Chapter Text
Hanzo Shimada had a bad habit of falling asleep in rather arbitrary locations. Before he joined the recall for Overwatch the man spent a lot of time constantly on the road or in hiding; ten years of running across the world in search of occupation, even if temporary, and currency that would help satisfy a roof over his head.
More times than not he covered himself with a weatherproof jacket and slept on the rooftops of high buildings where his presence would not be seen with his Stormbow kept woven around an arm in the case he would need to defend himself. When it would rain or snow he would dig out his heavier-set clothing and try to wait it out until he could get a new job to pay for room and board.
On a hot summer’s afternoon in Nairobi, Kenya, Hanzo received a call from an unknown number recruiting him for the recall of Overwatch. The male on the other end explained that the call was in an association with the Shimada name, to which Hanzo was not yet given the privilege of knowing. Hanzo was “an example of a perfect addition to the mission of protecting the world from anomalies that plagued the borders of-” Hanzo tuned out a little after that. He was positioned on a hotel balcony with Stormbow nocked and aimed for a high profile target. The money was extremely handsome.
“And why do you think I would join your cause?” Hanzo had asked the man - he had called himself Winston, if Hanzo remembered correctly.
There was an amused laugh on the other end, “I had figured you’d ask this question, and I came prepared. I can either give out some leverage to get you here or I can persuade you with a good salary. Which would you like to hear first?”
A burly man walked out of the bank across the street, his clothing too bright for such a summer day, letting his hands move around in his conversation to an older man on his left. Sweat pebbled down Hanzo’s temple and he exhaled slowly, his muscles relaxing, as the arrow left it’s place and hit the target between the eyes. A second arrow followed its shadow taking out the associate. Moving quickly, Hanzo grabbed his few things and began for his brisk exit. “You choose.”
“Then I’ll give you both. I can call back if you’re busy,” Winston sounded a little concerned.
“Tell me now, I’m impatient.” The archer entered the stairwell and took steps three at a time as he made for the roof.
“The sum in which you would be paid matches six figures, all holidays paid double time. Room and board will be provided.”
Hanzo scoffed into his earpiece, “You expect me to stay there? I need more incentive than that,”
A stern sigh came, “Sensitive information regarding one Genji Shimada is in my possession. Regarding such information that occurred after his death,”
For a very brief moment Hanzo stopped breathing and his feet quit moving, but he couldn’t stop at this moment. He’d be arrested in approximately six minutes and forty seconds. Blinking and then beginning his ascent once more, the roof less than a minute away, he replied coldly, “It is not a secret, what I did. The crime I committed has stained my ledger. There is no reason to try and persuade me with information I already-”
“I’m going to be brass with you, Mr. Shimada. My intel and I know that your brother contacted you on the anniversary of his death last fall in Hanamura, his identity was made very blunt, as I was told. We have had you followed from time to time keeping up on what you’ve been doing and where you’ve been because your brother had wished it upon us; that one day you would be a good ally for Overwatch. We know that you strive to bring down your family’s clan, the Shimada-gumi, and that you still try to find some sort of redemption for murdering your sibling,”
The wind was sharp on the roof. Hanzo scaled it carefully and grabbed the bag he left for this escape and dug through it quickly pulling out some jeans, a button-up shirt, and a black jacket. He began to strip as fast and efficiently as he could storing his outfit in the backpack. “You do not know me. You do not know the clan. Please, do not speak acutely of what you do not properly know.”
“Then come and show my intel wrong. I’ve already sent you the address in a secured message, once it’s closed it’ll delete itself so make sure you know it well. I look forward to seeing you, Mr. Shimada.”
The line went dead.
Hanzo pulled his hair out of its tie and slipped a beanie on over his head, casual sunglasses framed his structured face. Scaling back down in a path he had already predetermined he shuffled himself into the crowd that formed outside on the street, medical vehicles had already been summoned and were taking care of the bodies and taping off the area. Even though the archer was sweating in his new outfit, his bow taken apart and packed in a suitcase at his side, he blended in with the crowd seamlessly.
Looking down at his phone he saw the address that Winston had sent, it’s black letters searing like wounds of the past. Frowning at it he memorized the address easily and opened his travel app.
