Chapter Text
All you had wanted to do was go to the movies.
And now part of the city is on fire.
A sensible person, having borne witness to hero and villain fights in their many years of living in Musutafu City, would have made their way home as soon as possible, away from the fighting. Even a scared person would do that, trying to get away from any potential villain interaction. But you are neither sensible or, at this particular moment, scared. You just hear the panicked screaming of bystanders as blue fire cuts across the ground and dark portals pull strange monsters out, and you are running towards the chaos.
You are no hero. You don’t have a Quirk and while yes, you go to the gym, it definitely doesn’t match up for hero training. But your feet carry you towards the frightful scene, boots slamming against the asphalt, jacket collar turned up to avoid any debris. There are no barricades set up yet, so you dodge through the emergency crews easily. A little part of you always wanted to be a hero, or at least a helper. Your mother had a fascination for American TV shows, and she liked to show you a children’s show that spoke to that. When you see something scary on television, look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping. It was reassuring to you, but you always wanted to be a helper. Somehow.
So here you are, hauling people out from under rubble and directing them towards the medical tent. The adrenaline pumping through your veins is somehow trampling down your fear, sending you away from a flight response straight into fight. Until you hear a scratchy voice say “Raise some hell,” following swiftly by an animalistic roar. Then something large crashes into the ground beside you. You freeze, still holding another bystander as you watch this massive…thing land near you. It’s dark black with far too many eyes, brain visible on top of its head, and those eyes…fix on you.
“Run,” you manage to say to the bystander, who promptly takes your advice. Then YOU take your own advice, running in the opposite direction. And the creature follows you with a roar.
It feels like you’re a gazelle in a nature documentary being followed by a lion. Except not nearly as entertaining, because you’re leaping around rubble and flames, heart pounding desperately in your chest, fear keeping your feet moving. There’s nothing to hide in or behind, even as you run towards the fighting, and the footsteps seem to get closer with every step. You almost content yourself with the inevitability of getting your ass kicked until you hear a shout and feel the flames glance across your back.
“BURN!” A deep angry voice yells, and once you get a few feet away, you turn to see Endeavour engaged with the creature. Aka trying to turn it into a crisp.
You let out a whoop of joy. Endeavour’s expression doesn’t change, nor does his fighting style, but you think he heard you anyways. All he does is rush towards the creature, his standard rage in his face, fire crackling around him like the living incarnation of a wildfire.
My god, Pro Heroes can be terrifying.
Out of danger for the moment, you take a moment to duck down by some rubble and survey the area. You’re well out of bystander range now, and a wave of dread sweeps over you as you take everything in. You ran right into the battlefield. Heroes and villains are fighting around you, and you hunker yourself down as small as you can. This is bad. This is bad.
“YOU WILL FALL!”
It’s strange how things get pressed into the cultural consciousness. You’ve seen and heard so many things about All Might, about how he’s there to help and you do not need to be afraid if he is there, that the moment you hear his voice at a distance, your fear ebbs just a little. Peeking up over the edge of the rubble, you search the chaos until you find that familiar blue and red suit, slamming power charged fists into a horde of the black creatures.
A little bit of the tension in you unwinds. It’s going to be okay.
Then you watch one of the black creatures, one with a bird-like face, charge full on into All Might while he is distracted with something else. Then another. And another. For the first couple of hits, All Might stands as sturdy as he always does, an unflinching bulwark against great force. But as the hits pile on and on…he’s starting to bend. He drops to one knee under the assault, one arm thrown up to try and stop it, but he can’t seem to get a blow in. They just rain down on him, and every glimpse of All Might looks worse and worse. Something’s wrong.
Aaand the fear comes right back in.
All Might is supposed to be ever-strong. What happens when he isn’t?
The bird faced creature shrieks in triumph, drawing one of its massive fists back. One drives down like a hammer, bashing All Might into the ground. A plume of smoke bursts up from the action – not just dust, but smoke, why is there smoke – and when the hand and bodies crawl away, you can see All Might. You’re too far away to get a good look, but he looks…smaller? Maybe it’s because you’ve been watching him get absolutely whaled on by these creatures, but he looks smaller, his body swaying a bit.
