Sloppy. How absolutely sloppy you've become, Old Man.
Aizawa leans over the poor boy, his body shaking and trembling violently in reaction to the syringe's mysterious fluid.
"Jesus," Aizawa's whispers under his breath.
Never seen anything like it. Is this what that newspaper was talking about?
Leaning over the kid, Aizawa raises a careful hand. It quivers from the stress, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end from adrenaline. Making sure not to poke himself with any of the exposed needles, Aizawa gently plucks as many of the syringes from the teenager's body as possible.
Practically a pincushion.
Slipping an arm under his legs, careful not to aggravate the boys broken leg, and his other arm under his back, Aizawa lugs the boy upwards and slings him over his shoulder. The professional grunts, his teeth gritting against one another, his body already sore and tired from his previous scuffle with Balaclava.
I know this isn't safe but if I don't act soon, he'll…
Aizawa prevents himself from finishing that thought.
Standing up, the professional looks over his shoulder, singling out his characteristic golden goggles against the drag backdrop of gray. Snapping the bond towards his gear, he momentarily pauses to rest them against his forehead.
Just in case.
Looking to his left, the hulking, unconscious body of Balaclava remains limp against the concrete sidewalk. To his right, the kid's cracked phone.
The convulsing has stopped and the foam has mostly dissipated. If he's still alive, the worst of it is hopefully over…
Snapping the restraint bond towards the phone, Aizawa pulls it to his ear, keeping it place with the cloth.
No time for an ambulance. Need something faster…
Analyzing the surrounding area, the limber hero crouches to the ground, resting a knee against the asphalt of the alleyway. Letting out a deep breath, Aizawa extends the cloth forward in two directions.
Wrapping the two tendrils around the neighboring buildings fire escapes, Aizawa snaps his agile body into the air, propelling himself forward as if a slingshot.
As his thin body blasts through the air, wind whips against his pale face. Izuku's arms dangle over his shoulder limply, his body still unconscious.
Landing on top of the neighboring building, the exhausted hero's legs crack. Aizawa pauses momentarily to shift his footing, letting out a deep sigh of exasperation.
With the poor boy in his arms, Aizawa breaks out into a dash, leaping from rooftop to rooftop under the pale moonlight.
"Dial emergency services," he commands the phone, still wrapped by the bond next to his ear.
Dialing…
Aizawa's hair whips behind him, parted by the wind, transformed into a living shadow. The wounds across his face sting, the bruising has turned spots of his white skin purple. Blood trickles from his nose.
In comparison to the kid though, Aizawa is currently an image of perfect health.
Please be okay kid… Please…
Snapping between buildings, Aizawa sprints, his breath growing heavier with each lunge.
Aizawa won't let that stop him.
Time is of the essence.
This is all my fault! You've grown sloppy, distracted by teaching! A thug like that would have been a simple fight a few years ago. If you had detained that thug soone-
"Hello?" A woman's voice cuts through his thought, accented by the metallic trill of a dated phone.
"I'd like to report a villain. He is already unconscious and needs to be detained," Aizawa states, turning his eye towards the boy slung over his shoulder. His body twitches occasionally.
"Who is this?" She asks.
"Off Ditko and 18th, past the banking sector, right in front of an alleyway. Can't miss him, the man's enormous," Aizawa answers.
"Excuse me?" the woman replies, confused.
Throwing the phone towards the ground, Aizawa's next step smashes the already damaged plastic brick.
Sorry, kid. Can't have them tracing me.
Dashing across the roof of another building, Aizawa leaps off the corner, wrapping the restraining bond around his left arm before snapping it towards the closest building.
Swinging like a pendulum, Aizawa tugs on the cloth to snap it back onto his arm, using the momentum of the initial snap to propel himself forward.
Thwip!
The cloth propels the hero forward.
Using this momentum, Aizawa effortlessly bounds above the empty streets of Japan. As he swings, his dark outfit causes him to blot out the neon light of multiple billboards.
