Chapter Text
The morning of the operation was a flurry of activity as Kirishima made his way back to the conference room. He felt the weight of the task ahead, but his usual optimism was like a steady anchor, keeping him from succumbing to the tension swirling around him. His mind buzzed with preparations and calculations as he greeted his teammates, checking in with Akari and Tamaki. His smile was the same as always, though it felt a little tighter than usual.
As everyone gathered in the room, the atmosphere was heavy, and the brief murmurs of conversation fell silent when Masaki entered the room, his expression calm and unflinching. The room instantly shifted as he stood in front of the large screen, preparing to repeat the final briefing.
“Alright, listen up,” Masaki began, his voice firm and authoritative. “We have no room for mistakes. The mission’s stakes are high, and everyone’s role is critical to its success.”
The large map of the industrial site flickered on the screen, casting a pale light across the room. The group of heroes stood at attention, some of them adjusting their gear or silently preparing for what was ahead.
“This is the mission plan,” Masaki continued, pointing to the map. “We’ll break it into three phases: Infiltration, neutralization of key defenses, and finally, rescue and extraction.”
Kirishima’s eyes narrowed, and he stood a little straighter, already preparing himself for the dangerous work ahead.
“Phase one: Infiltration,” Masaki said, his tone crisp. “We have to get inside without being detected. The location is heavily guarded with security, and the facility is designed to detect any breach. The underground tunnels are rigged with quirk-neutralizing tech, so you’ll need to stay low. Lemillion will lead the scouting team, supported by Nejire-chan, Jirou, and Suneater. Your task is to confirm the hostages’ locations while avoiding detection.”
Kirishima nodded at the mention of Lemillion’s name. He trusted Mirio to lead the way. There was no one better for this.
Masaki moved to the next part of the plan. “Phase two: Neutralization of defenses. This phase will focus on eliminating or disabling the villains’ security systems. The assault team—Midoriya, Todoroki, and Endeavor—will lead this. Your job is to break through any hostile forces, take down key threats, and ensure the rescue team has a safe path. You’ve all got the strength for this.”
Midoriya and Todoroki exchanged a brief, silent nod, both of them looking like they were already strategizing the best approach.
“And then there’s phase three,” Masaki said, his voice steady, his gaze moving across the room to each hero. “This is where you come in, Red Riot. Your job, along with Dynamight, is to secure the area and stop any reinforcements from reaching the facility. You’re the backup infiltration team. You’ll clear a path for the rescue team and prevent any enemy support from reaching us.”
Kirishima straightened, his expression calm but serious. Bakugou, standing at his side, didn’t meet his eyes, but the flicker of acknowledgment between them was enough. They were partners, and this mission would require them to rely on each other more than ever before.
“This mission is about precision and teamwork,” Masaki emphasized, his voice quiet but filled with gravity. “If we fail, the hostages are dead, and the villains will escape without a trace. You’ve all been selected for your skills—don’t let anything get in the way of the mission.”
Kirishima’s gaze hardened. No matter what happened, they couldn’t afford to fail. Too many lives were on the line.
“We move out in two hours,” Masaki concluded, his eyes scanning the room once more. “I expect you all to be ready.”
The brief silence that followed was thick with anticipation. Each of them knew the dangers that lay ahead. But for Kirishima, it was just another reminder of why he did this—to protect people, to make sure no one else had to go through what he had.
He stood tall, nodded once more at Bakugou, and then turned toward the exit. He didn’t have time to think about anything other than what lay ahead. The mission had to come first.
"Let’s do this," Kirishima murmured under his breath, the familiar adrenaline beginning to kick in. He could feel the fire within him burning brighter. There was no room for hesitation.
---
Two hours later, the operation began. The narrow, dimly lit hallway outside the storage room felt like an eternity as Kirishima and Bakugou pressed their backs against the cold walls, staying still and listening for any signs of movement. Kirishima’s muscles were tense, but his mind stayed sharp, eyes flicking from the shadows to Bakugou’s unreadable expression. The plan was simple—stay hidden, move fast, and get out.
