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Chapter Text

The mountain air was crisp, if thin. The day had been cool, and as the evening had begun winding down, master and student had agreed to stop in one of the many valleys among the mountains. Every now and again a goat would yell out across the rocks, settling their kids in to rest themselves.

They were ten days into their trek, which put them at the halfway point. It was early Spring, and the high pass was technically clear for the season, but the peaks would stay white until the summer months. The snow itself wasn't a nuisance when it did get blown down the rocks, the real enemy was the fluctuations in temperature the mountains set upon them. Their route had already been delayed by the occasional snowdrift, but the need to stop and reheat internal mechanisms was ever present. Surprisingly it was always Zenyatta who had to request a rest. Despite his time in Napal, it seemed no internal heat source could keep pace with the climate like Genji's natural biology could.

The energy expenditure had taken some toll on his master, as the omnic was unusually quiet and withdrawn, leaving Genji to his own devices. His own thoughts.

Not a too terrible thing.

In the valley there was at least dense trees and enough of a clearing for a fire to chase off the night's approaching chill. Zenyatta sat immobile beside it, without even a slight motion of his meditation orbs. He'd warned that this would be a possibility. Genji had insisted he wouldn't mind.

And he didn't. Not really.

It was just strange to see him so still, so quiet, but awake. Aware. Occasionally he would catch a glimpse of his master watching him, but he wouldn't say a word. Not until the fire had warmed him deep into his metal skeleton.

Genji used this time to practice. To train. Sometimes he would climb the trees, leaping between them to find a way to the very top of the highest one without touching the same tree twice. Sometimes, if there was a sheer face to the mountain, he'd attempt to climb it; finding purchases and footholds all over, attempting to catch the many goats who made it look simple enough. More often than not, he'd end up sliding back down the mountain face, unsuccessful.

Tonight, however, Genji was practicing combat stances. His katana swung through the air, swift, light, and silent as it was deadly. It would leave its sheath for but a second in a flash of green. And then a quiet click as it was just as quickly put away. In the dark, he darted from place to place, partially to keep warm in the shadows aways from the fire, but also to occupy his mind. His thoughts had a way of creeping up on him in this kind of darkness. The artificial lights covering him dimmed and he disappeared into the night, unreached by the firelight.

He could see his master, unmoving, but aware. He would act the part of prey in tonight's game. Could Zenyatta tell where he was? Not by sight, as he hadn't turned away from the fire. His sensors might be able to pick him up, but he must have a range.

Genji moved two hundred meters out. Each movement he timed with the rustling of branches in the breezes through the pass, his footfalls silent as he went from rock to tree to grass to rock again. Finally he was up in the trees to Zenyatta's back. If he was quick, he could move in before he could react. Even if he was noticed, it'd be too late.

Zenyatta raised his head, shaking it a little as if to loosen the joints. He must finally be warm enough. Genji could see him, scanning the tree line, looking for his student. But he was looking the wrong way, and the wrong elevation. He could be taken out in the blink of an eye out here. The great Zenyatta, cut down by his own trusted student.

Creeping thoughts, indeed. Genji decided to at least startle his teacher. There was only a slight sound of friction, a mere rustle, as the ninja launched himself from his perch, closing the distance with remarkable speed.

Just touch the back of his neck, show him that you had him

One hand gripped the hilt of his sword purely out of muscle memory, but his free hand was held out, ready. He was ten meters, five, two-

You have him!

He didn't. Even as Genji was sure he'd touched Zenyatta, his fingers grasped empty air. He was startled by his miss, and stumbled to not go ass over teakettle into the fire. With a quick reaction, he managed to nimbly hop over it, landing facing where his master still sat, except leaned so far forward over his knees he was nearly bent in half.

"Very scary, Genji." His master sat up, mirthful, with even his meditation orbs beginning a slow rotation. Genji could only scoff and grab another log for the fire.

"How'd you know?" He asked, sitting behind Zenyatta to lean his back against him. The meditation orbs spread out their rotation to encompass him as well. Zenyatta's back was still cold and felt refreshing after the practice.

