Chapter Text
Your heartbeat thundered in your ears, only barely drowned out by the sound of the bottoms of your shoes slapping against the linoleum floors. Hospital lights flashed above you as yet another loud rumble rattled the building's foundation quickly followed by a distant chorus of screaming from all around the building. The windows were grey with smoke from the floors below.
You sent a quick glance to the child in your arms--no older than nine or ten years old and already facing death. And fast. Your blood mixed with his own--quickly staining your blue scrubs a dark purple color.
He was a consistent patient of your's; a kid with an unstable quirk. He wasn't supposed to live past twenty.
At this rate, he would be lucky to make it to eleven.
Poor kid.
A lump rose in your throat as the lights finally flickered out above you. Still, alarms screamed from down below as you squinted through the darkness. Smoke burned your nose and clouded in the air from the fire stories beneath you.
You busted through the double doors of the stairway and began your trek, stopping only to listen to the sound of footsteps trailing behind you.
"Come on!" You urged, a new wave of pain overcoming you as you waited for the people behind you. "Just a little further to the roof! We can get help there!"
"Go on ahead without us!" A woman shouted in reply, "We'll be right behind you!"
You swallowed and continued bounding up the stairs--counting each story as you ascended. The searing pain in your overused muscles was only a distant thought in your brain.
Six...seven...eight...nine...
The building groaned beneath your feet and you clenched your teeth as drywall creaked and split above you. You slid to a halt, sending bits of glass and concrete sliding across the floor.
Electricity crackled from some loose wires hanging inches from your head, blocking you from proceeding up the stairs.
"Shit." You spat, descending another flight and bursting through the nearest double doors. The group of patients you rescued soon caught up with you and followed your lead onto the completely blacked-out floor.
"What do we do now?" A man asked you, panting with exertion as his mood-depicting skin flashed shades of red, orange, and yellow.
You quickly laid the boy down on the ground beside the wall. Broken glass was embedded in parts of his torso--and you opened his eyes with the tips of your fingers and ran a small keychain flashlight over his pupils.
He was concussed. Of course.
You took a moment to catch your breath--sitting back on your heels as you wiped the back of your shaking, bloody hand across your forehead. You swallowed back the queasiness in your throat as you regained the ability to talk and forced your years of nursing expirience back into your over whelmed mind.
You were too fucking old for this.
"We wait here..." You breathed, your vision starting to go black around the edges. "...Until we're found."
"I saw Endeavor blast through the third floor." Another patient piped up as he was helped into a sitting position by another. "He-- it looked--"
"Looked like what?" Another person encouraged. "Spit it out!"
"Smite is attacking." Another patient finished, "All Smite is attacking the hospital."
"Smite's dead, you idiot." Someone else growled, "he's been M.I.A. for almost six months---he's obviously dead!"
"Why would Smite attack a hospital?"
"I know what I saw, alright?!"
"Oh God we're all gonna die!"
"Everybody calm down!" You shouted above the chaos, quieting everyone immediately as you stood to your arguably shaky feet.
Everyone turned to look at you. Their expressions all a mix of fear, hopelessness, and bright hot panic. You felt your throat close up again as everyone turned towards you, a smidgen of hope glistening in their eyes at the thought of someone taking charge. You felt a new wave of sick wash over you---you weren't equiped for this. Your job was to follow orders, not give them.
Shouldn't there be support heros scouring every inch of the building by now? Where the hell were they?
You were no expert on human emotion, nor were you any sort of leader. Much less a hero. Your heart thundered in your chest, nails dug painfully into your palms as you tried to hold back from breaking down yourself.
You were the only doctor in the room. Everyone else bolted out the door the second the alarms sounded--leaving you trapped above whatever quarrel between hero and villain was below with a dying child and a handful of patients that were supposed to be released that day.
You took another breath. Dust and drywall filled your burning lungs.
You were the only one who knew the hospital's layout inside and out. Think. Think.
There had to be a way to alert other people for help.
The question was where?
The front desk.
Your heart skipped at the realization, and you caught sight of your destination just a little further down the hall. The lights flickered ominously once more, and you could hear the hum of electricity over the blood in your damaged eardrums and the alarms blaring through the hallways.
