Title: Nothing Ever Good

Author: Forged Obsidian

Rating: T (also, tw for blood and general medical stuff)

Category: Hurt/Comfort, General

Characters: Naomasa Tsukauchi, Toshinori Yagi, Gran Torino pops up a few times

Setting: Scattered

Disclaimer: I own literally zilch

Summary: Naomasa has had confusing opinions on hospitals over the years, and Toshinori's injury at the hands of All For One don't make things any clearer.

Nothing Ever Good

Naomasa Tsukauchi had a bit of a complicated relationship with hospitals.

It had probably started when he was younger. He had taken a fall down some stairs when he was six, resulting in a broken arm and a necessary visit to the hospital. He hadn't liked the way the lights reflected on the too-clean floors or the way the nurses always looked exhausted. It had been sterile and too quiet and even with his mother holding his hand, it scared him.

The fear had passed, eventually to be replaced with a sense of trepidation. He had grown up, met other people - including the man would would eventually become All Might and his closest friend - and decided to become a detective. Helping others had always appealed to him, and he decided that he could do that best by entering the police force.

Then the hospital visits involved seeing injured family, coworkers, and civilians involved in one case or another. The beeping of the machines had always seemed impersonal and emotionless, and the sheets on the beds had always made the patient look small. He felt cold whenever he was in a hospital, though he was always respectful and removed his coat. He was always happy that he was fairly robust and never had to be a patient himself.

There were times when he didn't mind being in a hospital. Whenever a friend or family member was discharged he was always happy, and being able to bring together families involved in cases always made his chest warm.

And then Toshinori had fought with All-For-One. The first time.

He could still remember the rush to get the broken body of his friend to the nearest emergency center, the field medics hooking up machines and blood bags to the still form while they rattled along in the back of a retrofitted ambulance. Naomasa was always at his side, pressing his coat - and later medical bandages at the direction of the medics - to the gaping hole the villain had punched in his friend. He had focused on just keeping Toshinori together as much as possible, even though his blue eyes were half-closed and glossy and please don't die.

Then, somewhere along the rushed journey, Toshinori's heart stopped. The oxygen mask held against his mouth and nose stopped misting over with breath and blood. Naomasa had been pushed to the side, staggering away from where All Might had been stretched out as the emergency personnel tried to bring his friend back. It had taken three shocks with the portable defibrillator to get it started again. The rhythm of his heart was still rickety, but he lasted till the hospital at least.

Naomasa had been forced to stay at the entryway doors and could only watch as his friend was wheeled away. It was then he noticed the blood covering his front, splattered across his pale hands and face. He stood in the hallway of the hospital, and everything got very quiet.

Eventually a nurse took pity on the bloodstained detective and gently led him to a shower, leaving a pair of hospital scrubs for him to change into.

After getting clean, tossing his bloodied clothes in a garbage hamper, and ignoring the red under his fingernails that no amount of work would dislodge, he went out to the waiting room. Torino joined him after a while, all his nicks and scrapes tended to and stitched together. Naomasa looked up at the other man from his hunched position in the hospital chair. "I don't know how he's doing."

Torino nodded, his visible eye downcast. The other was swollen over, bruised purple and black. The two of them sat in that room until the next day. Naomasa was sure that he had fallen asleep at some point, exhausted and worried and feeling queasy. Sometime in the night he was contacted by the officials.

They hadn't found a body, but given the destruction of the area and the hit Torino had seen Toshinori land on All for One it was unlikely that he survived. It was fortunate that the field medics and doctors that had dealt with All Might thought that they were helping a victim of a car crash. Naomasa listened to all of this, mentally foggy from exhaustion. He didn't remember hanging up at the end of the impromptu briefing. At some point he had contacted the police station, saying that a family emergency had come up and that he wouldn't be in for his shift.

