumbling as from his tattoo erupted Soba in all her glory. The green dragon twisted and churned around her boy in a hypnotic pattern, perhaps trying to protect him, perhaps trying to soothe him. If Genji noticed, he gave no sign and only continued to sob.

Hanzo could remember how he looked up at his Father, seeking guidance. Wondering if he should go up and fetch his brother. Father, however, watched it all as he always did. There was grace and power in how he held himself, but his brows were curled as Mother's once were... as if she was in constant pain; in grief.

And Hanzo understood. He held himself as Father did and said nothing.

The whispers of the assembly had no room in that intimate moment, and Hanzo held himself as such. They were Shimadas. 

When Genji was done, Soba melted back into his sleeve and only a few rogue sniffles leaked out. Then, and only then, did Father walk up to him, Hanzo at his side. They did not move from their Mother's side, they couldn't.

They stood there for it all, Genji sniffing occasionally, Hanzo's throat tight, and they said nothing about the rogue tear tracks on their Father's face only visible to them in the fire's light.

They were Shimadas.

Nothing else had to be said.

Things never truly got better, if Hanzo was honest. Mother's death marked a new era for their family. Ambitions were as high as they always had been and the core family was weak. Many saw this as their chance.

They were fools, but fools still cause pain.

At meetings and mandatory parties - they barraged him and Genji. Hanzo was used to it. Genji? Genji was like a lamb amongst wolves.

All that they had thrown at him behind his back, all that their Mother had tried to hide him from came to them both in full force, so much so it nearly snapped Hanzo's neck, metaphorically, of course.

"He's... weaker than you, isn't he?" a cousin of some sort asked, a look in his eyes that Hanzo did not trust.

"He is younger than I, such is to be expected," Hanzo answered coldly. He tried to find Genji through the crowd and finally spied his younger brother near the food, naturally. He seemed pinned down by their Great Aunt and Hanzo tried to throw him a look that said 'I'm coming, hold on'. His brother only responded with a wide-eyed glance that said; 'Help me before I kill someone'.

"Yes... but, I mean especially so," the cousin supposed. Hanzo felt his dragons writhe. He looked over at the cousin who didn't have enough sense to stop talking.

"It's the talk of the family, you know. They say you took all the good genes," he laughed like it was a funny joke.

Ashamedly, Hanzo was lost for words, so he could only stare in awe as the man continued to dig the grave the Shimada was about to put him in.

"We all saw him lose it at the funeral, I'm sure your Father's appalled. Are there plans to... train him? Improve him - manners wise, perhaps? I'd be happy to offer my services -"

"You would be wise to be silent before I silence you," even Hanzo was surprised by how much rage he could convey.

The cousin had the gall to look surprised.

"Excuse you?"

"Oh, I am not the one in need of an excuse," Hanzo challenged softly. "You dare insinuate my brother is anything other capable? Rest assured he can carve through half the clan if he wanted."

The cousin raised an eyebrow, unsure whether Hanzo was jesting or threatening; "Half the clan?"

"I would take the other half," Hanzo managed a rueful smile. "Or else he'd have all the fun. So I suggest you watch your tone."

"I did not mean to offend -" and now came the backtracking.

"You insulted my brother, insinuated he was weak. Rest assured he is weaker than me but ten times whatever standard you hold yourself to. How could I have not been offended? We are Shimada's, are we not? Does our grief make you forget your place?"

Oh how quick, how quickly the cousin tried to remedy his standing, but Hanzo was flooded with grief and rage and this fool had just made himself the easiest of outlets.

"Hanzo, I meant nothing by it. I was trying to say that I have teachers and trainers that -"

"Exceed my Father's capabilities and teachings?" Hanzo challenged.

"I was just trying to -"

"Hanzo." Father, sudden and silent as ever, was at his side, a quiet hand on his shoulder. "I am in need of you."

Hanzo quickly swallowed all of his anger and reset his expressionless face as he looked up at the head of the clan.

"Of course, it was lovely speaking to you Toji," he even managed to sound civil as he let his Father lead him out of the party and away from the argument.

It wasn't until they were behind a closed door that Hanzo felt something in his soul break. Perhaps it was Father's critical expression.

"I... I am sorry, Father."

"You are alright, you handled it. Perhaps not as well as you could, but whatever it was, you handled it."

"He insulted Genji, he insinuated he's lesser; he's a fucking child, and just because he-"

"Compose yourself, Hanzo." Father's voice was colder now and obediently, Hanzo did so.

"I... apologize."

"You are not in the wrong yet, I want to keep it that way. Nothing is threatened, you simply need to take a breath."

But at the moment, Hanzo could not find that breath. All he could think was how far such whispers had gone, and how further they would go. Would assassins come because now they thought Genji was an easy target? Would there be more ambitious plans by their family? Weakness was to be exploited and if they though Genji weak -

If they thought Genji was an easy target, both in conflict and in manipulation, they were mistaken, but... but attempts could prove dangerous.

He put a hand to his neck to remind himself of that. Then he let out a long sigh.

"Why couldn't he just stay composed," he murmured to himself ruefully. If Genji had just stayed put at the funeral, the whispers wouldn't be near as loud -

"Your brother mourned your mother... never condemn him for that." Father's voice left no room for argument, and it startled Hanzo. There was no anger in father's eyes, only sadness.

"Yes, Father."

They stood there for a long moment until Hanzo finally felt himself delve back into some level of calm. As if Father sensed it, he gestured for Hanzo to follow.

"Good, now let us get back to the gathering. I'm sure your brother is considering seppuku over conversation with my Aunt."

Indeed, Genji nearly throttled Hanzo for taking so long to divert their Great Aunt's attention, it was almost comical. Somehow, his younger brother could still find it in himself to smile for now. Genji found it in himself to put on a smile for a long while, longer than Hanzo expected him to.

