Chapter Text
12:27 P.M.
“Uraraka- san !”
“Uraraka Ochako, you were acquainted with-”
“Uravity, could you give us a statement on-”
Ochako pulled her hat down over her eyes like she was trying to shrink into herself. She pushed her right shoulder forwards to force her way through the crowd, keeping her head down. Fat raindrops wet the back of her shirt where her thin windbreaker couldn’t keep off the water anymore; part of her hoped that the rain would deter the crowds of journalists hemming her in on all sides, but it hadn’t.
“Uraraka- san, what do you have to say-”
Nothing. She ducked under the rope blocking the doors, and they parted when they sensed her approach. Journalists pressed against the crowd controls, and though they couldn’t enter, Ochako kept a brisk pace until she reached the receptionist’s desk, finally raising her eyes only when she had to.
“I’m so sorry about all of that out there.” The receptionist clucked her tongue, casting a disdainful look over Ochako’s shoulder at the huddled crowds outside. Her eyes darted from the chaos outside to Ochako’s wide-eyed expression and her hands fidgeting at the straps of her backpack. “And about your friend.
“It’s...okay,” she said haltingly, averting her eyes again. It wasn’t unexpected that the receptionist knew who she was and what she was doing here, but she still felt jarringly exposed. “Can he have visitors?”
“Room 214.” The receptionist pressed Ochako’s hand. “Second floor. Take a right off the elevator, then a left. And allow me to tell you again how sorry I am about-”
Ochako turned on her heel, biting her wobbling lip. No answer she could give would be anywhere near appropriate, so she gave none. The receptionist didn’t give chase, and though the halls were full of people - visitors like her, nurses pushing carts, patients shuffling alongside IV poles - none of them took notice of each other, save to apologize when they got too close. And none of them, to her gratitude, were using the elevator.
Alone, she pressed her forehead to the elevator’s mirror, and though she tried not to let herself cry - someone would notice later, certainly - she didn’t have the willpower to stop herself anymore.
**
12:32
Ding.
Part of Ochako didn’t want the elevator doors to open when they reached the second floor, knowing what would await her. People knew her face even with a hat pulled low over her eyes, even wearing a sweatshirt she was almost drowning in, and they’d know why she was here. They’d pretend not to be staring as she made her way through the halls, head down and hands buried in the kangaroo pocket of her sweatshirt, but they would be.
That’s Uravity, isn’t it? She wouldn’t need to hear the whispers to know what they were saying. She must be visiting her friend. Sure does look pretty sad about it, doesn’t she? Must be throwing her off her game. Every eye would be trained on her whether it meant to be or not. They’d look at her and they’d see her fear and the tracks of tears that hadn’t yet dried on her face, and that would be all they’d notice. To the world, she had to be unassailable - someone more than human, above the knot of emotions that had tangled in her throat since she’d gotten the call yesterday. Surely, a defender of the helpless should have been able to shake something like this off faster than she had, and people would talk. But, hero or not, she hadn’t, and people would know that with nothing more than a glance right now.
But she’d stepped off the elevator now, and there was nothing to be done about it. What the world saw when it looked at her now was far less important than what she’d come here to do. So she kept her pace quick and tried not to show too much of her face, walking the halls as if they were familiar even though she’d never spent time on this floor.
Ochako glanced up at the nameplates on each room as she walked to give herself a rough idea of her location, but she kept her face turned away from the corridors that connected to this one when she didn’t. When she reached 214, she paused for a moment, one hand resting on the handle and the other flat against the door before she forced herself to turn the handle. Don’t look, she thought, but she couldn’t exactly do that even when the beeping of monitors and the soft sniffling of the room’s only conscious occupant made her want to bolt. She forced her eyes open, training them on the corner chair instead of the bed.
“Um…” she tried to force out an appropriate greeting, even though her hands were damp with sweat and her voice was shaking. “Hi, Okaasan.”
