Yagi Toshinori never lost his heightened senses when the embers of One for All faded in him; his body could not maintain his muscular form anymore, but the skills he obtained with years of heroism remained interwoven in him. As part of his repertoire of abilities, the former Symbol of Peace could sense a shift in the atmosphere when there was trouble nearby, his bones yearning until he moved towards the source of conflict.
Hence why he allowed his feet to direct him down the quiet halls of Heights Alliance towards the commons area. Many nights, Yagi found himself on this path towards the kitchen, making warm tea in a vain attempt to coax sleep to join him. Had his defenses not been up, he would simply fall into repetition and call it a night. He felt there would be more waiting for him when he arrived. There had been no alerts from U.A's security system (thankfully), but Yagi's premonitions regarding disturbances were not often wrong.
Turning from the stairwell entrance, the skeletal man peered into the faint light of the first floor. He hadn't truly known who or what to expect when he'd made it to his destination, but it certainly wasn't Uraraka Ochako. Her petite form was partially turned from him, the tremor of her hands against her teacup barely visible from his vantage point. Her shoulders were tense and curled around her ears. Yagi stepped heavily towards her in an attempt to alert her of his presence. "Young Uraraka?"
So much for not scaring her- a startled cry escaped Uraraka's lips as her cup slipped between her fingers, shattering across the floor on contact. She knelt, grabbing at the shards of ceramic frantically only to drop them from her left hand suddenly. Yagi was soon on his knees beside her, mindful of the remnants of tea leaves and water around them as he scooped her bleeding hand into his own. A line of crimson formed against her pale palm, an easy wound to clean and dress.
"Uraraka, are you okay?" He glanced towards her, amber eyes seemingly lost in thought as her breath quickened. Is she having a panic attack? When she did not respond, Yagi sent her a pleading glance, studying as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. He gently called for her once more, his voice small and hopefully soothing to her ear, "I need you to breathe for me, Uraraka. I am here. I am not going anywhere until I know you are okay. We can start taking those steps now by calming our breaths. Please, breathe my dear."
A gasp stopped his muttering and Yagi noticed tears slip past Uraraka's long lashes. Her gaze was not as distant, but still unfocused as she dropped her head. He brought the back of his knuckle to her cheek to wipe away the wet marks left there. Unbeknownst to the two, the night ahead would be long; the emotional dam Uraraka carefully constructed broke away, sweeping her away with the rush of troubled waters felt from the Shei Hassaikai raid fiasco. She wailed into his chest, blood seeping from her wound into the fabric of his shirt along with her tears. She held firmly to his emaciated form as if it was a lifeline.
And Yagi reciprocated her hold as each revelation tumbled from her mouth.
All Might was not a stranger to consolation; as part of his tenure as the Number One Hero, he had his fair share of situations that including assisting the injured, dying, or scared. Natural disasters had especially brought out his nurturer as he and other heroes helped victims comprehend their changing lives. Warm hugs, kind words, a shoulder to cry on- His persona had been affectionately compared to a "giant, muscular teddy bear" by a child he once rescued. He built his entire career on affection, optimism and comfort for his people.
Consolation was not foreign to All Might.
It was terrifying to Yagi Toshinori.
Despite his best efforts, he was not sure if he was efficiently comforting her. He knew his gaunt appearance was unnerving to many and he could not imagine it being warm like when All Might performed the gesture. Skin stretched over sharp bones, bunching together over his left side in an angry ball of scar tissue. His smaller form had been not-so-affectionately referred to as a scarecrow by some that passed him along busy sidewalks. Scary, unhealthy, deathly…
However, Uraraka was the one to initiate the embrace, not withdrawing after wrapping her arms around his sharp bones. Yagi startled at first, unsure of how to proceed until the two talked in greater detail. He found himself holding her against him as if she would drift away like when her quirk activates (she had thankfully worn small guards over her pinkies, likely to prevent her from floating away in her sleep). As guilt spilled from her for simply living, Yagi's grip grew firmer.
Sixteen years old- barely at the cusp of adulthood and already suffering through survivor's guilt. Uraraka and her friends, his own protege included, have endured more as teens than what most heroes encounter before their mid-twenties. Death was never an easy concept to grasp, but the death of a friend or colleague weighed heavier and longer on a hero's shoulders. The other children sought assistance following the raid- one had not.
And that girl, a beautifully chipper girl with rosy cheeks and a smile that could rival his own when her heart beamed, wanted to die because she was allowed to live. She had whispered it so softly; Yagi would have likely not heard it if his ears had not been trained for such things. Uraraka brought her hands to her face, but abruptly spiraled into self-harming behavior when she saw her blood on her skin. She dug her nails into her tender hands, sobbing about how she could not get his blood to go away.