Thwip!
Come on, come on!
Across his shoulder, the kid begins to twitch in his arms. Dry heaving, the boy unconsciously vomits.
Faster!
Faster dammit!
Thwip!
Aizawa snaps his way throughout the city, wind parting his hair and billowing through his clothes.
His sweat drips from his brow, falling to the streets below.
Is this my fault? Did he go to try and stop such a powerful villain because…
Because of what I said?
From the force and speed of one final snap, Aizawa lands directly in front of a small, quaint house. To the sides of the home, two concrete complexes reaching at least five stories up.
Attempting to lunge forward, Aizawa's recovering body strains from the pressure. Forced to take a moment to breathe, his crimson eyes rest on the boys unconscious body.
Am I to blame?
Despite his body's protests, Aizawa dashes to the wooden front door, sprinting up the stairs.
Reaching the peak of the brief ascent, calves burning, the man practically tackles the wooden entryway.
Pounding against the ornate carving with his free arm, the momentum of his dash causes Aizawa to crash down to one knee.
POUND. POUND. POUND.
Aizawa stands there, shaking his head, his hair swinging from his desperate motions.
The boy twitches in his arms again, his breathing growing lighter with each second.
POUND. POUND. POUND.
Please… Please…
The boy wretches, his breath growing increasingly wheezy.
POUND. POUND. POUND.
Aizawa steps back, pushing himself back onto his feet, using his free shoulder to slam against the door.
WHAM!
Ignoring the pain and stepping back, he tries again.
WHAM!
Aizawa stops, gasping for breath.
His body is trying to stop him.
He does not care.
WHAM!
No budge.
Aizawa stands, his throat dry from activity, hair falling over his face.
Blood trickles from his split lip.
"PLEASE!" he screams at the top of his burning lungs.
The desperate cry for help echoes through the urban caverns of Japan.
Aizawa stands, gasping for air.
His dry eyes sting.
Tears drop from his bloodshot eyes.
Each drop burns with horrendous pain.
The salt of his tears irritates his open wounds.
Falling to his knees, Aizawa throws his head upwards.
"PLEASE!" The hero cries in desperation.
The kid's breath is almost non-existent.
I can't… Not again… Not another funeral.
Aizawa lays the boy gently down onto his lap. Clutching the boy's increasingly pale face, Aizawa's stinging tears drip against his face.
Please…
Running his hands through the boy's green hair, he pushes the kids head against his chest, clutching him as if he was his own son.
KA-CHUNK.
Aizawa throws his head upwards.
Standing in the doorway, an elderly woman, no taller than four feet. With her hair wrapped in pink curlers and wearing a pink bathrobe, her eyes squint at the hero.
"You better have one heckuva good reason to wa-" She goes to scold Aizawa until she recognizes what is happening before her.
"Oh no. Oh no, oh no," she says, her wrinkled eyes widening with fear.
"Come, come, get inside," she turns around, stepping into her wooden abode.
Aizawa rushes to his feet, clutching the boy.
His entire body hurts.
Carrying the kid inside, the old woman directs Aizawa towards the living room.
"Here! Here! Lay him here," she directs, pointing to a plastic-wrapped couch.
Ignoring the many crinkles of the plastic, Aizawa lays the boy down atop the cushions.
"What happened? What's wrong with him," the woman asks, inspecting the bloodied and battered child.
Aizawa sputters in an attempt to choke some words out of his parched throat.
"H-He tried to fight a supervillain on his own. Was forced to ingest some kind of fluid, had a bad reaction. I…."
Aizawa stops in his tracks.
Gulping down a rare expression of fear, Aizawa turns his eyes from Izuku and onto the elderly woman.
"I think he's dying," he admits.
He swallows down tears.
The woman looks up at him with a concerned glance.
