47 - Lines in the Ash

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Sleep didn't come easy.

Even with the flames long dead, the camp still felt like it was burning. Those of us who hadn't passed out from exhaustion hung around the fire. The shadows clung to us, thick with smoke and silence.  I could feel the echoes of the night before in my chest—deep, restless tremors that didn't seem to stop.

None of us talked much.

Jirou sat with her knees drawn to her chest, her earjacks limp at her sides. Ochaco drew shapes in the dirt. Kirishima paced. Denki had gone quiet—too quiet. He was usually the one trying to crack a joke, even if it flopped. Now he just stared at his hands like he didn't recognize them.

And me?

I was burning from the inside out. Not just because of my quirk. Because I failed.

Because we all did.

We lost him.

Katsuki Bakugo—explosive, angry, unshakable Katsuki—was gone. Taken. And it didn't matter how many times I replayed the moment in my head or how fast I ran toward that portal. I couldn't change what happened.

And that was killing me.

When dawn broke, it did so in silence. No birds, no bugs, no morning breeze. Just the aching hush of aftermath.

Aizawa found us like that—exhausted, hearts cracked open, and barely holding it together.

"Pack your things," he said quietly. "The camp's over."

No one moved. Not at first.

But we followed the command like we always did, dragging our feet back to the cabins to gather what little we had. Most of us hadn't even unpacked yet.

I tied my hair back, grabbed my half-burnt duffel, and zipped it shut. It felt like a funeral. Maybe it was.

As we loaded onto the bus, I caught sight of Kota standing near the remains of the front cabin, arms crossed. His cap was pulled low over his eyes, but I knew he was watching us.

I walked over.

"You okay?" I asked gently.

He didn't answer right away. Then, with a stubborn shrug: "You saved me. And him. Both of you."

I nodded. "That's what heroes do."

He looked up at me then. "Then go be one. Get him back."

There was something in his eyes—fear, maybe. But also trust. Like he'd seen what we could really do. Like maybe, just maybe, he believed in heroes again.

I squeezed his shoulder. "We will."

The ride back to U.A. was a graveyard.

No one spoke.

The occasional sniffle from a few seats back. The hum of the engine. But otherwise, nothing. Even the usual Class 1-A chaos was gone. We weren't just classmates anymore. We were soldiers walking off a battlefield.

I sat with Kirishima, who stared out the window the entire time, jaw clenched so tight I was afraid he'd crack a tooth. Denki sat behind us, chewing his nails until his fingers were raw. Shouto leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, face unreadable—but his left arm was still red and blistered, and he hadn't iced it again.

Izuku was near the front, head lowered, hands balled into fists. I could see the tension rolling off of him in waves. He hadn't said a single word since we left. I wasn't sure he could. He'd refused to be taken to the hospital by helicopter – his fight with Muscular, I'd learned, had left him practically immobile. And yet, even in his state he would not let anyone cart him off. He wanted to stay.

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