The whispers never stopped, they wore on for years. Genji was the weak link, the target; the attempted assassinations on his life nearly tripled in the next few years. Father suspected everyone from their Uncle to the cook. Who wouldn't want the pride in saying they'd taken down a Shimada?

Granted, the whispers were rumors and lies, so whenever a fool did try to take on Genji, they were met with much more than an 'emotionally insufficient child'. Genji knew what most poisons smelled like, he knew how to look for tampering, he knew how to dodge and how to fight. Plenty of fools were brought to Father's feet by Genji himself, a smirk on his face as he stared down whatever elders were in the room at the time, showing off how untouched he was. Still, Genji's smile waned eventually as all things do.

He tried. Gods, did he try. Hanzo could do nothing but watch him for years try and assimilate, try to prove himself, try to become more than they claimed him to be. By sixteen he threw himself into everything Father asked of him like a dying man on a mission. He did everything he could to go above and beyond. He retrieved information on their family with terrifying efficiency. He massacred rivals in skirmishes, flitting around them like a bird, near untouchable with his speed and agility.

Father nicknamed him 'Sparrow' and when he asked why, he laughed: "Have you ever tried to shoot a sparrow with an arrow, my son?"

"No," Genji shrugged. "I prefer shurikens."

"Well, try it with those then... see how well you do."

That did lead to a few rogue shurikens in the garden as Genji bullied the small birds, but he never did manage to get one while Father was alive.

The years went by and Hanzo watched both himself and Genji grow... colder. Genji's smile faded, his laughs were rare, and there was a rage in his eyes every time someone other than Hanzo or Father talked to him.

He was still bright, in some strange way. He always knew how to make Hanzo laugh, he could even incite a chuckle out of Father when he willed it. But Hanzo felt himself growing farther apart from his brother, not out of want, but out of coincidence. Father kept him busy with the intricacies of the clan; the funds, the reports, the control. Genji was subject to much of it, but he grew bored with such duties easily and would instead sneak away under cover, sometimes to game at the arcade, sometimes to wander. He was never content to sit idle, silent in the background of the halls or the city.

Father didn't mind, and while Hanzo did, he said nothing.

The envy returned and he was ashamed of it. Genji could go where he wanted when he wanted. Hanzo hardly ever left the castle. Genji could sneak out and fear no consequence. Hanzo only knew of consequences.

But, Hanzo was highly regarded in the family. People came to him for their problems, they asked him for council, they respected him, honored him, praised him.

So, in a way, Hanzo supposed, he and Genji were even.

As Father grew older, the family grew crueler, Hanzo grew colder, and Genji? Genji grew wilder.

First, he dyed his hair green. Outwardly Hanzo pretended he was as shocked as the rest of the family, but behind closed doors, he only offered Genji a shrug. It had been a while since he saw his brother grin that wide.

"Do whatever you want," he murmured. He'd figured it was a one-time thing, a sort of way to rebel against the family that hated him; give them a reason to scorn him. While it made Hanzo's balancing act a bit harder, he cared little.

But then, things... escalated.

Genji went out, frequently, now instantly recognizable with his hair. The arcade was a frequent stop of his, but the arcade turned into a friend's house which oftentimes turned into some kind of frat party in the early mornings and Genji would come by with a stupid smile on his face smelling like sweat, alcohol, and sex. He and Hanzo no longer shared a room but every time he came home Hanzo would corner him.

"Oh great, who did I piss off now?" Genji would ask with a coy smile.

"This is unbecoming," Hanzo would scold.

Genji would laugh and wave him off. "Right, right... see you tomorrow!"

He was out nearly constantly, out partying or picking fights or finishing fights. He got arrested a few times and Hanzo was always sent to bail him out while Father dealt with the paperwork.

"This has to stop," he snarled the third time as he looked at his idiot of a brother through the cell bars.

"Has father said so?" Genji asked with reservation.

And Hanzo set his jaw. It was clear that if their father gave the order, Genji would stop. If Father ordered it, Genji would cease... he would be that young Shimada heir again with a scowl and a glare. Father need only say the word, but he never did.

"Let the boy live, Hanzo. There's no harm in what he's doing," Father would say.

And Hanzo would want to rip his hair out because there was. The Family's whispers grew louder, and the entire clan murmured of the Shimada's youngest son.

It wore on Father, it had to. It certainly wore on Hanzo.

"You're giving him trouble," Hanzo growled as he walked a newly released Genji to his car.

They said nothing else to each other on the drive home and Hanzo couldn't find it in himself to care. The next day he marched into his Father's office and cross his arms.

"Tell him to stop this recklessness," he demanded. "Tell him to act like who he is."

Father looked up at him with tired eyes and shook his head. "Hanzo... he is acting like who he is."

"He is a Shimada!" Hanzo cried. "He is your son, he needs to act like it!"

"Hanzo."

"The clan is already whispering about his behavior. We have to stop this before -"

"What, Hanzo? What is it that you're so worried about?"

"Father, they could demand you disown him..." among other things...

"I am fully aware of what my family can do, Hanzo. They do not have the power to force me to do anything."

Hanzo had nothing to say to that... so he just stood there...

That was it. Genji was allowed to get away with murder and anyone who questioned it was shut up by Father. What once irritated Hanzo now made him burn with bitterness. The envy strangled him at times and made him want to strangle Genji at others.

But he was a... he was the Shimada heir. He had a duty.

So he ignored his younger brother's... choices. He ended up ignoring his younger brother altogether for the sake of niceties. They'd meet in the hallways, give a customary hello and when Hanzo was sent to bail him out again, they'd devolve into an argument in the car until Genji demanded he pulled over.

Then they'd argue even more and Genji would threaten to jump out the window if Hanzo didn't stop the car. He always did and Genji always ended up walking home, scowling the entire way.

