Chapter Text
Iida rushed among his classmates, breathing a sigh of relief as most of them turned up unharmed. One or two were still unconscious, but Sato had already whipped out his phone and contacted emergency services. With that out of the way, he turned his attention back to the ice wall that separated the eight students and the driver from their sensei and the two classmates who stayed behind to help him fight. The noises from behind it had died down somewhat, so they were probably wrapping up and would rejoin them shortly.
The wall began to crack and shatter, and ice flakes blasted against Iida’s skin as the combined forces of Midoriya’s and Bakugou’s blows tore it down. The two boys stood there, panting heavily, and Midoriya’s green eyes swam with tears. Nothing new, but certainly concerning given the situation—and the obvious absence of their sleep-deprived sensei.
He opened his mouth to demand answers, but Bakugou beat him to it. “They got Aizawa-sensei!” he snarled, slamming his fist into his palm and making sparks fly. “Teleporting villain. They just took him!”
“Call the school,” Midoriya hissed, eyebrows knit in a harsh glare. “Let them know. We can try to track him from here, but that might be hard given they teleported. But it could have been a short-range—”
Iida held up his hand before Midoriya’s spiel ran too long. “Hold on. We’ll contact the school, yes, but we need to wait for orders before we go off and try anything. These people were clearly prepared, and even with our provisional licenses, we still don’t have the authority to act of our own accord!”
“But Aizawa-sensei—”
“Would say the same thing,” Shoji interrupted. “He wouldn’t want us getting into something we’re not prepared for. I’ll call the school.”
Iida nodded his thanks.
“You saying we should leave him?” Bakugou snapped. “He could be in serious trouble! We’re supposed to be heroes! How can we call ourselves that if we don’t even try to help him?”
“We don’t even have our licenses.” Todoroki fixed him with that chilling glare. “Aizawa-sensei’s been lecturing us for weeks on responsibility. He says if we do anything stupid, we may not get our licenses at all. Iida’s right. We have to let the pros handle this.”
The explosive teen fumed but didn’t argue. Iida breathed a sigh of relief. Small miracles, he supposed.
~~~
Hizashi stared at the chimera, green eyes locked with black in pleading desperation. The principle stared back, regret coloring his firm determination.
“I’m sorry, Mic,” he stated again, and oh, how Hizashi wanted to throttle him in that moment! “I wasn’t the one to make this decision, but I do ultimately agree. As Aizawa’s friend and former classmate, the police think it’s best that you remain uninvolved in the investigation.”
“That’s… what am I supposed to do?” he demanded. “I can’t just sit back and pretend everything’s fine! This is Shouta we’re talking about!”
“We need you here to hold down the fort and take care of the students. Their sensei is missing, possibly hurt—or worse. You need to keep them calm and make sure they don’t try their usual routine of trying to go off and rescue him by themselves.”
“Well, what about Midnight? She didn’t get sidelined!”
“Yes, Midnight is his friend, but the police reason that she wasn’t in his class, nor is she as close to him as you are.”
“I can’t—I have to do something. I have to help him!”
“And you can.” Nezu leaned forward. “You can help him by staying here, by making sure his class is taken care of. The students are going to look to you first for help and guidance. The best thing you can do for your friend is to make sure that his children are taken care of. We want you to move into the dorm in his absence and keep an eye on them. This… certainly won’t be easy for them. For any of us.”
~~~
The atmosphere in the dorm hung heavy and silent, the only muttered words being a few questions from Kirishima about what they wanted for dinner. After the ten who had been involved in the attack had explained to the others what happened—and that had taken some doing, with constant interruptions, threats, tears, and about seven of them attempting to charge out of the dorms only to be held back by the other thirteen—they had lapsed into a horrid numbness, each wanting to be the first to break the tension but no one daring to.
Shinsou Hitoshi curled up on the couch, hugging his knees and biting his lip to keep from screaming. The second he’d gotten the news, he’d bolted for the door, only for Iida to snatch him up with one arm and toss him onto the couch like a kitten. The class rep had then proceeded to lecture them all for ten minutes, reminding them that they couldn’t just go off and act like pros whenever they wanted and that there were still rules to abide by and that Aizawa-sensei would want them to stay here.
