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Patrols had been quiet recently. Nothing much of note happened and Izuku found himself growing a little bored. Tonight he found himself watching a drug deal from a near by roof. Atleast, he thought it was a drug deal. Whatever it was, it was predictable, which means boring.
Izuku yawned, not bothering to cover his mouth, not much good it would do with a motorcycle helmet in the way. He shivered and made a mental note to start wearing a hoodie with his vigilante get up.
Musutafu was well into winter, and the strong breezes chilled Izuku to his bones. He hoped for something interesting to happen, patrols were less cold when he was fighting, the movement leaving him warm and energized, fizzy, as if he was a battery.
“I wish something exciting would happen” he whined, leaning back on the roof.
He represses the strong urge to cough. Or sneeze. Or both
Movement from the deal caught his attention and he watched the pair walk toward an abandoned building.
The building was nestled snugly between some other tall concrete apartments, the concrete visibly cracked and crumbling, looking one strong winter breeze from completely collapsing.
Izuku narrowed his eyes, most drug deals were held in dark alleys, or places mostly avoided by the general public. Sometimes they were held in buildings but it wasn’t that common.
Izuku drops down, and sneaks after them, ignoring the prickly weeds that snag at his pants. The building smells musty and damp. There's another faint smell of sulfur that has Izuku wrinkling his nose. He doesn’t think too much of it as he focuses on the pair.
They climb the staircase to the 4th floor in a 6 floor building, the tops of the other buildings visible from the grimy windows.
Izuku would rather not be in a dilapidated building right now, but there's no way he can just leave the two suspicious individuals to do their crime when he’s right there.
He hastily follows, cursing himself for even deciding to become a vigilante in the first place, and crouches behind a crumbling wall of one of the apartments, the hallway too bare for him to hide in. At one end of the hall is an elevator, the dented doors stuck halfway open.
The carpeted flooring lifts up in multiple places, and it's showered in different parts of the ceiling. The wooden doors are splintered and only held in place by gray concrete.
Dust coats every surface.
Izuku really needs to cough right now.
When was the last time he got a tetanus shot?
The two men first speak in hushed whispers, the first, a younger man with no visible quirk is slightly taller than the dealer, his looks are average, and he has a spark to his eye that tells of excitement.
The second man Izuku decides to nickname scales, is a middle aged man, with scales that remind Izuku vaguely of a snake, grows more angry as he gestures frantically at the first man. His jacket flutters in a breeze that wheezes through the old building, and Izuku catches sight of a number of red vials. Trigger.
So this wasn’t a normal deal, great. Izuku gathered himself up, carefully considering different plans. He can’t just rush in with no idea of his opponent's abilities. It would be best to maintain the element of surprise, usually the biggest weapon he has under his belt since he has no idea how to use a knife, or anything more useful than the random debris he sometimes uses, or his fists.
The conversation grows in volume, from whispers to slightly above a normal conversation.
“I know that you’ve been using fake money.” Scales almost hisses, venom practically coating his tone.
He stalks anxiously around #1, his hands clenching and unclenching. A blood vessel on his face bulges.
#1 laughs nervously, backing up a little now and holding up his arms in a placating manner. “Can you blame me? I mean can we talk about the political and economic state of the world right no-”
He cries out in pain as Scales grabs his throat, squeezing.
Izuku starts running, plans being made and scrapped for every step he takes, he makes half the distance, before #1’s hands spark, flame sputtering to life.
This proves to be the stupidest thing #1 has done so far, because the spark explodes, the sulfur smell Izuku belated realizes as gas igniting and sending Izuku flying back in a sea of concrete, glass, and various vegetation.
The last thing he registers is a strong yank from a long string of fabric that wraps around him like a lasso, his body colliding with another, and then hitting a wall, the sound of metal screeching on metal, before his vision blacks out.
---
Izuku wakes up with a strong urge to cough. Or sneeze. Or both. Unlucky him.
He fumbles around with the visor of his helmet, and lifts it up so that he can hack out a lung onto the dusty, cracked quartz flooring.
His ears ring, a headache already knocking at his skull.
His eyes water from the dust floating idly in the air, and takes in his surroundings. He’s in the old elevator at the end of the hall. He can see the bottom half of the 4th floor, the elevator had fallen a couple feet.
Several walls were blown away from the explosion, the floor had a large hole in the middle where the two criminals were originally standing. Scales has covered his entire body with more scales, and lays at the other end of the hall. Glass from the window crunches as he shifts.