A quieter part of Hanzo's mind pointed out that Genji was only ever smiling when he was out and about, free... like a bird. The rest of him raged at how selfish Genji was. He was left holding back the gnashing teeth of the clan demanding to know what the hell the youngest Shimada heir was doing with his inheritance.

They were already trying to match Hanzo up with any woman they could, add that with the constant questions about Genji's behavior and he was about ready to unleash his dragons on every family gathering (that Genji had long forsaken attending).

And so Hanzo made the worst decision of his life, and he let himself grow distant from his brother.

It only worsened with their father's passing. Well, not passing - murder. He died young, not even fifty; a sudden heart attack that left him on the floor for Hanzo to find. Some suspected poison, some suspected foul play, fratricide for some reason was always on everyone's mind... and maybe some of the rumors had merit, the most likely being an assassination sent by the Hashimotos, but all Hanzo cared for was holding himself together through the cremation.

As Father had wanted, his ashes were put in with Mother's... and that was as far as Hanzo was able to get in the process before the next part of him shattered. Genji was at the funeral, standing beside Hanzo, his hair like a splash of color amongst the greys that had become Hanzo's world.

They hadn't spoken for weeks. They hadn't been in the same room for this long since... Hanzo couldn't even begin to remember. But there they stood, there they watched, and this time neither of them broke.

He caught him, a few times, looking at him. Genji was looking at him for... what? Care? Concern? Hanzo didn't care, he didn't care -

"Hanzo," Genji tried to stop him that night when they got back. The car ride had been painfully silent, neither able to look at the other. Hanzo had beelined it for his room and Genji grabbed his wrist to try and stop him.

"Hanzo, I'm -"

"What!?" Hanzo snapped, angry grief wailing in his head. "What could you possibly be? Sorry!? I don't want to hear it. Leave me."

"Sorry? I was going to say I'm here." Genji questioned a tint of anger in his tone. "Why would I be sorry? My father was just buried too, remember?"

"Oh yes, your father. The father you put through hell the last two, three, five years!?"

"Oh, honestly Hanzo. Now? You want to do this now!?" Genji rolled his eyes and crossed him arms.

"Do you deny it!?" Hanzo hissed.

"I didn't put anyone through hell!"

"Where were you when we struggled with the Izichi Clan? Where were you when Uncle tried to stake his claim to the Shimada line? Where were you?"

Genji had the gall to look surprised. "Where was I? Far away like everyone else wanted!"

"He wanted you by his side. He wanted you working with us, not squandering your youth as every other fool does -"

"He had a funny way of showing it," Genji scoffed with rage that made the ice in Hanzo's bones take his heart too.

"What?" Hanzo felt rage flow through his entire body and Genji met his gaze coldly.

"If he wanted me by his side, why was I never called for? Why did he always ask for you? Why did he only ask for you?"

"Your envy disgusts me."

"Oh, I'm not envious," Genji flashed a smirk and snarl. "I want nothing to do with this."

"With this?" Hanzo echoed, his tone daring his brother to say what he was insinuating.

"With this clan. With this family. With being part of a yakuza, I can't envy you because I despise everything you're a part of."

"You can't be serious."

"Why not?" Genji challenged. "I loved our father, but what has this family given us other than hell and pain? What does this family do if not cause pain and fear?"

"We bring order to this neighborhood - "

"And put drugs on the streets, hire criminals as enforcers, kill off good people who get too close, and rig the system so that we never get caught, and -"

"You would be in the damn system if not for that!" Hanzo snapped.

"You ever think maybe that was the idea?" Genji snarled. "To see how far I could push before I found the line in the sand!?"

"You're kidding me," Hanzo spat.

"And guess what I found, Hanzo. There is no line in the sand."

"Of course, there's no line in the sand, our family is the sand of your damned metaphor. We are everything in this community! We are Shimadas! This is our land and we are to protect it, no matter the cost."

"And you're happy with that!?" Genji cried incredulously.

"Of course, I'm happy with that," Hanzo sneered. "Our Father ran this clan, our Mother ran this clan; or do you despise her too?"

"I don't despise any of you," Genji's voice softened for a moment. "I do not... think Father meant ill, and I do not mean to insinuate Mother was -"

"Bullshit," Hanzo spat. "You've done nothing but taint her memory with your foolishness. What would she say to see you like this -"

"Like what?" Genji threatened, his softness ending with his bite. "Living? Finding joy and life in the 'community' you claim to be so important to? Spiting the same clan that smiled the day she died and put her through hell?"

"She'd hate you." He was aiming to hurt now, and Hanzo knew it, but he continued otherwise. "She'd despise what you've become, just as Father did."

"He did not - "

"He let you have free reign because what else was there for you to do!? What else could you offer this family?" He should've stopped then. He should've walked into his room and slammed the door.

Instead, he let himself talk and watched Genji's face blanch in shock.

"I -"

"You've done nothing for this family except embarrass us," Hanzo spat.

It was like watching in slow motion. Genji's face went from shock, to pain, to betrayal, and then to rage within a second, and the punch he threw was even faster. Hanzo's face exploded in pain as his nose gushed with blood, but all he had on his mind was retaliation.

The punch returned slammed Genji on the cheek and sent him to the ground. He went to jump to his feet when Hanzo drew his sword. Genji froze and looked at him in shock.

"Do not, do not start a fight you cannot finish." Within that moment, Hanzo wasn't sure he meant the threat. He only meant to intimidate an opponent into surrendering. With the benefit of hindsight... maybe he would've carried through with that threat. Maybe there's always been a small, frozen part of him resigned to the fate of becoming a monster.

Maybe it hadn't just been a threat.

Genji took a moment, stood up, and cracked a sly smile.

"What are you going to do, brother, stab me?" he taunted.