"I knew where you were not," the steady vibration of his synthetic voice rumbled through his spine, calming and steady. "Which is much of the same as knowing where you are."

Genji could only reply with another huff, disappointed. If he couldn't even catch Zenyatta by surprise, he feared that Hanzo's skills may still be beyond his reach. He felt his blood momentarily boil at the thought, but he quickly stretched and flopped his legs out in a short tantrum to suppress his rage.

"What is the saying...?" Zenyatta was leaning back against him, the orbs coiling tight to keep his student from fleeing, "is it...'Parcel for your thoughts?' Or pennies?" He seemed to not be entirely sure which, but the way he leaned back indicated he knew his message was clear. "What is on your mind, my pupil?"

The last thing Genji wanted to talk about was Hanzo, or his anger, or his flirting with the idea of returning the favor of being put into this miserable half life. Dismantling the Shimada Clan had been its own kind of catharsis, but his brother continually escaped his grasp. Escaped his revenge. It was such a faraway habitual hatred by this point, with so many other demons to face before he could turn against that devil at the core. That one would have to wait.

"I've just been bored without you here," he conceded, stretching his arms up and pushing back against the omnic. "I keep getting caught up in my own head."

"Yes," Zenyatta pushed back again, almost reclining fully. Genji just let him, he was flexible enough. "That's why I asked. Shouldn't what's caught inside your head come out?"

The student propped his chin up on his hands, sighing and watching the long dancing shadows cast by the fire. They seemed to take the form of dragons, twisting across the ground and between the trees before vanishing into the darkness of the night.

"Not just yet," it was quiet, but Genji knew his master heard him. He didn't get up immediately, but he didn't press it any further.

"You were too slow," Zenyatta finally said as he sat up, holding one of his orbs to condense some warming energy into it. "I knew where you would come from, but you were also too slow."

Genji had plenty of excuses. It was cold. The air was thin. He hadn't been going in for the kill. But none of them seemed to matter. None of them would matter if he was a real target and got himself killed. He only nodded bitterly as he got up to tend the fire.

--

His dreams seemed to mix with reality of the dancing dragons in the trees. Several times Genji was certain he'd woken in the night to see them creeping closer in the dying light of the embers. Once he thought he saw them try to take the form of a man. The dream was bothersome enough that he actually got the fire started again to keep them at bay, even though the coals were going cold. Zenyatta hadn't stirred through any of it.

It was starting to bother him. He was too slow. He needed to practice. It was perhaps another hour or so before the sun would rise. Genji wasn't going to get any rest as it was. He'd have to catch those dragons some day.

He'd have to cut them down some day.

Moving away from the fire, Genji started with a target. A modest sized tree. It had taken root into the rock, stubbornly dug in deep and not likely to move before the earth would crumble beneath it. Perfect.

Genji started with basic stances, going through simple motions to wake his sleep stiff muscles back up. The more he moved, the more he imagined the tree as his brother. Stubborn, immovable, uncompromising, and standing tall.

Ah, Hanzo, the eldest son.

Genji could feel a slight twitch in his hand as he gripped his blade.

The most respected son.

His legs felt light, easily carried by the growing heat that colored his vision red. He circled the tree, surrounding it with his fury.

The heir to the Shimada Clan. Perfect precious Hanzo.

There were three strikes, none of which made a sound besides the telltale click of a sword returning home.

Hanzo, who knows best.

The tree collapsed, cut cleanly into sections, but even as it's branches and solid trunk crashed into the stony roots, Genji still saw those dragons, dancing in the shadows. Laughing in those shadows. His anger was turning white hot.

Hanzo who cut you down. Who left you to die.

Genji ducked low into the shadows, stalking after the phantoms of his own mind. He could hear the rush of blood in his ears. He'd catch them.

Hanzo. The reason you are-

Each time they seemed to try to take shape, he'd lash out, cutting through the trees they'd fallen on, clearing his own path, and yet still the dragons danced out of his range, mocking him.

-This thing.