"There's a phone at the front desk." You thought aloud, before turning to the nearest person. "You. Do you know C.P.R.?"
The silent woman nodded vigorously.
"Start preforming chest compressions on him," you gestured to the boy, "I'm going to go get us help. I will be back in a few minutes. Don't let anyone out of sight."
"But you're bleeding!" A shorter woman pointed out--someone from the psych ward you couldn't remember the name of at the moment. "There's glass in your arm--let someone else do it."
Your thoughts wandered back deep into your memory, to a word of advice you had heard in passing long ago. Advice that stuck with you years upon years without any specific reason---but always seemed to resurface during the most dire of operations or the bloodiest, most disturbing emergencies.
What was it?
Those who smile are always the strongest...?
"You guys are the heros here, not me." You joked dryly, managing a small, albeit unsure, smile as you began to back towards the desk. "I'll be fine. Look after eachother. If I'm not back within a few minutes...don't come to look for me!"
With that, you began down the hallway in a dead sprint, ignoring the desperate pleads for your return. Your legs felt like jelly beneath you--not at all conditioned to all the running you had done that day and surely about to give out at any moment.
The lights flashed again as you turned a corner, nearly colliding into the wall before stumbling towards the desk. Papers were strewn about. You didn't have a chance to gaze in horror at the dilapidated wall to your right--smoldering with hot coals and soot and ash that was tossed about with the wind that came through shattered windows.
What in the ever loving fuck was going on?
The desk was just half a hallway away. A genuine smile grew on your face as you forced your legs forwards. Every step burned like fire through your calves and up your spine. The violent rattling of the building about to colapse around you threatened to toss you out and into the open air at any given moment. The bright red phone got closer and closer until your sprawled-out hand barely grazed the shiny outside.
The bottoms of your shoes slammed against the floors.
This was it! Your ticket to help!
You were going to be okay!
Your fingers just barely managed to knock the red phone off its place at the wall when the building rumbled again--sending you flying over the desk with a shout of pain as you landed awkwardly on your injured arm.
Your vision darkened to black for a few moments. The world seemed to spin around you as you could focus on nothing but the blinding pain that pulsated up your arm in waves. Your surroundings went silent as you realized you weren't blind...
it was soot.
Soot and drywall filled your lungs and you coughed violently. You spat out the black substance that coated your nose, throat, and mouth and attempted to wipe it from your eyes. Your head lolled to the side as your senses returned to you and you sluggishly pulled your scrubs up and over your nose. A loud ringing filled your ears that made you feel as if your senses were being felt through a wall of water.
Your patients...
You needed to help your patients.
You could feel the vibrations of the ground beneath your feet. Like something was stomping, no--slamming something into the ground again and again. Movements getting sluggish and sloppy with each vibration.
You felt like your body was stuck in slow motion. It took a great effort, but you reached out to try and grab the phone--sitting haphazardly against the floor in the dusty darkness. Your lungs burned. Everything burned. Like the air itself was on fire.
You grabbed the phone only to realize the line had been singed apart.
Shit.
Fuck.
You smashed the phone back against the floor in exasperated anger. From your mouth came a mangled "damn it!" but you couldn't hear it over the ringing in your ears.
Slowly, but shakily--you planted your hand against the floor and pushed yourself into a sitting position. Your hands shook. Bloody, twisted fingers were coated in a thick layer of ash and dust as you blinked the grime from your eyes.
You used the desk as support, pulling yourself upwards. You couldn't stand.
But that was fine, the sight would have been enough to shock you back onto your knees, anyway.
Down the hallway stood two villains.
No--one hero and one villain.
To be quite honest it was hard to tell between God and evil. Both were equally as petrifying.
One was nearly frothing at the mouth, face turning more red than the flames that swirled around him as a hand tightened further around his throat. He kicked and grabbed at the muscular arm that had him pinned--steam rose from anywhere his agressor touched as the smell of charred flesh made bile crawl up your throat.