Hanzo only sneered, his head singing in rage. "You would deserve it."

"Right," Genji sneered, venom etched in every word. "Because all I ever did was exist slightly less perfect than you did. Because all I did was choose a different life."

"A life of dishonor on our family! You dishonor our clan!"

"What is our Clan but dishonorable!?"

"Silence yourself or I will silence you!" Hanzo yelled, and finally, he watched Genji retreat within himself, his eyes growing steeling as was the nature of their family. If he listened hard enough, he could even hear Soba's growl as she rippled under his brother's skin, much like the two dragons did under his own.

The night was full of crickets and nighttime city life that filled the air with the symphony of the home they'd known all their lives. The silence was broken as Genji took a breath and evened his tone.

"Very well. Good night Shimada." Genji spat those words with every bit of hatred Hanzo glared at him with.

The worst part was it actually felt like an insult after Genji strode into his room and slammed the door shut.

Hanzo would love to say that was the lowest part of their relationship, but upon reflection, that interaction was salvageable. If he had swallowed his pride, his grief, maybe he could've walked over to the door and knocked on it. Maybe Genji wouldn't have answered but he could've apologized through the thin walls.

He could've told him that Mother and Father would never have hated him and that Hanzo didn't either. That Hanzo, no matter what the fuck he thinks or says, could never truly hate him. Maybe Genji would've been right on the other side of the door, silently crying as he had taught himself to through the years. Maybe they could've cried together over how idiotic they both were. Maybe, because Genji was always the better of them, he would have even opened the door and they could have sobbed into each other's arms.

Maybe they could've fixed the clan together, rebuild it as brothers, as friends... as family. Maybe if Hanzo had been a little less prideful and Genji a little more open they could have made solutions to their problems. Maybe they could've been as their Father wanted them to be, as their Mother wished them to be. The two of them, content in Kanezaka, bringing peace to the streets and honor to their name.

Maybe Hanzo could've fixed it.

But he didn't. He re-set his nose, bandaged it, and set off the next day not caring if Genji was home or not.

Becoming the new head of the Shimada clan was not an easy process. He fended off his title from dozens of desperate family members looking for any reason to challenge him. From distant foreign cousins who were distantly interested in some promised inheritance to his next-door neighbors who claimed they were owed half his fortune. He found his and his Father's name pulled all over the earth, so he did as his Father taught him and he harness that chaos. He appeased every elder he could, he made peace with every family member he'd ever affronted. He ascended into his Father's position as he was always meant to, as everyone expected him to.

The only argument against him that held any water was Genji's behavior, and his answer was always the same.

"My Father wished Genji to live as he does, I will not undo my Father's wishes so soon. His actions hardly reflect my own, much like they never reflected my Father's."

It became a rehearsed answer that hadn't yet found a worthy rebuttal and for that Hanzo was thankful. The last thing he needed was someone to point out that his Father no longer had anything to do with it; it was only Hanzo who enabled Genji now. It was all in Hanzo's hands now.

But he put it off. He put it off and told himself he'd continue to put it off until he too found himself in the Shimada family grave.

It all held up well for the next year. His clan, his family, his honor. The Hashimotos hid their tracks well, but Hanzo had plenty of plans for retribution, all of them would take time, but he had plans.

He did have to kill his Uncle, but that was something Father had always warned him off, and, honestly, it was almost too easy. Killing was second nature to him now, cathartic even. It felt like everything he'd been taught had accumulated into his present, everything he had trained for he had fulfilled. He could do it all and know that he did it in his Father's name, trained by his Father's hands.

So why, then, was the sun still cold?

He attended that Uncle's funeral, bid him a lie of a farewell, gave his regrets to his family, and returned to a house full of frantic, frustrated, demanding elders.

There was a mole, a traitor; a snake in their garden. Someone was selling information to that international organization of problems and threats; Overwatch. The elders, of course, demanded Hanzo do something immediately. Their fortunes were at stake, their lives, their safety.

The clan was in danger.

Hanzo's first thought was his worst thought. The last time he'd talked to Genji was the night of their Father's funeral... they lived under the same roof and still saw each other on the regular, but they didn't dare speak to each other less they interrupt the tension in the space.

Genji was in the perfect place to leak information. He had access to Hanzo's office all the time, and no one would question why he was in the Shimada home or in the middle of a bar. But... but he was his brother, surely that counted for something.

Surely... not Genji.

Hanzo said nothing. He put together an investigation and started in the opposite direction of Genji hoping to find anything, anything to prove his intuition wrong. Days turned to weeks which turned into months and all the while Hanzo watched his brother like a hawk.

Genji showed minimal interest in the issues of the clan, or at least he seemed to. When Hanzo discussed familial matters with a clan member, Genji's door was always open. Genji was always listening.

That was hardly anything new, but now it meant something. Genji's outings without reason meant something, the people met in the clubs and the bars meant something, the papers that were missing that Hanzo knew he hadn't misplaced meant... they meant...

"He must be dealt with."

The words snapped his psyche in a way he wasn't aware it could break. One of the elders had said it with the hatred he was supposed to possess, and yet, all he felt in his heart was emptiness.

"He has disobeyed the clan, he has put all of us at risk!" another cried from her chair in the corner.

"We must send someone to deal with him," a third gruffed. "Someone who -"

"No." Hanzo cut off that train of thought before it could derail him. "I... will do it."

"You?" the woman in the corner scowled. "You have let your brother wander, you have allowed him to fall into dishonor!"

"And I," Hanzo vowed, to the elders, to his Father, to his dragons. "I will be the one to strike him down. Dishonored or not, he is still my brother... He is still my duty. He is still a Shimada."

The elders in the room seemed to relax at that, their brows furrowed.

"And this is a duty you can perform, Shimada Hanzo?" one asked.

