Chapter Text
Kukuko was fantastic at solving problems.
For physical proof, a cute little medal she got in elementary for beating everybody at puzzles hangs on her walls. Vindictive as she is in showing it off, she didn’t actually need it to know she was capable of some top tier *cue* brain explosions. That’s why when her school club, the Anime Tribe of Champs & Cramps, planned a trip to America for Comic Con and the expenses for the trip were revealed to be very hazardous for adolescent eyes, Kukuko was standing on business.
She signed her club members up for the UA search-and-rescue exam she knew they were holding from their social media, which paid a generous deal for participation as faux civilians under injury, and secured their tickets to California.
Except it didn’t actually go so well.
Kukuko was willing to get a few scratches for the sake of Californian Comic Con, but then while she was waiting around, discreetly tucked under a pile of loose rubble with an obnoxious tagged foot sticking out, she heard a ginormous boom in the near distance, followed by several rumbles and shrieks of collapsing buildings, and thought, quite reasonably, that she needed to do some rescuing herself if everyone was going to get out of this with limbs intact.
She shoved herself out of poor hiding and did just that.
She was helping some poor man out of a literal pile of dust and rubble, ushering him to the direction of sunlight peeking through the dust clouds wafting up from crippled buildings, when there was a staggering sound, like concrete clipping concrete. A firm force—humanoid—tackled her from the side as darkness closed in. She glimpsed her wide eyes and red ones flashing back through the reflection of a window before it slammed into her face, knocking her out.
— —
“FUCK!” The boy—the hero in training, one Ground Zero to-be—yelped.
“Sorry,” Kukuko replied, tightening the bandage over his calf. The blood was there, though she couldn’t see it; she felt it, sticky and wet, all over her skin. She shifted back from his warm body where he leaned against one of the walls of their little cave. The building collapsed, she surmised. “Can I have your name now?”
“Fuck no,” Ground Zero to-be sighed out, hissing as she heard him shifting about, “This is still a professional fucking exam.”
“It’s all gone to shit,” Kukuko reminded him. She cradled her stomach with a wince. She was bruised pretty badly all over, but nothing as bad as Ground Zero to-be’s partially crushed leg. “Well, anyway, my name i—”
“Fuck no to that too,” he growled, “Until this is all over, you’re Extra #48.”
She frowned in his general direction, scooting closer again. It was cold, and he seemed to run very hot and she couldn’t resist regaining some lost heat. “48?”
“Idiots I saved,” he responded, his voice more even. He sounded distracted and she heard some tinkering in the darkness, probably from the gears of his cute costume.
Kukuko couldn’t really grasp the number, but decided on the first thought that came to her, “I’m more 47 and a half. You kinda didn’t really rescue me.”
“Are you shitting me?” He sounded unsuitably angry again. “You wanna die, extra?”
“I’m just saying.”
“Yeah, and I’m just saying you’re an ungrateful little brat and I’m gonna kill you.”
“When this is over.”
“When this fuckshow is over. Yes. Fuck.”
Kukuko pondered what to say for a moment. The guy was extra himself. Adding fucks everywhere. She shuffled closer again, wanting to just bury herself in a blanket in front of a furnace. It was getting pretty cold.
“Are you fucking…coming closer?” He asked, incredulous.
Kukuko thought about this. “No.”
“Bullshit, that’s a fucking yes if I ever heard one.”
Something hit her forehead. “Ow,” she mumbled. “The building’s caving again.”
“That was me.”
She stared at his shape of darkness. “47 and a third.”
“Shut the fuck up and mind your own fucking space.”
“What are you doing?” She asked, starting to grow agitated by the sound of him rustling around in his costume.
“Mind your own fucking business, too.”
“Space and business are my worst subjects.” She brushed off, “I can help, you know?”
“Keep your hands away from me.”
“I just bandaged you up.” Kukuko pointed out, bemused by his stubborn nature. “Just let me help.” And because it now conveniently served a purpose, she fully crawled into his space, relishing in the slight heat she was being fed from him. “What are you searching for?”
