Chapter Four: Repatriate
Noun: a person who has returned to their place of origin
Verb: to send someone back to their homeland against their will
Aizawa woke up warm and nestled in the crook of Hizashi's torso. The soft morning light broke through his thick black hair, and caught on a few golden strands of Hizashi's stray locks. Aizawa tried to twist to see Hizashi's sleeping face, but Hizashi's rigid fingers were interlocked over Aizawa's bellybutton. His stomach grumbled against the pressure – he had gone to bed without dinner. Slowly, he pried Hizashi's determined fingers from around his waist. He sat up and nudged Hizashi's shoulder until lime-green irises peaked through pale lashes.
"This is how you wake someone up properly," whispered Aizawa as Hizashi blinked.
"Then you should wake me up every morning," mumbled Hizashi with a lazy smile.
Hizashi reached out to find purchase on Aizawa's sweatpants – a lazy attempt to pull him back into bed.
An idyllic future flashed through Aizawa's mind: quiet and cuddly mornings, real food for every meal, a person to share his life with, a person that would take care of him. Aizawa's heart skipped a beat and he shook his head to stop the whimsical montage. He stood suddenly and Hizashi's hand fell away with a bounce on the hard mattress.
"I'll meet you in the mess hall," said Aizawa quickly as he turned to leave.
"Wait for me!" called Hizashi. He rolled out of bed still half wrapped in Aizawa's old sleeping bag.
"Hurry up then," muttered Aizawa with his back turned. His cheeks were pink as he considered the fact that his walks of shame had only ever been lonely ordeals before now.
Through uneasy silence, they walked the forest paths to breakfast with their shoulders brushing lightly every so often. Dreary students passed them by unawares. Fellow UA colleagues and Pussycat Heroes eyed the odd pair with knowing looks and bemused smirks. Hizashi filled his plate with oyakadon, his sunny side up eggs already breaking over his white rice. Aizawa tried to get away with only a cup of hot miso soup, but Hizashi filled Aizawa's tray with nutritious proteins and fruits anyways.
"Trust me, you'll have a lot more energy," insisted Hizashi as they took their seats at the teacher's table at the head of the hall.
Aizawa hummed in displeasure and drank his miso soup, but he took a few bites of fruit every now and then.
Small talk droned on and Aizawa watched Hizashi through his peripheral vision as the man made conversational laps around the table of teachers. Aizawa was already tired of social interactions for the day, but Hizashi cared too much about too many people. Aizawa had zoned out long ago and his eyelids felt heavy as he entered a lucid state. Aizawa could have fallen asleep over breakfast, but he heard his name come out of Vlad's mouth and the sweet promise of sleep eluded him.
"What?" asked Aizawa in a deadpan tone.
Vlad cleared his throat to repeat himself.
"We were talking after you dragged that bed outside last night," said Vlad with a smirk, "After neither of you came back."
Aizawa wouldn't have answered, it wasn't as bad as he thought it would be, but he heard Hizashi huff and felt him tense.
"So what?" said Hizashi with a guarded tone.
"So, we all have a bet going if you would care to settle the score," said Vlad with a crooked grin and a wave of his hand to implicate their fellow peers.
"About what?" asked Hizashi. A grimace cut through his jaw.
Vlad used one finger to draw an imaginary line back and forth between Hizashi and Aizawa.
"Come on, Yamada – we've all been there before – man up," said Vlad with a bemused snort.
Hizashi's face hardened until he seemed to be as still as stone.
Aizawa looked around the table and realized that every person there had fucked him at one point or another except for Midnight and Hizashi – unless of course the blowjob behind the cabin counted.
"Come on," jeered Vlad.
Aizawa could feel the table vibrate with bass tones emanating from a rumble in Hizashi's chest. Aizawa put his hand on Hizashi's knee under the table and squeezed to calm him down. He didn't want to use his quirk to break up a pro-hero fight this early in the morning.
"Look, there's no shame in a quick fuck," laughed Vlad with his hands raised in an attempt at innocence, "Am I right, Aizawa?"
