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Genos had had several close calls. It wasn’t always easy to tell, ’cause the guy would do everything to hide it, like a sick animal pretending it was feeling fine. And it was hard sometimes to even tell what was serious when it came to him - losing an arm or a leg or both was annoying, but not life threatening in the least, like it would be for a regular person.
There was no denying it this time, though. When Saitama found him in the rubble, he felt his stomach drop. The image haunted him even days after. He didn’t even dare pick Genos up from where he laid, he was scared of making it worse, with all those... bits exposed. He just guarded him until the drones arrived and then he went home, unable to eat or read or do anything, so he went to bed at 8 pm and tried desperately to forget this day had even happened.
The phone didn’t ring until almost a full day later and when Saitama picked it up, it wasn’t Genos on the other end but his doc. Saitama had never heard him sound so grim before.
”How is he? Itching to get back up yet?”
”Saitama-kun, are you sitting down?”
It was bad. Really bad.
Kuseno had a bunch of complicated terms for it, but from what Saitama gathered basically the connection between Genos’ brain and his body had been severed, which was really dangerous, for obvious reasons. There was a risk of brain damage, but there was also apparently a risk that his brain wouldn’t correct right to his cyborg body again, or any cyborg body, if those connection points had been too badly damaged. Which would be really, really bad. Brain damage would be kinder. Without a body, there would barely be any life left for Genos, he’d be little more than a brain in a jar.
The doctor kept him in a medically induced coma for what felt like forever. At least Genos didn’t have muscles that would atrophy from lack of use in the meantime.
When he finally woke up again, they had no idea what to expect. Kuseno had warned Saitama that Genos probably wouldn’t move or say much, if anything at all. He’d been put in a new body, one that was set up more for people undergoing full body modification surgery for the first time - kinda like a bubble-wrapped edition. No weapons, no fancy scanners - as little as possible for a badly jostled brain to deal with. Just enough to be a person.
”Hey, bud, how are you feeling?”
Genos just looked at him, not moving as much as a muscle. His face looked the same as before... all this. His hair might have been a bit shorter, Saitama thought. Easier to care for while he recovered. And of course, all the cables and wires connected at the back of his neck, so thick they almost formed a pillow under his head where he laid on the table, covered only with a thin blanket.
Genos could be stoic, but he rarely tried to hide his feelings around Saitama. It was unnerving to see him so still. Saitama couldn’t even tell if he recognized him or not.
Kuseno clapped Saitama’s shoulder as he made his way towards the exit later, but he couldn’t make any hopeful promises.
The next time Saitama came to visit, things were better, thank goodness. Genos could move now, a little bit. Mostly his facial muscles, but enough that Saitama could tell he was happy to see him. Over a month since the accident had already passed at this point, so he was happy to finally see some improvement.
The third visit, Genos was in a foul mood already by the time Saitama arrived. That was unlike him (at least around Saitama). Kuseno explained he was upset because of how long his recovery was predicted to take, which he’d just been informed of.
A year.
If they were lucky.
No monster fighting. No shopping. No tracking the mad cyborg. Genos was going to be stuck in the lab for months and months, watching the world go on without him while he struggled to even move his toes.
Genos could be stoic. He wasn’t that day. Nor was he raging, though. He couldn’t control his body enough to be. The tears flowed quietly as Saitama held his head in his lap and tried to tell him that it would be okay. That his stuff would be waiting for him until he was ready. Saitama too. And he’d visit, as often as he could and Genos wanted him to. He’d bring him his favourite stuff, his notebooks and the chocolate he had hid among the frozen peas back home. The stupid plushie version of himself that Saitama suspected Genos had commissioned someone to make for him. By the fourth visit, all the things he’d brought last time were lined up so Genos could look at them whenever he wanted. He looked pleased at that, at least.
