Chapter Text
“You know what sucks about days like these?” Saitama drawled lazily, “Even if you remember the thing you forgot at the store, by the time you go back, the sale is over! It really fucking sucks!”
The monster currently holding his one ankle roared loudly, and RUDELY, in his face. Saitama gritted his teeth, a vein bulging on the side of his head. It's skin felt like the one time he had been rummaging in a thrift store and grabbed an old, crusty Barney the Dinosaur stuffed plushie. Or maybe it felt like how nails on a chalkboard sounded? Perhaps some hideous form of both smashed together, and coupled with itchy wool sweater. Saitama didn’t want it touching him at all, but what could he do? To make matters worse, it’s breath smelled like butt and nail polish remover. Maybe a splash of freshly cut grass, too. Sai grimaced. Normally he’d just punch this thing and get it done with, but he was hanging upside down right now. Blood was pooling in his cheeks and he was getting majorly dizzy. He didn’t have a way to gauge how far down the ground was. Sure, he was a pretty strong dude, but Sai didn’t think falling four stories onto his skull was particularly smart. It’d hurt pretty bad. Major booboo to Ouchie Tom. Okay, that was a bad pun.
Saitama’s head whipped to the right as the air pressure changed nearby. “Hold on! I’ll save you!” A man’s voice, from the timbre probably in his late teens. Healthy. There was also the strong whirring of a computer, and the faint scent of humidifier. Cyborg? Cyborg.
Whatever the cyborg had done connected with the monster’s body. The impact of the attack sent vibrations through the beasts plush hide, releasing Saitama from its grasp. For a split second Saitama felt his stomach lurch and spin, his body twisting as gravity sucked him back to the ground. There was an collision, but not from his meaty husk slamming into unforgiving concrete. It was a much gentler jolt, from behind caught by --- Arms? Cold arms, that were smooth and a little hot on one side - Metal. A cyborg!
“Yo dude, nice catch!” Saitama grinned and felt the blood return to the rest of his body, “Do me a fave, and fly up to that guy like you just did.”
“What? No, I need to get you to--”
“Bro, trust me. I got a score to settle. It’s personal, you see.” Silence was the answer. Would the mysterious savior take the bait? Their course veered to the right, the smell of ‘first grader butt from riding on a bus all day for a field trip became stronger. A vicious grin slid over his face, “You’re the best, man. Make sure my fist can get close to it, okay?”
“S-sure, but once you’re done I am putting you down so I can finish the battle.”
“Uh-huh,” Stronger. Stronger. Trucker butt and a bag of lawn mulch with acetone cologne. Almost, Almost --
Saitama reeled back and threw his weight into the punch, effectively jettisoning himself from the cyborg’s arms. His fist connected with the squishy body for a second.
“THAT’S FOR MAKING ME MISS MY SALE, YOU CREEP!”
Through a rain of foam parts, Saitama glided to the ground. It wasn’t the most graceful landing. He flailed and stumbled, but eventually got his bearings, “Now what the hell am I gonna do for dinner?”
“I’ll buy you dinner! I’ll buy you anything! Please teach me your secrets!” Saitama had of course felt the cyborg approaching. Not only his heavy steps that smashed with excessive weight into the cement sidewalk, but also the whir of an excited computer. Weird, his hands were cool to the touch, and jointed. Saitama couldn’t help but rub his thumb against the hand, taking in the various textures.
“Dinner sounds good. First though, what’s your name?”
“Genos.”
“Genos, huh? S’cool name. Very scifi mecha. My fave genre.”
“I… Is that so? Your name?” Aw cute! When he stuttered the fan noise got stronger.
Saitama grinned wolfishly, “They call me Caped Baldy, but you can call me Saitama.”
The Mysterious Being, a large monster that looked like one of those capsule grow creatures from a cereal box mixed with modernist art and dunked in a teal paint can, roared loudly in the civilian’s face. Genos tensed, eyes zooming in to get better detail. Male, age unknown (30-40 age suggested due to baldness), currently in khaki shorts, a multi-colored palm tree over shirt with white undershirt and blue crocs (suggestion: colorblind? Irrelevant), hanging upside down suspended approximately ten feet in the air by single ankle. Given weight of average male between the ages of 30-40, dislocation and eventual dismemberment, leading to death from impact in T-minus four minutes.
