Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hanzo had always tried to live without regret. Yet here he was, in the newly established Overwatch base. He had fallen by the wayside of life. The vision for his life had been shattered long ago. It had been pushed further by his brother's insistence that life didn't have to remain this way. He could be put back together. Of course, there had been no instruction on how to proceed other than an unofficial offer to join and the uncertainty made him uncomfortable. But Genji had asked him to make a choice, and out of a sense of obligation he found himself here. 

It was mostly quiet, clean, and almost peaceful. He had quickly adopted a routine to keep himself grounded: breakfast at dawn, before the others stirred. It was his way of avoiding the awkwardness of shared space. It had been a long time since he'd had to live with others, and he found himself more comfortable alone.

The base's residents, too, seemed to avoid him—perhaps out of fear, or more likely, anger. He preferred it this way. After breakfast, he would head to the training range. His daily routine had become almost ritualistic: wake, shower, breakfast, train, dinner, sleep—rinse and repeat. Overwatch had yet to decide what to do with him, but it didn’t matter. His routine was his anchor. Besides, he could make himself useful at a moments notice.

Life at the Watchpoint had been mostly mundane since his arrival. He’d kept to his schedule, staying out of the way. But even so, trouble had a way of finding him. His uneasy position in the organization, and with its members, was slowly beginning to weigh on him.

“Tch.” The sound of Cole Cassidy clicking his tongue echoed across the range. The cowboy’s disapproval was no secret. Hanzo had learned early on that Cassidy didn't take kindly to his presence here. His presence was a nuisance to him, and it seemed as though the man had taken to watching his every move. Hanzo gave no outward reaction, though he shared the sentiment.  

He focused instead on his practice. Stretching his muscles, Hanzo prepared himself. Cassidy’s grumbling faded as he knocked an arrow, breathing deeply. He released the string in one smooth motion. The arrow flew true, striking the target dead center. Good. The sensation of the perfect shot was familiar and calming.

He adjusted his stance, his muscles now relaxed but alert, and began his next round of shots. His body flowed into the rhythm. He knocked three arrows in rapid succession, drawing back and releasing them all at once. The arrows hit the center of the target once again, and Hanzo felt a swell of satisfaction. He prepared to strike again, but just as he exhaled, the sudden sharp sound of Cassidy’s revolver firing shattered his concentration. The impact of the gunshot was jarring—loud, abrupt, and crude. He'd shot Hanzo's remaining targets. Hanzo's irritation flared up, his shoulders tensing.

Guns. Hanzo thought, his grip on his bow tightening. How crude.

It wasn’t the noise alone that bothered him; it was the interruption. It had to be purposeful. The moment of peace, of focus, had been broken, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth. And he found it be true, the look of cruel satisfaction on the cowboys face was unmistakable. Still, he couldn’t let it affect him.

This was troublesome. It was not just the tense atmosphere whenever he was around the members of overwatch. It was the knowledge that Overwatch had become more than just a job—it was now his responsibility. Clearly this place, these people, were of great importance to his brother. He could not treat this lightly. He couldn't mess this up. Perhaps, this was his punishment. Fitting.

Hanzo deflated. Of course, things wouldn’t stay peaceful forever. As much as Hanzo had tried to isolate himself, there was no avoiding the people around him. It wasn’t just Cassidy who was a problem—Genji’s return to the base loomed over him. That thought alone twisted something inside The thought of facing him, of speaking to him after all these years, filled him with a sinking feeling. He'd forgone introductions with the rest of the Watchpoint residents, too. The familiar weight of guilt settled on his chest.

He quickly gathered his things, his mind racing. He couldn’t stay here, not in this headspace. He needed to be alone. He needed to think. And so, without a word, he left the range. The other man mumbled something, spitting at his feet as he walked by.

His room was the only place he could breathe. Once the door was shut and locked he exhaled. He felt less exposed behind these walls. Anxiety still gnawed at him, relentless. Each day, the anticipation of Genji’s return made it worse. He returned to the question of how to approach him. How would he approach the others? Was it even really him? This could just as easily be a trap, one he'd walked right into. Could he convince them of his loyalty? Did he even want to do that?

He sat down on the floor, knees folding under him. His breathing slowed as he focused on the stillness of his body, forcing himself to exhale the tension. You don’t deserve peace, he thought, closing his eyes. And he found this to be true. He didn’t deserve the small comforts he had managed to cling to. His past, his mistakes, his actions—they had all led him here, to this point, where every moment felt like it could collapse under the weight of his guilt. But he couldn’t afford to let it break him. Not now.