36 hours had passed since they had brought Toshinori and his broken body to this hospital when Naomasa checked his phone the next time. Then 40 hours. Then another five. At that point Naomasa was feeling razor-thin, his patience whittled down to a splinter by worry. He tried to ignore how cold he felt.

Then, thankfully, an exhausted doctor walked up to them. He looked around for a moment and, finding the waiting room empty, sat down with a heavy sigh. "You came in with the crash victim, right?"

"Yeah." Naomasa almost started at his voice, thick with emotion and tiredness.

"Does he have any family we should contact?"

Torino and Naomasa looked at each other. ". . . no. There's just us two."

"Alright." The doctor sighed and slouched in his seat. There were dark circles under his eyes. "It was lucky that you were there, officer. He might not have made it otherwise."

"A-and how is he?"

"Well, he's stable enough for now that we need to risk moving him to a larger facility. They'll be able to handle it from there."

It was quiet for a moment. Then, Torino's voice broke the silence. "How bad is it?"

The doctor looked at them both, seeing their haggard appearance. He ran a hand down his face. "You said that you're family, right?"

"Yes."

The doctor eyed them both for a second before clasping his hands and clearing his throat. "Honestly, he shouldn't be alive. I know that his heart stopped on the way here, and the amount of blood loss is . . . there's just so little we can actually do here. His internal organs are screwed up in one way or another, blunt force trauma or lacerations or simple lack of blood. His torso is shattered, and it wouldn't surprise me if they end up having to remove a few things. And that was just the large injury."

Naomasa cradled his head in his hands, slowly shaking it as if to deny the doctor's words.

"The bones in both of his hands have a variety of fractures. While the left portion of his torso sustained the greatest damage, his entire ribcage is weak with microfractures and worse. The left side of his hip is cracked. His left arm is broken in two different places. He has a concussion, which makes it dangerous for us to keep him under anesthesia. There are multiple lacerations all over his body. Honestly, I've never seen someone so battered."

Naomasa's voice was quiet. "What can you actually do?"

"He was pumping air into his chest cavity - we managed to fix that. We've removed all the bone fragments we could find, removed the irreparably damaged internal tissue and temporarily closed up the chest wound. We reinforced his ribcage as well as we could. Right now he's being pumped full of painkiller and antibiotics. He's on his eleventh blood transfusion unit. He'll be airlifted to the closest facility that can handle massive trauma. I'll give you the address once he's on his way."

". . . alright."

The doctor gave them a sympathetic look. "I won't pretend that his chances are good, and even if he makes it through the week it'll be a long road. However, the fact that he's made it this far proves that he's a fighter. I wish you all luck."

". . . thank you."

The doctor left. Naomasa looked at Torino. The hero was haggard, his age echoed in his gray hair and the lines around his eyes. He seemed to have gotten older over the past two days.

For one ridiculous moment Naomasa wondered if it was all a surreal dream. Maybe now he would wake up and make a cup of coffee, listening to the radio in the stillness of the morning. Maybe he would be able to walk down to the bus stop and hitch a ride to Toshinori's street. Maybe he'd be able to talk with his friend over breakfast, because while he might be a fantastic hero, Toshinori can't be bothered to take care of himself sometimes and, really, he should fix that because if he goes so far as forgetting to eat something obviously needs to change. Maybe he'd be able to sleep without seeing his friend covered in blood and gore and his heart stopping and going like a bizarre metronome.

Naomasa didn't register the tears on his face until Torino placed a hand on his shoulder and gently leaned against the younger man. Torino's voice was raspy as he spoke. "He'll be all right, he'll be all right."

Naomasa felt bile rise in his throat when he entered the hospital Toshinori had been transferred to. The hair raised on his arms as he walked through the doors, and his hands shook as he walked to the front desk and asked for Toshinori's room number. The clerk at the desk told him that "Mr. Yagi is still in surgery, but his room number is 752. You'll have to step out when they bring him in, and then depending on what the doctors say you might be allowed to sit with him."

