Chapter Text
Perfect.
The guests were trying to run away while the heroes along the perimeter were trying to move in. It was absolute pandemonium. Most heroes, earthbound as they were, were held on the periphery. The ones able to fly were trying to slow down the stampede.
That left Shōta and the Flame Hero to focus on their brawl.
As Endeavor sprinted, Shōta threw the cape up into the air. He dove through Endeavor's legs and somersaulted back onto his feet.
Endeavor stopped after he'd run directly into the cape. It fell on him heavily, like a capture net. Endeavor tried to bat away the large, heavy garment at first. He switched strategies within seconds, choosing to burn it to ash instead.
That need to pivot bought Shōta time to grab a collapsed folding chair. As the hero swung around, Shōta swung the chair into the side of Endeavor's head. The disoriented hero jerked at the hard hit.
“You fight dirty,” Endeavor growled.
Shōta's glitchy laugh rang out, still at top volume. “Not as fun to hit someone that hits back?”
Endeavor wasn't the number one hero for nothing though. Still wavering, Endeavor managed to grab Shōta's left shoulder. Shōta had all but assumed he'd get burned by the man at some point, but that didn't make it any less searingly painful.
The Flame Hero had almost half a foot and over 100 pounds on Shōta, so the next move wouldn't solve his problems. It would make things a whole lot easier though. Shōta's fingers curled around the small metallic cylinder. He jammed it against Endeavor's side.
The sedative drained into Endeavor's abdomen. The hero stumbled back several steps and Shōta pulled the auto-injector back to his hand telekinetically. He couldn't afford to leave something like that behind.
“Wha’ the hell wassat?” Endeavor slurred.
Shōta pressed his pinky finger to his palm to reset to shouting volume. “Just a little something to even the playing field.”
Endeavor reeled back a fiery fist. Thankfully his quirk control faltered with his altered consciousness. The hero's flames guttered out before his punch landed.
The punch was still hard enough that Shōta heard the side of the helmet crack. The hit threw him into a knot of people.
The helmet must not have absorbed as much of the impact as it should. He felt like he was sinking.
No.
He was definitely sinking. Quickly too.
His legs were completely under the surface. Hard but not impossible to move.
Would his helmet hold an air pocket? Or was he about to drown in…pavement?
Terrifying but also somehow familiar.
He took a deep breath as the ground approached the bottom edge of his helmet.
Total darkness. The helmet did keep his air pocket. He still held his breath as long as he could.
He was still totally encased when he had to release his breath. He took and held another. He had to control his breath to conserve oxygen.
Maybe not long now. His feet could wiggle, without the sludgy feeling. Then he could bend his knees.
With a sharp yank on his ankle, Shōta fell fully into open air. His feet hit solid ground. Despite the lightheadedness from holding his breath, he raised his fists.
“Sorry ‘bout not warnin’ ya.”
The person in front of him wore a half-helmet of their own, along with mostly-orange plated armor.
Young. Relaxed. A new sidekick, or a student?
Shōta tentatively lowered his hands a few inches.
“I dunno if this is the ‘right way,’ but I grew up around Shōto. Least as much as anybody coulda,” they said. “I’m glad he's gettin’ out.”
As Shōta's breathing normalized, he could think clearer. It clicked. 1-B. One of Vlad's students. Juzo Honenuki. Mudman. Softening quirk.
Shōta finally matched Honenuki's calm stance.
“You're gonna take care of ‘im, right?” Honenuki asked.
Shōta nodded and held out a hand to him.
The kid's toothy smile peeked out from beneath his helmet, and he shook Shōta's hand. “Get outta here then, Ruse-san. Can't have ‘em catchin’ ya.”
Tenko was waiting on the roof, holding an extra t-shirt and the medical kit. Shōta reached out for it, but the younger man yanked it back. Tenko watched him, dark and furious.
“You've got to be fucking kidding,” Tenko huffed. “You're going to go cross-eyed trying to take care of that yourself.”
Taking off the damaged helmet with one hand was not happening. He begrudgingly acknowledged to himself that he'd be grounded until Hitomi could repair or replace it.
“Fuck's sake,” Tenko said, emptying his hands on the bamboo patio table. He walked over and started carefully removing Shōta's helmet. “Did you call Jiji?”
Shōta was struck silent. Tenko had said “Jiji.” Tenko tossed the helmet onto the table behind himself.
“UA. Did you call or not?” Tenko insisted. “This burn sucks.”
Shōta pulled off the helmet liner on his own. ‘Tomorrow night. Maybe the day after. We have to let things calm back down first.”
“Sit then. We have to get the melted pieces of fabric off.” Tenko opened the case and started to toss items onto the table. He paused and turned when Shōta didn't move. “Did I stutter? Sit already.”
It was relatively easy to publicly call out Endeavor. The 30-minute run home was almost giddy, despite injuries. Throw in medical scissors, tweezers, and some antiseptic though? The swift rush of static made it hard to see, or hear, or think.
Most of it cleared when Hisoka gently pressed Shōta aside. Tenko's expression changed to a mix of fear and anger. They'd missed something he'd said.
“It's not you, kid. It's us. Let me do what I can first.”
“Shit. Sorry Hisoka,” Tenko said, looking disgusted with himself.
“I said it's not you,” Hisoka said irritably. “It was good. Kind. We're just a mess.”
Tenko grumbled something under his breath.
“Excuse me?”
“The two of you are too similar to be near each other right now,” Hizashi said wearily from near the access door. To go unnoticed, he must have come up during the static. “You can head back downstairs, Ten. I got it.”
The two passed each other as they exchanged places and roles. Once Tenko disappeared inside, Hizashi looked at him.
“I'll fix it. Later, when we're both calmer,” Hisoka said, answering the unasked question.
Hizashi nodded. “Sure. How much of all that was actually Shō, by the way, and how much was you?”
“All him, until just now,” Hisoka answered.
“I think he needed that, between you and me,” Hizashi said with a tired smile.
Hisoka smirked. The static was gone now, a pleasant kind of buzz in its place. “The folding chair was my idea though.”
“Of course it was, you feral bastard.”