Hanzo focused on his breath, on the simple act of staying grounded, holding his body still and willing his mind to quiet. Even as he did, he knew one thing for certain: Despite his past profession, he did not work well under pressure.

Chapter Text

It had only been nine days since Hanzo's arrival at the Watchpoint. According to Commander Winston, Genji and other members of Overwatch would be arriving later in the day. He hadn’t met anyone besides Commander Winston and Agent Cassidy. He would have to meet the other members as well. Genji would be disappointed to learn that he hadn’t taken the time to meet everyone already on base. He had chosen to hide, and it was shameful. But shame had never stopped him from doing things that hurt his brother. Meeting more of his team members could only be troublesome. They knew what he had done. Genji claimed to have forgiven him, but it was clear some others did not take things so lightly. His arrival had been a surprise, but the commander had not turned him away. They’d given him his own space, permission to use their facilities, and even a communicator. Surely, that had to mean something.

Hanzo made his way to the dining hall as usual. He hadn’t had much of an appetite these last few days, but skipping meals would mess with his routine. To his surprise, another agent had beaten him there. How unfortunate—he'd done so well avoiding the base residents up until this point.

"Good morning."

He nodded in greeting.

"Usually, no one is here this early. My apologies if I'm disturbing you." She smiled softly.

"No, not at all," he said coolly.

He’d try to keep the conversation to a minimum. Preparing his breakfast and leaving was the top priority. She sipped from her thermos, content to leave him to his task.

Breakfast was usually a simple affair: rice, eggs, miso, and fish if it was available. He glanced over at her. She was still wearing pajamas: a white tee and blue pants with little polar bears. She seemed very comfortable in this space. Hanzo was not. He was used to being alone during breakfast, but now that she was here, it would be rude of him not to offer her part of his meal. He cursed himself internally at the thought that he’d been ignoring proper etiquette. Culture be damned.

He cleared his throat. "Can I offer you anything? There will be plenty of food."

She looked up from her drink, surprised. "If it's not too much of a bother," she said, almost bashful.

"Not at all."

It was silent again, except for the sound of food bubbling on the stove. This person was turning out to be pleasant company. She was quiet and polite. This was a far cry from the welcome Agent Cassidy had given him—no dirty looks or scrutinizing his behavior. Even Commander Winston seemed unsure of how to interact with him. She’d gained his favor by doing nothing at all.

"My apologies for the wait." Hanzo served her first.

"Not at all," she said, before realizing she’d copied him. She chuckled lightly. Once again, she seemed content to sit in silence. He hadn’t realized how valuable a pleasant silence could be. Maybe she was accommodating him, sensing his apprehensive nature.

Hanzo could be quite awkward. Repeating himself had been a habit for quite some time. He couldn’t say the wrong thing if he chose from the limited, sure-fire appropriate options. He chose not to comment on her parroting, digging into his meal slowly, careful not to upset his stomach. He was used to being in charge. Communicating with someone above him was something he'd have to get used to—one more thing on the long list of things to adapt to.

He was sure to finish his meal before her and quickly washed his dishes. He turned to her, bowing at the waist. "I apologize for not greeting you sooner." If Hanzo was anything, it was polite when required, and this person had been nothing but polite.

"So formal," she commented, mirroring his action. "There's no need. We're about the same age, I believe. Mei-ling Zhou, but everyone calls me Mei. It's nice to finally meet you."

"Ah, I see. I meant no disrespect," he corrected himself.

She chuckled again. "Not at all."

"It's been an honor to meet you, Agent Zhou." He bowed again, slightly less formally, and took his leave.

Unsurprisingly, Agent Cassidy was already in the training range. He sat polishing a gun—a large revolver, obviously well taken care of. It was quite rude to stare, but it seemed he'd gone unnoticed. He watched Agent Cassidy clean it methodically, as if it were second nature. He'd never really gotten a good look at the man. And since Agent Cassidy had been openly hostile, it made sense to study him a bit.

He took in the man's form. He was at least a few inches taller than himself and possibly bulkier. His hair was wild even with the hat, and his beard wilder. His left arm, a prosthetic, was about as large as his flesh one. His outfit was outright ridiculous. Such an unkempt man. Clearly, his fears were unfounded. Where Hanzo was lacking in height and bulk, Agent Cassidy more than compensated with raw power. His aim was infallible, and clothing like that would only attract unwanted attention.