Inhuman, with even less place in this world than what the omnics had forged for themselves. A displaced amalgam of man and machine. The shadows were becoming more solid, taking shape in the shadow of the trees, even making quiet steps. Each beat of his heart made him feel like he was filled with molten iron. If Genji Shimada had to go to war with the entire world for his cause, for his purpose of gutting those dragons, so be it. And if the world were to fight back, then it would burn to cinders and be crushed beneath his undying hatred. The foot falls were getting louder. The phantom was coming for him. He wouldn't be too slow this time.

He couldn't.

And he wasn't.

Everything was fuzzy. A sickening crackle thrummed deep in his skull. What was that? Where did it come from? He looked down at his blade soon enough to catch some sparks dancing between the metal of his hands and the sword, each light sending a dizzying shock up to his head. Where-?

"Ge- en-enji?" It sounded like Zenyatta. Like some twisted, distorted version of him. The roaring of blood in his ears was starting to subside. Genji glanced back at the carnage he'd torn through the valley. The fire's embers gave the entire scene an under lit orange glow. Why would his master lay so? His legs looked so uncomfortable like that. So unnaturally splayed at so odd an angle. And his arm was so far away, lights dancing up from the exposed live wires in their death throws.

The ninja hadn't realized he was at the omnic's side until he was gazing down at the full scene of his destruction. Time seemed to wrap around the moment, the faded light seemed to make the whole valley look haunted and unwelcoming. His master twitched so unnaturally, so robotically. His entire arm had been severed below the shoulder and a clean diagonal cut separated Zenyatta's upper half from his lower half, which lay still in a mockery of his usual meditative stance.

"Master?" The omnic's remaining hand only had one finger other than his thumb, and they curled continually at the air, as if trying to grasp something. Genji didn't understand yet. He couldn't be seeing this. His master didn't make these sounds. The snap of crackling wires, the hiss of depressurizing pistons, or the quiet slush of leaking coolant and oil that mixed together to coat the grass and rocks in a sickening shimmer. His master's meditation orbs didn't lie scattered about, immobile and dark. Who was this cut down omnic that looked so much like Zenyatta?

"Gen- e-eee-enji?" The question repeated, garbled, going shrill in the middle, confused, and perhaps a little scared. Reality returned to Genji. He dropped to his knees, his sword discarded among the now ominous tree stumps without thought.

"Master Zenyatta!"

"Genji?" Zenyatta seemed to be becoming more aware of his unfortunate condition of being in pieces. "I've lost co-on-on-ontrol of my- my- my" oh Genji didn't like the way he stuttered. The way his synthesized voice seemed to separate itself into conflicting tones, the way it all was at odds with itself.

"Hold on," Genji couldn't figure out what to do with his hands. They hovered over the severed parts, the twitching hand, the blinking yellow lights, trying to decide if it would be better to pick him up or leave him still. "Oh, Master I'm so sorry."

"I need to sshhhut do- shut down," what was left of his hand found Genji's visor, and the ninja fumbled to take it off. By the time he had it open and the mask free, the Zenyatta's lights had started to dim, his twitching slowing. "Don't be af-e afraid." his voice was constantly scratching against consonants, and Genji couldn't help but flinch. It was easy to forget that his master was almost entirely artificial. That he was a robot. It seemed sacrilege to think, even as the evidence was gathered into his arms. "I- I haven't give-give-given up o-on you."

And then the lights went out, and not even an idle hum could be heard within.

Chapter Text

It was some time before Genji made a decision on what to do next. It was difficult to tell how much time had passed, as he had sat by the silent omnic pieces, drifting in and out of awareness. He heard the sputter of something within Zenyatta's chest and noticed that the sky was dark, the stars watching in cold apathy and his eyes felt sore and wet. Then there was a whirr of something kicking on, and Genji dully noted that the western sky was a deep red, but then silence again. Later still, a quiet hum rose from the torso. The sun was high overhead.

When the small sound of life didn't immediately stop, Genji allowed himself to feel at least some relief. Some hope. With it came a relentless fatigue. Every bone in his body wanted him to lie down. To sleep. To pretend that this was the dream and the dragons that had kept him up were his new reality. But, as tempting as it was, the student couldn't bring himself to rest. He had to take action.

