Supernova

Chapter Two

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He can't breathe.

His throat is unusually clogged and his lungs are aching and holy shit the air is so goddamn thick and it burnsburnsBuRnsBuRnS bUrNs—

A hand presses against his chest while another rests on his back, and he only absently registers the choking sound that escapes from his lips, too preoccupied with forcing himself to take in deliberately slow breaths with air that's barely cooperating with him so he doesn't start choking on literal fucking oxygen again. As seconds pass by, although the feeling of oddness doesn't go away - because there's something in the air that makes his skin prickle, that he can taste, and that he can even smell - he finds that, as long as he doesn't think about it too much, he, at the very least, doesn't choke on every breath.

His shoulders begin to loosen, only to immediately stiffen up again once he remembers that someone had touched him and fuck someone is nearby and he didn't even realize because he was too caught up with his rude-ass lungs —

He raises his head, only to jerk backwards when he sees that no one is there , and he doesn't even have the time to be surprised about that because then he catches sight of his arm out of the corner of his eye, and he freezes because on top of being far too pale and way too fucking small, it feels as if there's liquid fire in his veins, and—

Everything is wrong .

He swallows, moving his hand - it's too small to be his, but it's moving like it's his, and it's freaking him the fuck out - into his direct line of sight, and he tries to clench his fist but it trembles as if he's too weak to do so, and that's when he realizes that he's almost terrifyingly skinny, as if—

( His eyes turn to static, and his eyes burn as the itch becomes unbearable. )

He swallows, dropping his hand to his side.

As if he hadn't eaten in weeks. As if he'd not been able to eat for weeks.

His gaze roves around the room, and only then does he take notice of just how pristine the room he's in is, how everything is white and sterile and impersonal and how, when he turns his head to his side, he sees a heart monitor alongside a few other pieces of medical equipment he'd never bothered to learn the name of.

As if , he considers absently, he'd been in a coma .

( Oh, he thinks distantly, mind flashing with images of an explosion of blood as he feels a heavy, phantom pain in his stomach. I died. )

He chokes back a mirthless laugh, because there are two memories warring with each other in his mind, and he doesn't know what to do .

He remembers being Katsuki Bakugou, being in a war between the heroes and villains and having no other choice but to sacrifice himself because, if he didn't, Deku would have and he was the most important part of this fight, damn it, and they couldn't afford to lose him .

And he remembers being Sasuke Uchiha, second son of the Uchiha Clan head, and an eight-year-old academy student who was forced to watch his brother kill his entire clan for seventy-two hours straight .

And then the second family name sinks into his mind, and all he can think is oh fuck, that teen had been Itachi Uchiha, and oh fuck , he's Sasuke, and he does not like what that implies, because every time he'd heard either of those names it had been from one of his dumbass' friends mouths - usually Dunce Face's - and it had never related to anything good.