Then the blow comes more like a golf club than a hammer and All Might goes flying.
Flying. Unable to stop.
You’re not sure what propels you to run, but you do. Maybe it’s the last minute thought of ‘I have to help, I have to help, who is going to help him’. You pick up your feet and sprint along the broken asphalt, boots slamming into the ground. You can’t run as fast as he moves, but you catch a good glimpse of All Might’s body, limbs dangling like a thrown ragdoll.
He collides with the remains of a suspension bridge, getting tangled up in the wires, just barely slowing his descent.
You run as fast as you can, sprinting for all that you have.
Then his body slips down, the twang of the snapping wires echoing through the sounds of explosions, and he falls through the bridge pieces like they’re tree branches. There’s nothing to stop his ragdoll form, and you take in the sight of the broken bridge, and the chasm below it.
A horrible thought occurs to you as you jump onto the bridge. That drop is high enough to kill a normal person. This might be All Might, but something’s wrong.
Could it kill him?
He’s hanging in the last couple wires, suspended like a badly executed trapeze artist, and you cast a quick look around. You’re not sure why no one else is running for him – maybe they can’t see, maybe they’re too busy with the other creatures – but it’s only you. You’re the only one here who might just stand between All Might and death. You rush forward like your life depends on it. Well, his life. Not yours. The wires creak and strain, a horrifying chorus that threatens to turn into a requiem, and they finally snap.
There is nothing between All Might and the gap now, except your hand.
You make it just in time, dropping low to the ground, and grab his hand. His body still falls until it hits the end of your reach and jolts to a stop, hanging in the air.
…he’s heavy. Oh god, he’s heavy.
You keep low, trying to anchor yourself, but you are trying to hold a muscle bound human body with one arm. There’s only so much a non-superpowered body can take, and with a pop, your arm extends another inch as your shoulder gives way under the strain.
There’s a scream.
Oh wait, it’s your voice. Screaming. At the top of your lungs, because you’re holding a seven foot tall man from falling to his death, and now you’ve probably – scratch that, definitely – dislocated your shoulder in the process.
You grit your teeth, tightening your grip, and throw down your other arm to hold him tight. There’s enough weight to keep him in place, just barely, and your boots barely slide against the asphalt. Somehow…you hold him. You want to let go, every animal instinct in you screaming to make the pain stop, but the perhaps stupid part of you, the selfless part of you, grips on with everything you have. You lower your centre of gravity, trying to anchor yourself, and hiss out curses through your teeth.
You don’t have enough focus to really examine him, but you take in the skinny body still wearing All Might’s costume, the blonde bangs falling loosely down his face rather than upright, the sharpness of his face, his closed eyes. Shit. Not only is this really All Might, this is unconscious All Might. In the middle of a BATTLE. Explosions and movement shake the ground around you, and you pray with everything you have that that giant bird fucker isn’t going to come over here to finish the job. That someone else would deal with it on the way. That someone would come to help you.
The time passes far slower than it should. You don’t count the seconds. You’re only aware of your heartbeat hammering in your chest, the sweat dripping down your brow, your pained breaths, the slip of your boots against the ground as you try desperately to keep him still. You can’t haul him up on your own. You’re not strong enough, you’re barely strong enough to just hold on! But by some miracle, you hold. You hold and breathe and hope, and hope that you’ve got him.
Finally, after what feels like forever, there is a groan. And it’s not your own. To your desperate delight, you watch as his eyes flicker open, blond lashes beating against dirty cheeks, and that blue is suddenly the best colour that you’ve ever seen. He groans again, eyes fuzzy, and you watch the clarity seep into his face. See him see you above him, gritting your teeth in pain, holding him with a white knuckled grip, smoke still billowing around behind you, your fearful expression on your face under the pain. His eyes go wide, his jaw dropping just a little, as he takes everything in.
