Chapter Text
Genji was always the more troublesome child of the Shimada family. Starting from birth he was the brother who took more energy, more time, and far, far, more discipline. He was often told how much he cried and screamed as a baby, while his elder brother Hanzo was quiet, easy, as if he was somehow supposed to go back in time and fix his behavior before he even had a fully formed consciousness.
This established the dynamic between him and his brother for the rest of their lives.
Hanzo, always the golden child, the star student, the one who was beloved, who was well-behaved, who was quiet. Genji on the contrary was the delinquent. The one who snuck out at night, who dyed his hair and pierced his ears, who only passed his classes by the skin of his teeth, not for lack of intelligence but rather because he thought the entire concept of school was a colossal waste of time. Always too loud, too rough, too much.
He'd never forget the day he came home with his hair turned an obnoxious shade of green. He couldn't help the grin that stretched across his face when Hanzo stared in open horror. "What is wrong with you?!" His brother hissed to him as soon as he had him alone, gripping his arm so tightly Genji was shocked he didn't try to tear it off. "Do you know how ridiculous you look?!"
Genji barked a laugh in his face, harsh and rude, and tried to tug his arm free. "I look great, Idunno what you're talking about-"
Hanzo's grip tightened enough to hurt, Genji's smile twisting into a grimace. "We are meant to be the next leaders of our clan, and you are making yourself look like a- a-"
" You are supposed to be the next leader, you mean," Genji scoffed, the remark loosening Hanzo's grip enough he could pull free. "I don't see why I need to get involved in family politics bullshit when I'm not even-"
" Genji, " Hanzo cut him off with a snap. He reels his anger back in immediately, lips pressing into a thin line as he stares at his brother. "We are both meant to be symbols. We are meant to uphold our family's honor."
"Yeah," Genji's eyes rolled skyward. He's tired of hearing about honor. "Right."
"You have been given a dragon for a reason, Genji." He insists, voice stern. "You should at least attempt to act like it."
Genji shoots him a frown. He can feel the weight of the ink etched into his back like a phantom. Their duties to their family, their clan, sat heavily upon their shoulders, and he was well-aware they were heaviest upon his older brother. His eyes drift to the tattoo that wraps itself around the entirety of Hanzo's left arm. The twin dragons who are now a permanent swirl of color on his skin. Some part of him knows he should offer his brother more sympathy. The rest of him was too stubborn to do so, huffing and walking away from his still-frowning sibling.
He never did change his hair back. He felt like green suited him.
—
Genji remembers when their father died. It was the worst week of his life and it should have been his last.
They found out in the morning. A servant came screaming, over and over, Sojiro is dead!
It was determined quickly to be the work of their rival clan, the Hashimoto, though how exactly this was discovered was never explained to Genji. He never bothered to ask.
He stood, staring blankly, during the funeral. Hanzo was stiff and silent at his side. The weather seemed to know what the occasion was and shifted itself accordingly, the skies splitting open to pour rain down on the ceremony. Genji and Hanzo stood together in the downpour, hair falling out of place, clothes sticking to their skin, and for once, Genji was quiet.
As soon as it was over Hanzo was ushered away into meetings with the clan's elders. Genji made it his mission to disappear before they could try to drag him into any as well. It was his specialty, avoiding people when he did not want to be found. He hid in rafters, on rooftops, disappearing into the city for hours at a time just to avoid the clan members searching for him. He went to the training grounds alone at night and reduced a practice dummy to shreds with his sword, furious grief pouring out of him in the solitude.
Hanzo managed to find him after several days had passed. He was the only one who could track him down, as accustomed to his antics as he was. When he found him, Hanzo approached with a set expression. Genji thought he looked like he was made of stone. It made the anger in his heart flare. How could Hanzo be so calm after all of this? Was he not angry? Did he not want to make the people who did this pay?
Genji doesn't remember how the following conversation unfolded. He knows Hanzo tried to tell him to come back. Told him, stony and emotionless, he had a duty to uphold. That all of this meant he had to take his role in the clan more seriously. Genji grew angrier the longer he went on, until he snapped, refusing loudly and furiously. How could he focus on duty and honor, could Hanzo not give him the space to grieve?!