Inko finally looked up, dabbing at her eyes. “Oh, Ochako,” she said, patting the chair beside her own. “It was good of you to come.”
Ochako swallowed hard. “How is he?”
Inko shook her head. “His condition hasn’t changed,” she said hoarsely. “Not even slightly, for better or for worse.”
Ochako bowed her head, looking guiltily at the floor for the knowledge that she couldn’t bear to look anywhere else. “And no one knows what happened to him?”
“No.” At that, Ochako reached for Inko’s hand, as clammy and shaky as her own. “There’s...no sign of injury. Not even a scratch. No one has any idea how this could’ve happened.”
At that, Ochako finally forced herself to raise her eyes, though she wanted to avert them almost as soon as she’d looked up. Everything was far too white and far too sterile, the kind of room Izuku Midoriya was more than familiar with by now - maybe if her worry were a little less acute or her mood a little less somber, Ochako would’ve found some humor in that. She’d seen enough of this scene - Deku, drowning in the stark white sheets of a hospital bed far too wide for a single person - for a lifetime already. Even the tubes and monitors and oxygen mask weren’t entirely new, though the sight of them still made her nauseous.
But this time was different.
“Nothing?” she asked, hollow, though she knew what his mother would say.
Inko shook her head in reply, and though she’d been expecting that response, Ochako’s heart plummeted. She closed her eyes against reality as it crashed down over her, but it didn’t help her shut it out. Hospitals always had a certain cool dryness in the air, and the floors always seemed to vibrate with the movement of the same equipment that filled the room with that low, buzzing sound she’d always found so disconcerting. When she didn’t look, some scent or sound or sensation would always be there to remind her how wrong this moment was, and it almost hurt less to keep her eyes open to watch the shallow rise and fall of Deku’s chest against the white bedspread.
Aimlessly, she noticed that those sheets were neatly tucked beneath either of his arms, which were crossed atop the sheets. She wondered who’d tucked him in, if they’d pushed his sweaty hair back from face and kissed his forehead and whispered a promise or a plea or both the way she would’ve.
“They say he’s not doing well, Ochako,” Inko murmured, staring off into the middle distance.
“I know.” She swallowed a lump in her throat. “I heard.”
“I’ll...I’ll give you a moment,” she said, her shaky voice barely audible, and stood abruptly, pressing a tissue to her face to offer herself some semblance of privacy as she turned for the door and left Ochako alone in the corner chair. She wanted to stay where she was, unsure if she’d be strong enough to hold together with nobody left to hold it together for, but something stronger and louder spoke and she couldn’t stay seated.
Someone had tucked him in, after all - someone who’d loved him, she assumed, and someone who’d been able to think of his comfort when she couldn’t see past her own sadness. Keeping her movements quiet even though she had no need to worry about disturbing him, Ochako took a rolling chair seated beneath a wall-mounted computer monitor and wheeled it to his bedside, only then allowing herself to look at him directly.
His face was sunken and ashy-pale, eyes closed. She reached for him without even thinking, pushing his hair out of his eyes as she’d imagined the person who’d tucked him in might’ve. She checked his pale, unblemished skin for a wound or a cut or a scratch that might explain why her best friend had been found in an alley, half-alive and unscathed, but she’d never really expected to find one. No evidence of trauma, the news reports had said.
“Deku,” she murmured, her voice thick with the effort of keeping it from breaking. “Who did this to you?”
Of course, no one could know that, and if anyone could, they’d surely have come forward by now. For the number-one hero to have been found in such a state without any evidence of struggle was unthinkable, and speculation had been rampant. Ochako’s shaking hand cupped his cool, sallow cheek, and she choked on a sob, grateful not to have an audience to stay composed for. Even if he had woken up - and oh, how she wished he would - she’d have felt no shame at his seeing her tear-stained face, contorted with premature grief. She’d gladly let him see that, if only so he’d know that she couldn’t bear to lose him, that she loved him too much to let him blunder his way into such a stupid bind again.