He still wasn’t speaking, couldn’t move anything below the neck. Didn’t even have his own room - lab wasn’t set up like that - but they’d made this one corner all his. Kuseno had pulled down a TV, a radio, audiobooks. A potted plant, though Saitama had no idea what kind it was. At least it added a bit of life. This portion of the lab didn’t have windows, so the doc had hung up a poster of a forest instead. It was as nice as you could make such a place. And in the middle of it all laid Genos, propped up like a grumpy-looking doll, probably wishing he was anywhere else.
About four months in, he started to talk again, which was nice, though it was hard to understand what he was trying to say most of the time. At first it was mostly grunts and sighs, he struggled to form actual words. But at least he could point and make gestures now, if you gave him time, so he could point at what he wanted. He couldn’t write yet, but he could flip the TV channels and change the radio station, giving him at least that little bit of control of his life. And he could eat and drink again, even if he spilled a lot. Must be nice though, to be able to finally do some stuff on his own at least. Saitama couldn’t imagine how bored and frustrated he must be, he was normally so active.
They celebrated Christmas down in the lab that year. Saitama had asked Kuseno if he couldn’t at least take Genos to the nearest town, just for a couple hours, but doc said it was essential Genos was hooked up to all those cables 24/7. Poor guy. But they had cake together and Genos even managed to murmur a ’murry chrysmaz’, which was both sad and cute.
Saitama got him gifts too, a book about space that looked cool and a Gudetama plushie and a hoodie that was really warm and soft. Genos gestured that he wanted to wear it immediately, so Saitama helped him out of the Qseno Tech one and pulled the hoodie over his head.
It contrasted nicely with his arms, which Saitama told him. These arms weren’t polished grey or black like most of Genos’ designs, but white with black accents. They looked so... peaceful, by comparison. Didn’t even have blasters, just soft pads for grip, almost like pawpads. Genos sat completely still as he let Saitama feel his hand over, interlacing their fingers.
Without warning, Saitama felt his eyes starting to burn. He took a deep breath, trying to will it away, but that only made it worse. He looked away, until he felt Genos’ fingers squeezing his.
”Shen...shei.”
He broke down.
It was Genos’ turn to comfort Saitama, which felt wrong, but he was so good at it. He held Saitama in his arms, resting his chin on his shoulder, until he got it all out, which took forever.
”It’s not the same without you there. It’s so lonely...”
”Clean-n?”
”If I’ve... kept it tidy?”
”Yus.”
”Uhh...”
”Shenshei!”
When Saitama dared meet Genos’ eyes, he was giving him that disapproving stare that he knew well from when he was slacking off.
”I’ll make sure the place is spotless when you return home.”
”Goo. Call Kin.”
”I guess I can invite King over.”
”Foobooki. Ban. Moomen.”
”Fine, I do have friends.”
Genos reached up to wipe a tear off his cheek. ”Yus.”
-
Inviting people over meant he had to tidy up. It was a lot and he completely misjudged how long it would take. He was only halfway done when King showed up and he tried to apologize, but King didn’t say much, just helped him with the rest. They got pizza and played video games and it was almost like normal. Apartment looked a lot less glum now, too. Wouldn’t need to be embarrassed when Genos got back home. If he could keep it up for another six months.
”I’d come earlier, if you’d only let me in, Saitama.”
”Yeah, I know.”
”You’re welcome to visit me too.”
”Yeah yeah.”
They played in silence for a while.
”You wanna talk about it?”
”It’s lonely without him.”
”Yeah. But he’s doing better, right?”
”Yeah. He can sit up now.”
”Is it taking that long to fix his body?”
”S’not his body, it’s his brain.”
”Oh.”
They went back to being quiet. After Saitama’s character had gotten his ass kicked half a dozen times, he told King to go home. He was hesitant, asking Saitama twice if he’d be okay. He promised he would be. Besides, Fubuki was coming over the next day. They were going to sort the mountains of get well-letters Genos’ fans had sent him after word finally got out that Demon Cyborg was on extended sick leave. He’d asked them to keep that stuff at the HA, but apparently they had had enough of that and were going to dump the boxes at the apartment the next morning. Saitama didn’t look forward to it.