Movement in front of him drew his attention, and he looked up to see Kouda standing in front of him with a rabbit. As he uncurled slightly, the younger boy held out the pet, and Shinsou slowly reached out to stroke it. Kouda sat down next to him and placed the rabbit in his lap, and the brainwasher felt some of the tautness bleed from his shoulders. “Thank you,” he signed.
The door opened, and he turned to see Mic-sensei and King-sensei. The voice hero’s face was twisted in an uncharacteristic frown. “Alright, little listeners, news from the police.”
Every head whipped around to face him. He sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Good news and bad news. Good news, the police and pros have already mobilized and are tracking them now. They think they’ve got an idea of who the gang is from your descriptions, and now they’re looking for known locations.” His expression hardened into a glare fierce enough to rival Aizawa-sensei’s infamous one, sending shivers down Shinsou’s spine. From the others’ wide eyes, they felt the same. “Now for the bad news. I know how you listeners are, and by that I mean you don’t listen. But let me make myself perfectly clear. None of you are going after him. We’re not doing this again. Anyone who tries to will be expelled immediately. No exceptions, no questions. Even if you did manage to pull it off. Got it?”
Midoriya, Bakugou, and Kirishima opened their mouths, and Shinsou braced himself for their usual onslaught of loud argument. But Mic-sensei cut them off before they began. “No. I said what I said. You’ll stay here, you’ll keep working, and in return for your good behavior, the police have agreed to keep us in the know with any information they can without compromising the case. Sound fair?”
“’Us?’” Shinsou echoed.
Mic-sensei’s face fell even more. “I’ve been ordered to sit this one out. So trust me when I say I know how you feel. I want to be out there, too.”
“I’m involved in the investigation,” King-sensei spoke up for the first time. “I’ll share anything I’m given permission to with you.”
The answer didn’t satisfy any of them—that much was obvious—but they had no choice.
~~~
The days dragged on painfully slowly.
Too many times Hizashi glanced over at the corner of the teachers’ lounge, expecting to see his friend bundled up in that stupid yellow sleeping bag, only for the reality of the situation to pierce him through the heart all over again, each time more painful than the last. An aching loneliness settled in his chest, the traditional platitudes and murmured sympathies and useless encouragements everyone kept repeating echoing in that hollow cavity.
There’s still hope. He clung to the thought like a lifeline. He’s probably still alive. They haven’t found a…
He never could bring himself to say that last word.
He couldn’t lose Shouta, too. Time had done its job in slightly dulling the pain of losing Oboro, but this had opened up wounds that had scarred over. Suddenly he was a child again, his hope for the future drowning in a raging sea of chaos and hurt. He wouldn’t be the last member of their trio, right? He couldn’t be!
It was wearing on him, he knew; and as much as it wasn’t fair to everyone else, both the students and staff, he couldn’t help it. It was all he could do to go through the motions of the day, getting to class and posting on a fake, half-baked smile and attempting to soothe the students’ worries with the same empty, useless words that grated on his nerves when others said them to him. He’ll be fine. The police and heroes are doing everything they can. He’ll be back in no time!
Hizashi dragged himself back to the lounge after yet another day with no news. No patrol today, so an entire afternoon of grading tests and trying to mimic Shouta’s “everything’s fine” mask loomed ahead of him. If he was gonna get through that, he’d need coffee, that was for sure.
The hum of the machine and the muffled chatter of the other staff members was soothingly familiar, and he focused on keeping his breaths slow and even as he tried to relax a bit. The others were tense too, the absence of their grumpy coworker taking its toll on all of them. No one wanted to believe that they couldn’t take care of one of their own. But they, like he, tried to carry on as normal. There were assignments to grade, students to teach, lessons to plan.
The door slammed open, and Vlad King entered. Hizashi whipped his head up, straightening and rounding on the man. “Any news yet?”
“No. Our last lead was a bust. We’re back at square one.” The blood hero crossed his arms, the lines on his face testifying to his exhaustion and stress.
“Square one?” Hizashi echoed. “That’s it? It’s been almost a week!” He struggled to reign in his quirk. No sense in busting windows or eardrums today, and it wasn’t fair to yell at Vlad; he was trying his best. “How is that it? He could be seriously hurt! He could be dead!”