He sighed. “Fucking extra. I said no.”
She huffed at him. “Oh, come on, man. This is literally stupid.”
“You’re literally stupid.”
“I’m the smartest one here.”
“Self elected, self represented,” the guy began listing, “and about to be self imploded if you don’t shut the fuck up.”
She decided to, for lack of good responses. While he continued searching for whatever he needed, she clutched at her stomach again, the worst of her pains. Her movement jostled a bruise and she made a quiet noise of pain. Riding out the pulsing hurt, she touched her stomach curiously. It didn’t yield pain like a bruise did. It felt… internal?
Actually, she felt like she was getting cold from the inside, not the outside.
She slipped her hand under her shirt and felt around.
“Uhm, Ground Zero,” she whispered. She reached out in the darkness with newly coated fingers. She poked something.
“What,” Ground Zero to-be grumbled.
“I think I was stabbed with something?” Her voice was a high squeak of disbelief by the end as dread set in, an ominous bell toll in the distance.
“What?” His voice gained a sharper quality, not unlike when he was angry. When Kukuko didn’t respond, too focused on feeling her stomach again, he grabbed her. Two hands, burning hot, landed on her shoulders, startling her into a flinch and that was when the pain spiked through her. She gasped, choking on a scream.
“Hey! Fuck! What the fuck!” She was guided to lean her head forward against something. The hands on her shoulders began sliding over her body. “Where the fuck were you hurt?”
“Stomach,” she gritted out, shaking her head but she didn’t know for what. She’s then rather sure it’s for the scalding hand that lands over her own, cradling her stomach. He pried her fingers away and felt along the wound, surprisingly gentle.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “C’mere, shit. Hold up.” One of his hands lifts away from her body and she feels the other hand on her stomach pull away to lift her shirt over the general area. She was about to ask what the fuck he thought he was doing when crackling filled the air and a sudden illumination was provided by the tiny fireworks erupting from his hand.
She leaned back from the wall her forehead was resting on, catching sight of his face in the flickering orange light— he’s handsome, grimacing and concentrated as he stared down at her stomach. Oh wow, she thought, entranced. He’s got the hair for Naruto but the face for… no, the vibe for Hidan. No, the mouth. Oh, that’s hilarious.
Curiosity overtaking her, she peeked over the hem of her shirt being held up by his hand and promptly squeaked at the sight of her stomach.
“I’m going to die,” Kukuko said, quite determined.
His red eyes flicked up to her, scrutinizing her face. “You ugly duck, no you’re fucking not.”
“I’m not an ugly duck,” she said, hysteric.
He continued to stare, suddenly and unnervingly focused on her that she felt her cheeks warm with shyness. Breaking the awkward moment, he said, “No, you’re not. Got a fucking ugly wound though.”
She laughed wetly, trying not to think of how her stomach must look when it contracted with her laughter. It didn’t hurt aside from that initial pain. Maybe she was going to be okay. “Yeah.”
“Get the roll.” He demanded.
“You’re making me move?” Kukuko asked, surprised.
He leveled her with a flat glare. “It didn’t stop you before, did it?”
She pursed her lips and reached for the bandage roll she set down after taking care of his leg. It wasn’t really in his reach because he was leaning his back against the wall, but she thought she’d see some more bedside etiquette. She gave the roll to him and he took it one handed, the other still popping light into their cramped, dusty space.
“Isn’t that gonna create monoxide or something?”
“Fuck if I know,” he huffed, “But I’m not wrapping you blind.”
“But… you’re gonna do it one handed.”
He paused. “You’re gonna help me.”
“I’m injured!”
“I’m not gonna ask you to fucking bend over backwards and hold or something, you idiot!” He shouted at her face. Kukuko was pretty affronted. That’s gotta be like…an entire 10 point deduction. She’s gonna make it happen. “Just fucking- Hold this!”
“Like this?”
“No, the other way. No, the end of the damn thing.”
“Here.”
“Yeah. Hold it tight.”
“Holding tight.”
“Don’t fucking copy me.”