But what made your face pale and the hair on the back of your neck rise with pure dread was not only the flame hero Endeavor--but the masked man who didn't even flinch as his very skin was burnt to a crisp.
He stood almost seven feet tall, just barely a hair taller than the flame hero himself. A gas mask like appendage was strapped to his face, hiding his expression from view which you imagined held a sickly determined smile. He wore a black shirt paired with cargo pants and spikes mounted on his shoulders. Blond hair caked with blood and soot stuck out just barely beneath his mask.
The same blood that his foot slid slowly in, collecting on the floor.
You watched as Endeavor finally found a weakness. He repositioned himself and kicked as hard as he could into Smite's side. Shockingly, the villain completely folded beneath the kick--both hands came up to cover his abdomen as he stumbled back and screamed. You could have sworn his mask was lifted just enough so that you could see the blood pool out of Smite's mouth and drip to the floor.
You found your breath again, and slapped your hands over your mouth--taking cover beneath the desk.
You screwed your eyes shut and prayed with shaking hands as the floor rumbled beneath you. Your hearing began to return slowly, just enough for you to hear the sirens, the crashes, and the screams of an actively collapsing building.
There was another giant crash, then everything went quiet.
Your breathing came quick. Way too quick. No matter how much you heaved and grasped at your chest with shaking hands you felt like you couldn't get enough oxygen.
Heavy footsteps and deep, labored breathing snapped you back to reality--enough to halt your panic and stay frigid still as the footsteps approached the desk.
The air around you became warmer as you screwed your eyes shut and quietly awaited whatever fate would be delivered to you.
The man knelt down to your height.
You heard your skin blister and sizzle whenever he grabbed your wrist.
"You." He hissed, his voice matching the intensity of your clothes burning under his touch. He swallowed, his voice slurred and exhausted from the aftermath of a battle. "You're coming with me."
"No." You tried to pull your arm away from the flame hero. "No."
"Don't make this difficult--"
"No!"
He yanked you out by your arm as you struggled. His hold on your injured wrist was excruciatingly tight--and you let out a cry as your skin sizzled. You thrashed and kicked, cursing all the while he held your wrists up above your head and you swung your legs hopelessly beneath you.
"Come out you coward!" Endeavor shouted down the dark hallways, "or your little partner in crime dies a fiery, painful death."
There was silence for a moment.
Drywall tumbled down from the ceiling. Alarms were suddenly silent, revealing the sound of blaring police cars in the distance and the gentle rush of wind coming from a nearby blasted window.
Then, a grunt.
There was a stirring in the dust just as you began to loose consciousness, your vision sinking and spinning and twirling in and out of focus.
A blond head came into view. A sickly smile feral with anger and stained with blood pulled itself out of the rubble. Smite spat blood to the ground beside him and wiped his mouth on a black glove. Cold, blue irises flashed with intense rage.
You were seeing things--surely.
You were dreaming.
That was your last thought as your vision turned dark and Smite's low, rumbling voice echoed endlessly in your mind. A command dripping with so much intensity it made your insides crawl, and every nerve in your body dropped along with your flailing legs as they began to feel heavy. You felt as if your heart sank through each of the seventy-two floors of dilapidated offices and miles into the earth whenever he spoke.
"Kill them," Smite growled, something in his chest bubbled, and more blood dribbled down his chin. "And I'll level this whole building with you inside it, Endeavor."
You blacked out.
···
The next time you awoke, all was silent.
Your eyes were open, but it took a minute for your body to catch up with it. Your vision swam with black stars and your limbs felt like a billion tiny needles. Your head throbbed with each small moment as you slowly flexed your fingers, toes, and stiff neck.
As your vision blurred into focus it was met with a white ceiling.
You groaned with each movement as you managed to roll onto your side--gasping as your sore muscles jumped to work to push you carefully upright.
You blinked at your surroundings.
This wasn't the hospital.
The room was rather plain looking--with grey walls, a dresser in the corner, and a T.V. mounted on the wall beside a door. It looked to be almost like a hotel room of sorts. Other than the fact that there were no windows in sight and the door was heavily armored with metal and about eight different locks.
Strange.
