His Hero

Nightmare

Slate grey skies gave way to a heavy downpour, filling streets and rivers to the brim without any sign of letting up. Lightening tore across the sky and thunder rattled windows from above as the wind lashed against anything that stood in its path. The raging storm outside was no match for the tumultuous storm inside the fire and ice hero, who watched through the window of his hospital room.

The press had called their mission a total victory. Reality Check was captured along with her accomplices. Property damage was minimal, and no civilians were harmed. "A shining example of hero work" reporters had boasted.

Civilians raised a toast to Shoto and Dynamite's flawless teamwork. Their absence from the press conference following the fight was simply them taking some well-earned time off. Few civilians had been on scene when the two heroes were carried out on stretchers. Only the medical staff who had responded to Sero's cries for immediate evacuation knew just how much the fire and ice hero had suffered as they worked through waves of nausea to rush him to the hospital.

The papers hadn't published anything about his three broken ribs. They hadn't mentioned the thumb he had broken in pain-riddled desperation to get free. Few people knew the hero had flatlined twice on his way to the hospital.

With lazy focus, blue and grey eyes watched the trees swaying outside. Gentle fingers ran over the picture that hadn't left his hands since waking up while his mind brooded over his most recent visitor.

Endeavor had looked so out of place in the small hospital room, filling nearly half of it himself. Worry etched deep lines across his face, and the young hero supposed that was normal, but it was still strange to see the old man fidget as they spoke. Unable to sit still while Shoto recounted every detail of the mission – except Bakugo's conversation with the villain – long legs paced the room before dropping back into his chair with more force than necessary. The legs groaned under the hulking hero's weight.

Once cold and unflinching eyes refused to meet blue and grey as he recapped the days Shoto spent comatose. When he came to the part about his son's near-death experience, the words tumbled out of his mouth so quickly Shoto barely caught them. Alarms from machines the young hero was itching to be disconnected from had broken the silence, followed by a frail but fearless nurse rushing into the room. Shoto couldn't help but laugh when she started berating the colossal number one hero for stressing out her patient.

But there was something bothering him more than hearing he'd nearly died – no one would talk to him about Bakugo.

The minute Shoto's eyes had snapped open, and his mind had realized where he was through haze of strong pain medication, the needles and sensors connecting him to machines were ripped from his arms. Clutching his stomach and ignoring the stabbing pains he had staggered through the halls hunting for the blond hero. Tight-lipped nurses interrupted his search and forced the hero back to his room, refusing to answer any of his questions on the way.

Each attempt ended like this until his father posted a guard at his door. Few were allowed in and Shoto wasn't allowed out. Enji claimed it was for his safety until they understood why the villains seemed to be targeting him, but Shoto didn't buy it. Heated protests from the young hero fell on deaf ears.

Aside from his father, and then Hawks, telling him the explosive blond was alive and recovering he knew nothing. Not what floor he was on. Not the extent of his injuries. Nothing. What little fire he was able to draw up had nearly scorched his bedsheets when he begged Hawks to give him something, anything, leading him to Bakugo's room. But the winged hero insisted he didn't know.

The weight that had settled in his chest during battle grew heavier, threatening to crush the hero as one question plagued his thoughts more than the rest – why did it seem like Bakugo knew the villain?