“I know that!” Vlad snapped. “You think this is so easy, do it yourself!”
The room fell silent.
Vlad’s eyes widened. “Crap, Mic, I didn’t mean—”
CRACK!
Hizashi’s fist connected with the man’s nose solidly. Blood sprayed across both of them, the counter, the carpet. Ignoring the hot liquid seeping into his glove, the voice hero shoved past Vlad and stormed out. Behind him, Vlad’s attempts to call out to him were interrupted by Nemuri, who cautioned him to wait until Hizashi had cooled off.
He left the school in a rage, startling several unfortunate students, and trudged back to Class 1-A’s dorm with his blood-covered jacket now slung over his arm. Most of the class was either out training or shopping, so no one was there to witness his dramatic and ungraceful faceplant onto the couch. With a huff, he pulled off the glove and tossed it to the floor with his jacket. He’d do laundry tonight and get the stains out.
So maybe punching Vlad hadn’t been his best idea. The man was running himself ragged trying to help, his own class being subbed half the time so he could hunt down the missing hero. He was tired and frustrated, just like everyone else.
And reasonably, Hizashi knew his comment had been an accident, a slip-up spoken in frustrated helplessness. Vlad wasn’t the only person who’d been snappy and irritable this week; Hizashi had had to apologize for his words multiple times already, as had a few of the others. But to say that?! The blond wanted nothing more than to take to the streets and hunt Aizawa down himself. He wanted to search every back alley, basement, and warehouse. He wanted to find the villains who had done this, and he wanted the blood that stained his clothes to come from them, not from a hero who was just doing his best.
He sighed and sat up far enough to see the closed door a ways down the hall. He’d moved into the second suite-style teacher’s room at the request of Principle Nezu, but he hadn’t dared open the door to Aizawa’s, not even to check on things and make sure it was clean. Knowing his friend, it was. But he didn’t want to violate either his privacy or his trust.
Apparently not everyone felt the same way, as a soft thump sounded from behind the door.
Hizashi fumbled with his hearing aid. Had he heard…
A grumble, another thump. The teacher stood and started for the door. Had one of the students gone in to straighten up? No, they were all out, weren’t they? Then had…
Had Aizawa come back? Had he managed to get away from his captors and come here to either hide or get his first aid kit? No, he would have gone to Recovery Girl… But if he had escaped, he would have come back to the school, so maybe he was fine and just wanted to hole up alone for a while!
Hizashi shut that train of thought down. He couldn’t get his hopes up like that. He opened the door, instantly spotting the purple-haired teen righting a fallen chair at the small table. Shinsou blinked up through his tears, gasping when he saw the voice hero.
“M-mic-sensei!” he hissed, scrubbing at his eyes. Then he signed, “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t be in here, I just…”
“Hey, it’s okay,” Hizashi hurried to assure him. Switching to sign, he added, “I just didn’t think anyone was here. Are you okay?”
Shinsou started to nod, then slowly shook his head.
The blond motioned him to the couch, where they both sat. “It’s okay. I miss him too.”
The teen, who had been trying to mask his expression—and he looked so much like Aizawa with that face, it hurt—winced. “I’m sorry. I just needed to feel close to him.”
“I get it. Don’t apologize.”
They sat like that for a while, and Hizashi spotted the spare scarf on the table. Shinsou had one of his own, of course, but it made sense that he’d gravitate towards Aizawa’s gear when he needed that feeling of nearness. The hero stood and retrieved the scarf, holding it out for the boy.
Shinsou looked up in surprise, but he took the scarf. “Thank you.” He buried his face in it, tremors racking his body as he finally allowed himself to cry. Hizashi gently rubbed a circle on his shoulder.
“What if he never comes back?” Shinsou looked up at him. “What if they can’t find him? What if he’s already—” He shuddered, unable to finish the thought. “I owe him everything. He’s the reason I’m even in the hero course, the reason I’ve got my license. He was the first person to see something in me. I can’t lose him!”
“Hey. We won’t lose him. This is Aizawa we’re talking about!” He grinned. “And I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but you know how he always gets onto All Might for playing favorites?”
Shinshou nodded.