His recollection is especially fuzzy after this.
Hanzo yelled something about dishonor, betrayal, and then-
All he remembers is screaming. Pain. Blue was everywhere, all around, all consuming. Thunderous roars of the twin dragons filled his ears and he knew nothing except agony. He was certain he was dying.
He couldn't comprehend the world around him anymore when he plummeted to the ground.
—
He doesn't know how long it is he exists in a state of only knowing pain. Time passing is hazy. People talk to him, move him. A woman's voice keeps telling him to hold on. Just a little longer, she says, words shaped around a sharp accent. Hold on a little while longer.
The few times he manages to open his eyes and comprehend the world past his swimming vision, he sees her. Soft features, golden hair, bright blue eyes. He wonders if she's an angel. If she's here to take him away to whatever afterlife awaits him.
He soon finds out the reality is much worse.
The first time he wakes to metal and machinery instead of flesh, he screams. He must be in a nightmare, he must be in hell, because this was not his body. These were not his hands. The hum of electricity and hiss of pistons every time he moved were not him.
He tries to get up, to run away, only to find he's stuck. His limbs are strapped down, his body immobile. He starts thrashing immediately. He barely hears the rapid clicking of shoes before someone is over him, pressing her body weight against him to try to keep him still.
"Please- Stop, stop, you're going to hurt yourself!" She says desperately. She starts calling for someone else, frantic. He hears more people approaching, rushed talking. His fighting gets worse.
He's disoriented, he's confused, his body aches, his body isn't his body. He can hear the whir of machinery working as he tugs wildly at his restraints, against the weight of the woman trying to hold him down. It drives him insane. It makes him want to scream until he can't hear it anymore. There's another voice, talking quickly. He feels thin fingers grab his jaw, something sharp stabbing into his neck.
He can't fight it when he drifts off, but the sleep is fitful and uneasy. He doesn't dream- Reality is already a nightmare.
He is much calmer the next time he wakes.
Doctor Angela Ziegler introduces herself to him with a smile when he stirs back to the waking world, seated at his bedside like she had been waiting for him to come to. His restraints had been removed but the mass of metal and silicone that had replaced his flesh remained. He tried not to look at it, focusing on her face instead as she explained his circumstances to him.
She said he was found by Overwatch agents on the brink of death weeks ago. She and the other medical staff had managed to save him with cybernetics, replacing his damaged body with artificial parts to survive what had been done to it. That his body was more machine than human now.
She says he's a miracle.
He doesn't know how to say he wishes she let him die.
He looks down at his torso. The mass of black paneling and dark wires and inhuman silicone. Glowing red lights are interspersed throughout, blinking slowly. When she allows him to look in a mirror, he doesn't recognize his reflection. Black metal clings along his jaw and replaces the flesh of his neck. The rest of his face is still there but it is marred. Scars cascade across his remaining flesh in jagged patterns, pulling the skin tight in unfamiliar ways. His hair is short, shaved down to the scalp. He wonders if he should be thankful he still has hair at all.
He still has part of his chest, the left side somehow unscathed save for long, dragging scars that start at his shoulder that are from his youth. Something familiar amongst everything so wrong. The arm on that side is mostly salvaged as well, though he can see where wires rise out of the skin, twisting up and over his arm like creeping red vines. His eyes have taken on an unnatural hue, almost unnoticeable. Deep, dark, red. They stare into him from his reflection and he feels nausea claw its way up his artificial throat.
He looks like a creature crawled straight out of hell.
Dr.Ziegler is kind and she speaks with him softly. She talks him through everything. How his new body functions, how he was faster, stronger, how he didn't need to eat or sleep as much as before.
She says it all with an air of awe, like he was something amazing. He couldn't see it, sitting and staring hard at the wall even as she continued to speak.
He felt like a monster.
—
It takes no time at all for Overwatch to learn of his skills. It takes even less time for him to be recruited as a proper agent.
He accepts the role because it is something to do. Because he couldn't go home, not when his own kin did this to him. Because despite everything Genji was still incapable of sitting still. Because he could turn his mind off during missions and focus on nothing other than the familiar swing of his sword.