"My duty is to this clan," the words sounded so much stronger in that room than they felt as they echoed in Hanzo's mind.

He was a Shimada. He had to do what must be done.

And so he stood at Genji's door and, solemnly, knocked.

"Brother," he beckoned. "I must speak with you."

It took a moment, a moment long enough for Hanzo to consider kicking the door down. But it slid open and there stood Genji.

There was always something bright about him, and it wasn't just his hair. His eyes sparked with surprise as he regarded Hanzo, but he crossed his arms and arched his brows to hide it.

"Hanzo," he greeted. "Is everything alright?"

For a moment of shame, Hanzo almost said yes. He caught himself before the words could leave his mouth and ended up just standing there like a fool, in his brother's doorway.

Whatever Genji saw on his face brought a smile to his younger brother's face.

"Oh heavens, what did the elders say now?" he cracked a smile as he leaned on the doorframe.

"... Many things," Hanzo murmured, finally finding his voice. "Would you... walk with me?"

Why he didn't draw his sword then and there would forever haunt him. Why did he put it off? Why did he allow himself to hesitate?

Probably because Genji's eyes immediately softened in earnest surprise, because his arms fell away from his chest, a literal representation of him dropping his guard, and his face broke into a soft smile.

"Sure," Genji took his place at Hanzo's side and they walked silently through the castle they called home all their lives. It was as awkward as could be expected from two brothers who had hardly looked at each other in the past year, it would've been even if Hanzo's chest was aching like he'd cracked every single rib.

"Are you alright?" Genji asked softly as they passed the garden. The cherry blossoms were in bloom, dancing in the night air. Genji caught one and smiled. "You look grumpier than usual."

Hanzo felt his throat close as he stopped, staring up at the stars and listening to Genji's soft breathing.

"No." He answered finally, truthfully. "I am not."

"What happened?" The worst part was that Genji actually sounded... concerned. Hanzo couldn't bear to look at him, less there was actual worry in his eyes; that familiar crease in his brows.

"The elder and I have found a traitor in our midst... someone leaking information about the clan's happenings. Our warehouses, our employers, our people... a betrayer to the shimadas..."

Genji was silent and all the doubt in Hanzo's mind began burning away. The silence was all the confirmation he needed, and it both suffocated him and made him feel too alive. They stood there for nearly a minute, neither daring to so much as breathe.

"Genji," Hanzo finally managed out of a clenched jaw. He stood tall, as Father once had, and turned to face his brother. "Why."

Genji... Genji was also standing firm, his chin raised, his eyes... his eyes were like Mother's, firm but... sad.

"Why!?" Hanzo demanded, and Genji only took a slow step back.

"Hanzo -"

"Our family has protected our people for generations! Our family has stayed strong for years. Our family loved you Genji; why!?"

"Because it had to be done; I did not put anything in jeopardy that was not worth coming to light -"

"You've threatened everything! You've disgraced our Father, you've dishonored our Mother, you've threatened me!"

"I threatened the darkness of our family's power, brother; the parts of this clan I cannot live with. The parts our Father tried to hide from me. That parts that kept Mother up at night and do the same to me."

Hanzo could barely look at him. There was too much; the betrayal stung more than anything ever had.

"The elders are demanding retribution; insurance it will not happen again," Hanzo spoke slowly, deliberately as his hand fell down to the handle of his sword.

Genji scoffed; "What do they want? Both my hands? My tongue?"

"They want you dead."

For a moment, the only sound was the petals in the breeze and the crickets in the night. Hanzo forced every doubt within him down until he was only cold certainty. This had to be done; this needed to be done. It was his duty. He was a Shimada. This was his burden.

Then, Genji laughed. It was a different sort of laugh, a tight one, a rueful one.

"They're kidding," Genji chuckled. "And what did they say when you spat in their face?"

Hanzo said nothing, turning slowly to take one last look at his brother. Genji had grown taller than him, leaner. There was grace in his stance that hinted at his agility. He only had one sword at his waist, the rest of his gear would be in his room.

"You..." Genji's voice began to die. "You didn't... you told them off, didn't you?"

It hurt, the dying hope in Genji's voice. The naivety that he'd carried when he was a child. For a moment Hanzo felt like a child again, he wanted to cry, he wanted to scream.

But he was not a child, he was the Head of the Shimada Clan... and his brother had become his enemy.

"Hanzo, no... you wouldn't -"

His sword shrieked out of its sheath and a second later so did Genji's. Hanzo had always known this would turn into a fight, but that did not mean he was truly prepared for it. Luckily, based on the panic on Genji's face, neither was he.

They danced in a familiar rhythm at first, as they would when sparring. Genji tried to speak over the shrieking of their blades, but Hanzo refused to relent. He would not relent, not only because it would give Genji a chance to escape, but because he may lose what fortitude he had if he did.

"Brother! Hanzo!" Genji cried, screamed, as if trying to awaken him from some sort of slumber. But Hanzo was wide awake; if only this was some sort of nightmare.

Their clash took them into the garden, Hanzo pressing Genji further and further back. Genji's greatest gift was his speed. He darted and danced like the sparrow he was named after, but he had no bite in his motions. His deflections were flawless, they had to be... he'd been raised with a sword in hand.

As long as they had spared, Hanzo had always been the better of the two. He pressed on, attack after attack and Genji did as he always had, deflected, dodged, and tried to survive as long as possible...

Except this was not a training match and so when Hanzo found his openings, unlike Genji, he did not hesitate.

Well... he did the first time. He could've taken Genji's side, cleaved through him and ended it there. He'd lost his nerve and now there was only a light gash between his brother's rips, blood trickling down his side.

He would not hesitate again.

Genji's pleas had died away, sweat caked his brother's panicked expression as he seemed to beg with his eyes for forgiveness.

