almightythirst | Open Post

“I do.”

He answers without hesitation this time, voice steady and clear. This is the most he can do for Hanzo now: be honest with him and not drag this out any longer than it has to be. Hardly a comfort though, he knows, and not anything worth feeling even remotely good about.

He grits his teeth against the urge to reach out, or say something to try and push that familiar, deceptively neutral expression from Hanzo’s face. He knows it too well. It took him months to even realize it was a mask; almost a year, if they counted the time he spent hunting Hanzo before that.

But who would he really be benefitting if he did that? Hanzo, or himself?

Jesse lets out an unneeded breath and looks away, a bit of that humanity that stubbornly sticks with him rearing its head yet again.

“But I didn’t tell him we were coming. Haven’t had a way to get in touch with him since we met.” There and gone, like a ghost.

"And yet you were content to say nothing our entire journey here."

It's a good thing he doesn't reach for him. The movement would be poorly received, at best. Everything in him is rallying up in a cry of I knew it, I knew it, I knew it while he tries to maintain his composure in what at a surface-level look appears to be nothing short of betrayal.

But there's more to be learned, first. Not the name. Jesse had given his word, long before he felt any sense of obligation towards his sire. Even if his feelings had genuinely changed and this was not somehow a long game of ridiculous proportions -- not an option Hanzo entirely discounted, regardless -- a word given was a bond. It was a matter of honor, at that point.

Grudgingly, he can respect that.

"How did they find you?" His eyebrow raises quietly. "Another hunter?"

The first thing isn’t a question, so Jesse doesn’t answer, letting the statement speak for itself. Protesting would be a waste of everyone's time.

The next thing though, that he can address. And that Hanzo is even still asking questions at all, rather shooting him with an arrow or leaving is… well, not a good sign. But not a terrible one either.

“A hunter?” There’s a brief flash of a smile, very nearly without any humor at all. “In a way, yeah. He…” Gone is the featureless stillness with nothing to give away. Jesse is plainly weighing his options and either can’t—or won’t—pretend that he’s not debating how truthful to be.

“The first time I… first time bloodlust got the better of me. He kept things from bein’ worse than they were.”

People who hadn’t deserved to die had, and there was no taking that back. But it would have been bloodier without Genji’s intervention.

Jesse finally slips Peacekeeper back into its holster before turning back to Hanzo to face him fully. "I would've said somethin' before now if I thought he planned on hurtin' you." No doubts apparently that the masked assailant could hurt Hanzo. It's merely a matter of intent.

Now, that facade breaks.

Now, Hanzo's lip curls into half a sneer, a dismissive hiss between his teeth. Abruptly he turns away, the feather slipping into a previously unused pocket in one smooth movement.

"Do not."

He doesn't want to hear the reasons why, he doesn't want to be placated or reassured. And if Jesse tries, the veneer of calm is not going to last much longer. Every ounce of him is tense with the effort, and if he just...focuses on the task at hand? The relevant information?

He can refrain from letting loose some very ugly, very unkind words, and maintain some sense of decorum.

It’s impossible to keep up a matter-of-fact demeanor soon as Hanzo lets his own true feelings show. The sight of it, the sound—it tears into him.

He'd done this knowingly. It still didn't mean he wanted to see Hanzo hurting.

“Hanzo.” It’s his turn for his voice to slip into quiet, the sound of it raw around the edges despite the lack of volume. “Don’t what?”

He steps forward, of course. Puts his hand on Hanzo’s shoulder, grasp firm with the intent of trying to turn him around. Let Jesse look at him. Let him say… something, to try and explain himself. Even if it’s not an apology, and not the whole truth.

The moment that hand lands on him, Hanzo's flies upwards to smack it away in a swift deflection. No, he doesn't get to sound like the hurt party, here. He doesn't get to look sadly into his sire's eyes and work those devilish charms of his.

Hanzo's eyes are positively icy when they cut back towards the hunter. "You know what," he replies, his tone low in warning. Don't push, it says.

As though that's ever stopped McCree before.

If Jesse heeded common sense on a regular basis, he and Hanzo wouldn’t have ever even met. Given that, it should be no surprise when he doesn’t step back, even with the full force of those eyes on him. No surprise either as he seems to rally himself to continue on, determination plain to see despite the clear warning.

“If I knew, then I wouldn’t've asked.” He has no right to the hint of impatience in his tone, though it’s really a feeling bourne of anxiety. They’ve fought before. They were enemies before they were anything else. But even so, this particular kind of betrayal and animosity is uncharted territory between them. How this will go, how (if) the damage done can be repaired... it’s all unknown.

And Hanzo is correct. Jesse has no right. But if he was selfless, this entire situation wouldn't be happening.

"Do not tell me why you thought keeping this from me was somehow in my best interests," he replies in a snarl, shoulders squaring off as Jesse pushes. Because of course he does. And he can feel his patience with the entire exercise unraveling swiftly.

He never should have let his guard down, from the start. First Sombra. Selling secrets to his family. Now this. What else isn't he being told, for whatever reason Jesse can think to rationalize?

Like a fool, he'd trusted him. And while he's more angry with himself in the moment, that doesn't mean his tone is any less scathing.