Fubuki showed up looking very casual, for being her. Saitama wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen her in pants before, nevermind sweats, even if they were brand name. She brought food too, fruit and bread and stuff like that. But she didn’t ask any stupid questions, just shook her head at the stack of boxes of fanmail.
”We’ve got our work cut out for us.”
”Yup.”
”If you’d started months ago, it wouldn’t be this much work now.”
”Yup.”
Still, it wasn’t that bad once they got started. Most of the stuff they threw away, but they kept the treats and a few of the plushies. Saitama helped himself to one box of chocolate, but put the rest aside for Genos. Some kids had sent in drawings and those they kept too. They ate while they worked, taking care to not stain the letters.
”This one’s for you,” Fubuki said suddenly.
”Hate mail again.”
”No, nothing like that.”
”...”
”Listen. ’I read about Demon Cyborg and they say you’ve been seen walking alone in City Z. It breaks me heart to think of you being separated, you seem so close in all the photos. Please know that both of you are in our hearts. Best wishes.”
”Oh, well, that’s new.”
”We’ve all been worried, you know. For both of you.”
Saitama fiddled with the letter in his hands. ”It’s been rough. But it will be okay.”
Before he had the chance to stop her, Fubuki engulfed him in a hug.
-
He’d warned Genos that he was bringing him fan stuff today. Kuseno had encouraged Genos to read some of the letters, but he didn’t show much interest. They split the treats though and piled the plushies up on the least full shelf above the bed. The smallest one, a fuzzy cat, Saitama placed carefully on top of the potted plant. It was blooming, tiny delicate pink flowers.
”You know, I’ve never seen my cactus bloom, even after all these years,” Saitama remarked.
”Too bad,” Genos replied. His speech was getting clearer and clearer. He wasn’t chatting quite as much as he did… before all this, because it still required a fair deal of effort from him, but it was still a big improvement.
”Maybe I’ll bring cake, next time.”
”If you want.”
Genos didn’t remember his real birthdate. He didn’t remember much of the day his doctor found him either, but Kuseno did, of course. They’d picked that date as a stand-in birthday. They kept it simple, cause Genos didn’t like being surrounded by too many people and all, but they’d eat cake and Saitama always got him a little gift, usually slippers or oven mitts or something else that was practical. He’d waffled for like a week what to go for this time, especially with it being such a weird year and all. He still hadn't made up his mind .
Saitama took another letter from the pile and read it aloud. Reading vetted fanmail wasn’t so bad. They didn’t have to worry about weird or gross stuff, though Fubuki’s tolerance for allowing that had proven higher than Saitama’s.
”’In conclusion, get well soon’. That one was sweet, right?”
”I guess.”
”Oh come on, Demon Cyborg, with your ’hard exterior but fragile self within, so barely contained’.”
Genos snorted. It was like a balm, seeing him slowly return to his old self. That also meant he was getting increasingly restless, though. He’d already left his bed three times, now that Kuseno let him go without all the neck cables, once dutifully during physical therapy while supervised, twice at night when neither Saitama nor Kuseno were there to reel him in. The first of those times he didn’t get far, didn’t even leave the room, but the second he fell down a flight of stairs.
Thank goodness for his exceptionally hard head, or they might have had to put a helmet on him.
Saitama got it, though. Genos hadn’t like, lost any intelligence, or forgotten more stuff than, well, he already had. He still had his goals and interests and all that. And his body was still state of the art and ready to rock. The problem was getting the two - his brain and his body - to work together again. It was all way too complicated for Saitama, even when the doc tried to dumb it down for him, but at least Genos was going in the right direction.
