Prompt: Aizawa faced with the possibility of losing one of his kids????
for my 30 min fic challenge / send a prompt, and i’ll write you a fic in 30 mins / ‘30 min fics’ tag
like light through a window [read on AO3]
The first time Shouta sees what Hagakure looks like, it’s because she’s covered in blood.
She’s gasping—he can see red smeared around her mouth like bright lipstick, and his mind can fill in the empty space in between. Dust has settled on the right side of her face. There, the line of her cheekbone; there, the curl of fluttering lashes; there, the shape of a nose.
“Hagakure,” he says, dropping to his knees. It’s not hard to pinpoint the source of the bleeding. She’s been— impaled, and the thought of it is sickening; the cold metal bar, the concrete. A villain attack, an unstable building. Everything had been going fine until it hadn’t.
The bleeding girl whimpers. He unloops his capture weapon and sets it aside, then lifts his shirt over his arms and folds it. Places it over the wound, pads the area as best he can. Hagakure makes a low, pained sound, and Shouta almost hates that he can see the way her mouth trembles.
“Hagakure, are you with me?”
“Se- sen,” she tries, and Shouta sees when she starts crying.
Shouta isn’t much of a liar, but this is no time for truths. How can he tell her how he sees her? Bleeding, severely injured—and both of them helpless. He cannot tell her…
“Sensei,” Hagakure finally says, and she tries to turn and gags. Shouta keeps one hand pressed down firmly, but moves so he can gently lift her head and turn it. Hagakure gasps, almost retching; a line of red dribbles from the side of her mouth. “Sensei… it hurts.”
“I know,” he says plainly, because she needs to hear that. “I know it hurts.”
“It’s alright,” Shouta tells her. He slides his knee under her head, uses his free hand to brush her matted hair out of her face. “I’ve got you, Hagakure. Okay?”
He can’t see her eyes. Shouta thinks that’s the most terrifying part. He can see the other parts of her but not her eyes.
And she starts crying again. Soft, stuttering noises.
Shouta takes his hand away for a second, and she whimpers.
“I’m sorry,” he tells her, “I’m sorry, Hagakure, I’m going to try to reach someone again, okay?”
He tries. Static, and then a burst of technicolor noise—
“—in contact! Eraserhead… building…”
“I need help as soon as you can send it,” he says, heart pounding. “Midnight, now. Hagakure is in bad condition.”
He wants to see Nemuri, so he can grab her by the shoulders and shake her and yell, where were you, where were any of you? So everyone can see the blood that’s crusting around his fingers, where were you?
He doesn’t say, she’s impaled, and he doesn’t say, if you don’t get here in the next few minutes she’ll—
Because he can’t say that, not to sweet Hagakure fighting to stay with him, not to himself.
“—rescue efforts already… minutes. Hang tight.”
“Make it quick, and bring medical help.”
The other side lapses into quiet. He can hear a few orders being carried out, and here, in the real corner of the building they’re hiding in, he can hear a distant rumbling as concrete and metal is moved aside.
“They’re…” Hagakure murmurs. Her head lolls. “They’re… coming?”
“Yes,” he says, and puts his hand back where it was, stroking her hair. “Yes, Hagakure. They’re coming.”
“I’m scared,” she says again, repeating it like a broken record—because it is terrifying, it must be, if she is feeling any fraction of the fear that has cracked his chest in two. “Sensei, I don’t… I don’t want…”
“I’m not letting you go anywhere, you understand me?”
Hagakure laughs a little. Shouta keeps pressing down, keeps holding. Her suit, newly designed, has caught the blood—he can see a deep red seeping across the invisible fabric and rendering it the color of wine.
“Always… so strict,” she says, and despite himself, Shouta smiles down at her.
“Can’t let you off the hook.” She closes her eyes; he catches the movement. “Hagakure, I need you to stay awake for me.”
Opens them again, and the relief that echoes through him is dehabilitating.
And then, “Sensei, will you— can you hold… my hand?”
A gloved hand twitches, then lifts. He moves his own hand and catches it.
“If it’s too hard to talk, you don’t have to say anything,” Shouta tells her, “okay? You don’t have to tell me anything. I know. I’m here.”
She makes a wordless sound.
Shouta squeezes her hand; she squeezes back.
“I wanna… be a hero,” she says.
“You’re going to be a wonderful one.”
Her chest catches, and then goes back to its unsteady rhythm.
Shouta squeezes her hand again as she trails off, and Hagakure’s aware enough to squeeze back.
Distantly, the sound of help.
“We’re here,” he shouts, feeling his own voice echo. “Here!”
Lets go of Hagakure’s hand and feels the fingers shift. Lifts his hand to his mouth and whistles, three sharp, piercing whistles. Help.
Her body is so small. She’s so small, and so young, and the blood— andShouta can’t save her. He hadn’t been able to save Shirakumo, and he can’t save Hagakure either.
Shouta takes her hand again. By now Hagakure is whispering something; Shouta puts his head down, turns his ear and hovers over her mouth so he can still hear her.
“—hero… so people could see me,” she gasps. Then coughs, a rattling sound. “And so other people could… be seen.”
The first piece of rubble is finally moved aside, and Nemuri’s face appears in it. She turns and shouts back at her team, and the rubble is being cleared away.
Sunlight slips in, just a little shaft of it, but enough to light the scene. Blood on Hagakure, on her face, her side; on Shouta, on his hands.
The hand in his is cold and trembling, but he grasps it tighter. He squeezes. She squeezes back.
“Medic!” someone hollers, as the rest of the collapsed building is cleared. Shouta clutches Hagakure tight.
“Yeah,” he tells her. “It’s going to be alright now. I’m not losing you.”
She can’t answer him. He squeezes her hand, and there is a long—breathless—moment where she doesn’t squeeze back. Her chest seizes, and then her fingers move faintly in his.
As help comes, as the sky is exposed around them, as the rescue efforts continue, Shouta keeps his eyes on Hagakure. He can’t see her eyes, but she can see his. That’s important.
“I’m always looking at you,” Shouta promises, and his voice cracks. “I see you, Hagakure. I promise. I’m looking at you.”
