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They were caught in a storm.
And that was what Genos and Saitama had become after all. A they. Because they shared the pain, they felt the struggle, they felt lost and scared and they only had each other in the end.
And that brief, millisecond long glimpse of lightning, that had already occurred. The flash of realization that what was coming would come, and could not be stopped from coming. Fear soaked into the world like the rain, it clung to people and splashed others, and those that were not drenched in their escalated horror only stood back under cover, believing in that damp, cold fear.
Now was a waiting game. A guessing game. Ears perked up and head turning, knowing the thunder would rumble low and deep, and would become deafening in the same moment it silenced. This thunder was coming, as he knew it would come, but as he had hoped it would not.
They were like insects descending on a fresh carcass, he thought. They are desperate, greedy, disappointing and disgusting things. They lost Genos’ respect long ago, but now they had lost their right to call themselves human. For what type of human could wake each day and face a world despite their complete lack of humanity?
Heroes. That was a word thrown around like garbage now. Those people, the ones who claimed praise and walked on a road created by others, they were not heroes. Once, maybe they had been. But now they were coming, rolling in as thunder did, making too much noise and disrupting the peace, and it was unforgivable.
“You could kill them. All of them, so easily.”
His own voice sounded like defeat. But that was what he was now; a forever defeated man clinging to the false victories of a distant past.
“And you know I would never do that, Genos.”
“I know, sensei. But it is still true.”
A long time ago, or maybe just what felt like a different life, Genos would have rejoiced at the closeness he had accomplished with Saitama, and at the comfort of being not only so close to the man but allowed to be so close. Their shoulders were touching, and at that point of contact they leaned to each other, balanced by one bone each. A precarious balance, but terribly warm and horribly wonderful.
A year ago, Genos would have looked upon the scene and think the future promising, him and sensei still together, and perhaps even closer. He would have basked in the idea of this, his youth showing in smiles. A month ago Genos would have noticed something was wrong, that the smiles were too forced or not even tried, that the bags under Saitama’s eyes were black and dragging. A week ago Genos would have told them to run, to pack everything and go and never come back. To avoid what could not really be avoided but try nonetheless.
Desperation was ugly. But it was still functional.
“Saitama-sensei, will you spar with me?”
“Right now? It’ll be dark soon.”
“It does not have to be for long, just a short practice.”
The older man looked at him with his deep eyes, drained and worried but so tired above all else. They were beautiful in all the ways they were tragic, and had Genos been a braver person, or a little less rational, he would have closed every single gap between their bodies. He would have given Saitama the passion fueled by furry and he would have poured everything left inside his beaten self into just one kiss, so that at the very least he would be gloriously numb instead of dreadfully hurt.
But Genos was not brave, and he wanted to be rational, so he simply stared back. He didn’t know if he had anything in his gaze that Saitama could see or identify or even care about, but maybe there was something, because the man stood, offering a hand to Genos.
“1 hour. When the sun goes down, no more fighting.”
Genos took the extended hand, thinking if only the world worked so simply.
-
It was an hour of Genos fighting himself. He could throw his fists and kick as wildly as he liked, but he didn’t have any hope of hitting the target. His hesitation made his movements sudden, and uncomfortable. His arms would jerk in a wrong direction, and he found his eyes snapping to something not there. He gritted his teeth so roughly he thought his jaw would break. He didn’t even know what he was hitting anymore, because he had lost track of Saitama a long time ago.
Why didn’t I notice? Why couldn’t I just protect him for once?
He had always, desperately so, wished to one day protect Saitama with his own strength, yet when the opportunity presented itself not only had Genos failed, but he had tried to ignore it. He was a little boy running from his problems again, leaving behind and loosing the only good he had ever had.
“Genos, stop!”
He didn’t. There was an enemy he had to destroy somewhere in front of him, he knew it. He had to kill it, he had to get rid of it-
Hands that offered no room for argument took hold of his wrists, and only then did he see the missing fingers and little sparks.
“You’re just…hurting yourself.”
No, the pain I feel is not self-inflicted.
“I do not feel pain so easily-
“But you do feel it. And you’re still just hurting yourself.”
“I was only trying to eliminate the target.”
“What target, Genos?”
He could not stand the way Saitama looked at him, because he had already received enough pity in life and having it come from a doomed man was cruel.
“Please don’t look at me like that, sensei.”