He sat in a small area on the seventh floor, uncomfortably pinched in hospital chairs that always seemed too small. He watched as they wheeled Toshinori into his room a few hours later. A nurse came up to him and said that he could sit with his friend, but to keep quiet and let him rest.

The first time he saw Toshinori after he was forced to stay outside of the emergency room doors it was a bit difficult to recognize his friend. Oh, the insane blond hair was still there, as well as the hard earned muscle, but the hospital bed made his large body seem small. There was an oxygen mask strapped around his head, covering everything from the ridge of his nose to his chin. Various IV's trailed from his right arm, connecting to the metallic stand at his bedside. A heart rate monitor was clipped to his finger, the cord plugged into a screen with a green line bouncing up and down. Naomasa could see the bulge of bandages under the faded blue blankets.

Toshinori's breathing was raspy, dragged along his throat, but at least he was breathing. His skin was pale, but the monitor beeped with a reassuring consistency.

He was alive.

Three days after Toshinori's transfer he developed an infection. A bone splinter from his rib had embedded itself in the muscle of his torso and slipped past the surgeries. Naomasa had to watch his friend suffer through fevers and chills. It was hard for Toshinori to breathe. His lungs seemed to shudder with every breath, the air rushing past his throat with a jagged wheeze.

Those were long nights. Naomasa spent them curled in flimsy hospital chairs.

Then, a week after the battle with All For One, Toshinori woke up. The infection had been drained twice, and his body had decided that it had had enough of being asleep. His eyes were blurry, though he did seem to register where he was. Naomasa was at his bedside in an instant, gently placing his hand on Toshinori's arm.

"Easy, Toshinori. It's all right, you're in the hospital."

Toshinori blinked very slowly. ". . . mmmmnhhnmmm."

Naomasa was happy that he could see the blue of Toshinori's eyes. He dragged his chair over to the bed, gently leaning on the side. "You've been out of it for a week. Got pretty roughed up."

"Mmmhmm."

It was bizarre, but Naomasa gave a small laugh. "I'll tell you more when you'll actually remember it. But for now you're safe - everyone's safe."

How much Toshinori could actually register Naomasa couldn't tell. But he did recognize the relief in his friend's eyes as they slipped closed into sleep.

He had to watch as the months slipped by and his friend was eaten away by pain and time. He had been strong and built before, the muscle filling in his tall frame and showing his strength even when he wasn't using his quirk. Now he sometimes lacked the energy to hold his head up. His blue eyes were constantly surrounded by shadow.

His stomach was removed early on. They tried to save his left lung, but given the damage it had sustained as well as the general instability of his torso they had removed it as well. His breath rattled and he habitually coughed up blood and congestion from his mangled chest.

His bones knitted, his cuts healed, but the injury to his torso continued to eat his friend alive. The numerous surgeries and their many complications stretched the skin beyond being able to fully heal, the resulting scar being a gnarled mess of raised tissue and valleys of permanently discolored flesh. The ribs had healed in a warped imitation of their original form and the muscle had been so damaged that some of it had been directly removed.

The doctors said that he would improve once he had a chance to heal from all the procedures and surgeries and get on a different diet, but Naomasa knew Toshinori would never truly heal.

He still felt cold in the hospital, but he got used to it. Like hell he was going to let his friend go through this alone.

"You'll never believe what I found!"

"Oh dear. I haven't seen that look on your face for a long time!"

Naomasa grinned. "You remember how I was really into recording things while we stayed in that one apartment? The one with the yellow wallpaper?"

". . . you didn't."

"I did!" Naomasa declared, a grin on his face as he held up several plastic-encased CD's.

A tiny, but genuine, smile flickered across Toshinori's face. Naomasa waved the CD's around enticingly. "Wanna watch? I brought my laptop."