“He’s a hypocrite. You’re something special to him, kid. I think he sees a bit of himself in you, but he also knows what you’re capable of. The minute he saw you during the entrance exam, he’d already decided to work with you. He told me afterwards he’d make sure you got into the hero course by midterms at the latest. About a week into the school year, he’d already told Nezu he planned on transferring you as soon as possible.”
He grinned. “He never told me.”
“Of course he didn’t. You needed to believe in your quirk for yourself. You got all the way to the final sixteen in the Sports Festival with it. And with combat classes, he knew you were just about ready.”
A knock sounded from the main room, and Hizashi stood. The students would have just come in; he had an educated guess as to who was there. As he turned to go, Shinsou followed, placing the scarf on the back of the chair reverently.
Sure enough, Vlad King stood at the door, looking relatively normal. Recovery Girl had taken care of him, then. That eased a little bit of the guilt he felt at hitting the man. But still…
“I’m sorry,” they spoke in unison.
Vlad shook his head. “No. You don’t have to apologize. I was out of line, and I’m sorry.”
“I shouldn’t have punched you, though.” Nearby, Shinsou’s eyes grew almost as wide and round as Midoriya’s. “I overreacted. You’re trying your best to find him, and I appreciate that more than you know.”
“Still, I shouldn’t have said that. I know you want to be out there, and saying that might as well have hit you in the face. I don’t blame you.”
Hizashi grinned sadly. “Well, we’ll call it even then?”
“Fair enough… Thanks.”
After Vlad left, Hizashi looked back to Shinsou, who still stared in disbelief. “You hit Vlad-sensei?!”
“Oi, stuff it.” He ruffled the boy’s hair. “Your friends at the gym?”
“Yes sir.”
“Go on, go have fun with them. If I know Midoriya, he’s probably worried sick about you by now.”
Shinsou grinned and nodded. “Thank you, Mic-sensei.”
“Don’t mention it.”
~~~
Bakugou had chosen to train alone, the others either too annoying or being too mopey to give him a proper fight. If they were going to be like this, then they didn’t belong in the hero course; heroes needed to take their frustration and use it to drive them forward, not let it be a roadblock. That brainwasher idiot wouldn’t talk to anyone—for heaven’s sake, he kinda had to use his voice for his quirk to work! Arms wouldn’t move from in front of the tv except for class and maybe an hour or two of training. Deku kept up a constant stream of theories, worries, and hypotheses, and the incessant noise drove Bakugou to one of the other gyms. The others weren’t much better.
He roared as the force of his explosions ripped apart the training dummies like matchsticks. Eight and a half minutes without touching the ground, so far. How long could he keep this up? He hadn’t found a practical limit yet, only ever being forced to land when he had to stop for one reason or another.
“Ah, there you are, Bakugou!”
He growled and spun in midair to face the class president, not stopping. “Get out of here!”
“Spar with me.”
“Go train with the other extras!”
Expecting a sharp rebuke to his choice of words, he nearly faltered in his movements when it never came. Instead, Glasses snapped, “If I had wanted to train with the others, I would’ve gone to the other gym. I came here to train with you.”
Something about the declaration, whether its cold solemnity or its sheer audacity, caught Bakugou’s attention. He huffed and dropped to the ground. “Fine. Don’t waste my time.”
He had to admit, his opponent wasn’t bad. The prez was quick enough to dodge most of his blasts, aggressive enough to not hesitate, and strong enough that his hits actually hurt. He grinned as a kick to his back sent him flying. Using his explosions to right himself before he hit the ground, he twisted back and swung a fist towards Iida’s face—only for him to sail past as the other boy disappeared. A hand grabbed the back of his collar and yanked him off balance, and he hit the ground hard, Iida’s knee on his back.
He twisted his arm back and blasted him straight in the chest. Iida slid across the ground, landing on his feet and charging again. Back and forth they went, each only getting the advantage for a few seconds, making sure to stop every ten minutes or so to take a quick breather.
Iida called for a stop after nearly an hour with no clear victor. Bakugou could have kept going, of course; he’d worked up a good sweat, and the shaking in his limbs was just excitement, that was all, certainly not exhaustion. They started circling the gym to cool down for a bit.
“Alright, spill,” Bakugou growled. “I know you didn’t want to spar with me just for my charming personality.”