It was something to pour his anger into.
He goes on missions as assigned, and when he returns the staff run tests to see how his mechanical body is holding up. They update his parts as necessary and murmur amongst each other like he isn't even there. He feels like a damn zoo exhibit.
He learns to ignore it. He gets good at stepping away from everything around him, allowing his mind to drift. Nearly otherworldly, he never feels like he's fully present. He never feels fully within himself. He still doesn't feel like this body is his. He doesn't know if he ever will.
Dr.Ziegler inevitably draws him back to the present every time, warm fingers resting against his still-flesh arm.
"Are you feeling alright, Genji?" She would ask softly, sweetly, and he hates it. He hates it more every time she does it. He never answers her properly, shrugging her off, telling her it doesn't matter.
His feelings towards Dr.Ziegler are mixed. She was an incredibly kind and intelligent woman, there wasn't much to dislike about her personality. Despite this, she's the one who made him this. How was he supposed to feel?
His uncertain feelings aside, she was also the closest thing to a friend he had amongst the agents of Overwatch. He doesn't talk to many of the others, giving the cold shoulder to most who try to socialize with him. Angela is different. He's forced to be in her presence for checkups, and it's hard to completely ignore her during them. She always pulls him into conversation, asking questions casually as she checks him over.
He never tells her much. She'll get him to share small things. Things he doesn't realize he's let slip until it's too late and she's smiling warmly at him, promising to remember it. It's a promise she always keeps. Once she learns his favorite tea, she has it ready every time he visits after.
He never talks about his home. He won’t share childhood memories. It's all too adjacent to Hanzo, too difficult to think about without anger and pain surging through his chest. Speaking it was out of the question entirely. Dr.Ziegler never pries about it. She only takes what he is willing to offer.
There was something like friendship there. Almost.
—
Working with Blackwatch is the easiest and worst thing he's ever done. It's too easy to do the dirty missions. To pour out fury and pain into the slide of his sword through flesh. To relish in the warmth of blood on his hands.
Moira calls him a living weapon, always smiling like she wants to dissect him. Cassidy tells him he's damn good with his sword, lips quirked into a smirk around the end of a cigar. Commander Reyes tells him his ability to turn his emotions off is a strength. It only reinforces what Genji already knows.
He's no man anymore, just a weapon built to destroy and kill.
He requests a mission not long into his time with Blackwatch. He gives every scrap of intel he has about a huge crime family in Japan. He states, simple and to the point, that he wishes to dismantle them. He is not questioned.
When he rips apart the Shimada clan with Blackwatch's assistance, he finds out Hanzo is gone. He had abandoned the very same clan he murdered Genji for.
What was that about dishonor and betrayal again?
—
"Genji." Angela is frowning at him and he feels like a child being scolded by his mother. "You need to stop pushing yourself so hard."
He lays on the examination table in her office, staring blankly at the ceiling. He doesn't reply, doesn't even make a sound. The only sign he's still alive is the flick of his eyes to meet hers when she leans over him.
He'd become increasingly reckless during Blackwatch missions. The conclusion that this body was not his own meant he didn't care what happened to it. He kept throwing himself in the way of enemy fire to protect his teammates. It didn't matter. He was just a weapon, he could be just a shield too.
He could feel the way it shredded his mechanical parts. It was painful but not in the way it should be. It didn’t feel how a flesh wound would. He learns to ignore the pain, convinces himself it’s not real, because how can it be? This body wasn’t real. This body wasn’t his. It didn’t matter what happened to it. He did it again and again until he's pretty certain Angela wanted to strangle him herself every time he came back more banged up than the last mission.
She hasn't smiled once during this visit. He must have really pissed her off this time. She's focused, eyes trained onto the large gash running through the machinery-laden part of his chest. She directs her healing technology into it, attempting to stitch back up the damage. Genji had been healed by her tech many times- nanobiotics she called it- and he'd never fully adjusted to how it felt. Maybe it was because he mostly only felt it through his mechanical parts, but the slow reversal of damage done felt immensely uncomfortable. Unnatural. Wrong.