"Jesus," the larger man jumped slightly. "Warn a man, would ya?" he said, not too kindly.

Oh. Hanzo had not made a sound on his way into the range—a skill he'd picked up in his early childhood. That explained why he'd gone unnoticed for so long.

"My apologies." If he'd scared the cowboy, he wasn't too sorry. Call it karma.

The cowboy got up but made no acknowledgment. "Ninjas," he grumbled under his breath.

He ignored Agent Cassidy's complaints. There were more pressing matters. He needed to move his body, starting with stretches, of course. Working himself to the bone would be the perfect remedy for his restless mind. And work he did: stretching, shooting, hand-to-hand simulations, and moving target practice to finish. He pushed his body, loving the burn in his muscles.

By the end, he was sweaty and exhausted. But his body buzzed pleasantly, and his mind was quiet. He didn't think about his brother just yet. He needed a shower first. There was a communal shower in the training range, but Hanzo preferred the privacy of his own attached bathroom. He set off for his room.

It had been a long time since Hanzo had a room of his own. It was far too dangerous for a mercenary to stay in one place. The room was nothing special. There was a bed, a desk, and a bathroom—bare necessities, but he was grateful. Even if his brother turned him away, he could appreciate the time he'd been allowed here. With that thought in mind, he stepped under the spray, making sure the temperature was to his liking. He scrubbed his skin thoroughly under the steamy hot water. He sighed all the while; taking long showers was another luxury he wasn't afforded on the road. Turning the knob to the left, he bent his head under the now cold water to wash his hair. He scrubbed his scalp, sighing contentedly. It was a shame this wouldn't last. He wouldn’t grieve. After all, this was more than he deserved.

After he'd dried himself off and dressed, Hanzo fell into bed. He wouldn't fall asleep. It was just to relax after a day of hard work. Not until Genji arrived. And with that thought, he quickly fell asleep.

Chapter Text

The room was dark, save for the faint orange glow of sunlight slipping through the cracks in the blinds. Hanzo stirred, the heaviness of sleep still clinging to him as his eyes fluttered open. His body ached pleasantly from the previous day’s training. He had fallen asleep. 

Genji was here.

The memory struck him like a blow, waking him fully. His chest tightened as the weight of the situation settled back over him. Today, he would have to face his brother. He had no excuses left, no more distractions. The thought was unbearable. 

Hanzo sat up slowly. He rubbed his face with his hands, the remnants of sleep doing little to dull the anxiety bubbling inside him. There was no avoiding it. But the thought of facing Genji now, of being seen, judged, was too much. His preparations had gone to waste. 

He stood, slipping into his usual clothing, movements deliberate and slow. Don't panic. The small bathroom mirror caught his reflection as he tightened his hair ribbon, and he found himself lingering, staring into his own tired eyes. The face staring back at him was a stranger’s—haunted, worn, uncertain. When had he become so unrecognizable? 

“Coward,” he muttered under his breath.

It was too late. The air in his room suddenly felt suffocating. He needed space to think, to breathe. His pulse thrummed at his temples, his ears ringing, drowning out the distant hum of the base. Time had slowed to a snails pace. 

He needed to get out. 

Without a second thought, he grabbed his bow and quiver, slinging them over his shoulder before stepping out into the hallway. The quiet halls stretched out before him, empty in the early morning hours. His feet moved quickly as he searched for escape.

The walls seemed to close in on him the farther he went. Each corner turned felt like a dead end, every corridor too narrow, too exposed. His breathing grew shallow, and his chest tightened. He couldn’t face Genji—not like this. Hanzo’s eyes darted to a nearby staircase. Instinct took over, and he climbed swiftly, the sound of his footsteps swallowed by the thick silence of the base. The stairs spiraled upward, offering no clear destination, but he didn’t care. All he wanted was to get away.

When he reached the top, he found himself before a small, unmarked door. He pushed it open, the hinges groaning faintly in protest, and stepped outside. The sudden rush of fresh air hit him like a wave. Hanzo froze, his body tense as he took in the space around him. He was on the rooftop.

The wind carried the faint scent of salt, a reminder of the sea just below. The open expanse of the rooftop was a stark contrast to the narrow corridors below, and for the first time today, Hanzo felt like he could breathe.