Iida stared at the ground. “You’re right. I’d hoped to both talk to you and vent a bit of frustration through a proper workout. I was wondering… You’re in therapy, right? For your…”
“Go ahead, Glasses, say it.”
“Your guilt complex.”
“What’s it to you?”
“What… sort of things are they telling you?”
Bakugou froze for a moment but quickly resumed pace. “Why do you want to know?”
“You’re not the only one who feels guilty for not being able to help Aizawa-sensei.”
Bakugou froze and spun on his heel to face him. “Shut up, extra! You didn’t see what happened. I was right there! I didn’t see that villain, and Aizawa-sensei had to save me! That’s how he got caught! I got a reason to feel guilty. What do you have to feel bad over?!”
Iida’s eyes darkened. “What do I have to feel bad over? I’m the one who told you to stay put! I didn’t let anyone go after him! If I had agreed with you and Midoriya, we could’ve saved him before they had a chance to get too far away!” He hung his head. “I tried to be responsible, to do what I thought Aizawa-sensei would want, and now he’s gone. If they can’t find him, he could be gone for good, and it would be my fault!”
Bakugou’s blood boiled. With a low growl, he whacked Iida upside the head. “Idiot! Did you miss the whole ‘teleporting villain’ thing? There was nothing you could have done. You’re quick, but you’re not that quick. He was already gone by the time we knew what was going on.” He crossed his arms. “As much as I hate it, you made the right call. If we’d tried to go after them, we could’ve got seriously hurt.”
“But—”
“But nothing. You’re right; you did exactly what he would’ve wanted you to do. If you’re that beat up over it, go to therapy yourself. I’m not your emotional support training partner.”
Expecting that to end the conversation, he turned and started walking again. After a few moments, Iida followed, but he clearly wasn’t done. “So then… getting therapy has helped you?”
“Yeah, I guess. Maybe not as much as a good workout.”
“I’ll think about it, then. Thank you.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
~~~
Hizashi sprinted down the hall, nearly sliding into a wall as he took a corner. Students dove out of the way as he ran, knowing better than to try to stop him. Very seldom did an urgent call to the principal’s office come over the speakers for not just one but multiple teachers.
Nemuri and Vlad were coming from the other direction, and the somnambulist hit the door first and barged in without knocking. Following her in, Hizashi saw Thirteen, Recovery Girl, Cementoss, and Snipe already there.
“Good,” Nezu said. “You three are the last. Let’s begin.” Sliding a tablet across the desk, he continued, “We have here names, quirks, known affiliations, and best of all, the location of their most recent hideout. The police have noticed a few of the members coming and going over the last few days, so this is where they suspect Aizawa is being held.”
A shock ran through the entire group. Hizashi’s mouth dropped open, and Nemuri put a hand on his back. A quick glance over at her showed the same almost-hopeful expression on her face that he undoubtedly had.
“With all due respect,” Cementoss interrupted, “Should Present Mic be here for this?”
“Actually, yes. I’ve spoken with the police, and they’ve acknowledged that his record speaks for itself. Given his success with raids and the nature of his quirk, we want him to not only be a part of the raid but to lead it.”
Hizashi’s breath caught in his throat. “W-what?”
He was… leading the raid? They were letting him be a part of the rescue and take charge? He didn’t have to just wait for news anymore?
With a firm nod, he crossed his arms. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate the vote of confidence. When do we move out?”
“As soon as you’re ready. Don’t worry about classes today. The six of you are the rescue team, and Recovery Girl is going because we don’t know what condition Aizawa will be in once you find him.”
Hizashi tapped the address into his phone. “When do we leave?”
“As soon as you’re ready.”
He looked around at the others, who all met his gaze with firm determination. “Let’s go, then.”
As they hurried back down the halls, Iida poked his head out of the classroom door. “Mic-sensei?”
“Class is canceled. Get everyone back to the dorms.”
“Is everything alright?”
He paused for a moment, the others rushing past him. “It will be.”
Iida’s eyes widened in understanding. He nodded. “Good luck.”
~~~
The house was small, nondescript, set right in the middle of a small and nondescript neighborhood. From the outside, nothing hinted at the gruesome horrors that lay within.
Shouta had been in there for two weeks.
