Chapter Text
He was late, damn him.
Not that Sonic particularly cared one way or the other.
He scoffed aloud at the notion, shuffling his feet absentmindedly in the loose gravel that littered the alleyway. From his spot under the shadow of F-City’s skyscrapers he could clearly see the entrance to the farmer’s market and catalogue every individual that moved between the stalls. Yet he could not, for the life of him, spot his intended target among the small crowd.
This was certainly…interesting. And annoying. Sonic was not one for tardiness, and although the man he was meeting up with was far from polite, he had always been punctual when it came to their…duels. He fished his phone out and once more scrutinized the text messages for anything he might have missed.
Eva Unit 02
Saturday, 8:03 a.m.
hey you shitty-ass-microwave! got any plans monday morning?
Not one of your better openers. Make this quick; I have a meeting to attend to.
WOW. rude much?
I’d like to think I’m just straightforward.
uh huh. Anyway. F-City. monday 9 a.m. at the farmer’s market. Show up so
that I may eliminate you from my path to Saitama once and for all! Don’t be
late or I make it a bloodbath. ;)
Sure you will.
also I may or may not go for breakfast after Just so you know.
Okay.
Grey eyes narrowed, staring hard at the last line of text. If it had been anyone else, Sonic would have suspected a lack of communication to be the problem. But no, coming from him ‘okay,’ was as good as an ‘I’ll be there.'
“Then where is he?”
It really shouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did. He was Speed of Sound Sonic, the fastest man alive, the world’s best assassin, the most effective killing machine around! So what if the damn cyborg didn’t show up?
So what if he had been punctual the months since their little...rendezvous began? It’s not like their meetings meant anything. If he was really that invested, he could just hunt the coward down like any of his other hits. It would even be satisfying, catching the brat unawares, and paying him back for the haircut he received long ago.
And if Sonic was being honest with himself, he needed the practice anyway. How long had it been since he had the chance to stalk a target? Months? A year?
‘Has it really been that long since I’ve taken a job?’ He wondered. ‘Yeah. Close to it at least. 8 months, give or take. And that thought gave him pause.’ Shit, that Saitama has taken up more of my time than I realized. I’m going to need to take a job soon. No wonder my cash is getting low. Fuck that stupid bald mutant and his trusty pet Megaman.’
Really, the prospect of hunting down Genos, should have been exciting. Sonic should have been raring to go, biting at the bit at the prospect of slicing through that annoying brat’s braincase, eliminating the competition and avenging his previous humiliations. His pulse should be racing, his fingers should be itching to grab the hilt of his sword; he should be busy trying to hide that awful manic grin behind his twitching hands.
‘Because it’s not like I enjoy constantly having to fight the kid or anything. I certainly don’t enjoy having to set up meetings like this. It ’s simply the polite thing to do at this point; we’re past being simple acquaintances and it would be rude to treat him like a common foe.’
'I never looked for a sparing partner; I don’t need the practice really. The only reason that bald freak bested me those times was because he was lucky, plain and simple. There is no one that can fight me on even ground and survive. I’m the best goddamn assassin on the planet! Hell yeah, HELL YEAH.’
Sonic leaned against the wall of the alley and gave a slight nod, as if convinced of his own internal monologue.
‘It’s just complete coincidence that my fights with the brat no longer seem as serious. If given the chance, we’d gladly kill each other. Well, I’d kill the kid, because let’s face it, he’s no real match for me. I just enjoy playing with him is all. And it’s a complete coincidence that we often end up in the same place afterwards, or that we’re amicable towards each other. If I fought with him all the time people would think I was petty, and that would ruin my reputation!’
The corners of Sonic’s mouth twitched upward into small grin, and his slender arms crossed themselves across his chest.
‘I certainly don’t enjoy the brat’s company. I hate his sarcasm, and the fact he tries to act so goddamn mature for his age, or his tiny, stupid little grins, or the times where he is uncharacteristically polite for no reason.’
‘And I absolutely hate the fact that he bought me popcorn when we saw that shitty movie. And I loathed the kiss we shared behind the theater. It was simply to gain his trust; nothing more.’