And he didn’t even argue. He took his hand away, but he still didn’t change his stare. Genos thought Saitama must know exactly how he was looking at Genos, and maybe that was the worst part. Like Saitama was actually trying to get Genos to understand how he was being viewed; as a pitiful, broken thing, who was hurting so, so much.
Genos had to look away, if not from anger at himself, then at the frustration life presented. He looked at his hands which were mangled and ugly, not fully functional and partially destroyed. He wanted to laugh at his naivety, for it was only a little long ago that he had so stupidly imagined holding Saitama’s hand with such unnatural fingers.
And he had even encouraged himself, believing he deserved to love again, maybe just a little. And all those people he now had in his life telling him to open up and let it out and be human and when he had actually done it, actually thought he could live this life where he was in love and loved, he got nothing, and lost everything. It was just like life to take, to play games and be ironic and horrible. Before Saitama he had nothing like love to loose or give, and it seemed like now that he had those emotions, that love, and had the desire to gift it away, he would loose the only one he wanted to share it with. Saitama would be taken, and he would be left not empty, but full of such emotions he did not want to keep, and had not intended on keeping, but was now stuck with. Love was Saitama’s unintentional gift to Genos, but without Saitama it was only a curse.
“…Genos?”
He said his name with hesitation, like he was actually afraid. That made Genos feel heavy and tired, because Saitama had himself to worry about, and Genos was making him, forcing him to worry about a stupid, pathetic cyborg.
“I’m sorry, sensei. I will go to the doctor’s, as I cannot repair myself without at least one functional hand. Forgive me.”
He left in that moment, the after image of Saitama opening his mouth to say something already leaving his head. It was dark now, and Genos cried bitterly remembering that he knew his sensei would be very cold in the apartment alone.
-
“It’s not healthy to keep it all inside. It’s not even like you to keep it inside.”
Genos was really and truly trying to stop crying, and no matter how many times he asked, Doctor Kuseno would not make it stop for him. Instead the man was telling Genos about feeling and health, as if Genos was a normal boy in grade school.
“I was l-letting it out through physical e-exertion, but I was stopped.”
“You were hurting yourself physically because you couldn’t deal with your emotional pain healthily. Genos, I didn’t just give you a mouth to eat and frown. Use your voice, cry if you need to, let it out. You are only human.”
Genos cried, angry and too tired to think properly. He cried and tried to stop crying until he gave in to exhaustion and let the tears flow freely. He did not weep or scream, he didn’t have the energy. He fell asleep like that, tired of crying, tired of trying not to cry.
-
He lied to Kuseno, making false promises to talk to Saitama, to tell him everything. He thought the Doctor probably knew, because he knew Genos. Genos wondered if there would ever be a time when he could go to the Doctor and not be broken in any way, when the smiles would be genuine.
Saitama greeted him with a welcome home and Genos did smile very softly at that. But Saitama had circles as dark and heavy as night under his eyes, and he was pale. Genos did not return the greeting, rather wordlessly settled next to Saitama, extruding heat as his core whirred loudly. He could not keep Saitama safe. He could not even keep Saitama happy. But if he could keep him warm, it was at least something.
Saitama leaned into the warmth, not resting his head on Genos’ shoulder like the younger wished, but touching shoulders, connecting the bodies. They did not speak, and neither let their emotions pour openly, but the silence was not tense or oppressive, and it was incomplete due to the hum of the core.
Less than a whisper, more like a thought that somehow gained sound, Saitama did speak eventually.
“I missed that sound.”
Genos wanted to ask what he was talking about, but stopped himself. Saitama was on the edge of sleep, in the process of drifting into a light slumber. Genos waited until his eyes were closed and his breathing deep and steady, and only then did Genos gently reach over and place Saitama’s slumped head on his shoulder.
He wanted to say he had missed Saitama, but the only words that came to mind were I will miss you
He was all denial and anger, broken down to bargaining and running out of energy to keep trying. Because no matter how loudly he protested and argued and flat out yelled, Saitama had been acceptance from the start. So Genos would be the denial, and be the anger and the bargaining. He would be everything and anything for Saitama, and though he could not move mountains with his fingers or end battles with words and gestures like Saitama, he could be the emotion that Saitama was too tired to display.
Don’t set yourself on fire to keep others warm? He would not. Saitama was already half frozen from the cold, there was no way to thaw him now. but should a fire make the frost more bearable, and the night less dark, then let life be damned, because Genos would burn until death. That way at least, Genos would not be left alone in the world. They would both slip away from mortality, freezing and burning and cold and warm.