Chapter Text
Genji remembers death in flashes.
It plays. Backwards. Forward. In pieces. It’s a nightmare. Every second makes his body writhe in pain. Until, Genji realizes, he doesn’t have a body to feel pain with.
He remembers the fight. The sun sets, the moon rises. He and Hanzo sit on the terrace and exchange stories over drinks. It’s their usual thing and the first time they’ve been alone together since father’s death. Genji jokes about how he’s going to be a thorn in Hanzo’s side. The clan hates him. They probably think it’s better if he died instead of father. Unfair. It’s not like he killed father, after all. But he still has Hanzo. It'll work out somehow.
Hanzo says nothing.
Genji can’t remember his brother’s face that night.
He remembers the sound of a sword unsheathing. He remembers how close the first strike was to slicing his arm off. How close the second was to taking his right foot. He remembers holding his breath, jumping away, looking at his brother in horror and confusion. He unsheathes his own sword in panic. He can hardly see past his own tears that pour out despite himself.
He tries to wipe his face. He tries to see Hanzo’s expression.
But Genji sees nothing.
It could’ve been anger. Could’ve been remorse. Pain.
Did he hate himself for what he’s trying to do?
How did it come to this? Were his mistakes that insurmountable? Was Hanzo not on his side? Were they not brothers? Did he not love him?
They fight. Swords clash. Dragon against dragon. It’s enough to make the whole castle shake. But Genji’s strength isn’t enough. Hanzo is overwhelming. Of course he is. He's going to be clan leader. He was going to succeed father. He was the best the clan had to offer. As if Genji could stand a chance. He doesn't even want to.
He loves Hanzo.
He… loved Hanzo.
Genji remembers his final thoughts. They entangle his heart, embody his soul. It’s all he thinks about now.
Was freedom that much to ask for?
“Brother, was it too much to ask for?”
Everything goes black. He drifts. He feels the most at ease he’s felt in over a decade. He’s empty. It’s bliss.
Silence.
Then, it all comes rushing back.
There’s yelling. Lots of it. Mostly in a language he doesn’t recognize. An angelic voice. Genji wonders if he was sent to the wrong heaven. No more space in Japan’s skies. Sorry. His own brother just killed him, little could surprise Genji now.
Then, there’s another voice. Sweet, honeyed, speaking something that kind of sounds like English. Genji never heard any English like that. He bets it belongs to someone handsome, but before he can imagine anything, pain washes in like a flood.
Another voice joins the noise. It sounds like his own, but he’s not sure. It’s unfamiliar. Broken.
He hears the broken voice yell his brother’s name. Hanzo. Hanzo. Hanzo. Hanzo. Over and over again. Strained. Disjointed. Soon, the voice stops with a screech. Tires scratching pavement.
It halts.
Genji is sure he’s dead.
-0-
Beep… Beep… Beep…
He hears someone humming. It’s a soft melody. Every now and then, the voice breathes out a word or two. He doesn’t recognize the voice. He doesn’t recognize anything. He tries to open his eyes. It seems the apt thing to do, even though he doesn’t remember falling asleep in the first place. His lids feel heavy and he struggles.
They open without notice. The light hurts and it takes a few moments to adjust. White ceiling. White walls. Machines whirring all around him. A medical facility? He tries to move, but every action feels so different. It’s almost like his body isn’t his own.
He finally finds the source of the humming.
It’s a man, sitting on a stool by the window sill. He is smoking and looking outside with vacant eyes. A metal arm holds a cigarette to his lips, a red serape covers his shoulders and, for some reason, he’s wearing a cowboy hat.
Genji tries to laugh and it comes out all wrong. Like garbled noises.
The man notices he’s awake and hops out of his stool, which topples over. He runs over to him, saying something really quickly in a bewildered tone.
“What?”
“Oh geez, don’t tell me you don’t speak no English.” Genji still has no clue what the man is saying. “Hold up, I’m gonna fetch the doc. You sit still and pretty, alright? Don’t think y’can even get up if ya wanted to anyhow.”
The man leaves the room.
Genji is left to wonder why the smell of tobacco didn’t bother him.
Then, he looks down.
“Oh…”
His body is unrecognizable.
His torso looks like it was built from scratch. Armor tacked on every party that looks like skin. There are vents on his chest down to his stomach that looked a dog’s tits. Genji finds the same story on his legs. Muscles and skin built around bone. Metal covering the whole. Parts of his arm still feels real, but his hands are metal. They move when he wants them to, but he feels the delay. The foreignness of his actions.
Genji laughs again, horrified by the robotic rasps that come out of him. Like a terrible cold. Like he hasn’t spoken in decades. He feels like Frankenstein’s monster.
Even death evades him.