That's what this entire body was though. Unnatural and wrong. Maybe it was fitting.
"Why do you keep doing this?" She asks, voice tense and angry. He's as fixed as he can be but she has holo-screens pulled up in front of her, tapping through check after check on his systems to make sure they are functioning properly. "I said you were stronger, I did not say invincible."
He stares at the ceiling. "This is all I'm good for."
She stops completely. He can tell she's staring at him but he doesn't look back at her. "What?" Her voice drops, softened by shock. She brushes a hand across the screens, dismissing them, and steps closer to lean over him. She's trying to get him to look at her but his stubborn streak makes him turn his eyes away again. "Genji, what? What are you talking about?"
He can't ignore her forever, not when she's this close, and his red gaze turns slowly to meet her concerned blue. He huffs, pushing himself up to sit only to turn himself fully away from her. He doesn't want her pity. "We all know I'm just a tool for Overwatch to use.”
Angela's heels click on the floor as she quickly circles around the bed to face him again. "Genji." She raises a hand but thinks better of it before she tries to touch him. "Who told you that? Who would make you think something so terrible?"
He raises his eyes, brows drawn tightly and angrily together. "Moira says I'm a living weapon. Everyone in Blackwatch knows I am." His mechanical fingers curl into a fist against his metal leg. Wrong. Unnatural. Wrong. He looks away, staring hard at the floor. "I look like a monster."
Angela is quiet. Slowly she kneels down, making herself smaller than him while she lifts her head to look him in the face. He hates being forced to stare at her, her expression is so sad and sympathetic he could puke. She couldn't possibly understand what this is like for him. "Genji," She says softly, hands raising to cup his own. One flesh, one machine, the feeling between them disconnected and discordant. He wants to rip his hands away like the touch burns. "You aren't a weapon. You're our friend." He rolls his eyes, looking up and away from her. Yeah, right. "When I look at you, I don't see a monster." She's speaking so earnestly it's making his blood boil. "I see a miracle," She squeezes his hands lightly, "And a hero."
It's finally what makes him snap, slapping her hands away as his head swings back towards her. "A hero?! " His voice raises. "Look at me!" She stands in the same moment he does, stepping back as he rises from the table to advance towards her. "Do you know how many people I've killed with the hands you gave me, Angela?"
Her brow furrows and she doesn't step back any further even as he crowds closer. Standing her ground with a set expression. "And how many have you saved with the same?" She shoots back at him.
"That is not the point," He growls into her face. "You made me into a killing machine."
She stares at him, the room silent for a beat too long. "Do you regret that I saved you?" She asks quietly. "Because I do not."
He doesn't answer her.
"Can you look me in the eye and tell me you wish I left you to die that painful death?" She insists. Even though they were the same height, perfectly level with each other, she felt so much larger in that moment. He wants to shrink away from her. "Tell me, Genji."
He says nothing.
She deflates when he will not meet her fire with his own any longer, shoulders dropping and face smoothing into something softer. "Genji, if you don't want to keep doing Blackwatch missions, we will always have a place for you within Overwatch proper-"
He scoffs, cutting her off with the sound. "Right, because the public wants to see this. " He looks back at her, red eyes narrowing. "Do you know what people do when they see me, Angela?" He laughs slightly, a hollow sound. "Before I do anything- Sometimes it's not even the target." His hands curl into fists at his side's. "They all scream. "
She falls silent. When she says nothing, lips parting but failing to speak, Genji brushes past her. "Genji, wait-" She rushes to say.
"What?" He glances back only once, eyes narrowed. "You’re done, aren’t you? You want to try to tell me I'm a hero again or can I go?"
She doesn't answer. He can feel her watching him as he leaves. He tries to ignore how his chest feels too tight as he does.
—
"Hey."
Genji looks back from where he's stood at the railing overlooking the cliffsides that give way to the sea outside the Overwatch base. Cassidy approaches, slow and casual in his stride. Genji turns back to the view, saying nothing as the cowboy joins him in leaning against the rails.
"Y'know, they're missin' you in there," Cassidy says, tilting his head back towards the base. The sound of voices and raucous laughter can be heard drifting out from inside. "Ain't really a proper anniversary party without everyone."