The day came when Kuseno said it was okay for Genos to leave the lab for a few hours. They made a birthday date out of it, since they hadn’t had a proper date in nearly a year and his stand-in birthday was so close. It was hard to be left alone, though. People kept pointing and whispering and Genos didn’t want to deal with any of that. In the end, they bought tea and fancy cupcakes to go and then clambered into the nearest woods. Saitama had a bench or something in mind, or even just finding a nice patch of grass, but Genos had other plans.
”No, stop that.”
No response.
”Oi! Don’t!”
”Don’t worry, Sensei.”
He kept going higher. Into the damned tree.
”Genos! If you fall down your old man’s gonna skin me alive!”
”I will not fall.”
The next branch creaked worryingly under Genos’ weight, but he kept going. Slowly, but with great determination. What had gotten into the guy’s head?
There was nothing for it, then. With a great sigh, Saitama put the paper bag to his mouth, grabbing the edge with his teeth so he’d have his hands free. Branch by branch, he followed Genos up the tree.
About ten metres up, the stem of the tree split into two, leaving enough room for the two of them. With an exaggerated show of pretend-annoyance, Saitama made himself comfortable, placing the bag between them. Peering inside, he was pleased to note he hadn’t spilled anything. He looked up again. Genos was sitting with his eyes closed, hair moving in the breeze. He looked like an animal that had been released into the wild after a life of captivity. Maybe you wouldn’t think so looking at him, but Saitama knew Genos much preferred this environment to a busy city.
”Are you happy now, nature boy?” He nudged his companion in the side and handed him his paper cup. It couldn’t be more than lukewarm at this point, but his tea smelled real nice when Genos took off the lid to drink.
”Very pleased,” he all but purred.
”Can’t blame you, I guess.” And then, after a brief pause, ”I’m glad to see it. I’m glad you’re okay. You scared us, you know.”
”I know. I was scared too. And frustrated.”
”Don’t blame you.”
They didn’t say anything else. They didn’t need to. They said the rest through their actions, the held hands, the lingering gazes. The kiss, tasting of tea and pastries.
Saitama had no idea when he woke up that morning that he’d spend his afternoon kissing in a tree, but he had no complaints. Not until it was time to get down, anyway.
”We can jump.”
”Kuseno made me promise I’d return you without as much as a scratch and you already have a patch of mud on your shoulder. We’re not taking chances.”
”It will be fine.”
Somehow, it had escaped Saitama’s mind how goddamn stubborn his boyfriend was.
”How about I hold you and we jump together.”
”Sensei…”
”It’ll be like, romantic.”
”...Alright.”
Fortunately, Saitama hadn’t forgotten how much of a sap he could be.
It was a mess to stand up in the tree, nevermind getting into position, but eventually they figured it out. Genos grabbed Saitama’s shoulders and latched on, piggyback style, making sure to hold on to the bag as well, so it could be recycled back in town. Like that, they jumped down, and then continued. Apparently Genos couldn’t walk, now. Or rather, he’d decided he didn’t want to, that latching on to Saitama like a koala was better. Give that guy an inch…
When they got back inside the lab, Kuseno instantly looked worried upon seeing Genos being carried, but Saitama assured him that he was fine. He didn’t mention the tree climbing.
He was tempted to stay the night, but Genos was already really tired from the day out. Tussling his hair, he gave him a peck on the forehead and said his goodbyes, promising to be back soon.
That turned out to not be the case, but only because Genos was allowed to go home first. He called Saitama two days later, letting him know he’d be home soon. He sounded so happy, like an excited puppy. He just wanted to stop on the way and shop some stuff, so they could have a nice meal together once he was back.
Saitama never fury-cleaned the apartment with as much intensity as he did that morning.
And then, Genos stood there, wearing that baggy Qseno Tech hoodie and shining like the sun itself. He’d still need frequent checkups for a while and no monster fights for another month, at least, but he was back.
He was back.
”Welcome home,” Saitama smiled at him.