The next flight to Rabat was in six hours. Holding down his phone he hailed a taxi and began to the hoverport.
---
Rabat greeted him warmly, the bliss of air conditioning left inside the port. With a short vibration his phone gave him instructions on where to meet the ship that would sail him to Winston’s location. Hanzo sneered with distaste and followed the instructions carefully.
The ship was fairly sized with enough room to house forty or so guests, and Hanzo almost wished the duration on the boat was long enough to get some rest, but it would only be a couple of hours and he grimaced to himself at the lack of sleep he had gotten in the last twenty-four hours of travelling.
A cowboy hat like the ones from those ancient American films danced wildly against the strong winds that came up from the sea, a tan hand held it in place. In the first fifteen seconds that the archer had to analyze the man before him struck him goofy. Such an odd place to wear such attire as a serape and boots with spurs. This wasn’t the Wild West that once existed in a past America, this was a time period where omnics and humans coexisted peacefully, both eras hundreds of years apart.
“Howdy, there, I’m McCree. I’m with Overwatch, Winston assigned that I meet you here since I just landed myself,” the man’s voice was drunk with twang and gravel, a Cigarillo lit in one hand. It was getting to be too dark to see most of McCree’s features, but Hanzo could concoct he had dark skin and dark hair, his clothes were musty and dirty from the travel he spoke of. A mission, most likely. “You must be Shimada-san, it’s a pleasure,” he held out a gloved hand with a criminal smile on his face. Criminal because it was too thick with charm.
“Thank you. Though, you do not have to address me with the formality of my home country. It is appreciated, nonetheless,” Hanzo shook the cowboy’s hand without returning the smile. “My stay is not definite. I am simply here regarding personal information,”
McCree let out a low laugh, “Don’t worry none, Shimada-san, erm, I mean Mr. Shimada, even if your stay is brief it’s better than none,”
Hanzo smirked a little, “Is that so? Even if I were to steal highly sensitive information and leave without a trace? I’m sure that wouldn’t sit well with your superior officers, or whatever it is you’d call them,”
“Trust me when I say that Overwatch can find anybody anywhere. Hell, as far as I know you’ve been tracked for some...what, six-odd years? I don’t got the privilege to read the files, but we know how to do our jobs,” McCree answered coily. Without a moment’s pause he wove a hand to the ship, “Ready? It’ll just be us and the captain,”
This made a brow rise, “Just three?” Hanzo contemplated the situation and felt a small voice at the back of his mind tell him to be wary. Maybe they brought this man to kill him, that his body would be dropped in the Mediterranean sea to be lost forever. With those thoughts and his defense of how skilled he was, Hanzo took the risk. “Lead the way.”
McCree left Hanzo alone for the first half hour so he could get comfortable on his own. The cowboy went up on the top deck and began speaking with the captain - Hanzo could just barely hear their voices - while the archer went to the bow and looked out at the ocean.
The sun was halfway set under the horizon, oranges and purples streaking and blurring with the black sky that came closer with each passing second. Stars began to shine here and there, but it would be sparse until it was fully dark, Hanzo looked forward to seeing them and pointing out which constellations he could name.
It was chillier on the sea than it had been inland, the ending of the day was also a factor in the cooling evening. Finally Hanzo found that the jacket he wore came of use. With his hands in his pockets he fiddled with a pack of gum in one and a wadded rapper in the other.
A sweet smell of tobacco came to him, the image of McCree following at his side. Resting against the railing - his hat was no longer on his person at the moment, Hanzo hoped it had flown overboard - he took a drag on his Cigarillo allowing smoke to plumb out of his nose and mouth. “The first time I sailed to Gibraltar I was seventeen and was scared shitless. Thought I was gonna die there given the circumstances I arrived on,” he took another drag before resting his arm next to his other. Hanzo now realized his left arm was mechanical. “I remember the little boat me and my boss was on, I thought I’d piss myself by the time we got there,”
“That is very young,” said Hanzo.
