Chapter Text
Eijiro rounds the corner, ducks into the alleyway, and immediately drops to the ground. He drags himself towards the wall, hiding himself behind a dumpster. Or, at least attempts to hide himself. He’s aware that if someone looks close enough, they would be able to see his legs sticking out, but pulling them closer hurts his stomach badly. So he’s forced to hope that the darkness of the alley is enough to keep him concealed.
He shifts again, trying to rest more of his weight on the wall behind him, but the movement sends waves of pain coursing through his body. He lets out a harsh gasp- his breath jagged and coming through gritted teeth. He clutches at his side, trying to keep pressure on the fresh wound. But there was too much blood.
There’s so much blood.
It coats his hands, his fingers and palms, and stains them a dark crimson. He struggles to press against the gash, unable to find purchase as his hands slip against the slick liquid spilling from him at an alarming rate. It starts to pool under him, leaking onto the concrete and surrounding him in the same dark red.
He lets out a small huff, ironic that he’s going to die painted in the same color that gave him his fame. He’s sure the press will get a rise out of it; he can practically see the headlines making a joke out of him.
He lets out another shaky breath, the movement sending an agonizing pain through him as his chest weakly rises and falls. Stars, he really is going to die here, huh?
He doesn’t want to die. He drops his head back against the wall, his eyes screwing shut. Sure, he had always assumed he would get taken out in battle, become another casualty on a report. But he really doesn’t want to die. All he had wanted to do was help. He was never in this for fame, or money. He just wanted people to feel safe, wanted to reassure people that there was nothing to fear as long as he was around. He was unbreakable. An immovable force, a perfect wall between villains and civilians.
Or, he was supposed to be.
But he had cracked. He had been distracted, and the villain had caught it. She had been one of the lower-tier threats- poor combat skills, no flashy quirk, no one that Eijiro couldn’t have taken down in a matter of minutes.
Eijiro had just helped a mother and son evacuate the area and was moving to rejoin the battle when Dynamight had flown past him, chasing down the main threat- someone with a strength quirk or something. Eijiro wasn’t too sure. Even still, Eijiro was caught off guard. He had no idea the flashy hero had been on the scene, and couldn’t help but watch as the two engaged in battle.
Dynamight flew through the air as if he was made to be there. His cocky grin spread across his face as he fired explosion after explosion at the villain, seemingly enjoying the fight. His attacks were all calculated and precise. He didn’t miss. Didn’t let up, never let up until he’s won.
Eijiro has always admired that about the blond hero- his devotion to keeping people safe, his strong drive to be the best, to never let anyone keep him down- it was honestly the final push he had needed to become a vigilante himself. After all, if the explosive hero could continuously throw himself into battles far bigger than himself without fear, and win every time, what was stopping Eijiro from doing the same?
Truthfully, he had already been playing with the idea of joining fights even without his license ever since he missed the U.A. application deadline. But, watching Dynamight fight had been what finally pushed him to do it.
When he gets the chance to work alongside the heroes, Dynamight is easily Eijiro’s favorite to work with. Sure, some of the others, like Deku and Shoto, are pleasant to be around. But Dynamight has this air around him that Eijiro has always found interesting. He does what he wants, when he wants. He has the biggest ego Eijiro has ever seen, but has the talent and skill to back it up. He’s loud, and crass, and honestly a little mean, but he’s never cruel. He is a hero through and through. Everything he does is to protect those who can’t do it themselves. And if that means yelling at pedestrians to “shut the hell up and get the fuck back,” then oh well.
As he watched the fight in front of him, Eijiro couldn’t help but wonder- and not for the first time- if the two of them could be friends outside of their personas. They get along well enough on the field. Sure, Dynamight spends the entire time threatening to capture him and turn him in for his vigilante work, but he never follows through with the threat. He always manages to just barely miss him, or happens to not notice when Eijiro slips away into the shadows. The same hero who never loses.
It’s happened enough to become a pattern. The two of them will fight side by side, then turn on each other, throwing teases and taunts the whole time, and then Eijiro gets away. Every time. The thought brought a smile to his face, almost looking forward to the end of the battle so he could talk to the blond.