But the air between them felt charged, an underlying intensity that neither of them could ignore. Kirishima was used to Bakugou’s explosiveness, his brashness, but here, in this moment, there was something quieter about the way Bakugou carried himself. Maybe it was the urgency of the situation, maybe it was the way their bodies were pressed so close, but there was an unspoken understanding that connected them in a way words couldn’t express.
“Do you think we’re clear?” Kirishima asked in a hushed tone, his voice barely above a whisper. His head tilted toward Bakugou, searching for a sign of reassurance.
Bakugou’s gaze darted over the hallway again, scanning for any threats. “Does it matter?” he shot back, the sharpness in his voice hiding the uncertainty beneath it. He wasn’t one to admit when things were getting dicey. “Stay focused.”
Kirishima’s lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m always focused.”
There was a brief pause, and for a moment, the only sound in the air was their breathing. Then, with a sudden movement, Bakugou jerked his head to the side, signaling Kirishima to move. They didn’t speak again, knowing that any noise could give them away.
They were quick, quiet as shadows, moving down the corridor with the practiced ease of two people who had worked together countless times. But as they turned a corner, a door swung open in front of them, and a voice echoed from the other side.
“Who’s there?”
The hairs on the back of Kirishima’s neck stood up. Instinctively, he grabbed Bakugou’s arm, pulling him into a narrow alcove next to the door, where they both crouched down as low as possible. They barely fit in the small space, their bodies pressed tightly together, but neither of them dared to make a sound.
Kirishima’s heartbeat pounded in his ears, and he could feel Bakugou’s body stiffen beside him. There was no room for error now. Any movement could give them away.
“Damn it,” Bakugou muttered under his breath, his voice tight with frustration. “Stay calm.”
Kirishima’s lips barely parted as he whispered, “I’m not the one who’s about to blow our cover.”
He could feel Bakugou’s glare even if he couldn’t see it, but the tension was palpable. They could hear footsteps approaching, slow but deliberate. Every breath felt like a countdown.
The seconds dragged on, and Kirishima’s muscles ached from staying so still. He could feel Bakugou’s heat beside him, the slight tremble of his body from suppressed adrenaline. If it weren’t for the gravity of the situation, he might’ve found it oddly comforting—being so close to him, even if it was for survival.
The footsteps stopped just a few feet away from the alcove, and Kirishima held his breath, barely daring to move. His eyes flicked to Bakugou’s, meeting the fire of his gaze. There was no need to speak. They both knew what was at stake.
And then, with a final glance, the footsteps receded, fading into the distance.
Kirishima exhaled, his body sagging slightly with relief, though his heart was still racing. He couldn’t help but chuckle softly, his voice barely audible. “That was too close.”
Bakugou’s hand gripped his arm in a vice-like hold, pulling him upright. “You talk too damn much,” Bakugou muttered, the familiar annoyance in his tone.
But there was something else there, something softer—an unspoken acknowledgment that they had made it through another close call. Kirishima didn’t say anything, just gave him a knowing nod.
They moved again, quieter this time, with the weight of their mission pressing down on them. The rest of the world seemed to fade into the background, and for a brief moment, all that mattered was the silent, shared understanding between them.
And maybe, just maybe, there was something more beneath the surface of their partnership—something neither of them was ready to name.
---
The operation unfolded with a near-perfect precision that would have made Masaki proud. The infiltration team had done their job, silently locating the hostages and relaying their positions. The assault team cleared out the key defenses, creating a path for the rescue team.
Masaki's message crackled through the earpieces, a sharp and steady tone amidst the chaos of the operation.
"Other stages are fine. The captives are on their way."
Kirishima nods, his stance unwavering, though his mind begins to shift toward the task at hand. The prisoners would soon be here. He shoots a quick glance at Bakugou, who doesn’t seem phased, his eyes focused ahead with a steady, almost dangerous intensity.
"Alright, we stay sharp," Kirishima murmurs, keeping his voice low. Bakugou doesn't respond, but Kirishima knows he's already in tune with the situation. They’d been through this kind of thing before, and even without words, their movements would speak volumes.
