Work Text:
Shouta’s hands bled, his muscles screamed.
Still, he kept digging.
He moved concrete and metal and glass aside, brushed away debris. He drew in air in frantic gulps.
No, no, no.
Not again.
It was Shinsou’s first supervised patrol, it was supposed to be quiet, simple. Shouta was going to be right at his side every step of the way. He was supposed to be safe with him.
But when did things ever go how they were supposed to?
A robbery in progress, an out of control quirk. Shouta’s attention pulled away for a brief second, just a second. But it was enough.
The building came down. Shinsou, buried. Just like. Just like-
It’s raining.
“Eraser!”
Nemuri’s voice and hurried footsteps approached him, ascending the pile of rubble he was currently digging through. He didn’t stop, not for a moment.
“Oh, Shouta…”
What a sight he must have been, to make Nemuri sound so mournful upon seeing him.
“The building collapsed,” he grunted, frantically moving aside more of the rubble, “Hitoshi, he- damn it, he’s- he was right there-”
Nemuri’s hand settled over one of his and finally, Shouta went still. Her fingers gave his a light, grounding squeeze and Shouta closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
It was never raining.
He opened his eyes and gave Nemuri a nod, grateful for her presence and more than a little ashamed that he’d immediately lost his head at such an important moment.
“More backup will be here soon,” she told him, slipping into a more professional tone, and it grounded him, allowing him to focus. “Update me on the situation.”
Another deep breath. Stay calm. Keep a level head. He could do this. He’d get his kid out.
He nodded, “right.”
---
“There’s a hand! I can see him!”
The night had given way to dawn, but Shouta’s ragged body had found its second wind at the shouts. He quickly made his way to where the rescue workers and heroes had gathered, practically shoving his way to the front.
“Hitoshi!”
It was his kid, bloodied hand shakily pushed through a gap in the rubble, silvery eyes blinking sluggishly, reflecting the sparse early morning light out from the small pocket he was trapped in, miraculously not crushed by the layers of building on top of him.
“S-Sensei…” his voice rasped, scared and hurt, but blessedly alive. His fingers flexed, trembling, reaching.
“I’m here, kid,” Shouta croaked, his own battered hand carefully reached out and cradled Hitoshi’s. Those bruised fingers squeezed down for dear life, and Shouta squeezed back.
“I’m here, kid,” he said again, putting much more strength into his voice, looking into those eyes he thought he might never see again. “I’m gonna get you out of there, hang tight.”
The sun is out.