"Disgusting," muttered Hizashi through clenched teeth.
Aizawa sighed.
He would end this ridiculous pissing contest himself.
"Welcome to the club, Hizashi," said Aizawa simply as he stood, "you're in good company."
Vlad's laughter boomed through the cafeteria. Aizawa was already walking away as Vlad started telling his compatriots to pay up. With a clatter of utensils and dishes, Hizashi quickly disentangled himself from the table in order to chase after Aizawa.
Hizashi ran out of the mess hall and down the forest path. He saw Aizawa stomping towards the cabin. Hizashi quickened his pace until he could grab Aizawa's shoulder to spin him around. Aizawa swirled with a halo of black hair fanning out around him and blood red irises on high alert. His quirk faded when he saw that it was only Hizashi.
"What is it?" asked Aizawa blankly as his eyes returned to normal.
"Are you okay?" asked Hizashi as he caught his breath.
"I don't know why I wouldn't be," replied Aizawa with an exasperated sigh. He was tired and Hizashi definitely cared too much. Aizawa cracked his neck and turned to leave.
"Come on, Aizawa, talk to me," said Hizashi with desperation.
Aizawa sighed and stopped. He ran his fingers through his hair and caught his knuckles in tangles.
"You don't need to put up with their shit," said Hizashi.
"You don't need to stick you neck out for me, Hizashi," sighed Aizawa, "I don't care what they say about me."
"Oh yeah? And what about how they treat you?" asked Hizashi. His visceral memories of the night prior invaded his mind – the murmur of Aizawa's soft request drowned out by the repetitive onslaught of skin slapping against skin echoing in his ears – Aizawa's dead eyes staring upwards while Vlad continued to fuck him anyways – this image had burned into his retina. The regret of not interfering had eaten through his internal organs.
Then Aizawa started to laugh - a dark sound that made Hizashi's bones cold in the summer heat.
"I like how they treat me," murmured Aizawa with half-lidded eyes, "if you're jealous – I offered you an open invitation."
Hizashi groaned and rubbed at his temples.
"It's not about being jealous, Aizawa," said Hizashi, a lie, perhaps, "It's about you being safe. It's about people respecting your boundaries."
Aizawa's eyebrows rose ever so slightly. The corners of his lips twitched and a snicker escaped. He tilted his head as his smile widened like a Cheshire cat.
"What boundaries?" asked Aizawa softly as he took a few steps towards Hizashi.
"Damn it, Aizawa," cursed Hizashi as he stepped back in turn, "Can't you see how fucked up that is?"
Rejected, Aizawa's alluring smile fell as he scoffed and looked away without responding.
"You're going to sleep with him again aren't you?" asked Hizashi quietly, "even after last night…"
Aizawa shrugged as his eyes fell further away. His teeth hurt as his jaw clenched. His fists were balled in his pockets and his fingernails dug into his palm.
"Answer me," pleaded Hizashi. Deep down, he didn't want to know.
Aizawa took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose slowly. Vlad was an overly aggressive asshole. He wasn't the best lay, but he was always available. Sometimes he didn't listen – sometimes he didn't stop – but he was always there when Aizawa was lonely. Vlad was a reliable constant in Aizawa's life. There was no chance of Aizawa giving that up, and so he tch'ed and rolled his eyes.
"Probably will," he muttered and silence fell between the two men.
Hizashi nodded and sucked his teeth as he looked away and tried to process Aizawa's blatant disregard of anything resembling dignity.
"That's really what you want?" asked Hizashi softly, "for men to treat you like shit in public and even worse in private?"
Aizawa rolled his eyes – but he couldn't deny those accusations.
"Whatever, Hizashi. If you don't approve of my life choices, you don't have to stick around to watch," grumbled Aizawa. He was done with this conversation.
Aizawa started to turn away, but Hizashi lunged forward to grab his wrist. Hizashi pulled the man back towards him, and their bodies collided painfully. He wrapped one arm around Aizawa's waist to hold him there. Hizashi didn't know what drove him to this point – all he knew was that it hurt every time Aizawa walked away. It hurt every time he saw Aizawa with another man. It hurt to see his childhood friend devolve into something base and unrecognizable. Everyday he felt Aizawa slipping through his fingers.