“I’m making sure you know!”
“We’re the only two stuck under this building, you really think I need to hear what I’m seeing?”
“Well- ah! Ow, that hurt a bit.”
“Too tight.”
“Yes, too tight!”
“Stop copying me!”
“It’s not intentional!!”
“You can’t control what comes out of your fucking mouth??”
“Just like you can’t stop swearing? Yeah!”
“I put my heart into every fucking curse, shithead.”
Kukuko sighed. “Are you done?”
“With the conversation or with your kiddy stab?”
“It’s not kiddy—”
“Both.”
Kukuko tested her weight around, and then settled next to him against the slab. With one final pop, the last firework was gone. “That was pretty good,” she told him.
“Of course it is,” he retorted, “you think all I’m taught is how to kick ass?”
“It would make sense,” she mumbled.
They sat in the silence a bit.
“I’m cold,” Kukuko whispered, worried. She wasn’t getting any warmer. “What if all the blood drains out of me before your teacher arrives?”
“It probably ain’t gonna be my teacher,” he responded.
“How fast does blood flow?”
Ground Zero to-be heaved a sigh. “Fuck if I know.”
“Do you know if this kinda thing is fatal?”
His silence greatly concerned her.
“Can you stop worrying?”
“No! This is my first major injury in my entire life.”
“Boring.”
“No, it’s actually really quite comfortable.”
“Pussy shit.”
Kukuko drew her knees up, bundling for heat as she stared ahead into the darkness. She couldn’t comprehend his life. Or any of UA’s students’. It was insane to think about a high school experience laden with trips to the infirmary. That just doesn’t happen. For her. But for him, it must be just another day.
His undertone of calmness throughout the whole situation had greatly soothed her initial hysteria, and so did all of their bickering. She felt like she was speaking to some annoying boy as they sat in the sweltering sun, counting minutes till PE ended, instead of a hero in training waiting out a rescue under the confines of a building.
She turned her head to him, curious again. “So how do you use your fireworks to do your hero work?”
“They’re fucking explosions.” Ground Zero deadpanned.
“Same thing, though,” she argued.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No-”
“Ye- OW, OW!” Kukuko clutched her stomach, dropping her head against her knees.
“The fuck is wrong with you now!?”
“Ugh,” she groaned. “I don’t feel good.”
“The shit?”
“No?”
“No, like the fuck are you talking about?!”
The bell toll rang again, an ominous crow’s caw echoing down the valley of her conscience, haunting the sloping mountains. A weighted helplessness rendered her silent and unresponsive to Ground Zero’s prodding and demanding voice.
“I’m dying,” she murmured, hard edged realization sharpening her words into cold fact. “I’m dying.”
Ground Zero fell silent beside her. Then, a low growl denied her. “No, you’re not.”
An arm pushed its way behind her shoulder blades and another wedged itself under her knees to grasp her thighs, and then in smooth succession, she was pulled up and over what she assumed was his leg and just as smoothly wrapped tight with heat on all sides, like being cradled by oven mittens, warm and toasty.
She blinked.
“Are you hugging me?”
“No.”
“Then what is this?” She asked, baffled by his denial.
He squeezed her ribs gently and she wheezed accordingly. “Prison,” he muttered, like a lying devil.
“Nice prison,” she commented. She wiggled, testing her warm, warm constraints, and found she didn’t really care. His chest was a palpable weight against her back, safe and protectively guarding her. His hands were clasped over her bandaged wound, pressing firmly but not uncomfortably, interwoven and near burning-hot on her stomach. She could feel the heat on her skin beneath the bandages.
“Thanks,” she decided, sincere. “This is nice.”
She settled into him, feeling the hard planes of her bones mold against the hard planes of his chest. Soon they were breathing the same breath, exhaling on the same beat.
“I’m gonna say something sad.”
“Fuck off.”
“Tell my mom I’m really happy I was her’s.”
“Write your own obituary.”
“I am!”
“You’re speaking it.”
“I don’t have a pen and paper.”
