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Saitama is barely inside his apartment and he's already discarding his uniform, carelessly throwing pieces of it by the entrance. He's feeling hot despite the chilly weather, his body covered in a thin layer of sweat.
He was going to have to send everything to the cleaners again, that evil doctor made all his stuff smell like cheap expired cleaning products. Something about an horrible, murderous plague crossed his mind and he glanced nervously at the pile of clothes. Am I going to have to pay extra to get this smell off them...?
He huffed in annoyance, throwing himself onto the futon. That's for tomorrow me to worry. Saitama felt his body grow limp and his eyes heavy and he tugged at the blanket that was beside him. He was too hot for it but couldn't sleep without the extra cover.
~~ ~~~
Saitama was ten again. He was inside his parent's bathroom, searching for a bottle of medicine. His small hands delicately pushed the pills and perfumes away, afraid of leaving any evidence that he was there. It was behind a white box, and he took two gulps from it, just like he remembered his mother saying a very long time ago.
His head was spinning as he walked back into his room and burrowed under the thin blanket. The growling in his stomach was a painful reminder that he hadn't eaten anything the whole day, but the child did not believe he could go downstairs in his state, much less cook. He quietly hugged his pillow and tried willing all the bad feelings away. He had to bear through this on his own.
~~ ~~~
The hero woke up with a jolt, dearly regretting sitting up. His head was spinning and his stomach felt cold, his clammy hands gripping the blankets.
“Master, are you okay? I finished sanitizing the disease from the laboratory and when I returned your signals were weak...” The cyborg was kneeling by his futon, his face full of worry. His eyes had the multicolored dots that indicated the use of his bio analysis tools.
Saitama leaned back with a growl, his body aching all over. “I apologize, I had not noticed the bio engineered disease could affect Master. I-” Genos voice was tight and precise, as if he was measuring every single word with great care. “I will assist you as best as I can. Do you require anything? Water, food? You haven't had lunch yet, Master. Sh-”
“Be quiet, my head hurts and you're not helping.” His tone was harsh even to his ears, but the burning in his body distracted him. “I'll be fine, just... be quiet and let me sleep.” He grit his teeth, pulling the blanket up to his chin.
~~ ~~~
Genos bit back his retort, focusing on the information displayed to him. He couldn't know what kind of effect that synthetic disease was going to have on his Master's body, and analyzing the data he had wasn't helping. Master was far from a normal human being, it was impossible to predict what would happen.
And so, he worried. The man in front of him seemed to be sleeping again, but his breathing was labored and his temperature was off. Genos clenched his fists, distantly hearing the whine of metal. He tried to focus on his digital interfaces, checking for common practices for the symptoms. Master had to eat, stay hydrated, have his body temperature normalized and...
Saitama shifted in his sleep, one hand escaping the covers. The cyborg felt tears burning at the corners of his eyes, he had never felt so useless before. He shook the digital interfaces off his vision and gently put his hand over the other man's.
Genos was shocked at how cold it felt. He heard the sound of his fans speeding up and a digital window helpfully informed his adrenaline levels were shooting up. He closed his eyes and remembered...
“Please”, the blond boy cried, clutching desperately at the bloodied, hand, “help is coming, hang in there just a little bit more. Just a little bit more...” They had been waiting for so long, and his mother's hand was already cold as the night enveloped them. “Please.”
A loud sob escaped his lips, and he gripped his Master's hand. “Master wake up, please. Look at me, please please please.” He couldn't stop pleading. He ignored the information flashing before his eyes, he had to hear his voice to make it real. “MASTER!”
Dark eyes shot open, and he saw himself reflected in them. “Master please, let me help, please please please let me help...” His sobs made his body tremble, and he held the other man with both hands as if in a prayer.
Saitama could barely register what was going on, his mind in a haze. His eyes focused on his disciple, who he had never seen so fragile and desperate. Black tears dripped onto his clothes and the usually collected face was twisted in a look of pure agony.
The man thought back about his past and, with a mental shrug, decided that there was a reason it was called “past”. He looked at the teen and concluded simply that what he had now was very different.
“Genos” he coughed, his throat feeling very dry. “I'll have some water and rice pudding, please.”
The blonde perked up at his name, staring at his Master with wide eyes. “Y-yes! Right away!” He nodded enthusiastically, more at himself than at the other man. He squeezed the hand he was holding gently, for just one moment, and let it go, rushing to the kitchen.
“Don't cry all over the floor again, alright?” Saitama warned with an amused smile tugging at his lips. He heard a crash in the other room. “I'm sorry! Yes, sir!” He coughed, trying to organize the blankets. Yes, this is much better than before.