"Please don't push me away again," murmured Hizashi quietly as he searched Aizawa's face for answers to an unasked question. His green eyes flickered between Aizawa's emotionless eyes. The intensity made Aizawa visibly uncomfortable as he blinked and tried to turn his head, but Hizashi held Aizawa's chin in place before the man could look away.
Aizawa opened his mouth to reply, but impending footsteps and rambunctious voices carried down the forest path and shattered the stillness of the moment.
"Round two?" called Vlad's booming voice, followed by a chorus of murmurs and hushed laughter.
Aizawa and Hizashi jumped away from each other as if an electric current had shocked them both. The cohort of teachers and rangers were approaching quickly around the bend. Aizawa frowned as he watched Hizashi's sheepish body language and apologetic stammering in front of their colleagues. At least it gave Aizawa a chance to escape down the path and bury those sickly sweet feelings that had no proper place in his heart.
Aizawa threw himself into summer camp training. The day wore on as he took out his frustration on slackers and anyone who dared to question his ruthless methods. Soon, night fell as the students trained to exhaustion. A few kids started towards the cabins for much needed reprieve, but Aizawa's voice stopped them dead in their tracks.
"Stop," barked Aizawa. "Come back."
His students obeyed with wary expressions.
Vlad stood by Aizawa's side with crossed arms and an angry expression. The tension between the two men was coming off in waves, and the students knew they would bare the burden of this ongoing feud. The men had traded insults all day, but at the very least they had managed to avoid an all out brawl for the sake of a united front.
"Listen up 1-A! Tonight, class 1-B will test your courage as you try to make it through this forest in pairs," said Aizawa as his class gathered. "1-B students are already hiding, and they will attempt to scare you with their quirks. You will also have the chance to scare 1-B when the roles reverse next round. Collect your name cards to prove you made it through the forest, or run back here, knowing that you will face my wrath and disappointment," rumbled Aizawa with glowing red eyes and swirling hair.
The students nodded vigorously, fearing their homeroom teacher more than anything that could be waiting for them in those dark and ominous woods. And so, eager to appease their sensei, the 1-A class disappeared in pairs to face their rival class. Eventually, Aizawa and Vlad were left alone once more in the same clearing as the night before.
"Don't you think you're over doing it? It's just a game," said Vlad
"Is it now?" asked Aizawa with a shrug. Beating class 1-B and watching Vlad's ego suffer was one of Aizawa's few simple pleasures in life.
"Look, Aizawa," started Vlad as the silence ate away as their relationship, "about the other night…"
"Forget about it," said Aizawa softly as he shoved his hands in his pockets and headed back to the cabins where a few students were held back on academic probation and unable to participate in tonight's games. Vlad followed silently, struggling to find the humility to offer anything that resembled an apology.
Then, halfway back to the cabins, an urgent voice sounded in Aizawa and Vlad's minds.
"Attention UA teachers and students!"
The sheer volume made the men wince and hold their ears in vain.
"Villains are attacking the camp, I repeat, villains are attack the camp," shouted Mandalay through her telepathic communication quirk.
"What the hell?" roared Vlad.
"Shut up," hissed Aizawa as he tried to listen while his eyes darted back and forth in the dark woods. Then he spotted flickering light, just over the horizon; Bright blue flames had overtaken the woods. The smell of chemical warfare tinged the air. The pro-heroes reflexively covered their mouths.
Aizawa heard a twig snap.
"ON YOUR LEFT," bellowed Vlad from behind.
Aizawa had only a split second to turn his head and activate his quirk blindly, but he was too late and an explosion of hot blue flames sent him careening backwards. He tumbled and skidded across the dirt. He pushed up on his elbows and rolled to dodge another blast of raging blue fire. Exposed roots and rocks tore at Aizawa's skin, but he felt no pain as adrenaline pumped in his veins.