"Accept your fate!" There was anger in Hanzo's voice, but more than that, there was pain. He grabbed a pitiful attempt of a lunge, locking his hand around Genji's wrist before throwing him into a wooden wall that gave under his brother's weight. Tumbling into the hall Genji tried to reorient himself, raising his sword just in time for Hanzo to crash through after him and try to strike for his neck.

If only Genji had accepted it quietly, if only he had knelt there and tried to find some peace in it... then maybe Hanzo wouldn't have shattered.

But Genji began to fight as a rabbit stuck in a foxhole did, knowing full well that death was on its way and doing everything in his power to evade it. He tried to run, tried to slip away. Hanzo was forever there, forever cutting him off, forever seeking to find an opening that Father had trained out of them both.

Genji's face was split open from where he had crashed into a wooden garden ornament, shattering the delicately carved wall, splinters caught in his cheeks. His visibility was ruined from the crimson trickling into his eyes and his stance was devolving into one of messy panic.

Hanzo knew all this and he let himself fixate on the hunt; on the death that he'd been trained for. It was coming, he knew it was.

They danced around the garden bell for a long while, Genji trying to find an opening to escape, his pleas being broken off by Hanzo's unrelenting strikes. Finally, the youngest broke away, guarding his wounded side as he darted for the main room, and while Hanzo was slower, Genji was injured.

Hanzo cut him off there, in that grand room of tatami mats and warm light that had accompanied their childhood. The two dragons that danced on the walls watched the brothers with eyes that seemed to hold no care for the agony they shared. If Hanzo thought about it, the dragons beneath his skin were terrifyingly still, they offered no input in this fight, gave him no warnings about his brother's attacks, and somehow, Hanzo sensed they'd offer no help if he called for them.

But he had no need of them; an opening made itself clear and Hanzo took it. Launching ahead and slicing without hesitation... he could not help but flinch at the cry that cut itself short.

Genji's right arm fell to the tatami mats, staining them with a hideous red, his sword clattering to the ground. Like a wounded fox, Genji grit his teeth and made no sound, falling to his knees as he held the place where his arm used to be, his fingers covered in slick crimson, his eyes revealing nothing of his mind other than pain.

Hanzo had no words, nothing to say. All he could do was turn around and ready himself for the finishing blow. He aimed for the neck and, with a reaction time that only his young brother had mastered, Genji twisted out of the way, allowing the sword to only scrape past his neck, bringing forth a necklace of crimson. Hanzo turned on his heel and went to strike again.

He launched himself forward and was forced away as his steel met steel once more. His movements were dealt with expertly and Hanzo was forced to jump away, a slice on his arm, deep and weeping his blood on the mats this time.

Genji was there, his sword wielded in his left hand, his eyes desperate but full of fire. He always had been one to ensure he could best his brother somehow, and as he stood, his non-dominant hand gripping his sword, there was more than physical pain in his stance.

They circled each other, Genji eventually backing towards the wall as Hanzo stayed a safe distance.

"So be it," Genji's words were hardly a breath, rasping through his injured neck that just kept weeping blood to his chest, but the stance he enacted conveyed his intentions well enough.

Hanzo felt his own chest squeeze and like a maddened dog he charged his brother.

It was a mirrored stance as he was using his left hand, but it was unmistakable. Hanzo had never seen Genji summon his dragon left-handed, but his younger brother did it with full confidence, perfectly, as if he had rehearsed it, which he must have. Hanzo knew his brother too well.

He knew how fast Genji could call on his dragon, and if his dragons would not answer his call he had nothing to hold it off with. He knew he was too far away to stop Genji before he summoned her, he knew he would have to clash with his brother and his brother's dragons.

He wondered if this was how Genji turned the tables; if it was him who would die here. What would happen to the clan then? What would happen to Genji? Why did the idea of the latter being left alone hurt him more than the idea of the former!?

It wasn't until his sword was already piercing through Genji's torso that Hanzo realized he had been thinking for far too long. Time had stretched by both too slow and incredibly quick.

Genji should've already summoned his dragon, Soba should be sinking her teeth into Hanzo's flesh and tearing him apart. She was there, he sensed her. His brother's tattoo was practically glowing...

But he'd let go of his sword. Only then, after all was done, did Hanzo see it at Genji's side... dropped before Hanzo had even touched him.

Hanzo looked up at his Brother's face and found it streaked in tears, his lips trembling as he stared at the sword now nearly hilt-deep in his side.

Their eyes met and Hanzo felt himself get the coldest he'd ever been.

"Hanzo..." Genji's voice was weak, cracking in pain as tears flooded down his face.

Hanzo forced himself to close his eyes, he forced himself to look away as he twisted his katana and ripped it through the large half of Genji with strength on a Shimada could've managed.

He severed his spine, organs, flesh, and when his blade was free, he realized he had also carved through the banner behind Genji, his brother's blood staining the gently cream-colored fabric.

Genji fell at his feet and Hanzo fell with him.

Why hadn't Genji summoned his dragon? Why had he hesitated? Why - why? Why hadn't he just listened to the clan - to Hanzo? Why had he made him do this?

He knelt there as his brother grew still, his blood pooling at Hanzo's knees. It pooled around the sword Genji had discarded and Hanzo came to a single, world-chilling epiphany. Genji hadn't been able to strike him down. And not from strength or skill - Genji possessed plenty of that - no Genji chose not to strike. Even injured, knowing he was going to die, Genji loved Hanzo too much to defend himself.

He loved Hanzo...

The last part of him broke that night. All he could do was run.

He ran like a coward, like a fool. He ran until he couldn't run any further, until not a soul from the clan, until the ghosts of his Mother, his Father... his brother... until he couldn't hear them anymore. Until he couldn't hear anything anymore.