His friend gave a small wheezing laugh. "Why not?" Naomasa gently settled next to Toshinori on the hospital bed, being careful of various cords and ignoring the way his flesh crawled at the rough texture of the hospital blanket.

The first one they watched was dated to the time when Naomasa had been studying for his final tests to be accepted onto the police force and Toshinori had been continuing his training under Gran Torino. The clip opened to a view of an plain hallway with doors leading off to either side. After a moment the younger voice of Naomasa filtered through the speakers.

"So, Toshi has been training his ass for for weeks now and finally has a while off. And, since I'm trashed from studying and my sense of self preservation has completely left my brain, I've decided to try something out."

The camera made it's way shakily to the second door on the left. After opening it and allowing some light to fall into the room and on an mass of blanket resting on a bed that was pushed against the far wall. A snore came from the lump, blond hair twitching where it could be seen poking out of the thick blanket.

"Oh gosh. He's gonna kill me but it'll be so worth it. Just let me-" The camera jostled a bit before coming to rest on a dresser next to the door. A younger Naomasa could be seen tiptoing over to the bed. Then, in a fairly decent impression of Torino's voice, Naomasa boomed "Young Toshinori, get your ass out of bed! You're late for training!"

The reaction was rather remarkable. Toshinori yelped and the blanket shot towards the ceiling as the muscled body underneath tried to get out of bed. Unfortunately, exhaustion and being woken in the middle of the night made the young Toshinori less than coordinated and he flopped out of bed with a clatter. Half of him made it to the floor. The other half was still draped over his bed.

For a moment everything was still, then a muffled "Wait . . ." could be heard coming from where Toshinori had face planted into the floor. Naomasa cackled and dashed out of the room, making sure to grab the camera.

"Naomasa! Once I get my hands on you you're gonna regret this!"

"Only if you can catch me!"The camera jostled and the video ended.

Toshinori, the one at his side, was giving a wheezing laugh. "I'd forgotten about this!"

"Yeah. I'd forgotten too. You never did catch me."

"I'm pretty sure I fell back asleep on the floor."

"Yeah, I can see you doing something like that."

Toshinori was still laughing, but it started to take on a wet edge. Then he was coughing, hand pressed to his mouth. Naomasa quickly got off the bed and grabbed a towel. By the time he managed to hand it to Toshinori there was blood leaking from between his fingers. Naomasa gently rubbed Toshinori's back as the fit continued and Toshinori coughed into the towel. A few minutes passed before, with a final shuddering wheeze, Toshinori dropped the towel from his hand to pool in his lap. It was stained with red.

Naomasa grabbed it and stood to throw it in the hamper. When he was turning back the quiet voice of Toshinori nearly didn't reach his ears.

". . . sorry."

"Don't you dare apologize," Naomasa said, sitting in the chair and pulling out another CD. "It's not your fault and I don't mind."

Toshinori looked at his friend and sighed.

When Toshinori was discharged from the hospital Naomasa couldn't be happier. The hospital and injury had chewed his friend up and spat him out, leaving him with a handicap and a shortened lifespan.

The first time Toshinori had a major attack Naomasa was with him, thankfully. He had picked up his friend and dashed to the closest emergency room, holding his coughing friend and not noticing the blood that was leaking through the thin material of his shirt. All the medical personnel could do was give Toshinori a morphine drip, which turned out to be nearly useless.

Then Naomasa, for a moment or two, hated hospitals.

Still, Toshinori healed as well as he could, went back to work, and life moved on. He still had the major attacks, the bad days, and Naomasa couldn't always be there.

The police detective decided to see a therapist after a while.

"It's not that I don't appreciate what doctors and nurses and emergency staff do, but I still can't get rid of the feeling of fear, or maybe distaste. I've hated hospitals a time or two actually, despite never requiring their service personally."

She sat across from him, legs crossed as she leaned back in her chair. "Do you have anyone close to you that had a bad experience with hospitals? Or maybe this feeling comes from when you broke your arm when you were younger."

