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“Building’s about to come down,” Earphone Jack shouts over comms. “Everyone evacuate!”
Izuku pivots, grabbing the last of the tenants, one under each arm. “Shouto,” he calls as his friend glides past, taking the younger of the two civilians from Izuku’s hold while barking out orders to his sidekicks. He disappears down the hallway with a nod, and Izuku follows, adjusting the child in his arms so that he's sitting upright.
“We’ve still got three more civilians on the roof,” says Battle Fist, voice crackling over the line as the building shakes again. “We’re going to jump to the next building over, but two of them need medevac, stat!”
“I’m scared,” whispers the boy in Izuku’s arms. He smiles, though can’t look down at him lest he trip and fall over the scattered debris. They're moving fast enough that one or both of them would be injured by such a fall, and there's no time left to deal with that.
“You’re going to be just fine,” says Izuku, skidding around a corner. He leaps down an entire flight of stairs, knees creaking beneath him as he lands.
With another loud groan, the floor shifts under his feet. He leans to the side as he runs, jumping over growing cracks in the tile. A pipe bursts from the ceiling, spraying hot water across the corridor. Izuku lifts the kid a little higher and bends over to shield him as they dash through the boiling curtain.
His skin burns where the water hits him straight on, and only stings where it soaks into his suit. He bites his tongue to hold back his cries. The boy seems unharmed, though he’s sobbing now, clinging to Izuku’s suit so tightly he’s afraid it may rip in his tiny, meaty fists.
“Deku, you’re the last one! Please hurry!”
Behind him, Izuku hears more pipes bursting from their places in the ceiling and walls. A piece of the wall crumbles as the building shifts, and its guts spill across the floor, revealing shorn wires and twisted metal struts coated in plaster dust.
Izuku sees what will happen just before it does. One of the wires, still sparking at its end, twitches in the air, and then falls into the gushing water. He manages to leap out of the water at the last second, unsure if his rubber-soled boots will still protect him while he’s soaked from head to toe.
The boy’s cries grow louder as Izuku soars forward, twisting in midair and slamming his back and shoulders against the bottom half of the window at the end of the hall. The glass shatters, spilling into the boy’s hair, over Izuku’s arms and hands.
“I need evac, thirtieth floor window, east side,” he coughs, pushing himself back to his feet. “Hallway is blocked off behind us!”
He glances back. It’s only a matter of seconds before the water will spill across the last stretch of dry floor, likely electrocuting the both of them. His comm crackles in his ear, but the voices come through garbled.
Izuku takes a deep breath and climbs into the window frame. Water sloshes up against the wall just after he pulls his foot up.
“My grappeler is still jammed,” he shouts, balancing in a low squat. “Does anyone copy? I need –”
Kacchan flies past noisily, cutting him off. He grabs the child from Izuku’s arms with one hand, using the other to stay airborne, and shouts, “I’ll be right back!”
Izuku grabs the top of the frame with both hands to stay balanced. The building groans again, cracking and popping ominously. The lights flicker out in the hallway behind him, but water continues to pour from the mangles pipes.
“Hurry,” Izuku says, the plea lost under the roaring cacophony behind him. Reporters and civilians are gathered below, but the rest of his friends and colleagues are nowhere in sight. Likely working to get the remaining civilians to safety.
He leans forward in the frame. He remembers, so distantly now, a time when he could have just jumped down, carried himself safely to the street below with float or blackwhip, or even just the sheer, raw power of One For All.
“Deku!” Kacchan appears again, this time from above. Izuku leans out, reaching his arm toward his friend.
The structure shifts one final time. Kacchan’s eyes widen. His mouth opens wide, screaming something, but Izuku doesn’t hear it. He tries to jump, but the frame cracks beneath him, and he slips backwards, barely catching himself before he tumbles into the raging water.
Time seems to expand outwards, slowing down between one heartbeat and the next. Izuku launches forward again, but it is not enough. Not soon enough, not fast enough, not strong enough.