Part of you, under all of the pain, isn’t really sure that this is All Might. It’s someone wearing his suit, his haircut, his eyes, but you have seen enough images of this hero in your life to be skeptical. You don’t say anything, barely able to unclench your jaw enough to breathe, but perhaps the confusion shows in your expression.
Whether that triggers it or some other thought, you don’t know, but you watch as this frail man sets his jaw. With a furrowed brow and a groan of pain, he stretches his arm up to grab onto the concrete edge. His long fingers wrap around, digging into a handhold, and he moves his feet until he finds a foothold. Each jerking movement makes you grit your teeth in pain, and you would bite your tongue or cheek if you didn’t think you’d make yourself bleed. You instead keep yourself anchored until he hauls himself up, and you back up to ease the process. When he finally gets to the top, he smiles at you, and even if the face isn’t right, you know that expression. You’ve seen it on more than a few billboards, in interviews, on merchandise.
That’s All Might, alright.
You let go of his hand, enough adrenaline coursing through you to dull the pain as your slightly long arm comes up to grip your shirtfront. You don’t have a chance to speak, you barely even have a chance to breathe, before you watch him sway. A hand goes to his ribs – right where the bird fucker punched him – and you watch as he coughs, and blood drips from his lips.
And he falls. Forward, at least, away from the chasm.
With a caught breath, you jump forward to catch him with your good arm. In another moment, it could be romantic, like a dip in a slow dance, but his dead weight nearly takes you both to the ground.
“For fuck’s sake, All Might,” you growl with pain.
Alright, you’ve seen enough war movies. And you go to the gym enough. You manage to drag All Might’s body in front of you, and carefully sling him over your shoulders in a fireman carry. It hurts like a motherfucker to do, but you manage it. By some miracle. His long body hangs down on either side of you and with a low growl of effort, you get to your feet. When you see the flashing lights of the Hero Commission medical cars, you start walking towards them. One foot in front of the other. You’ll get there.
You make your way there off to the side, away from the cameras. All-Might’s suit is quite recognizable from a distance, but somehow, the action manages to distract people, along with the reporters’ calls of “Where is All Might?”
Please don’t look, please don’t look, gods, let someone who can actually help see me!
It’s Sir Nighteye whose attention you manage to catch. Thank the Gods. If anyone knows how to deal with this, it’s All Might’s former sidekick. He’s away from the reports, suit dirty from the fighting, surveying the battlefield. After a few slow steps, you can see his expression, and despite its ever-present glare…it looks worried. His eyes sweep across the area until they finally catch on you. You grimace as you shift your load slightly so he can see who you’re carrying. All Might’s head dangles by your bicep, and you watch as Sir Nighteye’s dark eyes go wide with shock. He rushes towards you, tucking something into his pockets, and immediately catches one of All Might’s arms, pulling it over his shoulders. “What happened?” He asks sharply.
“Giant bird fucker thing,” you manage, pain making your voice thready as you slide All Might off, taking him with your good shoulder. “Knocked him right out. Smoke and everything.”
Public perception says that Sir Nighteye is not the sort of man to curse, but you think you hear a hiss of something under his breath. “How badly is he injured?”
“Bad,” you adjust yourself to try and match Sir Nighteye’s height and start walking. “He woke up enough to haul himself up from where I was holding him up, but passed right back out.”
“Holding him up?” Sir Nighteye quickly scans you and his eyes widen at your slightly longer than normal arm. “Where did he fall?”
“Bridge,” you growl, jaw creaking with how tight you are gritting your teeth. “Now. Inside. Please.”
Mercifully, he doesn’t press you for more details. He just leads you into a medical tent, already set up for survivors, and the two of you manage to get All Might into a bed. And out of his all too recognizable suit. Recovery Girl flocks over to help, and Sir Nighteye leads you over to a nearby bed so you can get your shoulder looked at.
“We must speak after, regarding what you saw,” he says firmly.