His lips still salty with tears, he gathered the parts he could find, putting the meditation orbs and severed arm into their provisions bag. He couldn't find the missing part of his master's other hand in the carnage. He'd have to just let it go. More pressing was what to do with the lower half. It was dead weight. He couldn't take it with him. He instead resolved to take his master's clothes. New legs and hands could be made, but these were likely Zenyatta's only worldly possessions. He'd keep them safe.

He wrapped the clothing around Zenyatta, and using strips of rags, he managed to fashion a harness he could use to carry his master's torso on his back without too much trouble. He had a sickening moment of deja vu, his back pressed up against Zenyatta's, warming it in front of the fire.

After a quick vomit, Genji found his sword and faceplate among the tree stumps. Oil clung to the blade. It would need extensive cleaning to salvage the cutting edge. He couldn't even bring himself to look at it when he put it away.

Help wasn't going to come to them out here. He'd have to get them through the pass. He thought of turning back, going the way they came, but the sky that way was dark. A snow from the stubborn winter's end was moving in, and it would make things more difficult. He'd have to try to outrun it among the mountains as it was.

Once he'd left the valley, he found his first hurdle was the simplest, and yet the most looming. Genji was in no way familiar with this path, Zenyatta had been leading the way.

Still, he pressed forward.

Initially the way forward had been obvious. The path cut a clear divot in the earth. He could feel the rumble against his back when his master would occasionally regain power, but it wasn't enough to tell if he was idle or conscious. Ironically, his silence was taken as both good and bad news. He had been largely silent for the first half of the trek, after all. The quiet hum was all Genji needed that his master would be fine. He just needed to be put back together again. There was hope.

Things were easy enough that the student allowed himself to think positively. Without having to constantly stop, he could probably get through to the other side in no time. Sooner was better than later, as carrying the extra weight was taxing. Genji could feel his legs burn at the continual effort to go up one slope, and then the counter balance as he went down another. Grass became scarce under his feet, turning to unyielding stone. The thin air bit at the back of his throat, and seemed to coat his lungs in an ice that burned. Still he pressed on.

The path was becoming less obvious. Sometimes steep crags would cut it off entirely, making Genji panic that he'd gone the wrong way, only to find that, with a little climbing, the path was above him, broken by some shift in the tectonic plates. Sometimes deep canyons cornered him against a mountainside, with little room to maneuver. Once or twice he thought he saw the pass drop off, having collapsed into the abyss, but it always seemed to be an illusion, brought on by the snow falling from higher up, caught in the wind and attempting to block the way. The looming cloud was catching up, with the winds often reaching a screeching gale, depositing snow and sometimes sleet wherever it pleased.

Genji's heart was determined to lodge itself in the pit of his stomach and add additional burden to the already heavy one on his back. Now it felt like each beat was a punch in the gut as he stared down two branching paths. The pass very clearly forked, one going down into the canyon that he had be skirting, to some spacious cavern carved into the side of rock, and the other leading further up the slopes, the wind wailing down it. He had to choose.

Zenyatta would have known what to do.

Zenyatta's not here.

Genji shifted his precious cargo, trying to see if he could get a response, or anything. The slow vibration against his back faltered, but continued without change. He should never have left the valley, or at least tried going back the way they had come, weather be damned. He felt he would have had better luck retracing his steps rather than forging ahead. He was committed now.

The cavern looked small from where he stood, but the path to it was serpentine, twisting back on itself as it went down the walls of the gorge. The darkness that was starting to cover the sky made the decision for him. If he was fast enough, he could use it for shelter. The upper path looked too exposed for any kind of storm, and there was no guarantee it would even lead anywhere. A stuttering in the humming against his back pushed him further. He couldn't keep Zenyatta out in these elements. At the very least he knew there was a place to wait out the weather down there.