He’s swept into the dark as the building crumbles in on itself, hand still outstretched. Kacchan’s fingers brush against his before he is swallowed by the falling debris.
Izuku’s comm crackles and buzzes in his ear. He hears disjointed, staticky voices as frantic individual syllables, cut apart by white noise.
His ears ring. He groans. His mouth is dry, almost sticky. Swallowing, opens his eyes, blinking away a fine layer of dust.
“Ah,” he breathes, pain shooting up his back as he tries to sit up. His vision blinks out for a moment, going from black to white, and then fading back in slowly in small, staticky bursts. His heart is pounding against his ribs, and a spot just along his spine throbs in time with its quick, drum-like rhythm.
It takes a moment for the pain to subside, or at least to fade away to a manageable level. The whole time he grits his teeth, letting out small strained noises from the back of his throat.
“-ku? Did – hear that?”
Metal groans, shifting slowly. Above, something heavy slides or breaks, either way scraping against stone with a long, low screech.
“– it too, but –”
Izuku blinks a few more times, trying to let his eyes adjust to the light. Slowly, he turns his neck, taking in the shadows around him. He’s in a small, damp space; water trickles down somewhere behind his head, echoing slightly.
He’s lying mostly flat on a slab of stone. Given how long it’s taking him to get his bearings, he thinks he may be concussed. There’s pressure on his chest, but it doesn’t outright hurt unless he tries to move.
“– there, Deku, please say –”
He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to will the world to be silent again.
“– a fluke?”
“Stop,” he moans, rolling his neck back.
“Deku! Are you –”
“– you just shut – let him –”
Izuku groans. He’s beginning to recognize those voices, and their concern. “What’s… going on?”
“Building fell,” says Kacchan, muffled over the comm. “With – in it. We’re trying – dig you out.”
“Okay,” he says. That doesn’t sound too bad.
“– you injured?”
“I don’t know. My back hurts. No space to move.”
Voices overlap in his ear, unintelligible and half swallowed by static. He tries, desperately, to hear them out, but it’s impossible to focus on a single voice in the rising din.
“Stop,” he shouts, curling gloved fingers into the palm of his hand. The chorus of concern quiets, slightly, and he tries to just focus on taking his next breath, and then the next after that.
“Deku,” says Kacchan, quietly, “we’re going to – find you.”
He squeezes his eyes shut. His nails dig further into his palms, a steady stream of pain to drown out the constant static in his ear.
“Okay,” he says. He opens his eyes and looks around the dark space, the outlines of rebar and wires and thin streams of water highlighted by some distant, selfish source of light. “I trust you.”
He lies in the dark for a long time, visited only by the oft interrupted voices of his friends. They check in every few minutes, asking how he feels, if he needs anything. A rescue, he wants to say, but doesn't, because he knows they’re working on it, knows they will dig him out of here even if it means doing so with their bare hands.
Kacchan and Shouto ask after him most often, together making up about half of the incoming chatter. Both, he thinks, seem to feel responsible for his current predicament, and won't hear a word to the contrary.
“It’s not your fault. I should have been faster,” says Izuku, trying to breathe but feeling the pressure on his chest, crushing down with many times the force of gravity. “I should… should have jumped, should have let someone catch me…”
“You did everything right,” Shouto says. “Don’t – yourself. You did everything – and it’s going to – okay.”
“Is it?” he whispers, voice swallowed by the darkness. Somewhere in the shadows, metal strikes against metal, echoing through the many tiny spaces. Izuku flinches, his head spinning.
“It’s going to be just fine, Izuku, – promise.”
He hums in response. He has little else to do but trust them, and wait.
After awhile on his back, Izuku starts to feel numb and floaty, almost enough to drift off to sleep. He voices this to his friends, who immediately and sternly tell him to stay awake.
“I will, I will,” he assures them, stretching his arms out as far as they can go. His knuckles brush up against rough concrete, scraping against the jagged edges.