You scowl through the pain. What kind of person do you think I am? “I’ll sign whatever you want me to sign, I won’t say a word, just please-” your eyes are wet with pain, “just get me some goddamn pain medicine.”
Sir Nighteye looks at you intently, his famous intimidating glare ripping through you. He doesn’t activate his quirk on you – probably because it’s in use elsewhere – but the effect is still the same. He’s judging you, determining if you are trustworthy. Finally, he nods and calls a nurse over.
Thank the Gods.
--
You’re close enough to his bed to hear it. All Might’s bed wrapped in curtains, preventing the main public eye from seeing it, and there’s more than a little noise in this bustling nurse’s station, but you hear the voice anyway. “Mirai?”
It…sounds like All Might, but it isn’t. The volume is wrong, the tone less dramatic, the voice less heavy. But it’s All Might. It’s certainly coming from the bed that you set him into.
Sir Nighteye responds. “The people are safe. The fight is over.”
“What…what happened?”
The bedsheets rustle, and you hear Sir Nighteye’s shoes click on the floor as he moves closer. You can see them moving under the edge of the curtain, standing beside the bed. “The Nomus wore you down. One knocked you out of form, and out completely,” Sir Nighteye replies. “You’re going to be on bedrest for a while.”
There is a pause, a heavy one. “There was…a civilian,” All-Might says carefully, voice soft and slow. It’s strange to hear All Might trying to be quiet. “They…they were holding me.”
“According to security footage, you were almost knocked into the railway chasm,” Nighteye informs him. “The only reason you weren’t was because that civilian caught you and brought you here.”
Another pause. “…are they…”
“Dislocated shoulder. Minor bruises. Tired and in pain, but otherwise alright,” Nighteye pauses. “They already agreed to sign a nondisclosure agreement.”
“They saw.” It sounds like All-Might is pronouncing his own death sentence.
“Yes.”
“And they’re injured because they helped me.” That somehow sounds worse than what you knowing All Might’s biggest secret (or at least part of it). All of you wants to intervene, to say something to break that train of thought. But the moment you shift in the bed, you hiss in pain, hanging your head down.
Fuck, that hurts.
“They appear to have a similar selfless streak to you, sir,” Nighteye seems amused. “If not the strength.”
Okay, that you can comment on. “Not everyone has hero muscles or training, sirrah,” you call softly through the curtain, “but we can try to help those who do so much to help us.”
You hear the bed beside you shifting with movement. You don’t hear anything for a moment – you think that they might be communicating through gestures – but eventually, the curtain opens a crack. And there he is. All Might himself. It’s good to see him with his eyes open, even if those eyes are alternating between staring at you in awe and raking you from head to toe. He looks at the dirt on your shoes, the cuts on your face from rubble, your arm in a sling, the empty pill cup beside you.
You wiggle your good fingers in a wave, inclining your head in a bow. All Might does the same, although you can see him wince when he stares at your shoulder. You frown at him a little and shake your head. “Nah. Nah. Nope. No guilt. Not allowed. Nyet. Nein. いいえ.”
All Might snorts a bit with laughter, although the action makes him wince, and Sir Nighteye, from the edge of the curtain, cracks a hint of a smile. “You heard the civilian, All Might,” he says firmly. “You’re not allowed to feel guilty.”
All Might cuts a side look at Sir Nighteye, who looks placid as always, before looking back to you. You take the time to add, “It’s an injury that I got from helping someone. I’d say that’s worth it. Even with the pain.”
Something about All Might’s face softens at that, a knowing sort of expression. (You know of his penchant for self-sacrifice. Maybe he sees you as a kindred spirit?)
“Thank you, then,” he says, “for what you did. You saved my life, and my reputation along with it.”
That is part of it, isn’t it? You imagine for just a moment what would happen if the news got out that All Might was injured to the point of regressing to a thinner size, and the thought makes you wince internally. Pandemonium. Upped villain activity to try and weaken him to that point. Society depends so much on All Might, and the young heroes are not yet ready to pick up the slack. Suddenly, that NDA makes far more sense.