Everything was on track. At least, it was until the first of the hostages began to emerge.
The industrial site’s alarms had been disabled, and the area around the hostages was secure—at least, as far as anyone knew. Kirishima stood by the extraction point, watching as scared civilians stumbled out one by one, their faces pale and strained. Fatgum was leading them from the front. He felt a surge of relief at every person who made it out.
Kirishima didn’t hesitate. He rushed forward to help guide the remaining hostages, shielding them with his body as debris rained down around them. The rumbling grew louder, the ground beneath them cracking ominously.
Through the smoke and dust, Kirishima caught sight of Bakugou, his expression a mix of focus and fury as he aimed another explosion at a collapsing beam, holding the structure up just long enough for the last of the civilians to escape. But with every blast, the ground beneath them grew more unstable.
“Bakugou! That’s enough!” Kirishima shouted, his voice carrying over the din. “We’ve got to go!”
Bakugou turned, his expression unreadable. For a moment, it looked like he might argue, but then his jaw tightened, and he nodded. Together, they began to retreat toward the exit, their movements quick and purposeful.
And then, just as they reached the edge of the chaos, a piercing scream cut through the air.
Kirishima froze, his blood turning cold. It wasn’t just a scream of fear—it was the desperate, anguished cry of someone being left behind.
“No…” he whispered, his heart lurching.
“Red!” Bakugou snapped, grabbing his arm. “What the hell are you doing?”
“There’s someone still inside!” Kirishima’s voice was firm, his gaze locked on the smoke-filled facility.
The moment the scream echoed through the crumbling facility, Kirishima moved. His body reacted before his mind could fully process it—muscle memory, instinct, the very foundation of who he was.
Bakugou’s grip on his arm was strong, but Kirishima wrenched free without hesitation. His gaze locked onto the thick smoke swallowing the facility’s interior, his heart hammering. Someone was still in there. And if he hesitated, if he let the fear of the collapsing structure get to him, that person would die.
“Red, don’t—” Bakugou’s voice was sharp, raw, but Kirishima was already sprinting back toward the wreckage.
The ground trembled beneath his boots as another explosion rocked the facility. Steel beams groaned under the weight of their own destruction, concrete splintering and falling in jagged chunks. Smoke burned his lungs, but he kept moving, kept pushing forward. His quirk surged to the surface, hardening his skin as he plunged into the destruction without a second thought.
Bakugou lunged after him. He didn’t think, didn’t care about anything else—he just moved, feet hitting the ground with enough force to send cracks through the already unstable floor.
But before he could take another step, something wrapped around his torso, pulling him back with unrelenting strength.
"No! Let me go!” Bakugou’s voice was raw, a snarl ripping through his throat as he struggled against the restraint. His palms sparked, the heat of an explosion threatening to burst free, but Jeanist tightened his hold before he could act on impulse.
“No.” Best Jeanist’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it—a warning.
“He’s still in there! I can—”
“You can’t help him if you get yourself killed too!” Jeanist cut in, voice like iron. He barely flinched as Bakugou’s quirk flared, the heat licking at the air between them.
Bakugou fought against the pull with everything he had, but Best Jeanist didn’t yield. The older hero’s grip was firm, unrelenting, dragging him toward the exit like it was inevitable. Like there was no other option.
“The building is coming down,” Jeanist said, voice steady despite the chaos around them. “We move.” He knew that it was hard to get Bakugou to listen to him, but he hadn't been able to stop Kirishima in time, and now he had to stop Bakugou. Because he was also aware that it was impossible to get out on time.
Bakugou snarled, digging his heels into the cracked ground. “We can’t just leave him!”
Jeanist didn’t falter, didn’t even glance back. “We don’t have a choice.”
The structure groaned, metal twisting and snapping under its own weight. Dust and debris rained down, and ahead of them, the last of the hostages were scrambling toward the upper exits, some leaning on heroes for support.
Jeanist forced Bakugou to move with him, dragging him forward.