He walked slowly across the flat surface, his feet barely making a sound against the concrete. His gaze drifted to the edge, where the rooftop overlooked the surrounding landscape. The cliffs were steep, jagged, the ocean below churning. Hanzo lowered himself to the ledge, his bow resting at his side as he leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees. The tension in his chest began to ease as he let the stillness of the rooftop wash over him. It was quiet here. Isolated. Safe. The air was cooler here, crisp and biting against his skin, but he welcomed the chill. It was better than the stifling air inside. 

He had fled to the rooftop like a coward. The right thing to do would have been to meet with his brother, to speak to him properly. But what could he say? He couldn't erase the past. There was nothing he could do. If there was nothing to be done, then why had he even bothered coming here? 

The soundless world of his thoughts broke when something brushed his shoulder—a light, almost imperceptible touch, but enough to send a jolt through him. Hanzo twisted sharply, his hand instinctively darting for the tantō at his waist.

"Brother,” Genji said softly.

Hanzo froze, his hand hovering above the hilt. He hadn’t heard a single sound. Nothing. He'd forgotten Genji could move just as silently, if not more. The thought sent a shiver up his spine. 

"Genji." Hanzo's voice faltered. He quickly removed his hand, forcing himself to relax. 

“You’ve been avoiding me.” It wasn’t a question. "You’ve been here for days, but no one knows." Genji’s voice was even, no anger in it, but the guilt still hit him hard. It still felt like an accusation. 

His gaze dropped to the ground. It was true. He had avoided them, every single one of them. The quiet between them stretched, thick and heavy.

“I didn’t come here to make pleasantries,” Hanzo said, his voice low and bitter. Genji said nothing, clearly waiting for him to say more. “I came here to pay back what is owed. I owe you my life because I destroyed you. I killed you, and you—” He faltered, his words breaking up. Saying these things out loud made him nauseas. But he didn’t look away. Silence filled the space again. This was the price he had to pay, and if it cost him his life, so be it.

Finally, Hanzo shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flickering to the ground. He couldn’t meet his brother’s eyes. “I... I do not belong here,” he muttered, the words falling from his lips, heavy and final. He stood at the edge of the rooftop, distant—physically and emotionally. 

“You only claim to have forgiven me. Once you come to your senses, you will have what is owed. This place and these people, they mean nothing to me."

“Hanzo…” Genji’s voice softened, but it didn’t reach him. Not anymore. Hanzo’s eyes were distant, unfocused. Genji shifted, slumped slightly. There was a quiet sadness in his posture, perhaps, or pity. “You don’t have to earn this, Hanzo. We don’t owe each other in that way anymore. The past is behind us. What matters now is what you do with this chance.”

“I don’t want anything more,” Hanzo spat. "I don’t want your pity. I don’t want your forgiveness. I will give you my life, because it’s the only thing I can give." Hanzo’s voice was shaky, almost desperate. 

Genji was quiet, contemplative, before he spoke. “Then if you’re giving me your life, Hanzo,” he began, “I want to give it to Overwatch. I don’t want you to go back into hiding. I want you here, Hanzo. To try and live for yourself, not just for me. You can be here for something greater." 

Hanzo said nothing. The silence was disheartening.

Genji sighed, the sound robotic and alien to Hanzo. "Perhaps, I am a fool to think there is still hope for you, brother. But I do."

Hanzo didn’t look up, his gaze fixed on the ground. Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet. “I will try. But I make no promises.” He met Genji’s gaze, his voice firm but with a trace of the resignation he had long carried.

Genji gave a small nod. "I will hold you to it." He turned and made his way down the stairs.

Once Genji was out of sight, the tension that had held Hanzo upright shattered. His legs buckled beneath him, and he collapsed to the rooftop, hands bracing against the cold stone. His breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, as though he were struggling to catch up with his own body. He tried to push himself up, to regain some semblance of control, but his muscles betrayed him, trembling with weakness. It was all so foolish, wasn’t it? To have agreed to this. To let Genji think that this was the way forward. This didn’t make the weight of the past go away, or the fear that his brother was still waiting for something he could never provide.

This was foolish. But it was done.

Chapter Text

Cole Cassidy wasn’t a good man. He’d never claimed to be. He’d done things, terrible things, when he was younger and even worse when he knew better. He carried those sins, they were still heavy on his heart. But he’d clawed his way out of the muck, one step at a time, into something resembling redemption. Joining Overwatch hadn’t washed him clean—it didn’t work that way—but it had given him purpose, a way turn his past into something better. Still, Cole knew has hands weren't clean. They never would be. He wasn't a good man, but at least he was trying.