You just offer a smile, as warm as your lingering pain will let you give. “I would do it again. Though I may need your help coming up with a good substitute story of how I got this,” you gesture to the sling with one extended finger.
“That can be discussed,” Sir Nighteye nods.
The next fifteen minutes are spent tossing ideas back and forth about how you dislocated your shoulder, and you manage to piece together a story about trying to haul a heavy rock off of someone. The whole time, All Might watches you. You can’t tell exactly what he’s seeing in you. Does he see your stubbornness? Kindness? Willingness to help? Something else that only heroes can tell about people? You have no idea.
Eventually, Sir Nighteye leaves and it’s just you and All Might. Small Might? Mini Might? The thought makes you smile a little and you shift a bit on your bed, legs hanging over the side. “May I come closer? Easier to be quiet that way?”
All Might looks up from his hands, those bright blue eyes peering deep into you, and after a long quiet moment, he nods. Hesitantly, you climb off of your bed, keeping your upper body as still as possible to avoid the pain, and head over to a nearby chair. You pull the curtain closed behind you and you carefully sit down. As soon as you sit, All Might’s eyes go back to his hands. He pulls the thin hospital blanket up a bit more, bunching it around his lap, and you get the feeling that if it wasn’t a complete social faux pas, he’d been hiding under it. You can’t quite make out the expression on his face – and it is still so weird to see All Might without his every present smile, never mind his smaller frame – but you think he looks…sad? Frightened?
“What was that thing?” You ask finally, worry in your voice. “That thing that hit you?”
After a few moments, All Might speaks. “It’s called a Nomu,” his voice turns hard. “They were people once, but they have been experimented on, made to hold many quirks at once. They have no minds and will only do as commanded.”
The image of All Might’s body flying through the air at the force of one’s punch makes all your hair stand up on end. “One chased me,” you say softly, good hand gripping your trouser leg. “It looked rabid. I…”
I’ve never been so scared in my life.
Your next breath shudders out of your chest as you remember the feet charging behind you, the Nomu’s screech, the faint heat of fire behind you as Endeavour pushed it out of the way. All Might looks up from his hands and the fear softens. He reaches over quickly, his hand covering your own, and even if the voice isn’t right, the words are nothing short of All Might. “There is no shame in being afraid, citizen. And you are safe now. It shall not hurt you again, and there will be those to protect you, always.”
You squeeze All Might’s hand for a moment, gathering yourself, and close your eyes. You’re not there. You’re safe. You are beside All Might, injured as he is, holding your hand.
(His fingers are long and lean, leathery with age, tendons poking out of the back, covered in calluses and scars. But they are warm and you don’t think you have ever felt so safe as you have right here, beside him. It feels good to hold his hand when you’re not gripping it for dear life.)
Finally, you open your eyes and look at him. All Might is smiling at you, hand still holding yours, and you find yourself a little sheepish. “Thank you.”
“It is what I am here for, citizen,” he replies. “It is what I do, even as I am now.”
Right. The whole shape change. “You don’t have to explain it to me,” you say after a moment. “What happened, I mean. I’m basically a stranger, and I gather that is really important to you.”
“A stranger who saved my life,” he replies, although you can hear his voice waver. He gathers himself with a slow breath and replies, “Let me simply say that it’s the consequence of an injury. After time and effort, I cannot hold that form anymore.”
Your eyebrows raise. That would pose a problem. You have so many questions, but you manage, just barely, to hold your tongue on them. That’s too much detail to get into, and you’re already going to be bound by an NDA. “Quirks have some interesting conditions, don’t they?” You finally say. “I’ve seen a few, even though I don’t have one.”
This time, All Might’s eyebrows raise. “Ah, you’re Quirkless. And still you tried your best to help.”
You smile. “What kind of person would I be if I didn’t? I was just on my way to the movies when the attack hit.”