‘And I despise how passionate he can be, how-’
Sonic’s grin did a complete 180 faster than what should have been humanly possible. He pushed off from the wall in disgust; he wasn’t doing the best job at convincing himself.
‘It’s all his fault. Damn him for making me wait.’
The clock on his phone read 9:25 a.m.
He’d give him five more minutes.
He ended up waiting for forty-five minutes.
But the damn cyborg ended up being a no-show.
Sonic kicked open the door to the small studio-apartment that was serving as his current base of in-city-operations. He flicked his wrist, intending to send the keys skipping across the countertop in a childish tantrum. But in his anger he used a little more force than was strictly necessary. The teeth of the keys dug deep groves in the linoleum before they embedded themselves in the far wall.
“FUCK.”
He closed his eyes, teeth grinding together with a terrible rumbling sound. One hand slowly reached behind his back and felt for the door knob, before closing it as gently as his temper would allow.
The kid had stood him up. The fucking shitty robot with his can-opener arms and 90s-inspired boy-band hair had fucking stood him, Speed-of-Fucking-Sound Sonic, up.
No phone call. No text. No anything.
‘How dare he?’
It was a new level of impoliteness, even for him.
Sonic leaned his head back and reached clawed hands into his hair, dragging his fingers through the loose strands, past his eyes and the tattoos beneath them, over his lips, to finally rest on his jaw line. He stood like that for a time, and listened to the silence. After a time his arms fell limply to his sides. He stayed there, slouched, for a few minutes more. Then, slowly, agonizingly so, he shuffled his way over to the lone futon in the room, before dramatically flinging himself face-down onto the black fabric.
He jerked his head up suddenly, and shoved his hand into his pocket to dredge up his phone.
‘This is pathetic. I shouldn’t be so hung up over this. He’s just a shitty kid, and a “hero” at that. What did you expect? For him to continue being consistent? To actually be invested in whatever the hell this...thing you have is?’
Still, Sonic found his eyes burning holes into the last, poignant “Okay,” fingers hovering tensely over the keyboard. He exhaled forcefully past his clenched teeth with a “whishing” sound. Finally the moved, typing the least passive-aggressive thing he could muster at the moment.
He wasn’t very successful.
Eva Unit 02
Monday, 10:08 a.m.
so did I do something to piss you off, or is your head just shoved
that far up your ass?
Disgusted with the situation, with himself, Sonic sighed, and haphazardly dropped his phone onto the floor below. He would not allow himself to sit and wait for a reply like some love-sick child. He was a grown man goddammit, an assassin. He shouldn’t care this much.
He shouldn’t care at all.
As it turned out, Genos would not dignify Sonic with a reply that day, or the day after that. In fact, he did not hear a word from him until three days later.
It was a shitty day from the start.
Sonic rarely took the time to simply enjoy things, and of course the one day he didn’t have Saitama or his disciple on his mind, this bullshit happened. Of course his day at J-City’s beach would be ruined by a new batch of eldritch abominations clambering onto shore. Of course they would decide to declare their supremacy over the human race.
‘Literally FUCK the ocean,’ he thought bitterly, deft hands removing the barbed tentacle from the many-eyed monstrosity in front of him. ‘And everything in it.’ The thing shrieked in rage, flailing the stump of its limb around. Strange blood painted Sonic’s shorts a bright blue. ‘Perfect. I doubt that will come out. And these weren’t cheap.’
Around him civilians fled, running over each other in blind panic. Luckily for them, the monsters had attacked Sonic first. Unluckily for the monsters, they had attacked Sonic first. Even without the majority of his gear, he had made quick work of the first few that had attempted to lay their slimy appendages on him. As it was, five lay in various states of ‘dead’ and ‘dying’ on the beach.
His blade pierced through the center of the wailing, bulbous mass in front of him, and the thing collapsed with a gurgled sigh, kicking up a cloud of sand from a decimated dune. Six then.
Seconds later the sound of an engine reached his ears; and shortly thereafter the beach erupted into absolute chaos. During that time, Sonic was able to process exactly three thoughts:
‘That was fast,’ was the first.