Since the pass often doubled back on itself, Genji only needed to drop to the next ledge, and then the next. Bracing against the wind, he looked over the edge. The vertigo was immediate, his heart racing. If there was a bottom, he couldn't see it, but he could see the next ledge, and that was all he needed. Genji tried to go as quickly as possible, hyper aware of his balance on the precarious path, and the weight he carried. Each change in the wind was another threat against him, but still he continued downward.

As he got closer, he could see the cavern was a considerable size, with massive pillars, stalagmites, rising from the floor where they almost touched equally massive frozen stalactites reaching back down from the ceiling. They seemed to writhe as he watched them through the particles of frenzied snow. Like the mouth of a waiting dragon.

Bastard.

The winds were screeching against him, and snow was starting to fall in earnest. It seemed to freeze instantly against his joints and made the path more treacherous. Whatever tension he felt was instantly dissipated by a shudder against his back. He had to get out of the storm. Now.

Speed was risky, but Genji found he didn't much care. He only needed to keep his feet under him and the ground under those. It wasn't much further. He could rest soon, check on his master, sleep.

The icy path betrayed him at the mouth of the cave, but only succeeded in bringing him to his hands and knees. As if this waiting dragon demanded subservience before it would grant him any comfort. A petty sort of betrayal.

Genji shook his head to clear the image from his mind before crawling inside. It was cold. As the cyborg moved further into the cavern and out of the snow it grew colder still. At the very least it was mostly dry. He could feel himself shivering, his limbs trying to give out from exhaustion. When had he last slept?

The dream of those dancing dragons tried to infiltrate his mind again, but he brushed them off for now, too tired to indulge in the anger. At least his back was warm. Actually kind of hot.

Confused, Genji carefully laid his master against a wall of the cavern, sitting him up as best he could before digging into his bag, looking for the source of heat. It was one of the orbs, activated and radiating warmth.

Ah yes, he remembered. Zenyatta had stored this the night he-

Genji pulled off his face plate so he could wipe the quickly forming tears out of his eyes. The orb was hot to touch and burned in his grasp, but he held tight to it. Energy. Life. His master's life was right here in his hand.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to it, before settling against the wall next to the rest of his teacher. He would have forgiven him, wouldn't he? He would have at least known what to say.

He slipped the orb into the clothes wrapped around the omnic before pulling him close to his chest. Zenyatta always needed a moment to warm up out here. He'd be fine. Genji just had to wait and everything would be fine. He could tell him about what had been on his mind and why he'd almost killed him and everything would be okay.

The darkness of the cave tried to form a nightmare for him, but it wasn't enough to keep him in the one he was already living through. He was too tired. Entirely too spent. The slowly spreading warmth made the lie easier to believe, and he let himself slip into a fitful sleep.

--

At first Genji thought the wetness on his face was water from the cave, until a warm metal finger brushed it away.

"Wha- dreams could-ould bri-you to tears?" Zenyatta was touching his exposed face. His lights were dim, barely brighter than the darkness, and his voice could hardly be heard. The entire cave was holding its breath. Outside the storm had passed, without an errant breeze to disturb them. Genji didn't move. He couldn't. Zenyatta was awake, alive.

"Master?" A whisper. There wasn't much space between them, and Genji could still feel some warmth, though it was slowly fading. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many things he imagined he would, but instead he could only ask, "Are you in pain?"

The finger against his face twitched before wiping away more of the tears that fell without heed.

"No." Genji gasped a little in relief, holding back what he could only feel as solid agony in his throat.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry I did this to you." The partial hand gave up on stopping the now steady flow of tears and instead rested on the side of his face reassuringly.

"I can't sta-ay- stay, my- my pros- -sks -sessing pro- pro-" It would be alarming to see any omnic in this state, but it was especially so for one so articulate and controlled as Zenyatta. Each stutter, hiss and errant snap in his vocal range chilled Genji down to the marrow as he struggled to communicate. And it was getting worse. He squeezed him, as if physically holding him would keep him from fading away. As if he alone could hold together all the broken and missing parts.