“I’ll get it for you after.”
“But I might not-”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Tell my dad—”
“I’m not telling anybody shit! I’m not your damn messenger!”
Kukuko glared moodily into the void, feeling a yawn build in her, of all things.
“I hate this.”
“Yeah?” He squeezed her again, eliciting a strangled squeak. “That’s my line, moron.”
“You’re bad at this,” Kukuko told him. Her eyes slid shut; there wasn’t a point to using them anyway.
“…Hey! Hey!” She was jostled rudely.
“What?” She yelled, sitting up.
“I was fucking talking to you,” he growled back, his hot breath against her nape catching on the sweat there. “Were you just taking a nap?”
“No!” She protested, trying to twist to talk to him. His arms kept her immobile. She shoved down on them, annoyed but not struggling in earnest. “I just closed my eyes! I swear, man!”
“Fucking extra.”
She sighed.
“Stop fucking sighing.”
“…You’re putting a lot of restrictions on me.”
“While we’re at it, don’t fucking close your eyes either.”
“I wasn’t sleeping.”
“Tch. Your brain sure thought so.”
“Well,” she struggled to find something, “that’s not actually me.”
“Your brain is you.”
She shoved down on his arms again.
“You’re an ass,” she grumbled. “And I’m tired.”
“And you’re tired. What a shame.”
She blinked lazily. There was a poignant sway in her thoughts; the push and pull of steady tides, rendering her thoughts obsolete.
“My brother’s gonna do well no matter where he goes,” she said, “and dad needs to enjoy life. Mom will keep working hard, but I want her to take some time for herself too.”
Surprisingly, he let her finish.
Quietly, he said, “You’re not dying, extra. You’re making a big deal out of jack shit.”
“Better safe than sorry,” she grumbled, sinking deeper and deeper into his warmth. “Why’s rescue taking so long?”
“…Fuck if I know.”
“Did you know I came here with other people?” She asked the darkness. When Ground Zero didn’t respond, she turned her head over her shoulder, but there was nothing there. Just darkness.
“Hello?” She called out, startled. She got to her feet, swaying with fatigue but no immediate pain. She reached her hands out to feel along the building walls and all she grasped was air.
“Ground Zero? Ground Zero?! Hey, where did you go?”
She wiped her eyes, hating the rapid heat building behind them. “Hello?! Where are you! I won’t even be on your rescue list at this point!”
That’s right. She’s dying. She’s not even going to be 47 and a third. She’s gonna be nothing.
“Hello!?” She shrieked. “Please come back!”
There was not even an echo as a reply. Kukuko sank down to her soles, hugging her knees. She rocked herself unsteadily, keeping a paranoid eye out in the darkness.
It was just nothing. She wasn’t cold or hot. Comfortable or uncomfortable. She felt like everything was slipping away. There were no puzzles to solve, only nature’s unending march. Life, death, life, death.
Kukuko was faced with the devastating possibility that this is her college, just as her parents described it: her first step into the unknown, alone, where nobody she knew could instruct her on her path.
She could hear it. Ground Zero speaking, low and berating, during her funeral, cursing her stupidity. She could see her obituary before it’s crumpled away for trash: Dead Before College.
Dead even before Comic Con when that was the reason she signed up for this anyway.
She buried her face away from reality, wishing she had the extremity of heat pressing handprints into her stomach, filling her core with the hazy comfort of hearth fire.
— —
What she wakes up to is heat on her forehead. The familiar, too-hot kind, like a piece of the sun melted onto her skin.
“Ground Zero,” she murmured. The hand pulled away.
She opened her eyes slowly. It wasn’t quite like waking up, the sensation in her gut and heaviness of her mind reminding her more of falling asleep.
She realized the sun really was crying on her, the way it shined so bright yet so wobbly in the sky.
No, wait. She’s crying. Ah, that made sense.
She blinked away the tears as a familiar face popped into view.
“Hey extra.” He said, expressionless.
She grinned a little at him. “I solved it.”
“…What?”
“I solved death.” She told him informally, and blacked out.