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Holy shit, is he dead?
That’s the first thought that enters his mind as the young vigilante slowly regains consciousness. It’s a valid thought too, he feels like he was just thrown at a wall repeatedly and then got his back broken, Bane style. If he were truly dead, shouldn't he not be in pain at all? And if this is what death actually felt like, then everything must be a scam because isn’t death supposed to bring the person peace rather than put them in an endless cycle of pain and suffering?
Hearing a loud, deep sigh coming from his left, Izuku startled, expecting to be alone. Did death itself come to take him? Peeking an eye open, Izuku tries to get a glance at the person but gets blind-sighted by a light overhead, fueling his confidence that he’s dead. Accepting his fate, Izuku reseals his eyes.
“Kid, you’re not dead.” The mystery man grumbles to his left, his voice indicating lethargy.
Wait, doesn’t Izuku know a man who has a tired, grouchy voice?
Hang on, let Izuku’s brain reboot.
A tired man who’s grouchy? Who’s a tired man that’s grouchy? Is death the incarnation of an exhausted, grumpy man? Well, it makes sense, sort of. If he had to go around all day collecting dead people’s souls, he would be fairly irritable as well. But Izuku doesn’t know death, so—
Izuku’s brain must have gotten done rebooting, as the answer to who the unknown man is becomes increasingly apparent. And following the steady increase in his certainty of who the man is, his heartbeat starts to accelerate just as fast.
Because if it really is who Izuku thinks it is, he’s in deep shit and probably should flee while he still has the chance to do so.
He hears the man shift closer, his body heat now warming his entire side. He feels two hands press firmly into his shoulders.
“Nope. You’re not escaping. You’re injured, you need to stay lying down.” Eraserhead instructs, keeping his hands on top of Izuku’s shoulders to prevent him from sitting up.
“Eraserhead.” Izuku grunts, his voice clawing at his throat. He reaches up with his own hands to feel if his mask is on, breathing a sigh of relief at the feeling of the fabric against his fingers.
“Yep, that’s me.” The hero confirms, his hands still in place on his shoulders.
“‘M not escaping.”
“You know,” Eraser starts, “if you’re going to try to lie, you should make sure you’re not muttering first.” And after a beat of silence, the man lifts one hand off his shoulders, repeating, “… A grouchy, tired man? Really?” Izuku flushes with embarrassment. From just his voice, Izuku can say with confidence that Eraser is pinching the bridge of his nose while shaking his head, similar to how a disappointed father would react after being told their child was on drugs.
Seeing an opportunity to escape, as the underground hero only has one hand resting on his shoulder, Izuku hurriedly snaps open his eyes and sits up.
He soon finds himself regretting this, for when he sits up on the soft surface below, he is immediately engulfed in waves of nausea. The sensation of his head being as light as a feather while somehow equally heavy as a bag of bricks makes Izuku sway in his sitting position. The light shining from above does nothing to help his predicament; instead, it shoots a glaring pain throughout his head.
Choking back bile, Izuku murmurs, “I don’t feel so good.”
And as quickly as those words exit his mouth, he feels two hands on his shoulders once more, gently pushing him into the comfy object he was sitting on.
“Yeah, kid, I told you that you were injured. You need to stop being so stubborn and actually listen to someone’s directions for once.” Eraserhead fusses, not yet removing his hands from Izuku’s shoulders.
Ignoring his jab, Izuku decides to ask, “Where are we?” It’s hard for him to make out exactly where he was, the light causing him to have to squint his eyes.
“We’re just in a random alleyway,” Eraser responds. “You’re lying on an old couch cushion that someone threw out.” His voice shifts slightly as he turns his head towards something, finally withdrawing his hands from Izuku’s shoulders. “The streetlight is pretty bright, yeah?” Without waiting for an answer, the hero moves, and Izuku feels some of the tension leave his hurting head as Eraser’s body blocks the gleaming light from reaching him.