As you managed to position yourself at the edge of the bed, you checked yourself over carefully.
Bruises were everywhere. They splotched up your arms and legs, as well as parts of your torso and you could only assume your face. Bandages and gauze covered most of your left side--the worst of your injuries being your non-dominant forearm in a thick cast. The blue scrubs you had once been so familiar with were replaced with a hospital gown and grey sweatpants. Your hair remained caked with blood, sweat, ash, and dirt---but the rest of your body remained clean.
You were, in every sense of the word, a mess.
You sighed and swung your legs over the side of the bed.
Well, you were in pain, but your wounds appeared to be already treated and bandaged. Which meant the next order of business was to find out just where, exactly, you were.
But before that--you had to walk.
You grunted as you slid yourself forwards and planted your bare feet flat on the ground. Then carefully--oh, so carefully--you gently took your weight off the soft bed and stood upright.
You took a breath and stretched your damaged muscles delicately. If there was anything good to come out of any of this, you at least wouldn't have to workout for the next few days.
You took a step forwards.
Then another.
You stepped towards the dresser where a mirror could be seen, grasping ahold of the wood to keep yourself balanced.
You let out a breath as you gazed at your form. Bags hung beneath your eyes, contrasting heavily with how pale your face had become. Upon closer inspection of your condition--you spotted the small bruise in your elbow where an I.V. track had been run and circular sticker marks across your chest.
How fucking long were you out?
As you stared at yourself, the haze finally began to lift from your brain.
The aesthetic of the room suggested the fact that you were still in Japan.
This obviously wasn't a hospital.
This wasn't your house.
It wasn't a hotel room, either.
Which could only mean...
You throat tightened as fight or flight took over you. Before you knew it, you had busted through the door and flown down the unfamiliar hallway.
Your heart thudded a million miles an hour in your chest as you searched for a window, an unlocked door, a weapon--anything.
You needed out.
You heard someone shout to you as you turned the corner, but it only made you run faster. There was a big set of double doors at the end of the hallway--surely, that had to be an exit.
"Hey-- hey!"
Footsteps echoed behind you as you bolted towards the doors, and before you knew it you were tackled to the floor. Your vision exploded with stars as you thrashed beneath the weight of whoever had captured you and pinned your burnt wrists against your back.
"Stop squirming, idiot!" The man behind you grunted. "We're not going to--"
"Let me fucking go!" You turned awkwardly and kicked with both your legs right into the man's stomach, causing him to let out a painful grunt before flying back against the wall. The two other men with him flew to try and grab you, but you managed to scoot yourself back against the wall.
The man in question growled, one hand resting across his stomach as he pushed himself back up and grabbed the front of your shirt. He yanked you up so that your face was inches away from his.
"Listen here, brat," he hissed. "Smite may be soft for you, but you still have to show us some respect."
"What the hell are you talking about?" You replied, voice hoarse as you squirmed, "you've got the wrong person, idiot!"
"That's enough."
Everyone's gazes snapped up to find the owner of the smooth baritone voice--and your blood ran cold.
A man stood a little ways down the hallway. He looked to be around your age--if not a little older. Golden bangs framed distinct cheekbones and a ghastly thin, pale face. His eyes were shadowed beneath the dim lighting of the hallway. He looked like a walking corpse, but everything about the way he stood screamed of power and intensity.
He was dressed borderline casually. A black sweater that looked just the slightest bit too baggy for his figure, combined with dark jeans and boots. His unrully blond hair stuck out in every possible direction, haloed by the fluorescent lights of the hallway.
You couldn't move.
And neither could the men holding you down, it would seem.
"I gave you very strict orders not to hurt our guest." The man's eyes narrowed. "Smite will not be pleased to hear about this."
"With all do respect, Sir, they tried to escape." The man holding you down reasoned.
"So what? They can come and go as they please." The man snorted, and with a flick of his wrist ordered his men to release you.
"But--"
"Drop the American." His voice dropped an octive dramatically, in a way that made you feel threatened despite the fact that he was defending you. "Before I snap your necks faster than you could beg for forgiveness."