That was more than he could say for Hanzo Shimada.

Cassidy had read his file. He'd heard stories, each one darker than the last. A crime lord, an assassin, a kin slayer. A man who had shredded his own brothers body to bits. Then walked away with bloodied hands and sharpened steel. The kind of man who left ruin in his wake.

So when Hanzo had washed up at their doorstep, Cassidy had recognized him immediately. The resemblance was uncanny.

Hanzo was carrying nothing but a small bag over his shoulder and holding a communicator in one hand. The man walked with a quiet, deliberate pace, his face calm. Cassidy pushed himself off the wall and sauntered forward, his hand resting on the holster of his revolver.

Cassidy let out a low, humorless chuckle, face serious. “Can I help you?” His tone dripped with sarcasm as he stepped closer.

Hanzo stopped just short of the door, his sharp eyes locking onto Cassidy’s. “I’ve come to speak with whoever is in charge.”

Cassidy’s lip curled into a sneer. "You’ve got some nerve, Shimada, thinkin' you can just waltz in here after everything you’ve done." The audacity of this man. It disgusted him.

Hanzo’s gaze didn’t waver. “I have no illusions about my past, nor do I expect forgiveness. But I will not justify myself to you.”

Cassidy’s fingers twitched, his thumb brushing the hammer of his revolver. "Listen, you’re gonna save everybody a lotta trouble if you just turn around and walk outta here. Hell, I’m sure Genji’ll thank me later for sparin’ him the headache.”

Hanzo didn’t flinch. “If that is your decision, so be it. But I’ve come here at Genji’s request."

“I'll take it from here Agent Cassidy,” Winston’s voice broke the tension as he walked into the room. Cassidy couldn’t help but notice the flicker of surprise in Hanzo’s eyes. It wasn’t enough to break the man’s stoic demeanor, but it was there.

He huffed. "I didn’t realize we were lettin’ in just anyone these days.”

Winston gave him a worried look. The tension obviously making him uncomfortable.

Cassidy tipped his hat back, throwing Winston a nonchalant glance. “What? Just makin’ sure we all know what kind of company we’re keepin’ these days.”

Winston approached, his kind eyes meeting Hanzo’s with a mix of curiosity and calm consideration. “Mr. Shimada,” he began carefully, adjusting his glasses. “Genji had already spoken to me about your arrival. He believes you can be a valuable asset, and I trust his judgment. Once everyone returns we'll discuss your employment further."

“Agent Cassidy,” he began, his tone pleasant but firm, “Please show Mr. Shimada around."

Cassidy, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, straightened up in disbelief. “You want me to play tour guide for him?”

Winston’s brows furrowed ever so slightly, and he looked at Cassidy not unkindly. "I trust you'll keep things professional, Agent Cassidy. I’d like Mr. Shimada to feel welcome here. It’s important, for all of us.”
Cassidy snorted, muttering something under his breath before shrugging. “Fine. C’mon, Shimada. Let’s get this over with.”

Hanzo inclined his head politely toward Winston before trailing after Cassidy.

Cassidy's tour of the Watchpoint was, at best, begrudgingly perfunctory. The cowboy didn't bother hiding his irritation. He strolled ahead without so much as a backward glance, his spurs clicking faintly against the floor.

“This here’s the hallway,” Cassidy drawled, waving vaguely at the long corridor.

Hanzo followed silently, his expression neutral.

Cassidy continued with a lazy motion toward the next area. “That’s the mess hall."

They reached the training range, where Cassidy shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned against the frame of the door. “Training range."

Hanzo stepped inside, his eyes briefly scanning the space.

Cassidy pushed off the doorframe with a grunt and gestured toward a hall. It felt wrong to give this guy the lay of the land, but he pressed on. “Down there’s the bunks."

The cowboy turned abruptly, already heading back the way they’d come. “That about sums it up,” he tossed over his shoulder, heading toward the nearest exit. He wasn’t about to waste any more of his time. “Good luck,” he muttered under his breath, though there was no sincerity in these words.

