#mid-redemption hanzo is my favorite way to write him- he's outrun his demons

[overwatch-does-stuff]

Overwatch: Rehabilitation- Hanzo

Summary: Sigma has been captured by Overwatch. Hanzo, having only been inducted into the organization a few months ago himself, finds that he is looking into a distorted reflection.

   Hanzo wiped the sweat from his brow as he entered the mess hall. It was always his morning routine to work out, get his breakfast, then shower and prepare for the rest of the day. Every day since the day he had arrived here at the Watchpoint a few months ago, that was the way it had been.    The breakfast kiosk was automated and open nearly all hours of the day, including this early in the morning. Hanzo approached the kiosk, grabbed a bowl, and hit the button to dispense oatmeal. Like the kiosk, his process was automated. He didn't look at the bowl once.    He sat back down at a table near to the door. The oatmeal was too hot to eat right away. He counted the seconds, and just before he counted to zero he whispered a quick and half-hearted thanks to his ancestors for the meal. He'd thank them fully on a day where he actually deserved it.    But right now, he simply was. He was good with that- learning to exist again, without the constant thoughts of wanting to die but thinking death was too good for him, had been difficult enough. Some other time, perhaps, he could learn a hint of self-peace to fill his emptiness. Right now the silence was good enough.    He stirred his oatmeal and watched the brown ribbon of cinnamon disappear. If it was up to him, he would have ate the oatmeal plain, but the automated kiosk always gave him the additional flavor. He had been annoyed the first few times, but eventually he had decided it wasn't worth caring enough to-    "Right in here, luv. This here's the lunchroom. It's got all sorts of yummy stuff. Let's eat, shall we?"    Hanzo flinched and dropped his spoon at the sound of Tracer's irritatingly peppy voice. He scowled and dug the spoon handle out of his oatmeal. With silent footsteps, he picked up his bowl and moved to a seat against the wall. With luck, they would walk right past him.    Tracer blinked out into the center of the room. She paused and gave her eyes a tired rub, before glancing behind her.    Hanzo was aware that Overwatch had recently captured a Talon special operative, but did not expect to see said operative float in after her. The man, he was called Sigma, correct?- also looked tired, but in a different way. His face was pale and his expression was otherwise blank. Hanzo felt like he was looking into a mirror. He averted his eyes away before a shudder could go through him.    Tracer approached the breakfast kiosk. She began reading off its many buttons. "See here, we've got waffles, pancakes, eggs, sausage, oatmeal. . ."    "I'm not hungry." Sigma drifted forwards to the center of the room before stopping. His body stayed perfectly still.    "Well, I'm going to get myself some waffles. They might not be from home, but the strawberry syrup here is pretty good." Tracer pinned a smile on her face again before turning back to the kiosk. She began hitting the series of buttons for Belgian waffles.    The room was silent except for the sound of the kiosk pouring waffle batter. Tracer looked back to Sigma, shifting her gaze presumably to try and catch his eye.    "Aw, c'mon luv. You should really eat. You don't want to miss it." She now purposefully made a sad face.    Tracer was always very animated in her movements, but she was usually more genuine in emotion as well. Something was wrong here. Hanzo finished the last bite of his oatmeal, but decided to stay still.    "I think I will try it some other time." Sigma said quietly in response. "I'm not hungry."    The kiosk dinged. A plate of steaming mini-waffles slid out on a tray.    Tracer didn't take it. "Siebren, please. You need to eat."    "No, I don't," he looked away.    "Yes, you do." Tracer's tone dropped.    "I haven't been good," he shook his head.    "Please," her voice was the quietest Hanzo had ever heard her speak. "It's been days. You need to."    Once more, Sigma shook his head. "I don't deserve to."    Hanzo's breath caught in his throat at the words.    Tracer blinked forward and grabbed Sigma's hand. "Yes, you do. You deserve it! Just because you've been a little out of it every once in a while doesn't mean you need to starve yourself. Please."    "It's not that!" Sigma snapped, pulling his hand away. He jerked himself backwards, out of her reach.    "Then what is it?" She took a cautious step forward.    He clenched his fists, before turning away and clutching his shaking head. "You know what I've done. You know what I've done! I don't deserve your kindness, I don't deserve anything!"    Deserve, deserve, deserve. It had taken Hanzo ages to rid those kinds of phrases from the voices his own head. Hearing them again, spoken out loud, made his chest tighten. