Chapter Text
Toshinori cursed under his breath, trying to ignore the taste of iron in his mouth. His blankets were too warm, and with an irritated growl he kicked them off his bed. The warped scar at his side protested the movement with a wave of pain.
Toshinori coughed, curling on his right side as his left clenched and seized. He gripped the corner of his pillow, pulling in air through his nose as he tried to relax. The fit passed, leaving a stinging numbness that seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat.
This particular bad day had started early yesterday morning. By that afternoon he had relented and excused his class early with an apology. Some of his students had walked back to the dorms with him, making sure he made it without falling. He had wanted to wave them off - surely they had more important things to do, and he’d been through worse - but their staunch determination had closed his mouth before it opened. That had been a day ago.
He pressed his forehead into the pillow and concentrated on breathing, gently holding his injury with a long-fingered hand. This is damn ridiculous . . . The pain flowed back, sweat crawling across his shoulders. The muscles at his injured side twitched. Toshinori took a shallow breath and closed his eyes, focusing on the in-and-out rhythm of his chest.
A flare of nausea hit his gut and he nearly fell out of bed in his rush to reach his bathroom. He stumbled as he got to his feet, one hand at his side and the other over his mouth.
Each room in the dorms was outfitted with a sink and toilet, with the showers and laundry facilities residing on the first floor. Toshinori was grateful for it’s nearness as he stumbled into the small bathroom.
There wasn’t much to throw up. He hadn’t eaten the day before, save some small sips of water and the occasional cracker. It was mostly empty bile mixed with blood.
It still hurt, though, and seemed to last forever. His muscles wouldn’t stop flexing, trying to expel something that wasn’t there. It felt like everything was shifting, pushing against his diaphragm and throat. His chest burned as he gagged. His eyesight started to blur and he braced himself against the wall as the room spun.
It seemed to take forever, but eventually the heaving stopped. Toshinori sagged in the space between the toilet and the wall, completely winded. He felt lightheaded, pulling in shallow breaths of air. The room felt cold on his neck, his shirt sticky with sweat against his back. He couldn’t feel the cuffs of his sweatpants as they brushed against the tops of his cold feet, numbed by the floor tile.
When he was sure that the fit had passed he slowly got to his feet, hunched over and gently cradling the protesting injury at his side. His mouth tasted like faint iron and sulfur.
He shuffled back to his bed, sitting down with a grateful grunt. He leaned over and slowly pulled his blankets back onto the bed, eyeing the cup of water at his side table. With a sigh, he dropped the blankets onto the mattress and reached for the cup.
It burned as the water made it’s way down his throat. Must have pulled something. Toshinori coughed, placing the cup back on his nightstand and pulling the blankets around his shoulders. He slowly dropped back onto his pillow, moving gently to ease the pain.
Completely exhausted, he fell into a deep sleep.
When he woke up hours later it was to pain in his chest.
It flared along the line of his sternum, making the corded muscle along his back flex and strain. Toshinori tried to relax, shifting a bit in his bed. This is . . . different . . .
Usually the pain was focused around his injury, but this seemed more centered on the middle of his torso. It pulsed up and down his neck, and for a moment his vision went white. He blinked and a breath shuddered out of his lung, the spots blocking his eyesight fading.
Strangest of all was the ache in his left shoulder. His right he would have understood, after all the stress he put on it at Kamino Ward, but his left?
Toshinori tried to swallow, needing to focus on something as he thought. Almost immediately he started coughing, pain flaring along the center of his chest. He felt his heart start to beat faster.
Shit . . . He tried to push himself up from the bed, but he was immediately dizzy and could only lower himself back down with a straggling groan.
This was too different. Something was wrong.
He needed to get help.
Toshinori coughed, reaching for his phone with a shaky hand and trying to bury the pain seeping through his torso. Calling Aizawa was his only option. Normally he would have prefered to let the man sleep, but Mic and Midnight were on active hero duty and away from campus. The students were never an option - they didn’t need to see him like this.
That didn’t stop the feeling of guilt when Aizawa answered his cell, voice bleary and tired. “What?”
Toshinori gave a small cough, trying to clear his throat. “Something’s wrong.” His voice was rough. “I need to get to C-chiyo.”
Immediately Aizawa sounded alert, his voice stronger. “I’m on my way.”
The relief in Toshinori’s chest was palpable. “Thank you,” he said, and hung up, phone slipping through his suddenly slack fingers to rest next to his head.
