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It’s probably just a busted sewer pipe from the abandoned building that collapsed. Nothing crazy or out of the ordinary. Hell, it sure beats finding a goddamn body under the rubble as they work to rebuild what’s left of their semi-decimated society.
But the moment Uraraka shifts the giant slab and the smell wafts up from the ground, Hitoshi’s nervous system glitches and he finds himself going rigid mid-task. The rebar falls out of his hands and his palms begin to sweat even more profusely underneath the gloves.
Hitoshi knows what’s happening but he can’t seem to stop it. The smell, it drags him back to that moment when he thought his life was being snuffed out. That stench, acrid and noxious, envelopes him. That thick slime, covers his nose, his mouth, his entire fucking face, and attempting to swallow him whole. To consume him.
Air, he needs air.
Fuck fuck fuck this isn’t how he’s supposed to go out he hasn’t even become a hero yet dammit this is pathetic but right now what he needs is to breathe.
He can’t breathe he can’t breathe he can’t fucking breathe—
“Hey.” someone barks. “Hey!”
His body isn’t his own.
His legs are moving, he’s going somewhere, directed by a pair of hands.
He can’t do anything. Someone, he hopes there’s someone—there’s gotta be someone—
A sharp sting at the nape of Hitoshi’s neck startles his mind and cuts through the nauseating memory, making him gasp in a lungful of air. His vision clears and he realizes he’s facing a cement wall, sweaty forehead pressed to its cool, rough surface. His hands are curled against the wall on either side of his head; a failed attempt to ground himself and grasp at reality. But the heavy warmth on the back of his neck—a clammy hand—does the job for him instead.
“Hold on, just give him a fucking moment, will ya?” the owner of the hand says to someone, voice gruff but soft. Bakugou, Hitoshi recognizes as his senses fully begin to return to the present.
“I’m gonna let Sensei know,” Ochako’s voice calls out with concern. Her footsteps retreat.
“Yeah, alright. I’ll bring him over in a bit.”
Hitoshi’s mouth is dry when he tries to speak. He squeezes his eyes and unclenches his hands. Taking another deep breath, he steps back and lets his arms fall. Bakugou’s hand lingers at the base of his head a moment longer before dropping.
“No, I’ll keep going,” Hitoshi protests when he finds his voice again, though it’s hoarse. When he turns he finds Bakugou staring at him, frowning. “Gotta clear up the space.”
“Yeah, ‘cause that’s the priority right now,” Bakugou scoffs, rolling his eyes. He grabs the sports bottle clipped to his belt and holds it out. Hitoshi takes it gratefully and tips his head back to squirt some. It’s a little lukewarm but it makes him feel better, though his heart is still pounding against his ribs.
“We’re going to Sensei,” Bakugou says as he takes the bottle back and takes a sip himself. “If you wanna keep at it, you can make your case with him. Not my call to make.”
“You’re right it’s not,” Hitoshi agrees, stepping away and towards the rubble once more. “It’s mine. We only have a few hours left of our shift anyway. I’ll see Sensei once we’re back on campus.”
Hitoshi’s barely taken a few steps when he’s yanked back by his scarf, a yelp escaping his lips without permission.
“Fine, do what you want,” Bakugou says, unfazed when Hitoshi whirls on him, irritated. “But I ain’t letting you pretend like that—” Bakugou waves vaguely at the place where Hitoshi’s freakout moment started, “—didn’t just happen.”
“I’m not pretending,” Hitoshi argues, glaring. He’s not annoyed that Bakugou seems to give a fuck—apparently, the gremlin gives a lot of fucks, more than he’d realized. He’s just a little… embarrassed. Of all people, he didn’t need Bakugou to be the one to catch him in a moment of weakness. He may be in the hero course now but he’s still working on proving he belongs here. And this isn’t helping.
But it quickly dawns on him that that’s the last thing on Bakugou’s mind right now.
“It was that stench, wasn’t it?” Bakugou says, a bit quieter, and Hitoshi’s eyes widen in surprise. “Shitty hair told me about what happened, you know,” Bakugou explains without him asking. “It used to get me too, real fucking bad. Couldn’t take a goddamn stroll through certain streets around my house for weeks because of it. Doesn’t trigger me as much now but,” Bakugou shrugs a shoulder, looking away briefly, “still kinda puts me on edge.”
Oh. Right. How the fuck did Hitoshi forget? Bakugou has his own history with that shitty Sludge villain. Worse than Hitoshi’s, if he’s honest, but he knows that’s not the point. The point is that Bakugou gets it; sensed the trigger, saw how Hitoshi’s body responded, put the pieces together, and then immediately stepped aside to help him
“I know what that’s like and I know how long it takes to ease up again,” Bakugou continues. “Fucks your mind up for the rest of the day. So it’s better to call it now rather than continue with a shit mood and your body ready to lose it again without a warning. But then again,” Bakugou crosses his arms in challenge, “It’s your call.”
Hitoshi swallows, shutting out the nagging thought that’s telling him that if he ducks out for the day, he’s weak. That he’s not fit to be a hero. The thought is irrational, he knows. He literally just played a huge role in the biggest war of their time for crying out loud. But it’s hard to shake off the voices that have pulled you down all your life.
And Bakugou’s right here reaching a hand out to pull him up. Hitoshi belongs here. With all of them. He just needs a break, that’s all there is to it.
“Okay,” Hitoshi acquiesces. He notes the way Bakugou’s face softens with relief. “You don’t need to walk me back to Sensei, though. I’m a big boy, I can find my way,” he adds with a smirk.
Bakugou huffs a laugh and rolls his eyes again. “I wasn’t gonna walk you back asshole, I’m heading over too.” Hitoshi raises a brow in question. “Gotta call it quits for the day too,” Bakugou says, grimacing as he rolls his bad shoulder, pressing a deft thumb into a muscle in his forearm.
Hitoshi nods, offering a small smile. Looks like they’re all learning to take it a little easy.
“Thanks,” Hitoshi says, sincerely. “I just—yeah. Thanks.”
Bakugou just shrugs and begins to walk them back. Back straight, chin up, head held high like the proud hero he is despite all the shit he’s been hit with. And Hitoshi follows.