"Excellent dodge, Eraserhead," called a bemused voice, "as one would expect from a pro-hero of your caliber."
The smoke cleared slowly, and Aizawa finally spotted the arsonist who had set the woods ablaze. A tall, black-haired villain with scarred skin and piercings across his face - an arrogantly tilted chin and a thin slit of a smile. He had seen this man on wanted ads across the city: a man who called himself Dabi.
"You have no purpose here," bellowed Aizawa as he ran forward, activated his quirk, and shot his scarf forward.
The lunge was cut short. He felt something sharp pierce the soft spot between the vertebrae of his neck. His body slowed and betrayed him as he stumbled to the side.
"What the fuck," slurred Aizawa as his quirk stopped working and his neck started to go numb.
"Don't fight it," said Dabi easily.
"Vlad," said Aizawa weakly as forced his voice out of his numb vocal chords.
Aizawa struggled to shift his eyes to his periphery, as he lost the ability to turn his head. To his horror, Vlad was collapsed with three tranquilizer darts sticking out of his massive shoulder blade. They had been defeated so quickly. The kids didn't stand a chance. Aizawa would have hyperventilated if the sedative weren't wreaking havoc on his respiratory system.
"Don't hurt our students…" choked Aizawa, "they're just kids…" he fell face first in the dirt and saw black boots enter his diminishing field of vision. "Please…"
"Too late," said the voice above him.
And then, the world faded away.
"Get the fuck up," hissed a voice from outside the darkness of Aizawa's eyelids. It sounded like Vlad.
Aizawa didn't want to get up. His neck was stiff and his head hurt. His joints ached and his tongue felt like sand paper. He wanted a few more minutes – just a few.
"Wake up, Aizawa," said the angry voice a little louder, followed by shushing sounds.
He didn't like it here. He didn't want to wake up. The flickering lights were too bright. The floor was too hard. The air was too hot – but some deep primal instinct screamed at him to be alert – to survive.
"Aizawa!"
He blinked against the stinging light and his eyes started to water as his pupils adjusted. The first thing Aizawa saw was cracked grey concrete flooring. He was face down and his cheek was flat against the damp surface.
"Get up!"
"He's awake, stop yelling at him," hissed a second voice – Hizashi's – who continued on quietly, "Aizawa, can you hear me?"
"Yeah," grumbled Aizawa.
"Finally," grunted Vlad.
Aizawa tried to recall his most recent memories: there had been fire, darkness, and pain. He tried to move his arms to lift himself up off the ground, but his forearms were bound tightly behind his back. The cold metal bit into his flesh and cut off the circulation to his hands.
"Where are we?" asked Aizawa gruffly. He took deep breaths as he willed his muscles to work – but it was no use. The tranquilizer in the dart hadn't left his system yet.
"We were all knocked out before being transported here. There are no identifiable features – no way to tell where they've brought us," said Hizashi – a hint of a slur in his constantans.
Aizawa groaned as he tried to examine his peripheral vision. A few feet away, he could see a transparent barrier rising up out of the floor. Through that barrier, Aizawa could see Vlad's toned legs and mutilated hands.
"Your gauntlets," groaned Aizawa.
Vlad just grunted in affirmation. His support gear that allowed him to freely access his own blood flow had been ripped from the veins of his hands. The skin was frayed and the blood had only just started to coagulate.
"They took my speaker too," said Hizashi from behind Aizawa, "not that I would be able to use it anyways."
"I don't understand…" muttered Aizawa. His limbs started to twitch and tingle as the tranquilizer continued to wear off. As sensation returned, Aizawa felt the air against his exposed neck and realized that his scarf had been taken as well.
"Our quirks aren't working," said Vlad sullenly.
Panic and adrenaline shot through Aizawa veins, and it gave him the strength to crunch his abdominal muscles and start to sit up.
"That's impossible," muttered Aizawa.
That type of technology didn't exist – couldn't exist.