He felt his eyes start to slip closed despite the pain in his chest. Before he knew it the door to his room opened with a creak and Aizawa stepped in, giving Toshinori a once-over with his eyes before quickly making his way across the room.
“What’s wrong?” Aizawa placed one hand on his forehead, mentally making note of Toshinori’s fever even as the other hand gently pushed away the blankets.
“Don’t know.” Toshinori bit back a groan, his voice thick with pain. “Just hurts where it shouldn’t. ‘S weird.”
Aizawa nodded, withdrawing his hand and lifting Toshinori’s head up from his pillow. “Can you walk?”
Toshinori shook his head, immediately regretting the motion when his vision clouded. He felt Aizawa’s hand brace against his back, uncomfortably warm compared to Toshinori’s clammy skin.
“I’m going to pick you up, so don’t fuss.” Aizawa’s voice was carefully deadpan. Toshinori was tempted to give a snort of laughter, but it felt like his chest was burning.
Aizawa’s other arm gathered under his knees and with a quick movement Toshinori was lifted from the warmth of his bed. A feeling of vertigo hit and, against Aizawa’s order to not struggle, he threw his arm across the hero’s shoulders, gripping the dark material of Aizawa’s shirt with a shaky hand. His head drooped against Aizawa’s chest and a chill ran down his back.
“. . . do you think you can stay conscious?”
Toshinori shuddered. It was getting harder to register sensory information, and a dry voice at the back of his head started listing the symptoms of shock. “. . . maybe. Just . . . hurry, please.”
Aizawa nodded, shifting Toshinori in his arms. His steps toward the door made Toshinori’s vision spin and he clenched his eyes shut.
“. . . thank you.” Toshinori could hear the weakness in his voice and he choked back some blood. It felt like he swallowed a live firecracker, his chest lighting up with pain.
Aizawa grunted, walking sideways through the doorway to accommodate Toshinori’s long legs. Aizawa hit the ‘Down’ button for the elevator with a well placed kick. The ride was quiet, save for Toshinori’s labored breathing.
A few of the students looked up when the doors of the elevator opened, worry crossing their faces when they saw Aizawa carrying All Might.
“Is everything okay?” Uraraka asked, worry on her face. Kaminari and Jirou put down their cards, their game forgotten. Satou and Shouji paused in their arm wrestling match, and Kouda’s hand paused on his rabbit’s head. Izuku’s eyes went wide when he saw the shape his teacher was in, and he stood up quickly enough that the legs of his chair screeched against the commons floor.
Toshinori didn’t respond, his hand shaking against Aizawa’s shoulder. The pro hero looked down at the man in his arms with an unreadable expression before quickly making his way across the commons. Some of the students got to their feet, taking a few steps towards the pair as Aizawa made a direct line for the door.
Izuku actually trailed after his teacher, only getting in front of the man to push the doors open. As Izuku turned the locks Aizawa looked back at the students gathered around the commons. “It’s just a little worse than usual, so I’m taking him to Recovery Girl.”
The students exchanged glances, but otherwise didn’t seem overly worried. Toshinori’s flare ups were common knowledge to Class 1-A, and while they were concerned, they all seemed to accept Aizawa’s answer and, after some searching glances at All Might, started to drift back to their activities.
All of them except for Izuku. Even after Aizawa had left the building and was striding across the grounds, Izuku was at his side, keeping pace with his teacher.
“Midoriya, what do you think you’re -”
“I’ll get the doors,” Izuku said, eyes resolutely locked in front of him. Before Aizawa could say anything the boy blasted away, using the barest edge of his quirk to propel him towards the entrance to the main UA building.
Aizawa shook his head and looked down at Toshinori, seeing the way his skin was being coated with cold sweat and small tear tracks. He hadn’t spoken since they left the dorm room, keeping his eyes firmly closed and his jaw clenched. Aizawa tightened his grip and tried to walk faster, uncertain if running would worsen whatever was happening.
Izuku was holding the door for him, stopping it wide open so that Aizawa could get through it as quickly as possible. As soon as his teacher had cleared the entryway Izuku ran off again, headed directly for the infirmary.
Izuku, for his part, was trying to remain calm. He knew his teacher, and he knew that something was terribly wrong. All Might hadn’t reacted at all to any of his students, and even in the somewhat bumpy trek across the UA grounds he hadn’t shown any signs of awareness.
This wasn’t the normal bad day, and Izuku knew it.