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths, but the feeling did not fade. He opened his eyes again.    He stood, picked up his bowl, and then stepped out into the path from the door to the kiosk. Both Tracer and Sigma turned to him, confusion evident on both their faces.    "Hanzo, luv, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there, we're sorry to disturb you-" Tracer stumbled over her words.    "Enough!" Sigma interrupted and turned back to her. "We're done here. I'm going back to my stabilization chamber."    Hanzo stepped in front of him. "No."    "N-no?" Sigma looked at him.    "No." Hanzo repeated. He took another step forward. "You need to eat."    Sigma's tone grew cold again. "This doesn't concern you. If you would, please, get out of my way."    Hanzo wanted to kick himself. Of course such simple pleading would not persuade the stubbornness of someone with nothing to live for! It didn't work on himself, after all, when he had first come here to the Watchpoint. He needed something stronger. He let all of the fanciful words he had heard from others about self-worth and forgiveness slip away until all that was left was the truth. The truth as he knew it, at least.    Hanzo took a deep breath. "If you don't keep yourself alive, then who is there to feel remorse for your actions?"    Sigma visibly flinched. His mouth opened, but no words came out. He looked away, and his gaze grew glossy and distant.    Tracer's mouth fell open and she immediately blinked beside Hanzo. She whispered in his ear. "What the bloody hell? Why would you say something like that?! That's only going to make him feel more upset-!"    Hanzo shoved her away from his side. She stumbled but managed to catch herself on a nearby table before she could hit the ground. Sigma did not react to the noise. He trembled in the air, clasping and unclasping his hands.    "Well, Sigma?" Hanzo asked to him.    In response to his name, Sigma straightened his posture. "You're right, death is too good for me."    "Then you should eat," he replied.    "No!" Sigma threw his hands down. "I don't deserve the luxury of food. Whenever I next faint, the nurses can just inject the nutrients. I'll still be alive that way."    "If you do that, your body will grow sickly." Hanzo tensed his own muscles. "You cannot do anything to atone for what you've done in such a state."    Sigma lowered his head, and as he did so, lowered in the air as well. "How could I ever atone? I've hurt so many people. . ."    "For the sake of those you have hurt, and for the sake of your own soul, you must try. I ran from my own mistakes for far too long before I learned that." Hanzo clasped his hands together to hide his own shake.    Sigma lifted his head and their gazes met. They stared into each other. Hanzo was not sure what look his own eyes held, but Sigma's eyes betrayed a familiar mess of guilt and confusion that was palpable. An eternity passed before they looked away from each other again.    Hanzo held out his empty bowl. Sigma, after a brief hesitation, took it.    "The oatmeal is the most bland and tasteless. Let me show you how to get it." Hanzo walked past him to the kiosk.    Sigma floated up behind him and set the bowl down on the kiosk. For the second time that morning, Hanzo repeated his routine. The bowl was filled with steaming oatmeal again. Hanzo reached over and grabbed a fresh spoon. He stuck it in the bowl and picked the bowl up, turning it and handing it back to Sigma, who received it wordlessly.    "It will need a minute to cool. If you sit by the wall next to the door, people won't see you if they come in." Hanzo gestured to where he had been sitting earlier.    "Why are you being so kind to me?" Sigma asked.    Those words, those had been Hanzo's first words to his brother when he had first arrived here at the Watchpoint. Why had everyone been so kind? He didn't deserve it. Their treatment of him had bothered him for weeks, before he had eventually just learned to accept it. The question still baffled him, but now. . .    Perhaps he didn't have the answer in words, but he was beginning to think that he understood it.    "You're here now, are you not?" Hanzo said simply.    Sigma did not reply. After a few shy looks, he turned and floated over to the set of seats against the wall.    Hanzo stayed put and watched. Tracer blinked on over next to where Sigma went and sat down across the table from him. To Hanzo's surprise, she stayed silent. The entire room was still, except for the subtle motions of Sigma eating his oatmeal.    Hanzo walked to the door of the mess hall and pushed out into the hallway. He walked down the corridors of the Watchpoint to the showers, once again on his usual autopilot. Once he was in the private confines of the shower, however, he prayed to his ancestors, asking for the strength and ability to help Sigma in any way he could the next time they were to meet.