‘Since when does that Stinger chump fly?” was the second.
‘Shit, wait, I know that engine,” was the last.
In that last second another sound reached Sonic’s ears and he reacted on instinct, sandaled feet kicking him away from the group of monsters. An instant later and they were gone, reduced to burning pieces of flesh, the sand where they had stood baked to glass.
Sonic coughed and wrinkled his nose at the acrid smell, as Genos landed in front of the surf. ‘Gross. Well, I’m certainly not having calamari for a while.’
The emerging wave of monsters paused their advance and glanced between Sonic, their fallen comrades, and Genos. The hero raised one hand in response, charging for another incineration blast. The rest of the monsters decided, probably smartly, that they were fighting a losing battle, and disappeared beneath the foam in a tangle of teeth, fins and tentacles.
Slowly Genos lowered his hand and whirled to face the crowd. The wind ruffled his synthetic blonde hair, blowing a good deal of it out of place.
The battle was over but Genos still looked angry. In fact, he looked near down-right furious, his face marred by a rather expressive scowl. His molten gaze did not seem to be directed at anyone in particular however; instead, he seemed to focus on some non-specific point past the cheering beach-goers.
It was odd. Something was off about him, and if Sonic had taken a step back to think about it, perhaps things could have gone more smoothly.
Instead, he approached aggressively, his voice incensed.
“You stupid pile of scrap metal!”
His words seemed to finally snap the other back to reality. Genos turned, eerily calm, and met his gaze. “Son-Speed of Sound Sonic.”
Sonic felt his throat tighten as the moniker left the hero’s mouth. Apparently, for whatever reason, they were back being informal with each other. And that, that hurt more than it should have.
“Demon Cyborg,” he spat back with as much vitriol as he could muster. A brief flicker in the other’s gold eyes indicated he was uncomfortable with hearing Sonic say that name. ‘Good,’ he thought vindictively. The once-panicked citizens were stepping forward tentatively from behind Genos, curious to see what was being discussed between the two men. ‘This is a less than ideal place to have this confrontation,’ he realized a bit too late.
Genos, apparently, had the same thought. It would be easy for most people to miss his uneasiness, the briefest shifting of his weight from one foot to another, but Sonic was not most people.
“I must admit, I am surprised to see you being so helpful. However, that doesn’t change the fact that you are a wanted criminal, and a threat to the citizens of J-City.” Genos glanced behind at the crowd before turning back to Sonic. “As a show of gratitude, I’ll give you a head-start. Start running.”
The vicious smirk that was plastered across the cyborg’s face was fake, much too fake for Sonic’s liking, and that only made him angrier still. “You shitty little brat! You want to play this game?” His sword slid easily from its scabbard once more. It had been too long since they had ‘fought,’ and the assassin felt a grin splitting his face, in spite of himself. “Fine! Let’s play! Right here, right now! Your precious ‘citizens’ will make things more interesting. How many do you think I can kill before you stop me?”
It was a jest of course. Well, mostly. He was furious, and he had a dark sense of humor, afterall.
It worked.
Too well.
Sonic found himself flying through the air, one of Genos’s hands grasped firmly around his throat. The action caught him off-guard; it was harsh, serious, much more so than anything either one of them had attempted during their recent spars. They landed in a backstreet, away from the crowd, and Genos slammed him against the nearest building, hard. His blade clattered to the ground as all of the breath was pushed from his lungs. The hero jerked Sonic forward, presumably to repeat the action, and Sonic’s head rolled toward him limply. When the assassin blinked, he saw stars.
The reaction was automatic. For a moment Sonic’s form was a blur of limbs, and then he was on the ground, gasping for breath, and Genos’s right arm was bent at an odd angle, the shoulder a twisted mass of metal. Sonic stood, and watched as Genos rotated the mechanical joint back into place, his face impassive.
“W..w-hat is..your fucking damage?” The line was delivered in a wheezing voice, and devoid of any of the anger Sonic meant to convey. ‘Wonderful.’