So she let go and let herself cry until she felt like she’d choke and leaned her head against his chest, feeling it rise, reassuring herself that it still would if she let go.
“I don’t care,” she amended after a few moments when Inko still hadn’t returned, “who did this. I’m gonna find them, Deku. I’m going to find out who did this, and I’m going to fix you, okay?”
I am? She couldn’t help but think, but for once, words she’d said without thinking were perfectly sensible.
Because of course she would. Of course she could choose, even helpless as she was against the drip-drip-drip of his vitality draining away by the second, to help him in the only meaningful way that she could. This was Deku , after all - her oldest and best friend (even if he’d been off in his own little world lately), her first love (even if he’d never quite noticed her), her confidant, her inspiration and half of the world’s, too - and somehow, from the moment eighteen hours ago when she’d staggered backwards into her couch in shock at Inko Midoriya’s teary voice on the other end of the phone, she’d known that this was the only choice she’d be able to make.
The world needed him too much for her to make any other, and so did she.
“Don’t you worry, Deku.” She raised her head again, then bent to kiss his forehead as sadness stiffened to steely resolve in her chest. “I’m going to figure this out.”
**
2:19 P.M.
Ochako’s head turned at the creaking of the door as it opened, a sliver of fluorescent light from the hallway cutting into the overcast dimness that had begun to seep through the room’s bare window. Spots appeared before her eyes at the sudden movement when she hadn’t taken her eyes off of Deku (save for a lunch break Inko had forced her to take) in hours, and she rubbed at them until they cleared.
“I didn’t know you’d be here today.” Ochako finally got her eyes to focus on the new arrival, and her tense shoulders relaxed at the familiar voice. Tenya pushed the door open cautiously with one hand, the other cradling a vase of sunflowers.
Ochako, surprised at her excitement at having an excuse to stand, propped the door open for him. “Hi, Iida,” she greeted him wearily.
“How long have you been here?” he asked. Wordlessly, she gestured to an end table where he could set down the vase; he nodded in acknowledgement before setting the flowers on the nightstand, rearranging their stems so they’d fan out evenly in the vase.
“About two hours.” Ochako smiled weakly at his care for the arrangement of the flowers - it was a gesture so utterly Iida that she couldn’t help but be warmed by it, even if only slightly.
“And you haven’t been called in for anything?” Tenya took a seat beside her. “I know a few of us were called in for questioning at the police station earlier.”
“No,” she said, glancing down at her folded hands. “No work today.”
“Oh, all right.” He scanned Deku’s face as if examining him for evidence, just as Ochako had done. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner-”
“You had things to do,” Ochako interrupted him, laying her hand on his arm. “It’s all right, Iida.” Iida didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press the matter, either.
“When a few of us were called in to talk to the police earlier, they told us that there was no sign of any trauma when they found him,” Iida said. “It looks like that was true.”
Ochako nodded weakly. “From what I can tell, yeah.” She looked over his face again, brushing the backs of her knuckles across his cool forehead. “His mom told me that they had Recovery Girl in to check on him, but...I guess she couldn’t do much. He sure doesn’t look too good.”
The understatement of the millennium, she didn’t add.
Tenya furrowed his brow, assessed his friend for a moment, and shook his head. “He certainly doesn’t.”
“I just don’t get it,” Ochako sighed. “I’ve been watching him for almost two hours, and I still can’t figure out what kind of attack would cause something like this.” When Tenya nodded in understanding, she continued. “But I’m going to.”
“Going to find out what was behind this?” Tenya asked.
“Yeah.” A little color returned to her cheeks at the reminder of her plan. “I’m not going to be able to sit around and do nothing while he’s fighting for his life.”
“Alone?” Tenya’s eyebrows rose. “That might be dangerous.”