-0-
Dr. Angela Ziegler appears later with cowboy man trailing quietly behind her.
They struggle to communicate. Genji regrets not playing more attention in English class. He was too busy skipping it, going on dates with Yukos and Taichis. But he manages to scrape some things. He recognizes the doctor from TV. Mercy. Overwatch. He is in one of the Overwatch HQs. He assumes the cowboy must be some other agent.
She rebuilt his body, used what was left, which isn’t much, from Genji’s observations.
She saved him.
He doesn’t need to understand English to know why. As someone from the Shimada clan, there’s probably a lot of information they could get from him. Maybe they even want him to join them, fight for them.
Genji doesn’t want to think about any of those things right now.
-0-
The next weeks are hard. Harder than any training he’s ever done.
He feels like a baby, having to learn how to walk again. Having to regain control over his body. Having doctors pick and probe at him every evening, trying to fix calibrations, trying to make it easier for him. And it does. They take out parts, exchange them, and rebuild others with better materials. Every day, being a “person” gets easier and, every day, he hates it more and more. The more he hates it, the more he trains and the stronger he wants to become.
It takes two whole months for them to “complete” his body. It has a sleek design, fits his “ninja” image. Part of Genji wants to find it cool, but he turns himself off the second he realizes this is his body now. Not a video game. Not some anime or shonen manga. Reality.
Some nights, he takes the mask off and stares at his reflection. He laughs, thinking no one would ever recognize him now. Not like this. With most of his face missing, scarred, ugly. With most of his body gone. Sex probably isn’t even an option for him anymore.
Well, at least he enjoyed himself while he could. Bright side.
Genji puts the mask back on. The green light flickers. This face was more familiar now.
The Shimada clan did this to him.
Berated his father for loving him.
Pressured his brother into killing him.
Now, he’s a monster.
Genji throws himself at the tasks in front of him. He lets the doctors and scientists do whatever they want. Their upgrades makes him faster, stronger. In no time at all, the training simulations stop posing a threat. He wonders if he could Hanzo, as is he is now.
Hanzo.
What was his brother up to now that he’s gone?
Did he take his place at the head of the Shimada clan? Is he continuing their family’s legacy?
Genji avoids asking those questions to anyone. Not even when Dr. Ziegler brings it up the subject herself. He knows it’s out of concern. He needs to talk about these things. He needs to sort out his feelings.
He doesn’t want to.
He trains and train and trains and trains…
-0-
“You know, I was thinking, someone should probably teach him English.”
Genji shows up to Mercy’s office for his usual appointment. He hears her talking to someone inside and politely waits by the slightly open door. Over the past few weeks, he’s learned more English, but conversational speed still escapes him.
“What? And y’think I’m the man for it?” Genji recognizes the voice. It belongs to the cowboy. “Come on, Mercy, I ain’t that free.”
“Aren’t you? I hear Blackwatch ops have been put on hold. Surely you’ve got some hours to spare.”
“But I don’t even speak a lick of Japanese. How’re we supposed to get on?”
“Jesse…” The doctor’s voice is soft. “He needs a friend. There’s no one else here who can be that for him.”
“A friend, huh?”
The room goes quiet and Genji decides it’s the perfect time to announce his presence. He knocks on the door and peers inside. The cowboy stands there, metal arm crossed over real arm. His face is dark and roughed up, but there’s handsome, rugged charm there that Genji didn’t notice before. The cowboy faces him with a surprised look, like he was caught doing something bad.
Genji steps inside the room. “Sorry. For interrupting.” He says, in disjointed English.
“Not at all, Genji. You are where you are supposed to be.” Dr. Ziegler responds with an angelic smile. Genji appreciates her tone and speed. She always makes it easy for him to decipher her words.
The doctor then looks at the cowboy expectantly.
Genji confusedly follows her gaze.
“Aw, hell. Fine, y’got me.” The cowboy unravels his arm and walks towards Genji with his real hand out. “Name’s Agent Jesse McCree, Blackwatch. Everyone calls me McCree.”
“Ma-kku-ri,” Genji repeats. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Shi…” He stops. “I’m Genji.”
They shake hands.
Luckily, no one notices his hesitation. He hasn’t had to actually introduce himself to anyone since his resurrection. It’s a strange feeling. Shimada Genji just didn’t feel right anymore.
McCree lets his hand go and then sheepishly rubs his temple. “So, uh yeah, looks like I’m gonna be teaching you some English. What’s that word you guys use? Yoroshiku?”
The cowboy’s accent makes Genji laugh. Slow, robotic. Still wrong. “Yes,” he replies in Japanese. “Good effort.”
McCree smiles at him.
Genji feels it then, for the first time in weeks.
Like, maybe.
Maybe things are going to be alright.