Flashbacks were dangerous for many reasons, as Yagi would come to realize through experience. Not only did the past aggravate old wounds, but it could also manifest in new, sometimes self-inflicted, ways that were irreclaimable in serious cases. Many of his friends and colleagues survived terrible situations, only to succumb to their own thoughts by their own hands later.
Guilt put an end to many promising careers.
Yagi shuddered at the thought as he pulled Uraraka's hands apart, holding them against his own despite the feeling of her blood seeping between his fingers. She was pleading with him to release her, to let her walk away and suffer alone, but there was no way the old pro would allow another colleague to die to this raid. When she stood, struggling against his grasp, he towered over her and pulled her into his embrace. He hated restraining people in the midst of their panic, but she didn't leave him much choice. Her breathing was heavy, eyes blown wide and searching for an out as she whimpered for him to not waste his time on her.
Her resistance eventually grew weaker along with her voice as she sagged against his grip. Uraraka's head lulled forward, causing Yagi to cry out, "Uraraka?!" He was quick to reposition his hold on her, leaning her easily onto the sofa they'd left moments earlier.
Yagi acknowledged how small the young girl was as he straightened his spine. Uraraka barely sunk into the green cushions under her, slightly curled into herself, leaving room for Yagi to comfortably sit at her feet if he wished. Her hair was splayed around her face, rivaling his own with how tousled her wild mane looked. He reached out to tuck a strand of chestnut behind her ear, noting how even in exhaustion, her features scrunched in what he could only assume was fear.
Rubbing a large hand down his face, Yagi dared to fix his eyes on the time.
2:59 am.
These kids… None of this is fair for them.
A woven blanket rested on the back of the sofa; Yagi pulled the fabric over his student with utmost care, making sure to leave her palms uncovered so he could care for her wounds. Yagi wasted no time stepping back to the kitchen, noting the still broken cup of tea that needed cleaned later before fishing the first aid kit from one of the cabinets. It only took a few long strides for the lanky man to reach Uraraka once more, sitting himself in the floor next to her.
Sadness tugged at Yagi's thin lips when he truly focused on Uraraka's hands, turning them gently in his long fingers to view them better. Deep scratches garbled through the fortune lines on both palms, dotted with small scabs where flesh had been torn away. On her left palm rested the offending cut, blood drying in a rusted hue along it. A cough tore through Yagi's chest, rattling his ribs as he wheezed into the bend of his elbow.
"Crap," He hissed, feeling the rush of his own blood slide between his gritted teeth. Hes shuffled through the first aid kit to find all he needed to bandage his company's wounds; he would deal with his own body's deficiencies later.
It's going to be a long night, indeed.
There was fire somewhere- Uraraka's nose filled with pluming smoke, and she huffed away the urge to sneeze. Her eyes flitted around her surroundings in an attempt to see through the carnage. Masses clung to the floor around her, twisted in ways her brain could not comprehend at first. Shadows slowly grew more prominent, smears of blacks, grays and red forming into recognizable objects.
Spikes were the first item she saw before her; jagged cones jutted from the floor and ceiling like angry teeth threatening to devour the room. In the midst of them hung a shadow seemingly caught it their bite, but there were no details. No face, no distinguishable features- just a long, thin form draped in obscurity, barring the stark red painted on its middle. Uraraka drew her hands over her nose to combat the burning smoke filling her lungs, peering at the other shadows crumpled behind her.
The same red spattered the lumps on the floor, contrasting their dark tones. These were not large as the one hanging, but there were many more scattered throughout. The only unique features among them all came from the three closest to her; she noticed what appeared to be a hand reaching out from the mass as clawing into the dirt. Uraraka's eyes grew wider when she realized some of these things looked familiar.
A tinge of cooper filled her nostrils and she recoiled is disgust. The truth smacked her hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs.
Bodies.
Around her, the smoke suddenly dissipated to allow once hidden flames to light the room. Her friends and colleagues laid in heaps on the floor, void of any bright color but the white of their eyes and red of their blood. Uraraka stepped back with her fists defensively drawn, scanning the room as she desperately tried to avoid the blank faces staring at her. Heat smashed into her body, bringing more sweat to billow down her face. The air was stale and suffocating her. She straitened her spine in an attempt to wear her best bravado. The people staring at her, hallow, colorless forms, were like viewing a photo negative…
Those are her friends.
Kirishima, Asui... Deku.
From her right, a small groan reached her ears. The gravity heroine twitched towards the sound, the mass between the spikes slowly becoming recognizable. A man, white suit marred with blood and torn viciously through the stomach, is coughing weakly. She sees a faint glint of green and blonde hair, but his color is mostly washed out- red was overwhelming every other hue he once had to offer. Uraraka released a strangled cry as she stepped forward, "S-Sir!"
She's met by eyes that flash intense anger despite their glaze, causing her to halt. Sir Nighteye struggled to breathe, nevertheless speak, but he does not allow his pain to distract his glare from her. His eyes bore into her with so much malice, causing her heart to freeze in her chest. He opened his mouth, expelling words along with blood like vomit, "This… This should be you."