"I don't really think it's from that, but I wouldn't rule it out." Naomasa leaned on his knees. "I do have a friend, a close friend who's like a brother to me in more ways than one, and he's been in and out of hospitals for the past six months. He got in a pretty nasty accident."

"Is he doing alright?"

Naomasa snorted. "He says he is, but I can tell that he's not."

"Can you tell me some details? It's all right if you don't want to - I want to hear more about your reaction to everything moreso than the actual accident."

"Sure, sure. It . . . it was a pretty bad car accident. I was with him. The ambulance was short staffed because of a fire nearby, so I had to help on the way to the hospital. It was . . . bad. Quite a few doctors said that he shouldn't have been able to survive. I visited whenever I could. Before, he was really strong and a bit of a fitness nut, actually. Then, after the accident, he lost so much weight and he's tired all the time. He loved his job, but can't work as long as he wants to now. It was a big change, and he's going to have to deal with the results of the injuries and the surgeries for the rest of his life."

She listened attentively, and understanding sparked in her eyes. "I think I see, actually."

"See what?"

"Your friend went into the hospital injured, but still as you knew him. Now, in the post-hospital setting, he's different in appearance and, from what you told me, lifestyle. It seems, at least to me, that you partially blame the hospital for not being able to do more."

Naomasa looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "It was a pretty serious accident, and I don't think that I blame them for not being able to heal him completely."

"Are you sure? We've talked about this in past sessions - the way the feeling of the hospital in non-positive situations seems to not be connected to anything. Now, however, there's a reason for that."

"Listen, I'm just happy that he's alive."

"But he's not the same. It's natural to be angry - even as a police officer you can't force him to heal beyond what he can. Hospitals are where people heal and recover, and you feel that they failed in their job when it comes to this important person in your life. So, that's where the anger comes from. You also understand that the incident that your friend went through was, at least from what you told me, extremely debilitating and that there wasn't much they could do beyond keeping him alive and bringing him up to the best point possible. So, you feel guilty for feeling angry. You're also extremely happy that your friend survived, which is due to the efforts of hospital staff. You feel guilty, again, about being angry that the best efforts of the people who saved your friend's life weren't enough to bring him back to how he was before the accident. No wonder you feel confused."

"Well . . ." Naomasa started to say something, but it died on his tongue as something clicked into place in his head.

"That doesn't quite square up with the fact that you've been feeling uncomfortable in hospitals for as long as you can remember, but it does do something to explain the way you're feeling now. It's alright to feel that way, and even if you never quite figure out why, you know and appreciate what medical staff do. I wouldn't be too worried, detective."

The fight at Kamino Ward years later filled him with well-earned anxiety. As soon as the dust had settled and the media had been shooed away for the police and government officials to clear the scene, he sprinted to where he had last seen All Might.

He found his friend sitting on a piece of rubble, breathing heavily and bleeding, but alive. All Might was alone, having waved all the field medics and other heros away, saying that the people in the rubble of the decimated city blocks needed them more. As Naomasa knelt in front of the hero he placed a gentle hand on Toshinori's shoulder, giving it a grip and mentally thanking anyone who was listening that this wasn't like last time.

"Hey there, big guy."

It took a moment for Toshinori to register the touch and words. His blue eyes flicked up from the ground between his feet and stared up into the worried face of his friend. His smile was a ghost of itself and he seemed oblivious to the trickle of blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.

"Hey."

"How're you feeling?"

The hero looked down at his right arm and his shoulder twitched, as though he was trying to move it. Confusion flickered across his face and his voice was quiet and wavy.

"I think I broke my arm."

Naomasa gave weary smile. "That's okay. You're gonna get fixed up, alright? First, though, we gotta get you up outta this pit."

"I don't . . . don't think I can walk very far. I'm tired."

"I know, buddy. Here - let me help."