He nearly slammed into the infirmary door, desperately holding back One-For-All as he fumbled with the handle. The latch gave with a light *click* and Izuku stumbled into the room, his eyes instantly scanning for Recovery Girl.
“Now now, what’s all the hurry?” The healer peeked out from her supply cupboard, a question on her face.
For a moment Izuku could only catch his breath, gasping and trying to get his mouth to work. “I-it’s All Might - something’s wrong!”
Recovery Girl immediately stepped out of the cupboard, her face serious. “What is it?”
Before Izuku could answer Aizawa was striding through the door, Toshinori held securely in his arms. The injured man was quivering and pale.
Recovery Girl gestured to the closest bed, her face instantly serious. “Put him there.”
Aizawa gently placed Toshinori on the bed, making sure to rock him onto his right side. Toshinori was quiet and tense, focused on breathing through his mouth. His eyes were open now, if only half-lidded, and he couldn’t seem to focus on anything. As Recovery Girl bustled over Aizawa stepped to the side, grabbing Izuku’s shoulder to pull him out of the way.
They both watched as Recovery Girl gave Toshinori a quick once over, gently peeling back his shirt to look at the inflamed scar at his side. She stuck a thermometer in his mouth and, while it started measuring his temperature, she grabbed a clean washrag and started patting at Toshinori’s forehead. She turned to Aizawa, her face serious. “What happened?”
Aizawa shrugged. “I’m not entirely sure. He was having a bad pain day, gave me a call, said something was wrong, and that he needed to get to you.” His frown deepened. “He acted like something was off in his chest, and it pained him to swallow.”
Recovery Girl nodded, a thoughtful look on her face. Toshinori blinked and groaned, clenching his jaw. Blood eeked from between his teeth.
Recovery Girl bent over, quickly eyeing the temperature readout on the thermometer. Her voice was quiet. “Where does it hurt?”
Toshinori gave a very slow blink, his eyes hazed over. His voice was thick and wet. “. . . chest. Back.”
“Alright.” Recovery Girl turned to a medical droid, it’s ocular sensor flashing as it responded to her command. “I need a torso scan. X-ray first.”
The droid beeped and settled over Toshinori, a faint light flashing down one side of his torso. The information it picked up was multilayered, so that Toshinori didn’t have to lay flat. It sent the raw information to Recovery Girl’s computer, where it would be analyzed and condensed into a readable image. While the droid scanned the upper portions of Toshinori’s body, Recovery Girl set up an IV line, muttering something about fluids. Toshinori didn’t react when she slid the needle into his left arm with practiced ease, though he did shiver when the clear liquid started to move through his veins.
“Is there anything else you need to tell me, All Might?” she asked, adjusting the height of the IV pole. Her voice was stern, but held a warm edge.
“. . . left shoulder.” Toshinori’s feet twitched. “Hurts.” His face pinched and his eyebrows came together. “Threw up a lot.”
Recovery Girl nodded, a thoughtful look on her face. “Thank you.” She patted his head and started to toddle over to her computer, one hand held up to her chin while the other gripped her cane.
Aizawa released Izuku’s shoulder and followed the healer, peering over her shoulder as the readouts started to condense. Izuku went over to Toshinori, gingerly perching himself on the edge of the bed and reaching out to gently grip his teacher’s hand.
Toshinori gave a wan smile at the touch, the corners of his tired eyes crinkling, but all too quickly the smile fell from his face. His breathing was wet and wheezing, and he hadn’t stopped shivering. Izuku didn’t let go, keeping a gentle grip on Toshinori’s hand.
Over at the desk the scans finalized with a *click.* Recovery Girl’s eyes narrowed as she looked over the readings, her expression widening as her gaze fell on the white marks towards the center of Toshinori’ chest. “That’s . . . oh dear.”
“What is it?” Aizawa kept his voice low.
“It’s Boerhaave’s.”
“What?”
“Boerhaave’s syndrome. Ruptured esophagus. If it was just a tear he would be fine, but he managed to shred through it completely.”
“How dangerous is it?”
“Very, especially for him.” She hopped down from her chair and bustled over to Toshinori, Izuku quickly stepping out of the way.
The man was exhausted, his eyes clenched and jaw slack as he breathed. Recovery Girl gently placed one hand on the side of his face and kept her voice firm. “All Might? Can you understand me?”
Toshinori hesitated a moment, his eyes blinking open and looking up at the doctor. He gave a small nod.
“Good. How long has it been since you last vomited?”