“Right? I was a stupid kid,” he laughed and brought his mouth up to his hand again. The tip of the Cigarillo illuminated the cowboy’s face in darkness that now had embraced them. “But I didn’t die, obviously. I assume a man with your background and profession don’t get scared o’ much, ‘specially not somethin’ like this, but I would think there’d be some apprehension. Maybe a little anxiety,”
Hanzo laughed, “Are you trying to crack me, cowboy? Attempting to seize my emotions as kindred? Please, do not take me for a fool,”
“You ain’t no fool, Shimada-sa-, shit, sorry. Mr. Shimada. You’re anythin’ but. All I’m doin’ is tryin’ to make small talk since we’re both here and whatnot,”
“I suppose you’re right,” Hanzo shrugs though he guesses McCree probably cannot see it in the dark, “and I would be lying if I said I was...completely calm about the given situation I’ve put myself in,”
McCree looks over to Hanzo and the archer guesses the man is smiling at him, maybe thinking he was victorious in something. “All of us know at the watchpoint how dangerous you are, we’d be stupid t’a mess with you,”
A chuckle escapes Hanzo, “It is nice to be respected and recognized for my talents,”
“I heard you got a skill for guessin’ facts about people, like their lives and such,”
“Yes,”
“What do you see when you look at me? As a test, of course,” McCree smiles in the dark again.
Hanzo hated that he was being charmed by this man. It was so easy for him to make conversation with a stranger. If comforted and scared him simultaneously. His guard was still up. “Of course. A test.” Looking up at the cowboy Hanzo took detail of scents he caught and the overall aura of his presence. “The distinct fragrance of champa is on your attire, specifically your serape, which tells me a couple of things. I thought maybe you were travelling in Egypt in the gardens to the north, but then I detected cardamom. Himalayas, possibly, You use your serape as a blanket when needed or as a pillow on the occasion you cannot find shelter. Dirt is scuffed along your forearms and knees, I noticed it when we boarded, which means your mission must have ended abruptly before you flew here. You must have fallen in a brawl or you would have washed your clothes. Or at least brushed them off, but you didn’t. The hat you wore, though briefly, I saw a couple of stains which looked like blood. Mud, most likely, but then I saw the cut down your elbow which you patched up yourself. Floss, I think. No supplies on hand, then. The mission was solitary. Your right hand shakes when you pull it up to smoke, you lack sleep or food, my guess is the former.”
McCree whistled and slapped the railing with his free hand, “You’re good! Damn good, at that. You got all but one detail wrong,”
“Will you tell me or should I see if I can find it?” Hanzo was enjoying himself, his smile was genuine.
“I’ll give ya a minute to see if you can,”
Closing his eyes, Hanzo ignored the salt on his nose and hair and pulled in the aromas on McCree’s clothing. It was still there, the two fragrances mixed with dirt and grass. But then he found something else, and he opened his eyes. “Asafoetida. Pakistan. I was close,”
“You’re one hellava impressive man, Mr. Shimada, but you got the country wrong which tells me you’ve made mistakes before,” the Cigarillo illuminated his face again. He was smiling. “Or you made this mistake on purpose. Not sure I care which one it is, but it makes me a little fearful if you stay with us we won’t got no stories to tell ya, you’ll already have figured ‘em out,”
“That’s debatable,” Hanzo answered pulling out a stick of gum and unwrapping it, “depends on which stories I want to hear and which ones I want to read myself,”
The two men were in a comfortable silence until McCree finished his Cigarillo. Stubbing it out on the railing he held it and began back into the innards of the ship, “‘Bout an hour out, if you look to the left you’ll be able to see the lights soon,” and then he disappeared.
---
Watchpoint: Gibraltar was seated on the cliffsides that overlooked the Mediterranean sea. The building was large and industrial, the Overwatch emblem was painted proudly on the highest columns, the orange and white paint lit by colossal lights that were at fixed positions around the base: a helipad blinked with red lights at the top of the main infrastructure, and an arch with two tall columns bore a small walkway between them with a stairway that lead to a higher storage facility that was exposed to the elements.