And drop you the man did. You yelped as you landed on your ass and scrambled back against the wall. You tried to hide the fact that your breathing came fast.
The mystery man straightened his posture, revealing just how tall he really was. He cleared his throat, and his speech returned to normal just like that. "If it happens again, there will be consequences."
The men bowed. "Yes...Sir." The man who grabbed you hissed before sending you a look of contempt and continuing on his way.
You grunted, the pain returning as the adrenaline surging through your body dipped. You clutched your injured arm close to your chest as waves of pain pulsed through it, and held your breath as the surge passed.
Smite...
No. There was no way. That wasn't--...
...what?
A deep, exhausted sigh could be heard. You looked up to see the man had gotten closer--in fact, he crouched down in front of you during your small panic.
Even as he knelt in front of you, he still towered above your frame. He was relaxed, however, and a quick sweep of his figure concluded that he did not, in fact, have any weapons on him.
That didn't hide the fact that he had a distinct smell of old blood and ash, though.
And he looked much worse up close. Emaciated, even.
But even in this strange form, there was no denying that this man was Smite. Electric blue eyes made every hair on your body stand on end as he looked you over, and your nails dug into your palms as you were stunned into silence.
A tinge of familiarity nipped at the edges of your brain. You had seen this man before, but where?
You were pulled out of your petrified staring by the sound of your first name. He waved his hand in front of your face as you blinked up at him.
"Excuse them." He said, his voice a low rumble in his throat as he held out a gigantic hand. "No matter how much I threaten them they always seem to find a way to disappoint me."
You shrank away from his hand.
Smite blinked at you, before frowning. He sighed again as he lowered his hand. "Right. I suppose you have every right not to trust me." He hummed, bringing his hand to his chin. "After all, you've had quite the eventful few days, haven't you?"
You were silent.
"I'll assure you that I have no intentions to harm you, Doc." Despite his statement, his mouth twisted into a slight smirk at how you cowered in his pressence. "We're on the same side, believe it or not. I'm here to help you."
"That's Doctor to you." You spat, absolutely in awe by the audacity this man held to kidnap you and then think he had to right to call you by your first name, and then nickname you. "And no, we're absolutely fucking not."
He clicked his tongue. "What makes you say that?"
"Because I've never met you before in my life."
"Hmm."
You pulled your legs closer to your torso, finding the smallest bit of comfort in wrapping your good arm around yourself.
He seemed to consider your statement for a moment, his blue gaze narrowing in thought. He sat there, silent, for a long time before he pushed himself back up to his full height with a grunt.
"You're Smite." You thought aloud, "you're...how..."
He smiled wickedly, "though I prefer my other form over this one...it can come quite handy in certain situations, don't you think? It allows me to hide, and then appear when people least expect it. It allows me to find secrets and remind people that I'll never not be here." He finished, "and that not even the greatest hero in Japan can stop me from getting what I want."
A shiver crawled up your spine as his words sunk in.
He wanted...you?
"We'll talk more later." He stated, flatly, as he changed the subject. "You're free to do whatever you like; I could care less. Your flight back to America is in two weeks when the news takes its head out of my ass. Until then..." He turned to you once more as he laid a hand on the doorknob. "...just don't kill yourself. Oh, and stay out of the room at the other end of the hallway. I'll know if you don't."
"Wait!" You found your courage again, stumbling haphazardly to your feet as the Number One Villain stopped in his tracks once more.
He hummed in question, blond bangs bouncing as he turned to face you once more.
You sucked in a breath, left with way more questions and answers. Deciding not to question why or how he knew your full name, or why he kidnapped you, or why be wasn't going to hurt you; you fell on the next most important thing. "You're just gonna leave me here? And let me break out?"
"Who am I to stop you?" He apathetically threw back at you. "It would be unwise, but I'm not here to keep you captive. I have eyes and ears everywhere, so even if you do I won't be far behind."
You swallowed dryly, "what do you mean?"
He opened the door again. The metal let out a deathly squeak, and he ducked under the doorway before turning to you once more.
"There's a warrant out for your arrest." He chuckled, "you, my friend, have made quite the name for yourself."
Without any further explanation, he shut the door.