Naomasa gently slipped under Toshinori's comparatively healthy left arm, placing it across his shoulders and slipping his right hand around Toshinori's waist to grip his belt. They both stood at the same time, Toshinori leaning against his friend like a crutch and trying to keep his arm still. Toshinori felt lightheaded briefly as they caught their balance - Naomasa was quite a bit shorter and had to adapt to Toshinori's height - but then everything faded back to the gray of a post-fight adrenaline crash.

Their first few steps were uncertain, but Naomasa was determined and soon they were staggering towards the edge of the crater created by the battle. Naomasa could feel some blood leaking through the right side of his jacket, but he couldn't risk moving any faster.

All Might stumbled and suddenly Tiger was there, gently wrapping his arm and some soft tendrils around Toshinori's mangled body. His deep voice was soothing. "Don't push yourself - I've got you."

The older hero looked at him in exhausted shock. "What about the people in the rubble?"

"I was coming back from helping some of them to the emergency medical tents. You aren't taking any time from them, I promise."

"Oh. Okay."

The odd trio made it to where tents and areas for medical evacuations had been hastily set up. As they were walking through the single row the injured civilians and some medical staff looked at All Might, their faces streaked with dust. The talk and rustling of supplies stilled as the trio reached the halfway point. It became quiet enough that they unconsciously stopped walking, standing in the middle of the pathway.

Then, in the silence, someone started clapping.

It grew quickly, till most everyone they could see was clapping and looking at Toshinori. Some people were crying, tears cutting through dirt and grime. Others shouted their thanks. Everyone was smiling.

Toshinori seemed confused, sagging between the two people who supported him. "What are they-"

Naomasa shifted under Toshinori's arm and Tiger gave an amused chuckle. "That is for you, All Might."

"For .. ." Toshinori looked around with amazement in his blue eyes, smile still plastered to his face. Naomasa gave a grin.

Then, of all things, Toshinori started to cry. It wasn't dramatic or attention grabbing. His eyes crinkled a bit and tears gathered at the edges. His smile wavered for a moment then became heartwarming in its sincerity. The battered hero stood a little taller and gave a shaky thumbs-up with his left hand.

The thankful cheers followed them to the end of the tent row, where a helicopter was waiting to take Toshinori to yet another hospital. As Naomasa was helping his injured friend onto the gurney that would transport him he saw fresh tear tracks making their way through the blood and grime on All Might's drawn face.

This time Naomasa couldn't go directly with his friend to the hospital. He had to stay behind, making sure that All For One was properly detained and that there was no remaining trace of the other villains that they hadn't been able to pin down. The people dragged from the rubble were all evaluated, some sent on emergency vehicles to nearby medical centers. By the time he was given permission to leave the scene he went directly to his office to file away what had happened. He fell asleep at his office desk, lamp shining on his head and a pen held loosely in his hand.

Sometime in the night someone draped his coat over his shoulders.

He was granted a few days of leave the next evening and the moment he was out of the station he was taking a cab to Toshinori's hospital, the stars outside flickering past the car window. Gran Torino had to vouch for him at the front desk, but other than that it was fairly simple to make his way to Toshinori's room.

The room was quiet and dark, curtains pulled across the windows and the sharp smell of antiseptic floating on the air. A moment of painful deja vu flitted across his memory, but those were worse times and right now he just wanted to see his friend.

There was a wrap of bandages around his head, and his right arm was encased in a cast. The familiar sound of a heart monitor quietly beeped in the corner as Toshinori slept. Naomasa dimly took note of the faint wrinkles at the corners of Toshinori's eyes and the exhausted slope of his mouth.

Naomasa shook his head and pulled the chairs together, grabbing spare blankets and pillows to create a makeshift cot. He didn't lay down just yet, though. Instead he sat next to Toshinori's bedside and gently grabbed his friend's left hand. His voice was quiet and relieved.

"Don't worry, Toshinori. I'll be right here."