❝ I wanna go home. please let me go home. ❞
[y/n] didn't ask to be launched into a whole new universe where quirks defined your future instead of chakra and heroes took place instead of shinobi.
especially not after the fourth shinobi war.
male rea...
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⌜ ⌝
trauma - chapter three
⌞ ⌟
It was pitch black room, the walls were slightly cracked as a foreign liquid slowly filled the room. It dripped slowly, taunting him as it dragged on and on. It soon reached the center of the room, touching the crying male in the middle.
He was cold. He felt so cold.
His arms were wrapped around his chest as he resumed a ball-like position, trying to find any warmth within this barren place.
The sounds of metal clashing and screams of agony became louder and louder until the male couldn't take it anymore.
Then suddenly, it all stopped and he heard footsteps near him.
Familiar footsteps.
"!" [y/n] looked up, expecting to see his team all happy, ready to rescue him from this tragic place, yet they didn't.
Blood poured out of their bodies like a gushing waterfall, flowing until it reached the male in the center of the room.
Their hollow eyes burned with hatred and despair, blood in place of tears fell from their eyes. They opened their mouths in unison, their words haunting the jonin.
"Why didn't you save us?"
It echoed around [y/n], the male scrambling to his feet as he pleaded for their forgiveness.
"I tried to! I-I really tried!" He cried harshly, their blood on his hands as he stumbled forward, "I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!"
They paid no heed to his words, their bodies falling and deconstructing right in front of him.
"Why didn't you save us?"
[y/n] woke up screaming.
Recovery Girl instantly went to his side, trying to calm the boy as the monitors hooked up to him beeped like crazy.
"I'm sorry! I-I'm so sorry!" His hands pulled at his hair, curling up into a ball as his body shook uncontrollably, "Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me."
The prohero panicked as her eyes darted everywhere before she dashed out the door frantically as she searched for a certain hero.
"Aizawa! It's [y/n]-"
At the mere mention of the young boy, the man ran to the nursery room. He slammed the door open, expecting a bleeding out [y/n], except he was met with the boy huddled in the corner as he rocked back and forth. His arms wrapped around him as some sort of protection as he buried his own warmth.