Two figures waited outside before the archway as they neared the docks in a cave under the point. Light fixtures littered the wall in symmetrical patterns as a large dock came into view. Other boats, about as large as the one Hanzo and McCree were in now, were stationed securely and bobbed slightly as they brought new waves in. They were white with chrome decal, the logo missing on the vessels, with iron chains that kept them in place. Along the wall there was an opening stairwell that led upwards, the pathway was built into the rock with impressive architecture, and besides the stairwell boxes and crates displayed life vests, tanks of gasoline, buoys of various shapes, and some extra rope and chain.
Hanzo was impressed but did not physically show it. Instead, he followed McCree who had lit a new Cigarillo up the stairs - the driver of the boat backed out of the cave not a moment after the two men left - and brushed off his serape.
When they came to the top there was a door and another room with multiple computers and wires for other tech devices, McCree cleared his throat and spoke, “So there’s only two here right now, but that’s all right. They basically co-run the place anyhow. First is Winston, an’ don’t be surprised by his appearance. He’s an ape. And Angela is this Swiss genius, she’s nice until ya cross her, so be careful where you spread your displeasure,”
Hanzo had not expected the words ‘he’s an ape’ to come out so casually, and when the archer was about to comment on such a weird joke, they finally arrived outside to the dark and walked towards the two that were there to greet them. Winston was a large gorilla outfitted with glasses and an overcoat. Hanzo held his jaw in place as to not let it hit the floor. He had heard rumors of Winston when Overwatch debuted back in the day but never had he cared to watch their videos or interviews, that was always his father’s duty. To size up the enemy, of sorts.
“Welcome to Gibraltar, Mr. Shimada!” Winston boomed excitedly. He held out his paw waiting for Hanzo to shake it, but the man took a hesitating moment to return it. “I think I speak for all of us in Overwatch at how thrilled we are at your arrival, even if it may be abrupt,”
“The honor is mine,” Hanzo replied, his head bowing shortly.
“You truly are a marvel to us,” the blonde at Winston’s side spoke in a thick accent, her posture prim and professional. “Thank you for taking the time to come here. I hope it will not be a waste of your time,” The archer analyzed her white lab coat with her name embroidered on the breast pocket, Dr. Angela Zielger, and the rather laid-back t-shirt and jeans underneath. Her glasses were pushed up into her hair.
Only for reading up close. Hanzo suspected.
“I expected there to be more people,” he expressed honestly.
“Ah, yes, apologies. The rest of our team are currently off on missions. They’ll be arriving back sporadically within the next week,” answered Winston pushing his glasses up. “For now it’s just us four, respectively,”
Angela seemed to think a moment and said, “There are about seven others that are stationed here. Sometimes an additional two or three will come and go depending on if we have something for them to take care of,”
It was still a rather small number, but given the background of his own self, he assumed that the rest of the team were far more capable than a mere dozen individuals. Especially if his sibling was involved.
“Well, we won’t waste your time out here, McCree will give you a short tour of the basics. We can go into more depth tomorrow after you’ve rested,” Winston smiled, “I have dinner being prepared so it’ll be done in about half an hour,”
There wasn’t a cook? Hanzo smirked at the domesticity and turned to McCree who he could see more clearly now, “Lead the way,”
With facial hair that was in dire need of a trim, amber eyes glossed over Hanzo’s features with a shy smile, “Right this way,” he showed a glove hand inside.
Restlessness grew in Hanzo’s limbs but he shook his head willing it away. Now wasn’t the time to get anxious about something.
McCree shows him the mess hall with the large kitchen attached, the hangars where they have training sessions and practice shooting, and then the living quarters which were up on the second floor. Each member had an assigned room equipped with a twin bed, a small bathroom with a basic shower, toilet and sink, a dresser, a chair, and a bookshelf. It was enough for one person to live comfortably, Hanzo supposed.
A few of the doors had stickers and paper stuck to them. The one across from his own room, a small plaque read his name Shimada, Hanzo, was decorated with pink stickers of bunnies and things in Korean sprawled in glitter. Song, Hana . A few drawings of were taped on it, and a little whiteboard that read in English: Mission time! Let’s go!
“Angela said she put some basics on your bed to start you off. We usually go supply shoppin’ twice a month to get us things we need, including personal items you might want,” McCree explained with a hand on his hip, the pistol at his side now visible. “I mean, if you stay,”
“Thank you. May I look around on my own?” Hanzo asked setting down his backpack and case with his Stormbow.