Genji makes a quiet, dismissive noise, rolling his eyes. He was forced to be present for Overwatch's anniversary party, that didn't mean he felt like he belonged there. Lena had basically forced him out of his room, bouncy and energetic and far too talkative despite his non-responses as she brought him down. Genji's here! She had announced loudly to the room, met by cheers. Reindhart clapped him on the back so hard he's surprised he didn't fall over, stumbling and grimacing beneath his mask while the larger man spoke too loudly, Y ou need to join us more often, friend!
All of it was too much. He felt out of place, sitting silent at a table full of people with long history's who were basically glowing with happiness. He'd excused himself without a word, going outside into the fresh evening air simply to escape the suffocating environment inside.
Cassidy doesn't try to push for him to answer. Genji glances at him hearing the click of a lighter, watching as he lights the end of a cigar. His eyes flick up to meet Genji's. "You smoke?" He asks, tilting the lighter in his direction.
Genji says nothing, staring at him blankly.
Cassidy huffs a soft laugh, raising his hand to pull his cigar free from his lips, blowing smoke into the night air. "Nah, figures. You don't take yer mask off for nothin'. Don't think I even seen ya eat before." He pauses, raising a brow. " Do you eat?"
Genji doesn't feel like explaining how his body works. He doesn't like thinking about his body much at all if he can help it. He huffs and doesn't answer, staring out at the horizon.
The silence stretches between them. Cassidy doesn't pry for any answers, seemingly content to sit in the quiet. Genji watches the smoke from his cigar twist up into the air, swirling lazily until it dissipates. The cowboy taps his cigar lightly against the edge of the railing, knocking some of its ashen end off to fall away towards the cliffs. "Y'know, I get it," He murmurs slowly. When Genji looks at him he's not smiling anymore, instead looking out at the same horizon with contemplative eyes. "Why you're out here, I mean."
Genji listens and waits.
"You don't gotta tell me if I'm right or nothin', but I get the feelin' yer a lot like me." He pauses to take another drag off his cigar. "Life dealt you a shit hand, and now yer stuck runnin' away. Don't know how to trust when you live a life like that. But," He raises his brows at him, tilting his head back towards the distant laughter inside, "Those people ain't too bad, y'know?"
Genji looks away, down at the sea that swims below the cliffs. He watches the way the waves break against the rocks, the sound of it distant. He makes a quiet noise, not quite agreement, but an acknowledgement of the words said. The silence stretches on as he continues to not speak and Cassidy continues to allow him to be silent.
Cassidy sighs, stubbing out his cigar against the railing before pushing off of it to stand straighter. "Well, do ya drink?" He asks. "Pretty sure Torb brought the good shit." He chuckles, looking back towards inside. "Wouldn't be shocked if he's drunk himself stupid already. Prolly tried to outdrink Rein. Again. " He glances back at Genji, waiting for some kind of response. When none comes, he simply sniffs, fingers scratching through the stubble on his jaw. "Well I'm gonna get myself some before it's all gone."
When he turns to walk back in, Genji suddenly finds his voice. "I drink."
Cassidy looks back at him. A grin tugs at his lips. "Yeah? Well, I'll get enough for two then."
Genji watches the doorway when Cassidy disappears inside of it. He can hear the distant cheers, the distinct sound of Lena's voice calling out "Cole!" as he re-enters the scene. His fingers grip the railing a little harder. He can't imagine it for himself, that same warm welcome. He doesn't imagine anyone's noticed he's left other than Cassidy. But that's just how the man was, sharp eyes that noticed everything. It was why he was such an asset for Blackwatch. It didn't mean anything special.
He turns back to the cliffs, head swimming and he doesn't know why. He feels like a ghost out here. Unseen and forgotten. Like he really did die years ago to his brother's dragons and now he's only here to drift around, haunting the dark corners of the base.
He shuts his eyes, wills the thought out of his mind. He can still remember their roars as clear as day. How thunderous and loud they were. The dragons of the Shimada clan were truly mighty, and he now knew firsthand how it felt to be on the receiving end of their rage. He sucks in a shuddering breath.