Genji couldn't hold back his quiet sobs any longer. He curled tighter around his master, trying not to notice the way the omnic's inflection became less comforting and more monotone, more clinical, though no less disjointed. "Processing Core daaaaa- -amaged. Execu-cu-cutice functions rebooti-" the silence that cut off his master was tense as Zenyatta went heavy and dark once again in his arms. Each passing moment seemed to scream out that he'd heard his last words. His master's death rattle was some prerecorded diagnostics and status update. Utterly artificial and robotic repetition.

No.

The cold was creeping in. This was his fault. His loss of control, his rage, his inadequacies and his struggle and ultimately his teacher had paid the price. There was a whirring as something sprung to life again, but the lights stayed dark. There was a crackle, a low buzz and then several beeps before a very clear message played from somewhere deep inside Zenyatta's chest.

"Death is as certain as life itself. I am not afraid."

The beeps repeated once more before all was quiet again, save for the lonely student's wails that echoed through the cave and off the unfeeling mountains.

Chapter Text

How long had it been? How long had he been walking? How long since he'd last slept? How long could he continue to go on? Genji walked only because it was easier than stopping. Easier than laying down his master, lest he lack the strength to pick him back up. To keep going. What he doubted more than his strength, however, was his will, as over his shoulder he could feel the eyes of the dragons stalking him.

That terrible cave was far behind him. It's gaping mouth had laughed at his master, strapped to his defeated back as he retreated. Laughed at his tragedy. Not satisfied with mockery, it followed Genji, splitting in two to dance through the air and taunt him. Hunt him. Constantly remind him with movement in the corner of his eyes, which struggled to see in the harsh light reflecting off the snow. (Where did you leave your face plate?)

He let the beasts torment him, his thoughts concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. Then again. Again. Again. For an eternity as far as he could see. He'd keep walking. He couldn't stop. From behind him he could hear the garbled sound of several words being said at once.

"Yes, Master?" Genji was only half paying attention, his gaze not leaving his feet. He'd gotten countless false starts from the torso over the last few days.(How long?) Zenyatta never seemed to be aware of what was happening or even who Genji was. His student desperately wanted to just accept him as already dead, to leave him behind, to let him have some dignity, instead of dragging around this ghost.(This other ghost) But he couldn't let go of the hope that he'd come back, that he could be fixed.

"Speak up bro-brother, I'm having some di-i-i-ificulties." Moments like these only made things harder.

"You're dying, Master," Genji had gone through this routine countless times as well, each time the truth of it closing like a vice around his chest, "I've killed you. And there's nothing I can do." Maybe if he admitted it enough times, Zenyatta would just let go. Make the decision for Genji.

"Noth- no- -ing?" The garbled static that followed made him flinch. He couldn't let this go on. His master babbling inanely, repeating himself, lost in his own system malfunction. It was hard to believe that there could be a soul inside him, inside this shell of a monk that he once knew so well, respected without end, and wiped away his tears even as he died. It spat in the face of everything he had stood for. And yet Genji couldn't bring himself to put him out of his misery. Still he clung to hope.

"I- I'm doing all I can," the helpless apprentice said to his feet. Each step he took sent painful protest all the way up to his hips, but he still took another. (And another. And another. And another.) "And it might as well be nothing." The ghost of his teacher didn't seem to have anything to say to that.

The weary cyborg wanted to stop now. He wanted to fall on the path through the mountain and either regain his strength or die, whichever came first. But as salty tears wore lines down his already marked face, Genji continued. He couldn't give up if there was a even the smallest chance his master hadn't.

'You always were weak.'

Genji halted in his tracks. He didn't lift his gaze, swaying as he remembered how to be still. To not be constantly moving forward. Somehow he knew what he'd see when he looked up.

Hanzo. There in the snow. The dragons had finally come for him. He looked just the same as Genji remembered. He hadn't aged a day.

'No honor. No responsibility. No pride.'

The world was shifting against his vision, conforming to his brother in the snow, which melted away with unnatural speed to fresh grass. The clear air filled with delicate pink petals that fell from nowhere at all. Back in Hanamura at last. There were no mountains, was no cold, no pass and no ghost strapped to his back. There was only Hanzo, Genji, and a simmering resentment that ignited into a full blown inferno in his mind.