“Sure ya can, I’ll go help Winston with gettin’ things done. I’ll come get ya when we’re ready to eat,” he tipped his hat and walked away, the spurs on his boots singing.
Hanzo went down the long hallway of doors looking at each one, inspecting their door art to try and decipher what kind of person they might be.
At first Hanzo thought the rooms were in alphabetical order given that Hana Song was next to his own, both having S last names, but next to his room on the right was a plaque with Correia dos Santos, Lúcio. Pictures of frogs and music stars littered his door at random and Portuguese quotes were written in sharpie on the metal.
Each door had something unique on it, a sticker or something that someone taped to it. There were a couple doors that only had one or two things, but the rooms were well lived in, they were claimed and warm even when Hanzo could not enter them.
The hallway ended with a window that overlooked the ocean, at the right of the window a door bore holes into his chest, his legs ached at the name.
Shimada, Genji
He swallowed hard looking at the pictures of Genji in his cyborg body with various people, some group photos of the Overwatch team; a childhood photo of he and his brother when they were in their early teens. Genji threw up a peace sign while Hanzo stood obediently, a very small smile at the corner of his lips. It was old and looked like it had been folded once before, a crease down the middle flattened open with tape. Reaching out to the photo, Hanzo pressed his shaking fingers on the image and closed his eyes.
Denial was thick in his blood, it built walls so high in his mind that he could never scale them, could never reach the top; he would fall back to the ground and keep on with what his mind wanted to believe, with what he wanted to forget.
Genji had visited him a few months back in their home, their shrine, but Hanzo did not want to believe it. How could he face his brother after what he had done ten years ago, how could Hanzo look his brother in the eyes and say...explain…attempt to...
Shame swept him into a wave and he let his hand drop from the door, a knot tightening in his chest. Guilt crushed his throat and Hanzo inhaled trying to clear his mind.
“Dinner’s ready - hey, you all right?”
McCree’s voice pushed him into reality, a lingering tightness teasing. Hanzo opened his eyes and looked to the cowboy, “Yes, sorry.” he walked down the hallway and McCree led the way.
The backtrack to the mess hall was a blur, a memory that wasn’t important or worthy of noticing. Angela was pouring water into tall glasses and four places were set around a large circular table welcoming them to sit. Winston wore a simple apron and held a bowl of steaming mashed potatoes.
“Pork is on the stove, but you can dig into everything else at the table,” Winston set the bowl down and looked to Hanzo with a gentle smile.
“Thank you,” Hanzo grabbed the plate from his spot - Angela and pointed to one and stated it as his - and went to get some meat.
Dinner was quiet at first but once McCree - his first name was Jesse - began a story from his recent trip Winston and Angela began laughing and made comments on this and that. Hanzo listened but did not catalog it. Winston was vegetarian. Angela dropped potatoes on the floor. McCree laughed.
I should not have come here.
Hanzo filled his mouth with green beans and chewed, his mind occupied and plummeting fast. He did not show it on the outside, he could never burden them with his baggage and mental illnesses, he would hold it in for himself only. Wash it down the drain of his shower, sleep the daytime nightmares away, scrub his hands free of the scars he wish he could erase. So, he ate and nodded when appropriate, his mind on autopilot.
Why did I come here.
Angela had made a chocolate cake to celebrate Hanzo’s arrival and he was handed a piece as Jesse slapped him playfully on the back. He smiled and ate the piece slowly, thanking them once again for the warm words and hospitality.
“You know how to get back to the dorms?” Jesse asked grabbing the empty plates from the table, Angela and Winston were loading a large dishwasher of other dirty dishes and pans.
“I think so,” Hanzo answered thoughtfully. “If I get lost it will only be an opportunity to learn the grounds better,”
Jesse chuckled, “I guess that’s one way of thinkin’ about it. Ah, I got an idea,” he set down the plates and grabbed one of the disposable napkins. Searching for a pen he got up, hassled one out of Angela, and then returned next to the archer. “Here we go,” he started drawing boxes with lines and corners and then a couple of stick figures. He handed it to Hanzo, “A reference map,”
Hanzo laughed at the figures of himself and Jesse in the mess hall and nodded his head, “Thank you.”