“Good. Just stay – almost there.”
He hums, rolling his head from side to side. He feels lighter, which registers somewhere in his mind as a bad thing. He can’t really remember why.
“‘m gonna turn over,” he says, pushing up against the low ceiling.
“Don't,” says Shouto. The sentiment is repeated by many voices, but none of them feel the stiffness in Izuku’s joints, the numbness creeping up his legs.
He presses himself flatter against his concrete bed. Pain shoots up from that same spot, somewhere low on his spine. He drives the numbness from his extremities as he shifts, slowly, painfully, carefully.
The world goes white again when he starts to turn. He hears his own cry, short and shrill, cut off as the back of his head smacks against stone. His entire abdomen screams at him to stop, forcing him to fall limp.
He lets out a little cry, trying to shift back into place. That sends more fire racing up his spine, and then –
And then nothing.
He blinks.
“Deku! Please, can you – something?!”
“I’m…” he trails off, panting. He swallows, forcing saliva down his dry, sore throat. His head hurts, suddenly, but there is something else that has changed somehow. He’s in less pain, he realizes, than he was just a moment ago.
“What’s going on?”
Somewhere above, he hears metal snapping, clanging. Stone and wood splinter, and dust falls from the hidden cracks above his head. Rescue is imminent, it seems, but…
Something isn’t right.
“I’m numb,” he realizes. A chill falls upon him, washing over him from the top of his head to the base of his spine. But no further. “I can’t feel my legs. I – I could just feel them. I can’t feel them!”
The line is silent for a single, horrifying moment. Izuku wheezes, tears welling in his eyes.
“You’re going – okay. Whatever’s going on, Deku, I promise – be okay.”
He tries to shift his leg, or bend his knee, or even just wiggle his toes. It’s impossible to tell if he’s succeeded. Where before there was a deep well of subconscious information, there is now nothing. The absence of feeling is strange and uncomfortable and viscerally terrifying.
“No,” he breathes. The low ceiling seems to press in on him, crushing his lungs and heart and spilling him across the jagged stones, the deep tangles of rebar and concrete and warped, splintered wood. Some piece of him falls away, disappearing into the deep, shifting ruins.
“– almost there. Just –”
A beam of light cuts into the dark space, highlighting the thick clouds of dust swirling lazily in the air pocket. He turns his eyes away, tears spilling down his cheeks.
What will happen now? They will pull him from these ruins, try to stitch him back together. And if they fail, if Izuku has finally broken his body beyond repair…
He has been forced to let go of his dream many times now. Forced to accept reality, just be realistic, listen to the facts –
Even without a quirk, he has persisted. Even through losing the greatest power in the world, he has persisted.
More light spills through the growing cracks. He hears voices above, feels the subtle vibrations of footsteps on the stones all around him. He reaches up as the stone roof is lifted, then brings his arm down to cover his eyes.
He thinks of the boy in his arms, just a few hours ago. Was it really only that long ago? He wonders why he didn’t jump a moment sooner, or several moments sooner. Did he really think no one would try to catch him?
This is his fault. His fault, his fault, his fault.
It was worth it. To save that child, even if it has ended his career…
It was worth it.
Izuku’s arm is pulled carefully from his face. He looks down at himself, pressed awkwardly against a slab of concrete, the remains of a support column. Dark, slick metal protrudes from his abdomen, gleaming in the sunlight.
He doesn’t feel it. All sensation stops just before that point along his body. He stares, unable to bring himself to look away.
Gentle hands press an oxygen mask to his lips. He breathes in deep, despite his aching lungs, and lets himself be lifted from the dying place of his dream.
He smells hot tea when he wakes, thick and flowery.
He blinks away the familiar weight of anesthesia, but some lingers in his body, slowing him as he turns his head, forcing some strange noise from the back of his throat.
It’s hard to say how much time has passed. He feels weak and exhausted, and numb all over.