His eyes clenched closed, and for a moment it seemed as though he had fallen asleep. But then his looked over at the bedside clock and held up five fingers.
“That’s good, it’s not as bad as I thought it might be.”
“What’s -” Toshinori tried to speak, but his words slurred and he coughed blood onto the pillow.
“Easy, easy.” Recovery Girl held his hand. “You tore a hole in your esophagus, and I need to fix it right now. Do you know what that means?”
He nodded and swallowed, too tired to wince at the pain in his chest. He raised one shaky hand to rest over a line of scarring at his side. Recovery Girl nodded, her eyes softening. She gave a reassuring pat on his pillow and stepped away, giving some commands to the medical droids. They buzzed away, one going to the linen closet and the other scooting into the supply room. Recovery Girl walked over to a cabinet, opening the small doors and pulling out some plastic-encased medical tools.
Aizawa walked over to the healer. “What does he need?” He shot a glance back at Toshinori, who had curled back in on himself and was gripping his midsection with his hands.
“A thoracotomy. It’s a fairly intense process, but I’m equipped to do it here.” Recovery Girl paused, one hand coming up to rub the back of her neck. “Given everything, I don’t want to risk sending him to a hospital.” Her voice dropped as she talked. “I don’t know how much time he has before things start to get really complicated.”
A droid buzzed back into the room, carrying a large folded sheet of plastic. Izuku, who had been standing at the foot of Toshinori’s bed, stumbled away when the droid gave an impatient beep. His face was pale and his hands shook at his sides as he made his way around the side of the bed.
Recovery Girl sighed again, pulling out a stainless steel tray and shuffling back over to her patient. Even as she made her way across the small room Toshinori fell into a fit, shoulders shaking as he tried to hold back a series of powerful coughs. Recovery Girl hurried over, placing her tools on the bedside table. Izuku scrambled out of the way again, this time making his way over to Aizawa. The boy stopped just in front of his teacher, his face pale as he turned to look back at Toshinori. The fit had passed quickly, and now the injured man was lying limply on the bed, one hand dangling over the edge.
Recovery Girl had pulled out a clear mask and was carefully positioning it over Toshinori’s mouth. A tube extended from the side of the mask to connect to a large machine that rested nearby. Recovery Girl flipped it on after adjusting some dials. She turned back to Toshinori, putting a steady hand on his quivering shoulder. “Ready?”
He nodded.
Recovery Girl rubbed his arm. “Deep breaths, then.”
Toshinori shuddered, but took as deep a breath as he could. By the third breath his eyes had fallen out of focus and his chest rose and fell with a reassuring regularity.
“There we go,” Recovery Girl said as she gently closed his eyes. She tightened the straps behind Toshinori’s head and turned to Aizawa. “I need you both out of here, now. I have to sterilize the room, and you two can’t be here for the surgery.”
Aizawa nodded and turned to Izuku. “Midoriya.”
The boy flinched, his eyes downcast and voice quiet. “He’s gonna be okay, right?”
Recovery Girl turned from Toshinori’s side, her eyes sad.
Something dropped in Izuku’s chest.
The healer walked to the end of the bed, her cane tapping on the floor. She placed a gentle hand on Izuku’s arm. “It all depends on what I find during the surgery, young Midoriya. But I need you out so that I can do my job.”
Izuku nodded, shooting one last glance at Toshinori before quietly stepping through the doorway. Aizawa stopped next to the healer, eyes unreadable. “What are his chances?”
Recovery Girl sighed. “If he was healthy, I’d say he had a good chance. But it’s been at least five hours since his esophagus tore, and given everything else . . .” She paused, watching the droid spread out the sheet of plastic. She squared her shoulders and lifted her head. “Still, he’s surprised me before. We’ll just have to see.”
Aizawa nodded, casting one look over Toshinori’s still form before following his student out into the hallway. The door closed behind him with a quiet click.
Izuku was just outside, leaning against the wall. His arms were wrapped around himself, and his face was pale.
. . . I might never see him again. The thought was like a trickle of ice water down the boy’s spine and Izuku’s heart clenched. He curled in on himself, arms wrapping tighter around his chest as an ache built in his head.
A sob broke out of his chest when he tried to breathe. Tears gathered in his eyes and spilled over his cheeks. He could dimly feel Aizawa placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. His breaths were shuddering, and something caught in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut, an uncomfortable heat growing at the back of his lids. Please, All Might . . .
. . . please be okay.