'You are the shame of the Shimada Clan.'

Genji felt himself chuckle, which evolved into laughter until it was a mad cackle.

"There isn't a Shimada Clan anymore, old man! I tore it apart myself!" Hanzo didn't move, didn't react. "All that's left is you." He readied his blade. (How long has it been in your hands?) "It ends now."

He felt light as a feather. Anger had tapped an energy reserve he hadn't known he possessed. He would have his revenge, right here where it all began. And he would make sure the job got done. His limbs filled with a powerful force. Hanzo wasn't the only one with a dragon at his call. A single strike was all it would take. He'd have his head. His brother still hadn't moved, hadn't acknowledged his challenge. No matter. This was his moment.

But something had to give. Genji wasn't sure how, but he knew that much. It was a simple truth that needn't be addressed. It only was. Hanzo still didn't budge as the killing blow fell upon him. Instead he spoke.

'And then what of you?'

Hanamura was gone. With it went Hanzo, his rage, and the energy it had given him. In its place was a deep melancholy. The feeling of being alone and incomplete mixed together into a profound sadness that left him colder than the mountain air.

Yes, what of you then, Genji?

Could you let go of your brother any more than you could let go of your master?

Would you carry his head on your back too?

How much more dead weight can you hold?

How many more ghosts can you keep in here?

Genji didn't have an answer to the voice in his head. In the end, he was the one who gave in.

It didn't bother him. Not really.

After all, something had to give. The laws that governed the world had dictated it. And as Genji felt the cold snow against his face, he found peace in its inevitability. His anger had done nothing but destroy what he loved, and now he could grieve for it and move on. Because his rage died in these mountains, devoured by dragons and phantoms and a dead omnic. And now they came for him.

That didn't bother him either.

At least it wasn't cold anymore.

--

"I think 'e's commin' back around."

"You think he'll be mad about the sword?"

"Shhhhh!"

"It's a fancy sword."

Genji hurt. Literally everything hurt. His head, his arms, his shoulders, his knees, his goddamn feet holy shit his feet. He felt like a single giant bruise that ached with each beat of his heart. Despite this, he forced himself to open his eyes. Everything swam out of focus, refusing to be steady. It was making him feel sick. He had to close his eyes again. Someone was squeezing his hand, coaxing him back.

"Genji, can you hear me?" The cyborg couldn't help a deep groan. Zenyatta. He sounded so close, like he was actually there, alive and waiting. Maybe he'd never shake his voice. His own personal mountain madness.

"Genji," The hand was squeezing again, more insistent. It hurt. "Please answer me."

"Yes, I hear you," his voice was an unrecognizable rasp. Even talking hurt.

"Can you move?" Genji didn't know. Opening his eyes had seemed like a Herculean task already, but he gave it his best shot. Trying to move his right arm sent a shock of pain all the way up to his neck, making him groan again.

"Not that one, lad. Ya' broke it tryin' to kill the stone marker." Who was that? Genji forced his eyes open again and tried to will the world into order. It came slowly. He was in a bed. Not a terribly comfortable one, in some small room with a single window and stacks of electronics building up in the corners. His armor and plating was nowhere to be found, his deep red synthetics exposed. Even the more difficult parts of his helmet had been confiscated. As much as could be taken away, had been. And he was being stared at. On one side there was an old man with salt and pepper hair. He looked frail and small. Behind him a young freckled woman was craning her neck to see over the elder's shoulder.

On the other side sat Zenyatta.

Genji sat up, only to nearly pass out again as needles flooded his bloodstream straight to his head. Zenyatta released his hand to push him back down against the pillow. Genji could only stare intently at him through pain squinted eyes.

His vision was starting to swim again, this time with tears. He had cried so much in the last week, and still he couldn't seem to shed enough of them. His master looked different. His hand was whole, and darker, with pieces that didn't match the rest in a patchwork repair job. He was still missing his arm, but the unevenly severed shoulder had been entirely removed and wires ran from the empty socket to somewhere below his seat.