Spurred on by fear stabbing into his diaphragm, Aizawa groaned and moved into an upright position. Finally, he could see that they were each individually held in tall rectangular prisons of a thick, clear, plastic material – two transparent barriers separated the prison into the three cells to hold the three men. Each cell had a plastic door with a heavy metal latch on the outside. Each cell had an air vent with a duct running out into the darkness. Outside of their plastic prisons, Aizawa couldn't see more than a few feet in any direction past the halo of flickering yellow lights.
He felt like a lab rat. His heart started to race and his breathing became fast and shallow.
"It's okay, Aizawa," said Hizashi's voice. It was soothing and steady, as if nothing could possibly go wrong.
Aizawa turned with effort to face Hizashi, and his blood ran cold when he saw his old friend. A deep gouge trailed from his jaw, to his collarbone, to his shoulder. Aizawa could see yellow fat, red muscle, and white bone across Hizashi's chest. Blood was bubbling weakly from the deepest parts of the wound, and yet somehow, he hadn't bled out yet. Pine, soil, and rock contaminated the cleaved flesh, and Aizawa thought he might throw up as his stomach churned instinctively – trying to rid his body of this sight – telling him to run fast and far away.
"Hizashi," whispered Aizawa with wide saucer eyes.
Hizashi tried to smile weakly – he tried to be brave.
"They wouldn't have brought me here if they were going to let me die," said Hizashi with half-lidded eyes, "I'll be okay…"
Aizawa's heart started racing. Hizashi needed immediate medical attention. Willing his body to move, Aizawa fell and rolled until he was within striking distance of the cell door. He kicked and the metal latch reverberated through the dark chamber of their prison.
"HELP," bellowed Aizawa.
He kicked again and the echoes thundered through the chamber.
"HE NEEDS HELP."
Another kick.
"ANYBODY," he shouted.
He slammed his foot into the door until his heel started to bruise, but Aizawa continued on relentlessly. Then, just when he was sure that no one would come, a slit of light blossomed in the upper corner of their chamber. The light flooded the room as a door opened – showing a winding staircase that led down to their holding cells in an otherwise barren room. A black silhouette passed through the light and footsteps echoed down the stairs until their warden appeared in the flickering light.
"You called?" asked Shigaraki with a smile so large that his lips were cracking under the strain.
Aizawa didn't have time to be frightened. He didn't have time to relive his brutal beating at the hands of the Nomu as this man-child watched and laughed. Staring at this monster across the barrier, Aizawa felt his cheekbone ache where Shigaraki had ordered that beast to shatter his face. He could almost feel his arms being bent back again at odd angles until they snapped.
He didn't have time for this – Hizashi didn't have time.
"Please," croaked Aizawa as he struggled to come to his knees.
Shigaraki watched Aizawa like a captive animal in a cage. He tilted his head curiously as if waiting for Aizawa to perform some entertaining trick.
"You care about this man?" asked Shigaraki with a gleeful lilt in his voice.
Aizawa's brow furrowed. He felt his racing heart against his ribs. Blood pounded in his ears. The wrong answer meant life or death. Either he said no – making Hizashi disposable, or he said yes – making Hizashi a pawn in this mad man's games.
"I do," said Aizawa softly – trying to read the wild expression above him.
"And this one?" asked Shigaraki with a throw of his chin in Vlad's direction.
Aizawa hesitated again. There were no good choices. Aizawa weighed his decision carefully as he closed his eyes and tried to play through the possible scenarios of each path.
"I do," said Aizawa with a sharp exhale of finality.
Shigaraki laughed and brushed his icy blue hair out of his eyes as if relieved.
"Good," he said gleefully, "we watched you for quite some time, trying to figure out which other players would motivate you the most."
Aizawa stared in horror as he watched Shigaraki's expression transform. The light-hearted glee fell into blood-thirst and shadowed eyes. His smile widened and cracked until the thin skin tore and red droplets welled up in the corners of his mouth.
"If you play the game – if you don't break any rules – I won't kill your teammates," said Shigaraki, "Do you understand?"
Aizawa nodded silently. He would do anything to save Hizashi.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" spat Vlad from the neighboring cell.