Genos turned sharply, his face twisted with anger again, unbridled and seething. Anger that seemed to dissipate instantly upon meeting the assassin’s incredulous stare. For the first time that encounter the hero’s face changed to convey…some kind of emotion that was close to what he was actually feeling. Agony? Fear? Both? Sonic wasn’t certain, and for some reason that made him uneasy.
“I-I did not mean to-,” Genos started.
“Save it,” Sonic spat.
For a minute neither of them moved, neither of them spoke. Genos broke eye contact with Sonic to stare at the rubble-ridden ground, an action that would have been a mistake any other time. As it was, Sonic was too busy trying to compose himself. He took a step forward after a beat, intending to show the pissant exactly what he thought of his behavior.
Genos’s look stopped him. His synthetic eyes somehow looked old, tired. They were eyes he had seen only on a few people before, on those who had stared at him as his blade drew near, not with anger or fear, but with resolution.
They were the eyes of someone who no longer feared death.
And for some, incredibly odd reason, that made Sonic’s heart drop into his stomach, where it sat, heavy.
The hero shifted his body to completely face Sonic, gaze unwavering. “You need to leave.”
Sonic laughed then, the sound bitter, ending in a series of coughs that wracked his chest. “That’s rich. What’d I do to piss you off this time? If it’s about jumping your egg-headed teacher at the supermarket-"
He was cut off abruptly by a mechanical whirring, and Genos raised his hand, palm even with Sonic’s face. “I am not joking. This is not a request.” Sonic could feel the heat radiating off Genos as he charged for incineration. “It is my duty to ensure the safety of the Cities and their civilians, and you are an S-Class villain. If you do not leave now, I will engage you with the intent of eliminating the threat.”
Rage burned through Sonic then, hot, dangerous, unquenchable. He imagined himself moving faster than the hero could follow, severing his head from his artificial spine. He imagined peeling the exoskeleton away from the braincase and destroying the only part of the brat that was still human, denying him the few seconds of time he could have survived separated from his core. Or, he could rip the power source out itself. Crush it between hands slick with oil, and watch his body slowly shut down, that damnable grin plastered across his bruised face.
Yet Genos’s eyes twitched briefly, nearly imperceptibly, and Sonic found he couldn’t make such a move, couldn’t even reach for his dropped sword, because-
-the first few times sparing, how they became less and less aggressive, until it was essentially just a show, an excuse to be seen together and to practice their techniques. Being in utter and complete denial of that. Coffee in B-City. A walk through M-City’s nature park. Going to the movies. Buttered popcorn. Being places where they’re alone, or where it’s too dark for them to be recognized. Denying those are dates. Criticizing the kid’s shitty music taste (it’s not shitty, really). Being criticized for his shitty sense of style (also not shitty). Holding hands. Kissing behind the move theater; the passionate way the hero explored him.
Interesting conversations, like-minded thinking. Amused at how young and eager he is. Being angry when he sees the hero has sustained damage from a fight with someone else. Kissing again in the nature park, pinned up against a tree, mechanical hands being careful not to tangle in black hair. Both of them stopping too soon for the other ’s liking, but unwilling to go any further.
Being in denial of everything because he can’t care, someone like him can’t care, and he’s confused because he just saw the same thing flicker across Genos’s face, and what happened to him, what’s going on-
-he was too busy listening to the approaching sirens, signaling that the kid will soon have back-up. (He was too busy listening to the near-whispered “Please,” that tumbles from soft, synthetic lips.)
He hates to do it, hates to bow out of a fight, especially when he’s so fucking angry (and confused), but he needs to leave before things get too nasty.
Which is why runs away from the fight, from the city, from the brat. Sonic doesn't bother picking up his blade (he can always get another).
He tells himself that he runs away to plot his revenge.
‘Yes. That’s how it will be.’
Because it can't be for anything else (anything else would make him vulnerable, and if there was anything Sonic wasn't, it was vulnerable.)
He doesn’t give a damn about Genos. Doesn’t care at all.
Doesn't give a damn about him or his genuine, soft smiles, or the feeling of their fingers intertwined.
(He's not as good at lying to himself as he once was.)