“No problem, amigo. We got the kitchen all sorted out so you just head on back and do what you like. We’ve got a meeting tomorrow afternoon once a few others return, so sleep in or look around, I’m just a few doors down from you if you want a tour guide. I’m usually up around eight or so,” Jesse grabbed the plates again and stood up to finish his task.
Hanzo kept his eyes on the small map and nodded once more, “I will be up then. I will let you know what I decide,”
The map was perfect and led him back to residents’ ward. He stood before his door and pressed his thumb against the small glossy pad above the handle - Angela had told him this while dessert commenced. The door chimed happily and unlocked upon his print.
How the print was obtained, Hanzo would find out the next day. He had questions about that.
The room was lit with two lamps to bid him welcome, a small card sat on his bed ready to be opened and read. A bag of toiletries were neatly organized on the navy comforter next to a set of clean towels and extra clothing. There was a laundry bag with instructions on how to hang it in the closet hidden behind a moveable wall and directions to the laundry facility in the basement and how to use the machines.
A small box rested on the left pillow with a white piece of paper folded down the middle, part of it stuck up enticing Hanzo to open it.
There was no art or pictures on the walls, they were left bare and empty waiting for someone to mark them with life.
The box was just black and simple, a golden ribbon tied around it and bowed on the top. The note was in Japanese, the handwriting still sloppy like it was years ago:
Home is not as far away as you may think.
Hanzo set the note aside and slipped the string off; the lid came off easily. A package of strawberry pocky sat on top. Plastic wrapped daifuku sat near the bottom with some herbal tea bundled up securely so it wouldn’t sour. At the very bottom was a photo of he and his brother when they were extremely young in traditional attire, their father beaming between them as he held each of their hands in his.
The man thought this trip would be easier. Get in, get out. Get the information he wanted and leave and never come back, he didn’t want to face his brother in person. He didn’t want to make this a home, this wasn’t his home this was his brother’s home. Jesse’s home, Winston and Angela’s home.
Hanzo didn’t belong here, this bed wasn’t his, the walls would not bare his memories. That damned plaque would be torn off and thrown into the ocean and it would sink to the bottom to be forgotten about. That’s what he wanted.
To be forgotten.
The shame and guilt never truly left, it would simply hide and play in his mind until he was alone. It would put on a smile and be polite when there were others to observe him, to look into his eyes and see the hatred he kept for himself.
Clutching the picture in his hand he squeezed it shut, the image folding into his palm. He threw it across the room and slammed his fist into the mattress. A yell escaped him as he threw another punch at the bed, the pillows moving.
Hard of breath he scrunched his eyes closed and pressed his hands to his face willing himself to calm down, to reign in his emotions, to be in control of himself.
But he was failing. Night was here and he was supposed to sleep and rest off the exhaustion from the day’s travelling. The bed looked painful, too rewarding for a back that did not deserve it. Hanzo hated it, he hated the fire in his limbs that wanted to pull at his hair and put a hole in the wall.
He refrained, difficulty, to sit himself on the hardwood floor with his back against the wall. A smoke sounded good, or some whiskey if he had been wise enough to bring some, but without a vice he had to use one of his own coping skills that did not involve in harming his body.
There wasn’t ice to grasp so he started to count backwards from a thousand. With his eyes closed he envisioned the numbers and said them aloud, purposefully letting his hands splay open so they were not holding in the energy.
This is temporary. I do not live here. I will return to my life in a few days.
It became a mantra in Hanzo’s mind, the words spilling into Japanese the more the thought them, the sound of his voice becoming more relaxed with each minute that passed.
Hanzo thought he had spent hours in this position on the floor, but only half an hour had retired while he unwound.
Looking at his room once more he laid on his side and wrapped his arms against his chest, his knees bent with his feet against the wall. There he would sleep and comfort himself with the thoughts of sailing away from this rock and going back to his normality.
Hanzo would dream of cherry blossoms in his hair and the sun on his back.