He hasn't felt his dragon since it happened. The skin of his back had been replaced by metal, silicone, a manufactured spine. He can't feel the weight of the ink that should be there. He's certain it has abandoned him too.
He looks up at re-approaching footsteps. Cassidy holds up a crate of bottles in victory. "Got 'em."
Genji accepts the bottle handed to him, turning it over in his hands to eye it. It'd been a long time since he'd had anything like this. He begins to lift it, then stops to stare at Cassidy. The man holds up a hand, turning around so his back is to Genji. "I ain't lookin'," He says, "Yer good."
It's a kind gesture. It makes him uneasy. He keeps his eyes trained on the cowboy even as he lifts a hand to unlock the mask from around his face.The metal audibly hisses as the locks come loose. He keeps expecting Cassidy to spin around, try to look, but the cowboy remains with his back turned. He has one arm resting against the railing casually, staring off at the horizon opposite the ninja behind him. Genji accepts that he isn't going to look and pulls the metal free from his face.
Genji doesn't breathe fresh air directly very often anymore. He's become accustomed to everything being filtered through his mask. He takes a deep inhale, feeling the cold evening air fill his lungs. It's calming, steadying his frayed nerves. He remembers he used to do this all the time when he was younger, sit on rooftops and breathe in the world around him just to taste the scent of nature on his tongue.
It was an escape. It was getting away from the smothering nature of the clan, of Hanzo, of responsibility too heavy to be given to someone so young. Even now it feels like escaping from everything that felt so suffocating moments before, putting the distant chatter of the party out of his mind.
"To Overwatch," Cassidy raises his bottle, still not turning around.
Genji stares at his turned back, at the raised bottle, and he quietly raises his own drink without a word.
—
Blackwatch is falling.
Genji doesn't think about the ramifications of Commander Reyes actions. He doesn't think about the bullet that was shot or the body that fell. He doesn't think at all.
His body runs on pure survival instinct. He fights like a rabid animal, backed into a corner and forced to claw its way out. He barely keeps tabs on where his own allies are- He's only dragged along by Cassidy's southern accent that grows thicker in its urgency. It cuts through his mind's survival-driven haze enough to direct him where to go.
Blackwatch is falling.
Genji has blood on his hands. It's slathering his sword. It flies through the air, droplets of red rain that stain the ground everywhere he goes. He doesn't stop moving. He doesn't know how many men he's killed in their scramble to escape. He knows only one taken life truly matters tonight, and it is the one laying still in the gravel beneath a shattered window.
Blackwatch is falling.
Moira's hissing voice is piercing- You fool, you will get yourself killed- and he feels arms wrapped firmly around his torso. His vision is swimming. His sternum burns.
It's alright- It's alright, the ships comin'. We're gettin' outta here. Hold on, partner.
Genji can't tell the difference between the red lights interwoven into his metal frame and the red liquid dripping in between the steel plating. He doesn't know how much of it is his own and how much belongs to now-dead soldiers.
Blackwatch is falling.
—
Overwatch is done.
Genji doesn't remember it well- It all happened in a blur. Blackwatch's existence was discovered and the public outcry was swift. The investigation by government officials was quick and intense. The cracks formed, then worsened, and what was formerly Overwatch quickly began to fracture and fall to pieces.
Genji watched the way it seeped into the agents who once had acted like they were a family. Screaming matches between Commander Reyes and Commander Morrison that ended with others needing to physically separate them. Some people had started taking sides. Others had started leaving.
He hears about the bombing second hand. An Overwatch headquarters gone, turned to rubble and dust. Commander Morrison, Commander Reyes, and worst of all Cassidy, all missing after it. It takes only a few weeks for the conclusion to be drawn whoever is missing must be dead. No bodies are found despite this.
Genji leaves. He tells nobody, dropping off only a letter for Angela to find before he goes. He doesn't know if she will find it. Last he heard she was preparing to leave herself. She could already be gone, and he couldn't even guess at where she might be going to assure his message reached her. It didn't matter. None of it mattered anymore.
The life he had carved out for himself within Overwatch had burnt to the ground, and now he was truly alone.