What had he been forced to endure? There was no ransom note, no hostage video, so hoping he was unharmed was a lost cause. They had taken him for a purpose. And Shouta wouldn’t cooperate with villains, whatever they wanted, which meant…
He didn’t want to think about what that meant.
Present Mic glanced around at his small team. “Everyone remember the plan?”
They nodded, all except Midnight pulling masks up over their mouths.
“Right. Let’s rock.”
Cementoss raised his hands, and concrete walls shot up to surround the house, leaving a gap in the middle of the closest one. They rushed forward, and Mic slammed his foot into the front door. It caved, and the six raiders flooded in.
Three people sat around a table playing a card game. As they looked up in shock, Vlad King picked Midnight up and threw her. She tackled the teleporter, enveloping him in a cloud. Snipe and Thirteen rushed forward to help her.
Mic started down the hall, Vlad right behind him as they pulled their masks off. The voice hero reached for the closest door, but one at the far end of the hall opened, and he turned his attention that way.
Three more villains rushed out, the first two freezing at the sight of the heroes. The third shoved his way past them. “What’s the—” He stopped when he saw what had startled his companions.
Mic tensed. He recognized that face from the file.
Their leader.
Rage flooded his system, and he screamed.
The shockwave sent all three villains flying back into the wall, writhing and dragging their hands up to their heads. Despite the protective earbuds every member of the team wore and Mic’s directional speaker, Vlad flinched and covered his ears.
Mic stopped and ran forward, grabbing the leader by his collar and slamming him into the wall. “Where is he?!” he snarled. He hadn’t been too loud, so the villain should still be able to hear and answer. “TELL ME WHERE HE IS!”
The man laughed dazedly. “You’re too late,” he rasped. “Too late!”
“Liar!” He shoved the man towards Snipe, who had joined them. “Deal with him.”
He turned to the door the three had come from, seeing the staircase leading downwards. “Snipe, you and the others keep looking up here. There’s three more of them around here somewhere. We’ll check the basement.”
At the base of the stairs lay a single door, heavy locks sealing it shut. Mic tensed. This was the only room they’d seen with that sort of security. That meant…
Vlad’s blood quirk shattered the locks easily. He cast a worried glance at Mic. “You got this?”
“Don’t worry about me.” He stepped forward and opened the door.
The smell hit him without warning, and the floor began to sway under his feet. He gagged and pulled the mask back up over his mouth and nose, reaching into the room and fumbling for the light switch.
A single dim bulb flickered weakly, but it was enough to see the blood.
So much blood.
On the floor, the walls, the ceiling—why was there blood on the ceiling?
Old, dry, flaking. Fresh, wet, glistening in the dull glow.
Acrid, coppery, the scent seeping through the mask, thick enough to choke.
A hand on his shoulder grounded him, and he glanced over to see Vlad, who looked just as nauseous as him. If the blood hero himself felt like that…
He couldn’t even take a deep breath to help calm his nerves. Stumbling into the room, he looked around. Aside from the blood and the light bulb, there was nothing. Had they moved him? If they had to start the search all over, it could take too long!
He started to turn back to Vlad when something caught his eye. There, in the corner nearest the other man, just the slightest movement! A dark shape, nearly invisible in the weak light, blending in with the dark bloodstains.
Mic rushed forward, shoving past Vlad and dropping to his knees. Bile rose to the back of his throat, and he clamped a hand over his mouth. “V-Vlad, get the medics! Now!”
The other man disappeared, and Mic reached out a trembling hand. “Eraser?”
The erasure hero lay unmoving, body twisted and limp and so still and so corpse-like and so pale beneath all that dark red blood— His limbs were definitely not supposed to lay that direction, right? His half-shredded jumpsuit clung to his way too thin body, outlining his ribs. A thick blindfold—they’d blindfolded him, and Mic had to stop himself from screaming again because how dare they—covered his eyes, the fabric stained just as red as everything else in this disgusting room.
He wanted to rip it off, to get that filthy thing away from his friend’s face; but priorities mattered, especially when lives hung in the balance. Moving his hand from where it hovered by the blindfold, he dropped it to Eraserhead’s neck, gently sliding his fingers underneath the tangled, matted hair to search for a pulse.
Please, please, Shouta, don’t be dead, you can’t be dead, you can’t leave me!
There! Weak, slow, but it was there!