"Bernard, some time, please," Zenyatta was speaking to the old man who looked between student and teacher before loudly clearing his throat.

"Yes, yes, a'course, come Alyssa, that arm isn't gonna' finish itself." Alyssa was obviously reluctant to leave, her attention moving from cyborg to omnic and back again. Eventually she relented, following the old man away.

"You didn't tell him about the sword, Grandpa" Were her last words before the door closed behind them.

Zenyatta's remaining shoulder slouched a little as he turned his attention back to his apprentice. Genji couldn't stop the tears now that the flood gates were open.

"I killed you," his confession hurt more than just his throat. It rattled him way deep down in his chest, "I saw you die." Zenyatta was only nodding as he tried to use his student's blanket to wipe away his tears. The gesture gave Genji a sinking feeling, prompting him to say more, stumbling over the words that hurt him figuratively and literally. "I didn't mean to, I couldn't- I was so angry. I never wanted to hurt you." He fought against his pain to reach for his master's hand. He had to hold it again. He had to feel that it was real. Zenyatta was here, with him. Even with it in his grasp, he feared it would collapse into twin dragons that would tear him apart and drag him through another round of suffering.

The omnic pulled away, and for a terrifying moment his fears were coming true, until Zenyatta pulled the wires from his socket and crawled up onto the side of the bed. It required a bit of effort, as he only had one and a half legs, their darkened plating and patchwork matching his hand, but once he was on the mattress, he slowly edged his student over to lay next to him.

"I know." His voice was low and calm, it's synthesized equilibrium having returned, much to Genji's relief. He intertwined their fingers, delicate and gentle, "I've already long forgiven you."

It can't be that simple.

"You saved me."

I gave up.

"You're my hero, Genji." He was teasing him, now, but only a little. The student's short, surprised laugh was strained, painful and there may have been a sob underneath it, but he smiled all the same.

"I love you, Master Zenyatta." With the living Hell that Genji had faced to get to this moment, where the weather, the earth and even his own mind had turned against him, saying so wasn't the least bit scary. His teacher made a pleasant humming sound, touching his forehead to his student's and lightly squeezing his fingers.

"I know that, too."

Genji looked like a kicked dog, he hadn't had any expectations, but that was infuriatingly vague. After a moment he realized Zenyatta was teasing him again.

It was surreal. Like nothing at all had changed. He hadn't cut him in half and hadn't held him tight in futility while his last words, recorded and stored, played in some lonely cave deep in the mountains. He had been forgiven completely. He was still working on the part where he forgave himself.

"And I love you." The omnic pressed his student's fingers against his artificial mouth, his intentions clear, even if it was only a simulation. "Are you still angry?"

Genji tried to imagine what possible way he could be angry. He was alive, Zenyatta was alive, not entirely whole, but not coming apart at the seems, and he loved him. There was, of course, Hanzo. The root of the problem. He took a moment to sort through the great range of feelings he had found for his brother.

"No," he finally decided, moving closer, even as his muscles protested. He only felt sad to think about his only remaining family, "I don't think so. Not anymore. How- how are you not?" He was still wrapping his head around this absolute forgiveness concept.

"Anger was the start of our troubles," Zenyatta was absently stroking his cheek, catching some wayward tears, "I would hardly consider it a reasonable solution." Genji didn't have an argument against that. "Besides, this has been a good day. You finally awoke, Bernard has been so kind as to provide me with some spare parts, and shelter for your continued recovery."

Genji nodded. Totally winded. He could feel his eyes getting heavy, the steady hum he had dearly missed from within Zenyatta's chest inched him further towards sleep.

"What was she talking about?" He was already slipping into a peaceful rest, but he couldn't resist asking. "About my blade?" It was probably corroded and rusted by now. He never did clean the oil from it.

"Ah, well," Zenyatta paused a moment, choosing his words, "It suffered much the same fate as your arm."

Genji didn't have the energy to be even a little annoyed by the news. Though, in the back of his mind, he made note to blame Hanzo