"... Sir?"
He was trying to laugh at her confusion. The man had been impaled and he tried to laugh despite it coming out as strangled hitches. Sir Nighteye's hands grasped the spike holding him up for leverage, "Y-you think you can help others…" He shuddered as another wet cough wracked his body, "You couldn't even help your own friends. They're dead because of your uselessness."
Uraraka shook her head frantically, "No, they're alive!" This isn't real. This isn't real!
"If they're alive, then where is their color? T-their valor? You took it all away and painted us red, Uraraka Ochako." There was so much blood pouring from Nighteye's body. Despite her best efforts to turn away, she watched as the crimson pooled along the base of his garish prison. She doesn't understand how there is any blood left for Nighteye to bleed after she saw so much red. A ghoulish grin tore across his face, pink-stained teeth shining maniacally as he strained, "We're going to paint you red, too!"
Hands pulled at her from behind, dragging her fearful eyes away from Sir Nighteye before she is knocked to the ground. Uraraka stalled for a moment before she registered the black, gray and red faces of her friends. Kirishima, Asui and Deku mimicked the gnashed grin of Sir Nighteye as they moved towards her. Nails ripped her costume, teeth snapped violently through her flesh, draining her color- her life- from within. There was no free cognition behind their eyes, but their mantra rung louder than her fading screams.
It should have been you! YOU should have been the dead one.
Uraraka's wounds were finally cleaned and dressed with utmost care. The first aid kit was returned to its proper location in the kitchen, and the broken teacup was swept away along with its contents. Yagi pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes to rub away his exhaustion, sinking into the plush of his chair. Across from him, Uraraka remained, eyes closed but far from rest based on her movements. His brows furrowed as he watched the telling signs of a nightmare etch along her features.
Yagi had built his own catalogue of night terrors throughout his career- people he couldn't save, friends he had lost, his and Nana's battles with All for One… Fear for these children, who are training to take the mantle from his and his colleagues' hands. Some of his terrors stemmed from childhood, when he was nothing more than quirkless orphan to his bullies. However, those playground nuances had quickly graduated into deeper woes, archived in his mind that find escape during especially rough nights.
He didn't witness the trauma of a colleague's death until his mid-twenties, when his mentor fell at the hands of his arch nemesis. That pain still scratched at his heart and had taken many, many years to (somewhat) come to terms with. Yagi had worked through his trauma in ways taught by Gran Torino (despite his questionable training methods, the man had knocked some sense into the young hero at the time… Both metaphorically and physically) and he wanted to bestow the same type of nurture to his students. While he poured more time into his training with Midoriya, he'd be lying to himself if he denied how all of 1A tugged at his heart strings.
Yagi wracked his tired brain on ideas to assist his young student once she was awake and not riddled with fear. A notebook rested under his right forearm, the pen between his fingers tapping idly against the paper as he studied the resource web page pulled up on his phone. There were many of the ideas on his list he would personally assist with, but he wanted to be prepared to discuss professional assistance with Uraraka to refine each modality.
Perhaps I should use this as a lesson in the near future?
When Uraraka woke, he would be prepared. All Might- no, Yagi Toshinori- seldom went back on his word when it involved protecting others, especially the children of 1A he definitely had not unofficially adopted.
"Y-Yagi-Sensei?"
Her voice was weak, but enough to pull Yagi from his research. Blue eyes darted from his work towards the sofa, searching until they met Uraraka's. She had turned to rest on her side, curled under the blanket as if she wished to vanish in the material. Her brows scrunched together, wide eyes deeply set on her teacher as her bottom lip wobbled precariously.
"Yes, I am here just as I promised." Leaning from his chair, Yagi brought his hand to her head to card through her hair. The corners of his mouth pulled into a gentle smile.
"I'm sorry." Her gaze broke from his, falling to the floor. She shifted deeper into her plush cocoon in an attempt to hide a loose tear, "I'm so, so sorry, sensei."
Yagi sighed softly, "My dear, there is nothing to be sorry about. What you feel are valid emotions, no matter how jumbled it feels in your heart." When she spared him a glance, his smile warmed enough to flash his dimples. "We are built to feel those emotions, both good and bad; it's how we process them that is most important. I would like to talk with you about what and how you're feeling, and I'd like you to be open with me about everything."
Indeed, Yagi was determined to discuss some of the details Uraraka's panic attack brought to light. He had put most of the pieces together, but there were statements that caused red flags to peak in the former hero's brain. He wanted clarification for both their sake.
Uraraka could only study her teacher's demeanor with confusion; the grin on his face did not match the fire in his eyes. Despite Yagi's comforting expression, his words along with his stare were stern.
He was not suggesting her to talk. He was demanding it.
You stupid girl.