Scales lowers his arms from his face, wide eyes take in the sight of #1 laying on an old yellowing mattress in one of the apartments, the wall completely blown away. A gash on his head slowly soaks the mattress in scarlet blood. He’s covered in soot and unconscious. Scales curses and jumps from the window, onto one of the neighboring rooftops.
Izuku huffs in frustration. He shifts to stand, but the elevator groans, dangerously tilting with the movement.
This is worse than Izuku thought.
He takes stock of his own injury, unable to help #1 for now. A nasty gash on his forearm drips onto his cargo pants, which are scorched from the explosion. He has other cuts on his body, and his muscles ache, but all things considered he is surprisingly unscathed.
A gray cloth sits snugly wrapped around his midsection, the tightness restricting movement, and breathing to an extent.
Dread creeps up his spine, he knows this cloth. He doesn’t need to turn, following its path to know that on the other side is Eraserhead.
Of course the underground hero was also here. He always seemed to follow Izuku around like a particularly annoying cold.
Eraserhead lay propped up on the wall of the elevator, his hand grasped tightly to Izuku’s sleeve. He must’ve been the one to take the brunt of the impact.
He isn’t awake at the moment, skin pale, lying so, so still.
Izuku carefully scooches closer, and, with shaking hands, he presses a finger to Eraserheads pulse point.
It takes him precious moments to really focus on the pulse, but it's there, pulsing gently against Izuku’s finger.
Izuku does not breathe a sigh of relief, he simply takes a deep breath because Eraserhead being alive does not quell the dread pulling his muscles taught.
This is the worst possible outcome.
Why did he have to wish for something exciting to happen? Was he stupid?
Maybe.
The elevator is tilted like a seesaw, Eraserhead and Izuku at the lower end. The dented doors show Izuku that there is a possibility of escape, but a sizable pile of rubble blocks the entrance. In order to get out, He’d have to move it, while not making any sudden movements that would send the elevator freefalling.
Eraserhead groans from behind him, his limbs stretching out like a disgruntled cat. But the movement causes another creak of protest from the elevator.
Izuku sits deathly still. Not daring to even breathe. The elevator tilts a little more, but stops.
Eraserhead also stops, blinking blearily. “Zashi…?”
“Nope, not even close, whoever that is.”
Izuku expects Eraserhead to bolt up, send the elevator creaking again, and try to interrogate Izuku. But, he just blinks, using a hand to message the bridge of his nose.
It sends the dread to the bottom of Izuku’s stomach, the reaction so unlike Eraserhead. He swallows.
This causes him to hack up another lung, again.
“Who…” Eraserhead squints at Izuku, and he hastily pulls down his visor. Its covered in dust that makes things hard to make out, so he wipes at it with his hand, which smears blood all over. Of course.
“Kid?” Eraserhead whispers.
“Eraserhead, my favorite stalker.” Izuku tries to convey malice in a glare that Eraserhead can’t even see through the blood-dust-smeared visor.
Eraserhead coughs, a wet and simultaneously dry thing, It causes the dread in Izuku’s stomach to rear its ugly head.
Fear coats his tongue, and his hands shake even further. He blames it on the blood loss, and, y’know, the general situation.
“Eraserhead.” He grabs the hero’s shoulder, a risky move. “Get ahold of yourself, we’re in a bit of a pickle” He grates out.
Eraserhead just blinks at him again, he slumps even further, sliding down the wall, which is when Izuku sees it- the blood.
Blood smears the wood veneer, and Izuku inhales sharply. Eraserhead coughs again, the wet-dry rattle resonating in Izuku's bones. He feels like an overcharged battery, too full of energy to do anything carefully, prickly and staticky.
He pushes up the visor again, wiping away the blood proving futile. He carefully maneuvers Eraserhead to lie on his back. The elevator shifts and he does his best to ignore it, the trembling spreading from his fingers to his hands, to his arms.
He fumbles around in his utility belt, pulling out the mini first aid kit he carries around.
Taking stock of what he has: 10 or so bandaids, alcohol wipes, mini packets of ibuprofen, a small roll of bandages, a couple gauze pads, tweezers, scissors, and ointment.
Eraserhead hisses between his teeth when Izuku checks for other injuries, the light of the elevator flickers, barely there, but it still seems to irritate Eraserhead. He squeezes his eyes shut as it flickers strong, then dim.
A concussion, then.
The head wound is the most concerning. He’s heard that they usually bleed the most, even if they aren’t serious, but the sight of the growing puddle of blood around Eraser’s head is not a fun one.
The roll of bandages will not stretch enough for him to address the gash on his arm AND Eraser’s head wound.