A single strike.
That’s all it took to take him down. How pathetic.
The villain had snuck up behind him, tearing into his side with a blade that was no longer than his hand. Eijiro had reacted too late, not hardening until the metal was already pulled away, now coated in red. Eijiro had turned to engage the villain immediately. He had fought through the raging pain in his side, ignoring the feeling of blood running down his hip and leg. He took the villain down quickly, throwing some handcuffs on her before he doubled over, vision swimming with pain.
He had stumbled away, not wanting to be in the way of the battle, and trusted the other heroes- the real heroes- to find and deal with the incapacitated villain.
Which is how he found himself where he was. Bleeding out in an alleyway with no way to tend to his injury, and no one to call to help. He takes a staggering breath as his vision blacked out for a moment. Stupid blood loss. Eijiro racks his mind, trying to find a way out of this, but comes up with nothing. Usually, if he’s injured in a fight, he’s able to pull back and patch himself up at his apartment.
In his years of fighting, he had never dropped his guard enough to get this hurt. Sure, he’s had some deep cuts that required a few stitches, and he’s had his fair share of sprained wrists and ankles. But even when facing heroes, he was typically able to evade and block enough with his quirk that he was able to get away with nothing more than some ugly bruises and scrapes. But it had never been this bad.
He looks down at his side, lifting his hand for a moment to see the ugly, giant gash that was there. It was difficult to see under all the blood, but it was obvious Eijiro was missing part of his side. His breathing becomes frantic, and he has to swallow down the bile that rises in his throat as he looks at the wound. He needs medical help.
He considers trying to drag himself to the mouth of the alley, to try to get the attention of one of the heroes or something. But that would result in them finding out his identity. They would load him in an ambulance, and they would figure out who he was. Sure, he would live, but his entire life would be taken from him. He would be thrown in jail, lose his job, lose his friends, lose his ability to save people. He would lose everything.
Or, even worse, the person who would find him- hero or not- would refuse to help him. He knows the public’s view of vigilantes isn’t great. Many people don’t see them as any different than villains, just another person who thinks they can do whatever they want with no consequences.
And Eijiro isn’t stupid. He knows that despite his friendly banter with Chargebolt, or his pleasantries with Cellophane and Pinky, or whatever he has happening with Dynamight, the heroes are supposed to turn him in. And maybe Eijiro knows that he has a really high acceptance rate among civilians. But that doesn’t eliminate the risk of someone who doesn’t like him finding him injured if he were to crawl out of this alley.
His breathing starts to become more and more shallow as he fights to remain conscious. His vision swims, shapes blurring together. The arm he has wrapped around his waist slips, letting pressure off the wounds, and he moans in pain as he uses all of his strength to press his hand back into the wound, trying to ignore that it’s not the same amount of pressure as a few minutes ago. It’s getting harder and harder to stay awake as his eyes grow heavy, his vision blacking out entirely for seconds at a time.
As he slips further into the darkness, he hears someone enter the alley, their movements sounding erratic. Eijiro fights to keep his eyes open, not wanting to go down to some faceless shadow. What a lame death that would be. They probably caught sight of his boots. He knew he should’ve hidden his legs better.
He shifts, trying to catch a glimpse of the individual loudly making their way towards Eijiro’s slumped form. But instead, Eijiro lets out a (manly) yelp and falls back against the wall, an agonizing pain flaring up his side.
“Dammit,” he grits out, his voice coming out far too breathy for his liking, focusing on keeping pressure on his side. Pressure. Keep pressure on the wound.
Eijiro hears a sharp gasp from above him, and his eyes flutter open and take in the blurry form in front of him. When did the stranger get so close?
“Shit.”
That voice sounds familiar. Why does it sound familiar? The figure crouches down, ignoring Eijiro’s attempt to move away, and gently pulls his hand away from his side.
“Double shit.”
A gentle hand rests on his face. “C’mon, Riot. Look at me, open your eyes, dammit.”