The fear has faded from All Might’s face, replaced by curiosity and a little bit of positive emotion. “I hope you will be able to see that film in the future. What was it?”
Of all the things you expected to talk to All Might about, movies wasn’t one of them, but here you are. You talk away, and it turns out All Might is a massive movie buff. And he has opinions. It’s a great distraction from the pain for both of you, and as you talk, you watch All Might’s face relax from its tightened expression, and he settles back on the bed so he can actually rest. His hand is still holding your own, and you can feel the grip relax as he begins to ease himself into the bed.
It’s easy to forget that heroes are people too. You can’t forget it now as you listen to All Might mutter about costume design in classic movies, his eyes drifting closed with exhaustion, his hand starting to slide off of your own.
He shakes his head slightly, eyes widening, and you can’t help a smile.
“It’s alright, All Might. Go to sleep. You’ve been through a lot,” you rub your thumb across his knuckles in what you hope is a soothing gesture.
All Might shakes his head once more to clear his eyes and huffs out a laugh. “I suppose I need it. My apologies for my rudeness.”
You smile a little more. “You’re forgiven.”
He turns his head slightly to the side, towards the side table, and gestures to some paper next to him. “How can I reach you? I’d like to repay you somehow.”
You let go of his hand so you can haul the paper over (you can feel the warmth still against your skin) and you write down your phone number and your name. After putting it somewhere secure, he looks relieved, eyes already half closed. “Done,” you say gently. “I’ll see you again.”
“Thank you for indulging an old man,” he smiles a little bit before settling into the blankets. “And for all you have done.”
(There’s crowsfeet by his eyes. He’s old and tired and oh why is your heart clenching at the sight of a man not able to relax. You want to touch his forehead, to smooth those wrinkles away)
“My pleasure,” you give his hand a gentle pat. “Sleep well.”
You linger for just a moment longer and watch as he drifts off, almost as if on command. His expression relaxes with sleep, and the sight hits you like a gut punch. This is a rare sight, and one you are never going to share with another soul. Not just because of an NDA, but because this is precious. No one gets to see All Might vulnerable. No one gets to see him in pain, alone, asleep. And yet here you are.
You pinch your thigh quickly. Nope. Not dreaming.
Slowly, you back up out of his little room and close the curtain behind you. Recovery Girl is standing outside, and the expression on her face as she looks over you makes you blush. “He’s sleeping,” you manage to say, hoping that you aren’t going to spontaneously combust.
“Good,” she says firmly. “The poor man needs it. Now, let me give you a look over and then we can give your bed to other people who need it.”
The checkup goes by fairly simple, and she even gives you a referral for a physiotherapist once your shoulder heals. And an actual therapist, for any trauma related to the fight. As she works, though, your eyes keep cutting over to the curtained off bed, still processing everything that has happened today. The fifth or so time you look over, Recovery Girl says firmly, “You don’t need to worry, dear. He’s recovered from worse.”
That somehow does not help. “He said he was injured before, that’s why…” you gesture vaguely towards the bed and Recovery Girl nods, understandingly. “What kind of injury does that?”
Her kind face goes still, a little darker, and she says quietly, “Far worse than this, dear. But he didn’t have as much help that time.”
Suddenly, you are glad that you were able to run as fast as you did.
“Now, hurry on home and rest. You got some healing to do, and you’ll get to talk to him again, I think.”
Yes. Yes, you will. (The idea that All Might has your phone number is a little dizzying.)
When you get home, you take some pain medication and settle into a comfy spot on your couch to watch a movie. Not the news. You are not going to subject yourself to the news and relieve what happened that day. You’ll already get nightmares about it. As the movie plays across the screen, you can’t help but remember the expression on All Might’s face as he looked at you.
(It’s a bad comparison, but you used to volunteer at an animal shelter and you saw a dog that had been beaten, and how All Might stared at you reminded you a bit of that scared dog, watching an approaching hand in case it was about to hit him. It was a look wondering if there was a catch.)
Or at the very least...like he didn’t know what to do with you.