The decision is obvious, and he addresses the head wound first.
“I'm so stupid.” He curses, shifting. The elevator groans.
The silence from Eraser stabs at his temper.
Usually Eraser would be quipping something back, something dry and sarcastic. His poker face boring into Izuku’s helmet, seeing through him somehow.
Izuku sighs harshly, he takes a deep breath. Grabbing a zebra permanent marker from one of his pockets he draws Eraserheads unimpressed face onto his hand.
“‘This sort of thing is unlike you, kid.’” Izuku’s Eraserhead puppet hand says.
The real Eraserhead just stares at him, confused. It's an expression so foreign Izuku can’t look. It’s sort of like an uncanny valley effect.
“‘What are you waiting for? You scared?’” PuppetEraser laughs at him.
“Well if you have any ideas, smartass, why don’t you enlighten me.” Izuku hisses, raising a hand to run through his hair that's stopped by his helmet.
PuppetEraser is silent. Izuku swears he’s going crazy.
“Elevat’r has… a’mergency hatchh up.” real Eraserhead slurs, pointing up.
Izuku jumps, not proud to admit he screams.
Eraser winces, covering his ears with clumsy hands.
The elevator shifts again, going from one side to the other, things slide around, before it stops, still tilted.
Izuku looks up, and sure enough there is a small hatch on the top of the elevator. He had forgotten about those, but of course Eraser would know.
The problem is, he's too short to reach it. If he jumped he might make it, but thats risky.
“Are you lucid?” he asks Eraser, tentatively poking him.
Eraser grabs his wrist, and weakly glares. “Yesh…” he whispers.
Izuku gently removes Eraser’s hand from his wrist. “Okay. Can you stand?”
Izuku might not be able to reach it, but Eraserhead might.
Eraserhead stares at him for a few moments, his mind slow to connect the dots. After a moment, understanding blooms in his eyes, and he slowly sits up.
He spends a moment just holding his head, cursing softly under his breath.
It would be funny the way his words slur in any other context, but right now Izuku is just stuck feeling awkward, and scared.
The fact that Eraser is actually responding is good though, it makes the dread release its claws just a little bit.
Eraser stands on unsteady feet, grabbing the guard rail with white knuckles as the elevator lurches. Izuku hits the wall and bites his tongue as it jostles his arm and stretches his sore muscles.
Eraser looks up at the hatch, pushing at it weakly, but it doesn’t budge.
The elevator groans, and Eraser stumbles a little. Izuku reaches out to steady him.
Of course the stupid emergency shaft doesn’t work.
The elevator eventually settles, And Eraser sinks down to the floor again, his head in his arms.
Izuku winces in sympathy, to see the usually stoic and almost cruel man reduced to sitting on an elevator floor was not as cathartic as he hoped.
“You are the bane of my existence.” He sighs, with no heat behind it.
Eraserhead stays silent.
Now how to get out of this elevator? The top hatch wont work so he's back to square one.
How heavy could that rubble be? Maybe if Eraser is on one end, Izuku standing on the other will steady the elevator. Perhaps he could push the rubble out of the way.
Izuku shuffles slowly to the doors, listening to the elevator protest the whole way. His hands are still shaking, he ignores that.
A cold breeze hits him in the face, he stands at eye level with the floor. The rubble is sizable, the smallest chunk being the size of his fist, and the largest being the size of his head.
He pushes some of the small rubble out of the way, which only leaves the biggest part. But no matter what, he can’t push it more than a couple millimeters at best.
He wonders if he would push it easier if he wasn’t having to raise his arms so high. Experimentally, he lifts himself up on the floor above him, but the elevator leans, hitting him squarely in the forehead.
He falls to the floor with a thud that shakes the whole elevator, and he hears the cracking of the cable as the elevator falls a few more feet.
Now Izuku sees the 3rd floor, the elevator about waist high.
If Izuku’s weight leaving the elevator sends it down, then when he and Eraser get out, it has to be fast.
But low and behold, there is another hole on this floor, one right in front of the elevator. Izuku would have to be extremely careful to get both him and Eraserhead out.
His head pounds and he feels slightly warm. The gash on his arm pulses with every heartbeat, the blood still drips down onto the elevator floor. It coats his hand, and anything he touches.
He sort of wants to cry.
Sinking to his knees, he stares at Eraserhead. The man is still in the fetal position.
“Eraser…” he begins. He should ask Eraser what to do, he had a smart idea about the elevator hatch, and he's more experienced, smarter, faster…
The pressure builds behind his eyes, the moisture gathering at the bottom, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. He really just wants his mom right now.