"Aizawa… If he's dying, I can't save him! My quirk will only kill him faster!" She yells at him in her croaky voice.
Aizawa paces further into the house, his heavy limps creaking the wooden floorboards beneath him.
"Where are you going? Aizawa!" She yells, confused at his actions.
"I can't save him!"
Jolting back and forth through the wooden house, his exhausted limps echo through the hallways of the house.
"Aizawa!" She croaks at him, waiting for a response.
"I KNOW!" He screams back at her.
Holding his head in his hands, Aizawa looks at her with burning, crimson eyes.
"I know..." He whimpers as he falls to his knees, tears dropping from his face.
"But I need you to do something! I can't let another kid die!" He screams at the woman.
She steps back at his intense reaction, a concerned expression consuming her face.
Approaching Aizawa, she rests a hand on his shoulder, looking back at the couch.
Tears drip from the hero's eyes as he progressively breaks down into a sob.
Turning her heavy expression towards her old friend, she quietly observes.
"Aizawa… What happened? How did you find this kid?" She inquires.
Aizawa sobs into his hands.
"Were you out in the field?" She asks, keeping her hand on his shoulder.
Aizawa's tears slowly die down.
Stopping to sigh, Aizawa looks towards the dying boy on the couch.
"Aizawa. I need to know. Were you out in the field?" She asks again, concern in her voice.
"Yes." Aizawa croaks out, his voice cracking.
The woman steps away from him, yanking her small hand from his shoulder angrily.
Walking into the living room, hand against her forehead, she paces in front of the couch.
"By bringing him here, you're dragging me into your mistake!" She croaks out.
Still crouched on the ground, Aizawa hides behind his mess of hair.
"Yes."
She looks at him.
"And you admit it?"
"Yes."
There's a tense pause between the two.
The boy's breathing grows ever fainter.
"You're the only one that can save him," Aizawa whimpers out.
The woman looks at the broken boy.
His leg is twisted in the wrong direction. His face is coated in dry blood, his skin growing increasingly pale, twisting into a plum-shade of purple. Vomit stains the sides of his mouth. His swollen eye opens every so often.
Twitching with the faint signs of life, barely clinging on .
The woman huffs to herself.
"He's a fighter alright," she admits.
Looking over to her, behind his mess of hair, Aizawa feels a glimmer of hope.
"You'll save him?"
"No promises on saving him, but I can try. I can't just let the poor boy die on my couch!"
Stepping forward, she reaches the edge of the cushion.
"Come here, come here," she commands to Aizawa.
Pushing himself off of the floor and limping over, Aizawa steps to her side.
Grabbing his hand, she rests a hand on the armrest of the couch.
"Here goes nothing," she comments as her lips extend unnaturally from her face.
Placing a gentle kiss against the boy's forehead, his face grimaces from the reaction.
His body convulses in place.
Twitching back and forth, his body seizes as if possessed by a devil.
Terrified, Aizawa turns to the woman.
"What did you do?" He questions, rage building in his voice.
"What I had to! He has to process what's in his system! If his body rejects it, it'll lose all strength and he'll die! I gave him some strength to see if he can!" She answers, looking up at the angry Aizawa with a stern face.
Twisting and contorting on the couch, the teenager's body thrusts forward into the air before crashing back down onto the couch.
His arm falls limply from the cushion, smacking against the wooden floor with a painful thunk.
"No…" Aizawa weakly whimpers.
Noticing a small twitch of the index finger, the woman's eyebrows furrow and then raise. Squinting, studying the boys body, she braces herself.
"Wait for it," She replies.
As the cuts patch across his face, healing into light scabs, the boys swollen eye jolts open.
Releasing a monumental gasp, the teenager blasts through the air.
Suddenly propelling himself from the plastic couch, Aizawa and the old woman gaze upwards to find the kid clutching to the ceiling with his bare hands.
Aizawa looks at the woman.
She simply gazes at her ceiling.
That's new.