“Thanks.” Izuku says, bringing his hands back to his head and starts to rub at his temples.
Eraserhead grunts in acknowledgement.
It’s silent once again for a moment, the only sounds audible are their own breathing and discarded papers getting ruffled by the wind. Within those few moments, Izuku chooses to unclench his eyes, surveying his surroundings.
Like Eraserhead said, they’re situated in a random alley, and he is currently lying down on an old-looking couch cushion. Looking downwards, Izuku sees a trash can that had been flipped on its side, the contents spilled out on the concrete floor. Eraser is behind him, shielding him from the intense light. The throbbing in his brain invokes him to blink hard, trying to rid himself of the ache.
“What happened?” Izuku questions, needing a distraction from the pain.
Izuku hears a sigh, which is then followed by, “I was jumping buildings when I stumbled into your fight with some guy. He seemed to have some type of magnet quirk; he could pull small metal objects to himself. I came at the end of the fight, so I saw you land the final blow—or what you thought was the final blow. When you turned your back to the villain, the man got up without you knowing, used his quirk to grab a pole, and hit you on the head with it. You lost consciousness instantly.”
“Am I bleeding?”
“No. Though, you will most definitely have a huge lump on the side of your head for at least a week.”
“Awesome.” Izuku replies dryly.
They settle into comfortable stillness, neither saying a word until a sudden thought invades Izuku’s mind.
“Hey,” Izuku begins with hesitation, “do you know what time it is?”
Izuku can tell it’s late, the sky is colored black with sprinkles of white scattered across the endless void.
“It’s,” he hears fabric scrunching together as the hero takes his phone out of his pocket, “eleven thirty-two p.m.”
Tearing his eyes from the sky, Izuku rapidly turns his gaze onto the man crouching behind him, his green eyes widening.
“It’s eleven thirty-two?” Izuku echos.
“Yep.” Eraserhead says, removing his attention from his phone and placing it on him instead. Even with the shadow cloaking the man’s face, he can still decipher his eyebrows furrowing once he takes in Izuku’s own features. “Is that bad?”
The question barely registers itself in Izuku’s mind as he starts panicking.
Shit! His mom is probably going insane worrying about him! Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if she had already called the police to make a missing person report. He left the house at eight, intending to spend a short amount of time helping people before his mom got home, for on Fridays she gets home at ten. And as much as Izuku loves his mother, she could already be a bit overprotective. So when she got home and found her son nowhere to be found, she probably had a heart attack!
“No! Everything is fine!” Izuku scrambles to answer, internally cursing at himself when his voice comes out a pitch higher. However, his self-resentment is very quiet compared to the screaming of multiple different voices in his head trying to figure out a solution.
Maybe he could act like he got home late? That could work. Possibly. But what would he say he was out doing? He couldn’t say he was at school because then he’d get thrown questions about why he was staying so late, and she knows he isn’t in any clubs. Hanging out with friends? That might work. She might get upset that he didn’t tell her about meeting up with people, though, so—
“Kid,” Eraser says, placing a hand on his shoulder and snapping him out of his thoughts. And—
And when had Izuku sat up?
“Is something wrong?” Eraserhead surveys, concern written on his face.
Waving his hands around in the air, Izuku spouts, “Oh nothing! Nothing is wrong, really! I just need to get going.”
And before Eraser can say anything else, Izuku swiftly stands up, wobbling on his feet. A fresh sea of nausea hits him hard, leaving him feeling as though he was on a boat in the middle of a storm.
Beside him, the underground hero quickly follows his lead and stands up as well, hands placed on Izuku’s arms to keep him steady.
“Look, you need to sit down. I don’t know where you need to be right now, and frankly, I don’t really care. The most important thing as of now is your health.” Eraserhead declares.
The edges of the world are fading to black, and the ground underneath his red shoes is bouncing, causing him to flounder.
“But I feel fine.”
And, surprise, surprise.
Izuku promptly passes out.