And then he sobbed. He fell to the ground and screamed, he screamed in disgust at himself, in hatred for it all, in agonizing grief that he had no right to feel. He wiped the blood off his sword and watched as it did nothing except shake in his trembling hands.

Truly, Hanzo couldn't rationalize what happened next, only that life seemed like a living nightmare after that. A dream-like existence. When the sun rose, it only froze Hanzo's cold body, worse than it ever had.

He returned to the Shimada castle the next day. Genji's body was gone, but his blood was still there, staining the mats as a constant testament to Hanzo's greatest sin. He hung his sword up there, beneath the place where his Brother had fallen to a monster.

Then, he grabbed his hair, the hair his mother had so carefully taught him to care for, the hair that made him look like his father, and he cut it. He deserved nothing of the life his parents had built for him... for him and for Genji.

The last thing he did was grab one of his Father's compact bows, then he disappeared. Truly. No one found him and many tried. The next few years were but a hell that he remembered in bits and flashes, each memory colored red with Genji's blood and his final plea.

Hanzo. He had called for Hanzo. Called like he wanted Hanzo to save him, to help him, begged his brother to make the pain stop.

And Hanzo had caused it all.

Alcohol eased it, for a while. Hanzo could drink until he and Genji were children again, curled up in a tent made of blankets, Genji giggling as he hid under a pile of pillows. He could drink until he could count stars with Genji on the roof of whatever bar he was in. Until they were in the gardens, the schoolyard, anywhere that wasn't that damn room full of blood, and his brother's last breaths that haunted every dream he had.

The memories always ended there, with Hanzo killing that young face full of smiles and dreams...

Grief... grief never left him.

Every year, on that day, he found himself back at Shimada castle. The first time he had to wade past dozens of confused family members. They scorned him, threatened him, questioned him, and they begged him to return.

He couldn't find anything to say. He couldn't find a thing to say that wouldn't make him burst into tears... and he was still a Shimada. So he said nothing. He paid his tribute to Genji, and he slipped away without a word.

The family and the clan viewed him as an enemy from that day forth, and his pointless existence became scattered with assassins and assassinations alike. They never stopped him, the dragons ensured that.

At some point, there were no more familiar faces when he ventured back home. Overwatch had gotten to most of them, and the rest were likely picked off by rivals. There was no more family. Hanzo had failed them all. Every single one of them.

There were the Hashimotos, and they were much easier to fight... to kill. Killing; killing was all Hanzo was good for now, it seemed. He was a hired hand, good at his job, and efficient... but hard to find and harder to hire.

He killed who he wanted to kill, people he knew would make Genji scowl. Every arrow through a skull marked one less terrible person in the world, and maybe one day he'd kill enough evil to make up for his own crimes. Maybe one day he'd kill enough monsters so that the one that killed Genji never dared bare its fangs again. If he was to die one day, let him die doing at least some good the only way he knew how; exterminating those he deemed worth it. Let him die doing something that brought honor back to his family, something Genji would've laughed at.

One of the clearest memories of those years occurred when he was in the Americas, on a job. He'd concluded the mission and was trekking through the wilderness to throw off any pursuer's trail. Something raced above him in the trees and he had acted on instincts rather than logic which had become his normal state.

His arrow found its mark and with a dying cry, a kestrel fell to the ground. Hanzo stared at its corpse and felt his heart clench in pain.

Kestrels were also called sparrowhawks...

Gingerly, Hanzo cradled the murdered creature, tears coming to his eyes as he gently pulled the arrow free.

He'd shot a sparrow... He'd killed a sparrow. The metaphorical bird tore out the last remnants of his head and he sobbed over a bird, cradling it to his chest as he felt the warmth fade from its feathered body. How pathetic he must've looked, a Shimada sobbing over a fucking bird. But he couldn't help himself.

Father was wrong, Genji was no sparrow. He was not small or insignificant, he had been mighty... grand... powerful. He'd been more than Hanzo could ever be.

He buried the sparrowhawk beneath a tree, but a flight feather of the bird was kept on Hanso's side and accompanied him every year back to Shimada castle.

His life was not peaceful, it was violent, it was angry self-loathing and grief, it was normal. He had found a form of normal in his life.

Then, another assassin came, one his dragons did not growl at.

Then... then he had seen Soba. Or... what looked like Soba, which was impossible, because she had died with her master.

Then... and then... Then his brother's eyes had gazed at him from a stranger's body. His brother had spoken with a warmth that Hanzo forgot existed. Genji's eyes, Hanzo realized with painful epiphanies, were just like mothers; consumed by a deep sadness when he stared at Hanzo. He wondered, with his heart tearing in two, if Genji's smile was like Mother's now. His younger brother was haunted by rage and pain that danced in his eyes and possessed Hanzo's mind worse than Genji's death had.

He had cried that night because Genji was alive and somehow that made everything worse, and more wonderful. He didn't know what to do with himself, he didn't know how to live with the fact that the last few years of his mournful existence had done nothing...

He tried to grapple with how Genji had forgiven him.

In the end... there was only one thing he could do. He had to seek counsel from the only people who had actually cared for him. The people he hadn't dared think of for years.

Mother and father shared a grand grave in the Shimada plot of the cemetery. Hanzo knelt before it, burning incense and holding the sparrowhawk's feather he'd carried for so long.

"I... I do not know what to do... I have not known what to do since I lost you." He rasped it and waited for whatever judgment the dead had to pass.

"I murdered Genji... I may as well have... I let your clan fall. I failed us all. I have failed you. You have no reason to help me, but I beg of you... help me... help me..."

Help him, so that he may know what to do with Genji, how to atone... if he could ever atone. How do you fix knowing how the look in your brother's eyes as you slice him apart? How do you atone when you know what your brother's last breaths sound like? Help him. Please. He knelt there for hours until the incense was all burned out and his eyes had dried.