Bakugou refused to accept it. His hands curled into fists, explosions sparking to life as he fought against the fibers locking around his torso. “Damn it, Jeanist—!”
The force around him only tightened, pressing into his ribs like iron bands. “Enough.”
The single word hit harder than it should have.
Bakugou sucked in a sharp breath, his body wound so tight it hurt. The rage was still there, bubbling just beneath his skin, but Jeanist wasn’t letting him act on it.
He was stronger. More experienced. And he wasn’t going to let Bakugou make a mistake he couldn’t undo. Bakugou couldn't even use his curse quirk because the building was already collapsing. The explosion would only accelerate it.
The ground trembled violently, another section of the ceiling caving in just meters away. A thick wall of dust swallowed the corridor behind them.
And Kirishima was still inside.
Bakugou’s throat tightened, but he couldn’t stop himself from looking back.
What if Kirishima never made it out?
What if he never saw him again?
His legs felt heavier with every step away from the wreckage. Every second that passed, the possibility of Kirishima not following them grew more real.
Jeanist didn’t give him a chance to stop. Didn’t acknowledge the way his body had begun to shake, the way his chest rose and fell too fast, too shallow.
They reached the stairwell. The last of the civilians were making their way up, and Jeanist pushed Bakugou forward without hesitation.
“Move,” he commanded.
Another violent tremor shook the stairwell. The collapse was accelerating. If they didn’t get out now, they’d all be buried.
Jeanist forced him up the stairs, step by step, dragging him forward. Bakugou clenched his fists, his heart hammering so hard it felt like it might burst
The sound of the building giving way was deafening. Metal screeched as it twisted under the weight of the falling structure, concrete cracked apart, and the force of the collapse sent dust and debris billowing into the sky. For a split second, the world seemed to freeze.
Then the ground beneath Bakugou's feet trembled violently, and his heart stopped.
"Red!"
His voice tore through the thick cloud of dust, raw and frantic. He didn't think—his body moved before his mind could catch up, feet pounding against the rubble as he surged toward the wreckage.
A hand grabbed his arm. Tight. Unyielding.
"Dynamight..." Best Jeanist’s voice was sharp, cutting through the haze of panic.
Bakugou wrenched his arm free with a growl, barely stopping himself from blasting the hand away. "Get off me! He’s still in there!" His breathing was ragged, his chest tight as his gaze darted across the destruction, searching—begging—for any sign of red. Any sign that Kirishima had made it out.
There was nothing.
Just broken concrete and twisted steel.
No movement. No sound.
His stomach twisted, his blood turning ice cold. The dust burned his throat, but he barely noticed. He took a step forward, then another, pushing past the rescuers who had begun shouting orders, scanning the area, trying to assess the damage. None of it mattered.
"Eijirou!" he yelled again, voice breaking in a way it never had before. His hands shook as he shoved aside a chunk of debris, his explosions weaker than usual, like his body was resisting the truth. He wasn’t thinking anymore—he was acting on pure instinct, on something primal clawing at his insides.
He had to find him.
"Bakugou—"
"Shut up!" he snapped at whoever dared to stop him, his voice hoarse. His fingers curled into trembling fists. "Help me dig or get the hell out of my way!"
There was silence.
Then, as if the universe itself had decided to crush him completely, the first rescuer spoke.
"The structure collapsed completely," Masaki muttered into his radio, voice tight. "No visible movement inside. No survivors detected."
The words barely registered before Bakugou was shoving him back.
"Shut up! Don’t—Don’t say that! You don’t know shit!" His vision blurred at the edges, rage and panic twisting together in something suffocating. He turned back to the rubble, his hands trembling as he reached for another slab of concrete. "He’s alive. I know he’s alive."
The others didn’t stop him.
Maybe they were too shocked by his reaction. Maybe they were waiting for him to accept what they already had.
But Bakugou didn’t care.
Because he wasn’t leaving without Kirishima.
He’d tear apart the entire city with his bare hands if it meant getting him back.
He wasn’t going to lose him.
He couldn't.
Not again.
Not ever.