Shigaraki chuckled as he unlatched the metal bar of Aizawa's cell.
"Haven't you figured it out yet, Eraser?"
Shigaraki let the door swing wide open as he stepped inside – taunting Aizawa in his weakened and quirkless state – offering an impossible escape.
"Haven't you told your friends?"
Shigaraki rummaged in his baggy pockets and withdrew a package with a red cross. The medical supplies were Aizawa's added incentive to comply.
"That this is all for you?"
Shigaraki's dry, bony hand shot forward and grabbed a fistful of Aizawa's knotted black hair. He pulled harshly upwards, forcing Aizawa to scramble to his feet on numb and unsteady legs.
"Don't touch him," pleaded Hizashi under his breath.
Shigaraki just laughed as he dragged Aizawa forward by the hair and threw him into Hizashi's cell. Aizawa landed with a crack of his kneecaps and elbows on concrete. Shigaraki followed suit and knelt behind Aizawa's collapsed form.
"I suppose you'll need your hands to stitch your friend back together again," murmured Shigaraki as he unlocked the cuffs that bound Aizawa's forearms.
Blood rushed back into Aizawa's hands. His fists clenched and for a moment, he considered punching Shigaraki in the throat and making a break for it – but he would never be able to carry Hizashi in this condition and Vlad was still locked away. He was sure that there were more villains on the other side of that door at the top of the staircase, and their quirks weren't working. They didn't stand a chance, but the heroic impulse in his gut told him to try – to fight – to survive.
"Is this the scar we gave you?" asked Shigaraki quietly. A thin, gentle finger brushed across the scar tissue under Aizawa's eye.
Aizawa's blood pressure spiked as primal instinct took over. Aizawa swung his elbow towards Shigaraki's trachea, but his movements were still too slow. Aizawa's attack was blocked easily with a palm strike to his bicep.
Going on the offensive, Shigaraki scowled and grabbed the back of Aizawa's neck to slam Aizawa's face into the concrete. An jolt of pain shot through Aizawa's barely healed cheekbone.
"Stop," begged Hizashi softly through a hazy state of fever and blood loss. He tried to move, to help.
"I told you to play the game," hissed Shigaraki in Aizawa's ear.
The putrid scent of decay clung to Aizawa's nostrils. Searing pain spread through his neck under Shigaraki's hands as cracks split over Aizawa's peeling skin. "I was going to give these medical supplies to you as a symbol of good faith, but now I want you to earn it."
Dark red cracks spread across Aizawa's jaw from the hold on the back of his neck, and he groaned as the pain overcame his senses. Blood dripped into his mouth and eyes – he hardly noticed as Shigaraki pulled his sweatpants down over the rise of his hips, leaving his bare skin exposed to the sweltering heat and the eerie gaze of the man behind him.
"I've heard rumors about you, Eraser," whispered Shigaraki as he released his hold on Aizawa's neck and gathered a fistful of hair instead. He pressed his clothed groin against Aizawa bare ass and rolled his hips lazily – a suggestion – a promise – a threat.
Aizawa closed his eyes as he felt the twitching and growing heat in Shigaraki's pants as the man ground his hips forward continuously.
"Don't do this," shouted Vlad – his eyes wide and wild as he strained against his restraints across the room.
Hizashi's breathing became erratic as he watched the scene unfold just barely out of reach. He begged and pleaded and slurred as he fought to retain consciousness. He needed to protect his friend.
"Don't touch him," groaned Hizashi as he tried to reach out with the last of his strength. He whined in pain as his torn flesh grated against fabric and debris – but it hardly mattered – he was so close. He could almost reach out and touch them – he could help, but his tunnel vision tightened into a pinprick of reality, "don't touch him…"
Shigaraki only chuckled while his eyes stayed trained on Aizawa's subjugated form.
"I'm just playing," murmured Shigaraki.
"This isn't a game, you crazy bastard!" roared Vlad.
"Isn't it though? Just like any choose-your-own-adventure RPG," murmured Shigaraki as the sound of his zipper cut through the silence of the room, "actions have consequences, hero."