As he made his way to his room, Cassidy’s thoughts turned inward. He hadn’t exactly been thrilled to see Hanzo show up at the base, and he definitely wasn’t thrilled about the idea of being stuck with him. He didn’t trust him. The fact that Genji had vouched for that man didn't sit well with him, he couldn't be in his right mind. And Winston was too trusting, had always been a bit naive. Hanzo wasn’t going to get a free pass here, not on his watch. He’d keep an eye on him, stay close, and make damn sure he wasn’t here to stir up trouble

Chapter Text

The briefing room was tense with the low murmur of conversation as everyone took their seats. Genji had insisted on this meeting as soon as he'd arrived.

Winston, always the calming presence, was the first to break the silence, his deep voice cutting through the room. "Thank you, everyone, for being here," he said.

He began, his voice quite loud. "I'm sure many of you are wondering about Mr. Shimada's sudden appearance. Let me make this clear, he is here because I believe he has something to offer. I trust that he will be a valuable asset. "

"Hold on a damn minute," Cassidy said, leaning forward. His voice louder than usual, full of unfiltered irritation. "It was bad enough that he was allowed to stay here. We’re seriously talkin’ about lettin’ him in?"

The room fell silent, all eyes turning to Cassidy. Hanzo tensed, but his expression remained neutral.

"That’s not fair, Cole," Genji said banging his fist on the table. "You’re not even giving him a chance."

This startled him a bit. An outburst like this was unlike Genji.

"You’re kiddin’ me, right? I’m not gonna just sit back and pretend that everything’s fine." Cole held his ground.

Winston shifted uncomfortably, clearly eager to avoid escalating the situation further, but he spoke up, his voice a little more cautious. "Agent Cassidy," he said, "I understand your reservations, but we’ll have to find a way forward regardless."

Mei, who had been silent up until now, spoke up gently. "I think we should give him a chance."

Cassidy sighed, disgruntled. "Not you too."

"I think Cole is right." The base's resident doctor spoke up. No one else seemed eager to come to Hanzo's defense.

The room charged with tense energy. Winston spoke up again. "I'm sure at least a few more of us are feeling wary. So going forward, Agent Cassidy will be responsible for your integration and training, Mr. Shimada. Think of it as an internship of sorts." He laughed heartily at his own joke. "I trust you can handle that, Agent Cassidy?" He asked.

Cassidy’s eyes narrowed as Winston spoke, and the weight of the situation settled in. “Hold up,” he said. “So now you’re sayin’ I’m the one stuck watchin’ him?"

Winston adjusted his glasses, his tone measured. "You’ve been vocal about your concerns regarding Mr. Shimada’s presence here. This arrangement allows you to address those concerns directly. If you’re concerned about his intentions, this is your opportunity to evaluate them firsthand.”

Damn, he was clearly outclassed. Objecting here after causing such a fuss would only make him look bad. “Fine,” he said after a long pause. "If I’m keepin’ an eye on him, it’s only ‘cause someone needs to make sure he doesn’t step outta line.”

Winston nodded. “Thank you, Agent Cassidy.” Everyone else had remained silent, unwilling to stir the pot as Cassidy had. Winston cleared his throat, bringing the briefing to a close. "We’ve reached a compromise for now. We all have our doubts, but let’s try to get along!" He said ever the optimist. "Welcome aboard Agent Shimada."

Hanzo gave a bow at the waist to everyone in the room. "I will not fail."

With that, the meeting slowly broke apart. As the briefing room emptied, the atmosphere remained charged. Genji lingered near the door, watching as Cassidy made his way toward the hall. The air between them still felt heavy.

“Cassidy,” he called, his tone sharp enough to make the cowboy pause.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, I ain’t got time for this, Genji. You made your call, and I made mine. Let it go.”

“I won't let it go,” Genji replied. He was tense, clearly angry, but he kept his composure. He turned his chin up at Cassidy. "You are bold to look down on anyone."

He turned back to Genji, sighing deeply. “I ain’t doin’ this to hurt you, Genj. I just don’t want you to get burned again.”

Genji’s fists clenched at his sides, and when he spoke again, his voice was sharper. “You think I don’t know who he was? Do you think I haven’t suffered because of it?"

Cassidy deflated. “That ain’t fair and you know it.”

“No,” Genji said softly, “What you did in there wasn’t fair. Not to Hanzo, and not to me. Don't pretend to be concerned for me.”

His jaw clenched, the weight of the accusation settling uncomfortably behind his ribs. He couldn't possibly be at fault for trying to protect everyone here. He opened his mouth to respond, but Genji was already walking away.