"Leave. Me. Be."

Jesse doesn’t try to touch Hanzo again, hand hovering in the air between them before he lets it fall.

“Wasn’t going to.” Even if he’d like to, what is he going to say? The truth isn’t his to give, and Hanzo doesn’t need any more lies. He grimaces at the tone of the other man’s voice, glancing to the side once more only to force himself to look back and meet Hanzo head-on.

“I can’t explain it all right now anyway. I…” he stops, struggling to find the words. His silver tongue isn’t so good at saying the things that matter.

And as Jesse tries to speak, someone else watches from the nearby rooftop of another building, visible should anyone look with a keen eye. He’s been there for some time, in fact, crouched on the roof tiles, head cocked to one side in a way that might be thoughtful. Hard to tell with the mask covering his features.

If Hanzo had been more focused on Jesse, he might have missed the figure entirely. Jesse had a way of swallowing up his worldview, something he was both aware and wary of. Rather than let the anger boil over, he jerked his gaze away again, moving towards the window...

And then swiftly drawing his bow again.

This time there's no pause, pushing past the glass doors leading to the balcony and taking aim at the shadow there, face framed by that mask. That mask. No stranger had a right to it, and that anger that had been seething inside finally finds a place to focus.

It snaps. And his hand releases, sending the arrow piercing through the air, towards the figure there on the rooftop.

It happens so fast that any human watching might have blinked and missed it. Hanzo fires, and the masked man has his sword unsheathed almost simultaneously. In the time it takes the arrow to reach him from Hanzo’s position, the man dodges to the side and swings up with his blade. As he straightens up and stands, Hanzo’s arrow falls, now neatly cleaved into two pieces.

It had been completely unnecessary to cut the arrow in two. At best, it’s showing off. Worst, it’s an insult.

Jesse steps up behind Hanzo, the beginnings of a question dying on his lips as he stares at the familiar silhouette over his sire’s shoulder.

“Hanzo-” he starts, a hint of warning in his voice, just as the masked man raises a hand. The quick crook of his fingers is pretty difficult to misinterpret.

Come on.

Impossible.

The vampire feels his hackles raising. The warning barely slips past Jesse's lips before Hanzo is simply not there anymore, a shadow leaping through the night air towards the beckoning figure. The image of a ghost, taunting him. Whoever is wearing that mask will pay for coming here.

Swiftly, he reaches to ready another arrow, and before his feet find purchase on the roof he's fired another arrow for the bastard's throat. He's forgotten everything in that moment save seeing him bleed and fall. Everything except standing over his corpse and tearing that mask from his face.

He was unworthy. No one had the right, least of all this interloper.

Jesse swallows a sound of frustration as Hanzo leaps out into the night. It’s reckless, which is all the more frustrating given how careful Hanzo is the rest of the time. If this hadn’t been Genji, and if Jesse hadn’t been so sure that murdering his elder brother was a motive off the table, he’d go leaping out on his sire’s tail.

Instead, he heaves a heavy sigh and takes Peacekeeper out of its holster. Better to be prepared than not.

On the rooftop, the masked vigilante is dodging Hanzo’s last arrow with the fluidity and confidence of someone who might as well have been expecting that exact attack. His momentum sends him sliding back over the roof’s tile towards the ground- but at the last moment he jumps backwards into the open air, vanishing into smoke before he can even fall.

“You’re faster than you ever were, but just as predictable.”

The smoke manifests at Hanzo’s back, along with the sound of feet touching down just behind him.

For a moment he follows in pursuit, to the lip of the roof, only to realize seconds later that he's been had. Of course. This person, whoever they are, has been tormenting his family for months now, evading all efforts to corner and catch him. All while using techniques that should be so familiar.

Smoke. He should be picking out the scent of the components, tracing his movement. Listening for a heartbeat. But this sense of reason and composure has fled him, shredded in the sight of the facade in front of him.

It isn't Genji's face, but it's close enough. In pictures, it is one thing, but to see it as he turns around to face the thief, his senses are assailed with memory. It floods back to him, rage and guilt soaking through and dampening what should have been carefully honed instinct, and he pulls back on another arrow with gritted fangs, nocking it and setting it loose with inhuman speed.

"Do not speak as if you know me. Thief."

And with inhuman speed, the masked figure angles his body so the arrow flies past him rather than through. Not human, clearly, but not a vampire. His blood runs hot, unlike his brother’s. Like Jesse’s might have, once.

“Curious choice of words. Can you steal something that belongs to the dead?” He spins, sword lashing out like a lightning strike. Sharp, precise, its intended point of contact the bow in Hanzo’s hand.

“You were content enough to let it sit in the clan’s hands.”

Quick as blinking Hanzo shifts and deflects, catching the edge of the blade and wresting it to one side. Not quite strong enough to disarm, but still of the mind that this? Whoever it is, it is an enemy.

"It belongs to a dead man. As it will again...!"

And this time he ducks low, sweeping with the storm bow to catch his opponent at the legs.

The man hops to avoid the bow at his feet, landing within range of another strike should it come. Whatever his goal, running away doesn’t seem to be a part of it.