Aizawa braced himself and clenched his teeth. He tried to steady his breath. He tried to imagine that he were anywhere else: his favorite café down the block from UA, his childhood summer home on the coast, the break room where he shared lunch with his oldest friend – his friend that was about to witness this act of violence.
"Please don't look," breathed Aizawa as he felt Shigaraki's dry cock pressing against his ass.
Shigaraki grabbed at the skin of one cheek. He pressed his fingers into the flesh and activated his quirk. Aizawa gasped and bucked forward as his skin disintegrated rapidly and bloody fissures ran across his skin until one jagged line tore through his entrance. Aizawa bit his lips, stifling screams that begged to come out. Finally, Shigaraki let go and Aizawa was permitted to collapse. Aizawa struggled to breath through the pain, but it only made him lightheaded and woozy.
Shigaraki lifted Aizawa's hips again – glistening red and wet with blood – and kicked Aizawa's legs open at awkward angles. He dragged his thumbnail against the open wound on Aizawa's hip. Aizawa tensed, and Shigaraki snapped his hips forward through Aizawa's torn entrance.
Aizawa finally screamed as his fragile, torn membranes split further under Shigaraki's assault.
"Aizawa," mumbled Hizashi as he faded away.
Vlad turned away in helpless silence and as he tried to cover his ears with his shoulders. He started to throw up.
The sounds of whimpers, dry heaves, laughter, and squelching flesh filled the dark room until Aizawa couldn't take it anymore.
"Please stop," begged Aizawa as he felt his sanity slipping. He didn't like to beg. He didn't like to be weak, "please…please…"
Shigaraki just laughed and thrust into him without a care in the world.
"I'll stop when I'm done," grunted Shigaraki through the effort of holding Aizawa's hips up to meet his thrusts.
Aizawa clawed at his own forehead and cheeks with his dirty fingernails as he tried to withstand the agony of his massacred flesh. He thought he might die – he wanted to die.
"Please…" cried Aizawa as he dragged his nails over his face – trying to exchange one pain for another.
"Fine, fine," groaned Shigaraki.
Shigaraki pulled out, took his cock slicked red with blood in his fist, and pumped until he came over Aizawa's bloody skin with a sigh of relief. The semen burned his open wounds, but Aizawa finally breathed as his body found reprieve.
Shigaraki released his bruising hold on Aizawa's hips, and Aizawa slumped to the ground in a shaking, silent heap. Shigaraki stood, zipped his pants, and cracked his red knuckles with an unbothered smile. He dropped the medical supplies on the ground, but Aizawa didn't move.
"Go on, healer," said Shigaraki as he kicked the bag towards Aizawa's trembling hands, "you earned it."
Slowly, Aizawa reached out blindly to grasp for the bag of lifesaving supplies. His fingers found purchase and his knuckles turned white as he pulled the hard-won prize to his chest.
"Regain your strength, hero," said Shigaraki as he locked the cell door on his way out, "and try not to bleed too much – we're on a tight production schedule."
The metal latch fell with a clang, and Shigaraki left with a bounce in his step.
"Aizawa," called Vlad from across the room, "Aizawa, are you okay?"
Aizawa didn't answer. He was doing his best to sit up as he clutched the medical supplies to his chest like a lifeline.
"Aizawa…" called Vlad a little bit softer this time – something gentle breaking his gruff tones, "talk to me…what do they want from you…"
"Nothing…and I'm fine," grunted Aizawa as he pulled himself another foot closer to Hizashi – the man had lost consciousness some time ago, and Aizawa couldn't see a rise and fall in his chest anymore.
"You're not," croaked Vlad as he spat bile from his lips and his stomach threatened to empty once more.
"I am," said Aizawa insistently.
Aizawa used two shaking fingers to find a weak pulse in Hizashi's neck, and Aizawa released the breath he had been holding. Hizashi was alive, but just barely.
"I'm fine," he swore into the heavy silence, "I'm fine."
(A/N: A quick and wayward downward spiral - forgive me. But thank you for the reviews so far! They mean the world to me.)