Eraser lifts his head, unfocused eyes looking in Izuku’s general direction.
“Do you… think we’re going to die?” The elevator groans.
After a moment Eraser’s expression softens minutely. “Kid..”
Eraserhead has done so much already, and he has plenty more to do. Izuku on the other hand…
Maybe his bullies were right.
“I guess I never proved them wrong.” He sniffles.
He wonders if Kacchan would think of him. Probably not.
Eraserhead hums thoughtfully.
“This is all my fault.” The tears stream down his cheeks, leaving clear tracks where the grime is washed away. “If you hadn’t protected me, and instead protected yourself…”
“Youu… d’srve protect’n” Eraserhead mumbles.
“Evr’yon’ d’servesss… protectin’” he reiterates.
Izuku huffs disbelievingly. “Even a waste of space like me?” He really wants to rake a hand through his hair.
Maybe…
Eraserhead blinks, thinking hard.
Izuku takes off his helmet, laying it in his lap. He wipes his tears, spreading the grime around his face.
Eraser breathes sharply.
“I’m sorry I’m the last person you’ll see before we die.” Izuku looks away, at the hole.
The elevator groans, dropping a few inches.
“Kid… I won’ let you die…” Eraser struggles up onto his knees.
Eraserhead may be annoying, and too persistent, and weirdly concerned, but he was a good hero.
Izuku shouldn’t let him die because of an elevator.
“Dying in an elevator is sorta lame, if you think about it.” he hums. “Don’t worry Eraser. I have an idea.”
It's risky, and there's not much of a chance of it working, but it's probably the only thing he can come up with at the moment.
He stands, and grabs Eraser. In one big burst of energy, he pushes Eraser through the opening, but to the side, where a wall has fallen but onto solid ground. The elevator complains sharply, the sound of metal on metal, the elevator crying is the only warning before it starts to fall.
Izuku falls back, hissing at the way he slips in his own blood, his arm stinging. The cold air whips at his face, his hair, and his clothes, the elevator in a freefall when- suddenly it stops, screeching to a sudden halt.
Izuku hurries, shaking hands pulling him out onto the second floor, he looks up through the hole in the ceiling, seeing Eraserhead straining with his capture weapon.
He must have pulled on the cable with the weapon.
The elevator cable snaps, done with all the pressure, and the elevator clips Izuku's heel as he pulls the rest of him out, collapsing on a pile of rubble. He is definitely going to have infected wounds.
The elevator falls to the first floor with a crash that rattles the hole building, small chunks of concrete landing on Izuku, along with a healthy helping of dust.
Eraser stumbles, and falls down onto the rubble next to Izuku, wincing as he hears a bone crack.
He lies there for a few precious moments, just breathing. His helmet is lost somewhere, and the rubble digs uncomfortably into his… everything. Eraserhead stares at him, before closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose.
Izuku’s eyelids are weighted with lead, threatening to close, but the heavy throbbing from his head keeps him uncomfortable.
Several more chunks of concrete land on him, and the building is still shaking. That's not very good.
Eraserhead seems barely coherent when Izuku sits up. He hustles, grabbing Eraser's arm and throwing it around his shoulders. It's slow, but Izuku and Eraser make it to the staircase, and begin going down to the first floor.
A shout catches Izuku’s attention, looking up, #1 from earlier meets his eyes through the hole in the ceiling, sweaty and pale, and takes off running.
Izuku hisses in annoyance, but hurries to make it to the door, practically dragging Eraserhead with him.
He basically collapses onto the street outside, a frightened bystander approaches, and Izuku has barely the energy to stutter out “cal- call the police” before his vision is blacking out, the pounding in his head overtaking his consciousness.
Remind him to never wish for something exciting to happen again.
---
Izuku wakes with the strong urge to cough. Or sneeze. Or both.
He sits up far too quickly, a wave of vertigo and static fills his vision, his head hits the pillow again.
Pillow?
Once the stars recede from his vision he is able to see white ceilings, the scratchy blanket wrapped around him, and the window to a non-crumbling building.
“I'm not dead” he breathes out.
“Still kicking eh?” a gruff voice calls, carried through the room from the breeze from the open window.
He turns, and Eraserhead lays in all his glory in the hospital bed next to his. “I broke… some rules to be with ya ssso don’ go… c’mplainin’.” he slurs, deadpan.
Izuku stares, open mouthed. “What the fuuuu….” he whispers.
“We ain’ dead…” Eraser grins.