He didn’t move his hand, too afraid that the soft beat would stop. He didn’t take his eyes off the too-small movements as Eraserhead breathed raggedly. The medics couldn’t have been more than thirty seconds, as prepared as they were—if they’d been any longer, Mic would have started emergency first aid himself.
With a heavy sigh, he stepped back to let them work. Within moments, they had him strapped to a trauma board and had started to carry him out of the dingy basement. Mic followed them, half numb but refusing to drift more than a few feet away from his friend.
They carried him out of the house and over to the sidewalk, where the ambulance had already pulled up. Out of the corner of his eye, Mic saw the nine villains, most of them unconscious, sitting handcuffed with Snipe and Thirteen talking to the police. Vlad, Midnight, and Cementoss were fending off the crowd that had started to gather, the sunlight glinting off more than a few camera lenses. Didn’t take those vultures long, did it? They were almost faster than the heroes.
He turned his attention back to where the medics had placed Eraserhead on a cot and were hooking him up to machinery. He only knew the basics—heart monitor, ventilator. One of them cut the blindfold away. It had tangled in the hero’s long hair, and Mic winced. That was going to hurt. But the young man worked it loose with surprising gentleness.
He hovered nearby; he should do something, go help with the villains or something, but he didn’t dare stray away. Something could happen, something could go wrong or—
“Present Mic!” Recovery Girl waved him over.
Shaking himself out of his dazed state, he rushed to join them. He nearly shouted in surprise when he saw dark eyes squinting up at the sky. The erasure hero gave a soft, almost inaudible groan and tried to turn his head.
“You with us, Eraserhead, dear?” Recovery Girl asked. “Can you hear me?”
“Shouta? Shouta!”
The soft beeping of the heart monitor picked up slightly. Eraserhead’s eyes opened all the way, staring up at the sky in bewilderment.
“Shouta!” Mic exclaimed, probably too loud judging by the way his friend flinched slightly. He reached out reflexively and gently took his hand in his own, mindful of the other’s injuries—at least one broken finger, maybe more; it was hard to tell through all the blood. “Shouta, you with me?”
Eraserhead flinched again, his hand tugging slightly at Mic’s. The blond laughed, blinking tears away. “That’s it, Sho’, stay with me now.”
“We’re ready to move him,” one of the medics said. Mic nodded and reluctantly let go of Eraserhead’s hand. They moved him into the ambulance, Cementoss glancing over and quickly lifting up a wall between them and the gawkers.
Mic started to turn back to the other heroes. Eraserhead was in good hands now; they’d take care of him. The heart monitor still beeped, too slow for comfort, and the blood on his clothes had started to dry—it was supposed to be villains’ blood, not a hero’s, not Shouta’s blood—
A dull ringing sounded in his ears. He huffed and slid his headphones off to adjust his hearing aids. But the noise got louder then—something out there. He looked around warily. Had one of the villains gotten out? Structural damage?
He turned back to the ambulance, where the heart monitor emitted a steady note. The wavering line had fallen flat.
He was moving before he realized, he had to get to Shouta, had to help him, he had to do something Shouta was flatlining he was DYING—
Pain stung his knee, and he looked down to see Recovery Girl. She lowered her cane, which she’d apparently used to whack him in the leg, and took his hand. “Don’t, dearie. Let them work.”
“He’s—what happened? Shouta, come on, stay with me!”
They moved around him, their words a cacophony against the unrelenting screeching of that machine.
“Help him!” Mic yelled. “Do something!”
“Calm down,” Recovery Girl chided, rubbing his arm. “They’re doing their best.”
Every second that passed was agony, as the noise didn’t stop and Mic couldn’t do anything to help and Shouta was dying he couldn’t be dying they’d just got him back!
“Can’t you use your quirk?!” He demanded.
“My quirk uses the body’s natural energy,” she reminded him, a strange hitch to her voice like she was trying not to cry. “If I try to heal him now, he’ll definitely die.”
He groaned and covered his mouth.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
His head jerked up so fast it sent a pain through his neck.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
“Got him!”
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered falling to his knees, hands folded in front of his face—they were still covered in Shouta’s blood—
But he’s alive.
He’s ALIVE.
A small hand rubbed circles on his back. “He’s okay.”
And Hizashi wept.