This was not the mad cyborg. This was not his quest. Genos’ fist tightened as his sides as his brows furrowed. Yet he could not leave a monster here to ravage a city. It was irresponsible. Dr. Kuseno would be extremely unhappy.
Suggestion: Destroy both.
Suggestion: Denied
He would not kill the civilian. While Genos was not a hero, he was not a villain. He was a cyborg for justice.
Fire Canons Engaging. Blasting off in. Five… Four… Three…
The roar of fire from his elbows and soles of his feet was comforting. Like a security blanket.
“Hold on! I’ll save you!” Rocketing himself towards the monster, he twisted gracefully in the air and used his momentum and body weight to hurl his foot into the beast’s chest. Vibrations wobbled through its plush body as if it were jello. For a moment it looked like the spitting image of a wacky waving tube man that populated car dealerships. Except this one was about ten times the normal size and flailing a poor man in its fist. Speaking of which, the civilian was currently plummeting to the ground.
“Fuck!” Genos swept in and caught the man. Somehow, despite being hung upside down and now free falling through the air, his pair of slick aviators still hung on his face. He looks like a retired cop from a comedy movie.
“Yo dude, nice catch!”
Data said that the match would be harrowing. It would require all of Genos’ cunning. The threat was wildly under categorized due to its ‘cute’ appearance. All Genos needed to do was put down the civilian, but…
The civilian held a grudge against this beast. He wanted revenge, much like Genos wanted revenge. This was something he would understand. Something he could relate to. Should he be incapable of beating the mad cyborg, he at least would want to get a punch in (Suggestion: Perhaps large ungodly ugly monster inflicts color blindness or poor taste in fashion onto victims? Irrelevant). No matter the cause, Genos felt honor bound to help this man.
They raced in, a truly odd couple: One a super cool hero, an enigma, dressed stylishly; The other, some bald civvie who was definitely dressed by their mother all their life. Said civilian pulled back his fist, shouting something. Something Genos forgot to hear. Something Genos forgot to even register.
Because the moment that fist pulled back, every one of his sensors was screaming for him to drop the man. Death was imminent. Those warnings were too little, too late. There was a sound like a cannon being fired and a rush of wind so strong his hair was blown back like he was modeling for a shampoo commercial. Genos had a full second to watch the reaction of the monster. It looked surprised. Not the surprise one’d expect of someone about to be eviscerated. It was the surprise of someone who had given the wrong change, or forgot to pull up their fly.
It exploded, because what else could it do other than to explode? Chunks of plush teal and rancid globs of lime green rained upon them as they fell back to the earth. Genos absorbed the impact, releasing the civilian - if he could be called that now - to brush off his hideous palmtree overshirt.
Why, why, why was Genos standing with his mouth hung wide open for flies to come in, with eyes the size of dinner plates staring at the back of the civilian? The civilian, who in a single punch obliterated the Class Wolf (Incorrect Data, Demon) monster, and was now grumbling about dinner as a rain of plush teal horror surrounded them both. Nothing made sense. Data was going haywire to the point that he finally just turned off his HUD. Without the overlay of data the world felt suddenly open and barren. A shudder rolled down Genos’ back as he steeled his shoulders.
There was only one course of action.
“I’ll buy you dinner! I’ll buy you anything! Please teach me your secrets!” Genos had grasped his hand. It was large and a little calloused. His fingernails were cut blunt and had dirt below them. Also, his thumb was currently stroking the inside of Genos’ palm in a fashion that was causing the cyborg to gape, again, at this bizarre man (now with 100% more blush).
“Dinner sounds good. First though, what’s your name?” He wasn’t even fully turned to look at Genos. His body stood oddly at a forty-five degree angle.
“Genos.” He croaked, no longer a cyborg for justice, but a nineteen year old kid getting shamelessly hit on by some slob in aviators and crocs. CROCS. Genos tried to shake himself out of the spell.
“Genos, huh? S’cool name. Very scifi mecha. My fave genre.”
Oh my god. “I… Is that so? Your name?” Genos stumbled over the words, his core humming louder in excitement. Oh my god no. Why is this happening? He shouldn’t be hot he’s wearing fucking crocs.
The man grinned wolfishly, “They call me Caped Baldy, but you can call me Saitama.”
I’m so screwed.