“Do I look like I care?” Ochako met his eyes and, though her expression was dull, its determination was unmistakable. “I know the police are on the case and all, but...I have to do something. Whatever that means.” Little sound would come out around the lump in her throat, but even so, she forced her voice out like water wrung from wet cloth. “It’s just...it’s our job to fight for people when they can’t fight for themselves, isn’t it?” She felt like her limbs were made of cement and she could barely speak around her tears. “And...and right now, that’s Deku. Our Deku, who’s always been the one looking out for us, and now that he can’t look out for himself...shouldn’t we be fighting for him?” Her voice was stronger now, and a nurse poked her head through the door at its sudden increase in volume. “I don’t care who else is working on this, or how dangerous it is. Shouldn’t we be doing everything we possibly can to fix this?”
Tenya studied her thoughtfully, watching Ochako’s shoulders as they rose and fell with each panted breath. It was a long beat of time before he replied.
“You’ve thought about this,” he finally observed.
“I have.”
He nodded knowingly. “Well, it isn’t a good idea in theory, but…” he nodded. “I think you’re right.”
Her eyes blazed with determination now that she’d found her confidence again. “I know I am.”
“I can’t pretend to know how you’re going to do it, but if you’d let me, I’d like to help you.” Now Tenya was watching her with what could’ve been curiosity or concern. “Would you let me do that?”
“Well, I’m going to be able to use all the help I can get.” Ochako’s smile, though still weary, was brighter now. “If you’re willing to.”
“Well, of course I am.” Tenya’s eyes dropped to Izuku’s ashen, expressionless face. “I…” he scratched at the back of his neck, a little uncomfortable. “I think...well, you called him your best friend.” He adjusted his glasses, which had begun to slip down his nose. “I can’t claim that I have the same sort of friendship with Midoriya that you do, but I think he’s mine, too.”
Ochako smiled sadly. “He’d be really happy to hear you say that, Iida.”
“Then he will.” Tenya cautiously reached for her hand, which came as a surprise but not an unwelcome one. “Once we figure this out.”
“You sure do have a lot of faith in a girl who’s been sitting here crying for two hours.” Ochako let out a watery laugh.
“Well, it’s very founded.” He patted her shoulder stiffly. “Though I do think that, if we’re going to do this, we could use some backup.”
**
4:28 P.M.
Paperwork.
Of all the days to be bogged down in paperwork - in this case, reports of a messy rescue operation after an earthquake in Yokohama that had to be filed - this was perhaps the worst. Ochako had hardly been able to do more than cap and uncap her pen repeatedly since she’d left the hospital, to say nothing of the blank audit template loaded up on her laptop’s word processor and the mountain of documents waiting to be signed in a neat stack on her desk. With worry gnawing at her gut one moment and anticipation of the task ahead buzzing in her veins the next, any attempt at focus was futile. So the chime of her ringtone was hardly a distraction, and though her phone didn’t recognize the caller’s number, she was glad for the excuse not to pretend she was focused on her work.
“Hello, you’ve reached Uravity,” she said flatly, figuring it was best to stick to her official answering script even at her personal number when she didn’t know the caller. “How may I help you?”
“Uraraka?”
Ochako nearly let her phone slip from her hand - there was no mistaking that voice. “All Might?” she asked, incredulous, though it could hardly be anyone else. How did he get this number? She couldn’t help but wonder, and she hardly knew how to respond beyond that. “Um...hello?”
“I understand you’ve been to see Midoryia.” Apparently her former teacher didn’t see the need for lengthy introductions.
“Um...yes.” She held the phone a few inches away from her ear to buffer against his volume. “How did you know about that?”
“So you know that his case is...unusual.”
Is he just calling me because he’s worried? He must be, Ochako realized. “It is,” she agreed. “If there’s anything I can do to help, I want to do it.”
“I knew you would, which is why I’m calling.” He still hadn’t answered her question, one of many, which Uraraka chose to ignore. “Midoriya trusts you, doesn’t he?”
“Well...I’d like to think so,” Ochako said cautiously. This conversation gets weirder by the second, she thought.
“Which is why I think there’s something you need to know.”