Again, when had he closed them? Eijiro opens his eyes painfully slow, having to blink a few times before he can fully focus on the shadowy figure in front of him. Familiar red eyes, bordered by a stark black mask and smeared liner, stare intensely at him.
Dynamight. And, despite the situation, Eijiro can’t help but smile at the hero.
“Hey, ‘Might… Looks like you finally caught me. Don’t, ah- don’t think I’ll be able to run away this time,” Eijiro barely manages to get out. His eyelids try to flutter closed, but he keeps his eyes open. But Dynamight is here; he can’t let the hero see him so weak. So defeated.
“Shut the hell up,” Dynamight barks back, his voice missing his usual anger, replaced by a concern that Eijiro has never heard. Sounds nice. I wish he would keep talking to me like that.
“We need to get you help. Why didn’t you- why would you just stay here!” There’s the anger.
“Don’t exactly have people on my side, ‘Might. Can’t really go to the hospital…” Eijiro says with light humor; his words fading as his eyes droop, growing heavier and heavier with each passing minute. The pain in his side has become a constant. There’s the pain, and there’s Dynamight in front of him; that seems to be all Eijiro can manage to focus on. Honestly, nothing else seems to matter. As long as those red eyes keep looking at him, Eijiro thinks he’s okay with this.
He forces his eyes to Dynamight’s face, seeing nothing but concern staring at him. This is nothing like the arrogant and confident Dynamight he’s used to. Gone is the cocky smirk that pulls at his lips during combat. He’s missing the sharp gleam in his eyes that is always present during their fights. Instead, his eyebrows are drawn together in concern, his mouth slightly downturned, opening every few seconds as if he wants to say something, but the words don’t come. His hands hesitate, one resting on Eijiro’s so gently- as if he thinks he’ll shatter under the touch- the other hovering in the air between them.
Everything about the Dynamight in front of him is wrong. He’s not acting like the hero Eijiro knows is inside him. It’s everything he’s worked to become. Eijiro has watched him throw himself into fights far bigger than he can handle alone without batting an eye. He knows that Dynamight has stared death in the face unmoving, taken hit after hit without flinching. But now? Now he’s acting like he has no idea what to do. It’s as if the situation they’ve found themselves in has frozen him in place. It’s almost like he’s…
Oh.
He’s scared.
The Dynamight is scared.
The realization softens something in Eijiro, finding comfort in the fact that Dynamight cares. He cares about him, enough that losing him scares him. Eijiro had always assumed the hero had a bit of a soft spot for the vigilante- if he didn’t, Eijiro would’ve been caught a long time ago- but he had always assumed it was just because he had earned his respect. Eijiro knows that the hero enjoys fighting him. Their quirks are perfectly balanced, and their strength and determination match the others’ easily. But this feels like more than Dynamight worrying over losing a sparring buddy. The trembling hand on his arm shows more than a surface-level admiration.
“Hey-” Eijiro starts, cutting himself off with a wince. He tries again, wanting- no, needing- to comfort the blond crouched in front of him. He reaches the arm that’s not holding his side to Dynamight’s face, pulling his eyes to his own. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m good. This- this was inevitable. I knew that. It’s okay, ‘Might…”
Eijiro’s eyes slip closed, his hand falling from Dynamight’s cheek, resting limply on his shoulder as his breathing shallows more and more.
“No, No! Open your eyes, dammit! Don’t quit on me now, Red.”
Eijiro’s mind starts to fog over. Everything around him starts to float away; the pain in his side lessens to a dull ache, Dynamight’s yelling fades into a muffled noise that Eijiro can’t understand.
He tries to focus on his words. Really, he does. Who wouldn’t want to listen to a hero shouting directions at them? But his world stays quiet, almost as if he were underwater. Everything feels floaty and distant. Eijiro’s mind floats farther and farther, and it scares him.
Or, it should.
But there’s no pain here. No fear of his identity being found. No constant pressure to stay perfect- a small slip-up can’t kill anyone here. No, here, in this distant, floaty world, Eijiro feels at peace.
Right now, all Eijiro knows is Dynamight’s voice and the feeling of his hands on him.
And then his world goes black.