It was then his dragons stirred as they sensed a welcome visitor. A visitor Hanzo couldn't bear to look at.

"They would not hate you, you know," Genji's voice was garbled by his cybernetics, but it held the same lightness that Hanzo thought had died years before he cleaved through his brother's chest.

"You may forgive me," Hanzo murmured solemnly. "But they should not."

"They would." It was a soft assurance as silent footsteps came beside Hanzo. "They loved you."

"Love should not excuse atrocity," Hanzo grit. He couldn't... he couldn't look over as Genji knelt beside him, his armor gleaming in the starlight. Surely Mother wouldn't be able to look at Hanzo, not without fury had she known what he'd done. Father too. He failed them both, in the worst way he could have.

Hanzo couldn't bare to look at Genji, much less himself.

How much pain was his brother in? How much had he suffered because of Hanzo?

"You have hated yourself enough to make up for all of us," Genji's laugh was gentle, as was the hand he slowly placed on Hanzo's shoulder. "And I've definitely been angry for too long."

"Why have you come?" Hanzo demanded, holding his heart as far away from himself as he could.

"Do you wish I didn't?" Genji asked carefully.

Hanzo had no response to that. As much as he wanted to beg Genji to stay, he didn't dare believe he deserved such a thing. He deserved nothing. Genji was a fool and Hanzo loved him too much to allow such an idiot to love the same monster again.

They sat in silence for a long while, Genji looking at the grave with a soft silence that Hanzo felt must've held a warm smile that he'd never see again.

"Have you thought any on my offer?" Genji asked softly.

"You wonder if I will join you, and your little group of problems?" Hanzo challenged.

"The world is changing -" Genji began and Hanzo stood up quickly before the speech could begin again.

"You do not want me, brother," Hanzo spoke with finality because he knew it to be true.

"Do not assume to know my heart, Hanzo," Genji argued, still soft but with a hint of firmness to it.

Hanzo braced himself and forced himself to walk away.

"You have no duty to me Genji, you owe me nothing -"

"I do not do this out of duty!" Genji's yell came with finality. "Brother."

His tone urged Hanzo to stop and turn around, to finally look at Genji, or whatever was left of Genji under that suit.

"Brother, has it not dawned on you that I may miss you?" Genji asked, his tone shaking, fluctuating with the cybernetics.

"Why would you miss me!?" Hanzo challenged, his reservations vanishing with his own hated certainties. "After what I have done? After all that I have done? I am the face you must see in your nightmares, surely there is hatred somewhere under that peace? You were always the better of us, Genji. You would be kind to me even if it killed you - and it did!"

"Brother, why do you torment yourself like this?"

"Because it is what I deserve!" Hanzo yelled... and he recoiled as tears trickled down his cheeks.

"Hanzo..." Genji's tone was... heartbroken. It threatened to break whatever Hanzo had built up of his shattered soul.

"I am..." Hanzo's voice caught in his throat. "I am beyond forgiveness. I am beyond atonement. I deserve nothing from you... I will not hold you back... I will not torture you further; I refuse to be the cause of your pain again!"

He turned on his heel and strode away, hiding the tears that were coming faster.

"Hanzo!" Genji grabbed his wrist and it was a terrifying moment when they both were thrown years into the past to the night of their Father's funeral.

This time, Hanzo turned around and let Genji speak.

"Hanzo... please, do not leave."

His throat began to close as he faced his brother.

"Genji..."

It was a plea and a prayer and a curse all at once; a name he didn't think he'd ever deserve to speak again. A name that had apprently graced his living brother's shoulders for years as a warrior, a savior, a knight, a monk - so many things that Hanzo would never know and had no right to know.

"You have no right to tell me whether I should or should not love you; you have no say in whether I forgive you, just as all I can do is urge you to stop these self-inflicted wounds," Genji spole evenly, in a familiar cadence.

"I deserve it -"

"I do not think so." Genji released his wrist and stood a bit taller. "You are my brother... you will always be my brother."

"A brother who nearly murdered you, you condemned you to - "

"A brother," Genji corrected, "who I lost. Who I miss. Mother always urged us to stay together, but we both ignored her... we both forgot Father's most important lesson."

"What?" Hanzo breathed.

Slowly, Genji reached up and placed his fist on Hanzo's chest.

"That we are Shimadas." He spoke it with such affection, with such longing... there was no way Hanzo was going to stay in one piece.

He tried to stifle a sob and failed miserably. He covered his mouth to try and muffle it, then Genji opened his arms, as if asking for a hug, and the eldest was ruined.

They held each other, falling back to the ground as Hanzo released years of pain and longing: Grief. The grief they shared and hated and loved.

His entire body rocked with sobs as he found Genji still fit perfectly in his arms, even if there was no flesh to hold, even if his new edges dug into Hanzo's side uncomfortably. Genji was silent at first, but his breaths grew heavy, echoing under his mask, and his grip around Hanzo grew firmer as he too began to shake. At some point all Hanzo could do was breathe apologies between his sobs. He bawled like a child in that cemetery until he had no tears left to cry and even then the brothers held each other.

When they were done, Hanzo followed Genji. Well, not followed. They walked side by side, shoulder to shoulder, and when the morning sun came up Hanzo was surprised to find it was indeed warm.

Then again, maybe that was just the way the world was when he was with his brother. There was silence between them that was ten times more filling than anything before. It was not perfect, it never would be, but it was near sacred.

Unknown to them both, the sparrowhawk feather left at their parents graves blew away in a morning breeze, rocketing upward towards the sky, beyond the clouds, to the heavens above that almost seemed to smile.

The two were Shimadas. They would always be.

(Heyo, thanks for reading. This came to me in a sudden flash of inspiration and helped pull me out of some BAD writer's block, so I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.

Have an awesome day/night 

:D)