“I didn’t think you would be this sentimental.”

Instead of raising his sword, he reaches up for the mask instead. The fact that Hanzo could easily put an arrow in him in the meantime seems of little concern.

“But I should have guessed. You did come back every year, on that same day, to pay your respects.”

That confidence rolls right over bravery to foolishness. Does he hope the former Shimada scion will strike him down where he stands.

No time wasted, he readies another arrow as the stranger lifts a hand to the mask. Does he intent to surrender it, in the hopes of having his life spared? What game is he playing? Questions upon questions tumble over in his mind as his dark eyes narrow, fixed on his quarry.

"Who are you?"

Hanzo has always favored action over words, has he not? The mask is slipped off with a steady hand, the movement not fueled by haste or hampered by a need for drama. And beneath it, predictably, is a face.

Arched eyebrows, notched at the ends in the signature Shimada style. Black hair swept up and back from his face. It’s familiar, but not the same. Not with the scars crisscrossing over his skin. He holds the mask out for Hanzo to take, deep brown eyes watching closely in case Hanzo decides to fire after all.

“Hello, brother.”

If he wasn't dead, his heart might have stilled in that moment. The face engraved into his memories as lifeless and pale, staring back at him in a living, breathing form.

"...Genji."

Whatever he'd prepared himself to see, it wasn't that.

The tension doesn't leave his form, even as his eyes widen. No. That's impossible. It's a trick, some illusion meant to throw him off, which just infuriates him all the more. The bowstring draws tighter still.

"No, that cannot be. My brother is dead," he hisses through his teeth, almost as if to convince himself.

Genji smiles, a wry twist to his mouth that says he’d expected just this sort of denial, even if he would have preferred to go without it. He continues to offer up the mask, his stance not shifting an inch.

“That’s true, in a way. The Genji you knew then is dead, just like the Hanzo I once knew. But you’re still here, and so am I.”

He glances down at the arrow pointed at him, considering the prospect of Hanzo firing.

"You don't seem convinced."

"How could I be?" he snapped in turn, dark eyes sharp as flint and burning in the cool night air. It's too easy to recall those last moments, holding his brother's bloodied body in his arms, realizing what had happened. What he'd done, in his mindless hunger. A part of him had shattered forever in that moment...and perhaps that had been the point. The cruelest lesson possible in the importance of severing one's humanity.

That same humanity that had been threatening to blossom once more, with Jesse's aid. Now, as if on cue, the very reason he'd taught himself to grind such emotions into the dirt under heel presents itself.

The arrow doesn't so much as shift, his poise untouched even as something rough enters his tone. "Prove it, then. Prove you are who you say. Tell me how he died. If anything less than the truth leaves your mouth, they will be your last words."

Genji closes his eyes for a moment, his frown deepening. But when he looks at Hanzo again, there’s no uncertainty in his gaze.

“They wouldn’t tell me where they’d taken you.”

His own voice betrays a hint of frustration, even now, so long after the fact.

“You disappeared, and I knew they’d done something. But the elders had stopped trusting me with much by then. The more I asked, the less they said. The more strict they became. It was impossible to sneak out anymore—which you know is saying something, for me.” A hint of a smile, there and gone as he continues. This is more than Hanzo had asked for, but should this go badly, he still wants him to know.

“Then one day, they said they would take me to you. So easily. It was suspicious, but I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t know where you were, or what they’d done to you, and it had been weeks. So I went.” His tone grows softer. This next part is the hardest to revisit.

“They brought me underground, to a part of the compound I hadn’t known existed. And you were there. Caged, and you looked… ill. You were suffering.” His grip on the mask tightens, and he pulls it a little closer to himself. “I thought they had tortured you. And when they forced me into the cage as well, I thought the same would happen to me. I didn’t know… until you looked at me. It was the first time I’d ever felt truly afraid of you.”

And though it brings him no joy to say, this is what Hanzo had asked for.

“Then you attacked. I was no match for your strength, though you were weaker than either of us is now. You used your hands. Your teeth. They had starved you, and you killed me in your bloodlust.”

Slowly, the bowstring goes slack.

The arrow lowers as he listens to Genji recount that terrible night in perfect detail. How well he recalls that pulse of fear, the quiet questioning voice before it was savagely silenced. Images and sounds that haunt him even now, but those ghosts are his. No one else had been there with them, save for the elders. No one else would have possibly known what transpired.

Slowly, anger gives way to stunned surprise, to shame and guilt, and then the quiet dawning of realization. It has to be him. With stunning clarity, he knows it to be true, and Genji only looks as if he is waiting for Hanzo to catch up to the truth of the matter.

"...how is this possible?" His voice is hoarse, now. He's not entirely sure how he manages the words at all.

Genji’s answering smile is sad. Knowing, in a way. The weight he has had to carry isn’t the same as Hanzo’s, but it’s been no easier to bear. And he knows what Hanzo’s burden has done to him all these years.

“Like you, I became something else. Unlike you, I had a choice.” He glances up to where Jesse still watches, then looks down over the skyline of Hanamura. “It still took me many years to accept what I had to become to survive. It took longer still to forgive you. But I have, brother.”

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