“Shou…to…” he mutters, blinking at the figure by his bedside until he becomes clearer. His hair is wilder than Izuku has ever seen it, sticking up at an angle which indicates having been slept on recently.
He notes the pillow sitting on the small end table, and the dark circles under Shouto’s eyes.
“You’re awake,” he says, lowering his mug to the table. He stands, reaching across Izuku’s bed for the nurse call button. Izuku pushes his hand away, remembering now why he is here. Shouto’s brow crinkles, and a small frown appears on his lips.
“Tell me,” he says, voice raw and cracking.
“You’re not supposed to be awake for another hour,” says Shouto tactfully, reaching again for the small remote. Izuku tugs it away jerkily, his arms still stiff and heavy.
“Am I… Are my legs…?”
Shouto’s gaze softens.
“Please,” says Izuku. He presses his hand to his chest.
“Your legs will be fine. That’s what your surgeon said.” He gently coaxes the remote from Izuku’s weak fingers, pressing the call button and sitting back down. He grabs his mug, taking a long sip before speaking again. “You’ll have to go through physical therapy, but you’ll be able to walk and run and even fight again in time.”
“Oh,” he says. Some muscle in his chest loosens, and he relaxes back into the soft mattress.
“You had us all very worried, though. I never want to see you hurt like that again.”
“I’ll try,” he sighs, covering his eyes with the back of his hand. “I can’t imagine… retiring so soon.”
“Oh, I doubt you’d let something like that stop you,” says Shouto. Izuku turns his head, letting his hand fall across his forehead. Shouto rubs at the sides of his mug, staring into the rising steam. “I’m not saying it would be easy, just… I know you, Izuku. You’re not one to give up on anything.”
“Maybe not.” He turns his neck again, looking back up at the ceiling.
A nurse arrives a moment later, taking Izuku’s vitals with a starstruck look in their eyes. Shouto is silent, watching from behind his mug as Izuku is subjected to a pulse oximeter on his index finger, a blood pressure cuff around his arm, and a stethoscope to his chest and back.
“Your surgeon will be here shortly to discuss next steps,” they say, breathless. They nearly leave the vital signs monitor in the room, but remember to come back for it at the last second, apologizing repeatedly.
Shouto laughs quietly as they leave. “You have fans everywhere, it seems.”
Izuku hums.
Shouto finishes his tea in silence, setting the mug on the table carefully. He watches Izuku, his concern written all across his face.
“Do you…” Izuku closes his eyes, curling his fingers loosely against his palm. “Do you really think I could still have been a hero without the use of my legs?”
“Sure,” says Shouto after a moment. “Fighting would have been much harder. Maybe impossible. But there’s more than one way to help people. You taught me that.”
Izuku sighs. Then chuckles. “I guess you’re right.”
“You’re pretty stubborn. If you really wanted to keep fighting, I’m sure you would have found a way.”
He opens his eyes, raising his hand slightly above his face. The evening sun filters through the curtains, casting a golden glow over his many, many scars. They crawl their way up his fingers and back down his arm, pale and jagged reminders of he he once was, of who he will always be.
He had thought, once, that he could never be a hero without a quirk. He had thought that without One For All, there was no symbol of peace. No Deku.
Now he realizes the absurdity of such a thought. One For All didn’t make him who he is today. It helped him along the way, sure, but he wanted to save people with a smile since before he could walk or talk.
Losing One For All did make him weaker. But it did not break him. Instead, he has been forced to build up many different kinds of strength. And when he cannot cover his weaknesses, he has found, time and time again, that there are people he can trust to do it for him.
“I hope you’re right,” he says softly.
“I know I am. You don’t give yourself enough credit, Izuku.”
Maybe not. He’s gotten this far, after all. He lowers his hand. There are many more challenges in store for him, he’s sure. That was never in question.
But he believes now, even if he didn’t believe before, that he will be able to face any challenge this life can throw at him just as he is.