#begone to the oc graveyard

[tricklesandtides]

Rising Stars [4]

If there's one thing that U.A. prides itself on, it's the strength and solidarity of its students. Regardless of their quirks, students of the hero course were put through intensive physical regimes, were expected to be in peak condition at all times. Sero was no exception. He had too much to prove, too much to compensate for, to neglect his body. Plus, it's difficult to slack off on training when one of your best friends is Bakugou Katsuki.

This makes it devastatingly embarrassing when Sero feels his strength start to dissipate.

Yosetsu Awase, U.A. alumni , class B graduate. While the competitive spirit flew high between classes A and B, there was a kinship too. They fought, and argued (some more than others), but who else could understand the trials and tribulations of the hero course?

Awase drags Sero to his feet, yelling to his companion picking through the rubble beyond them. Sero wobbles, clinging to Awase's arm. Thick ropes of pink hair fly wildly, as Hatsume Mei climbs out of the wreckage, arms full of busted computer parts.

“Do we really need those? They don't even look like they work.”

“Of course they don't work, why do you think I'm bringing them with us? They need me!”

Am I blinking too much? Sero finds himself thinking. Is this how I normally feel? Should I say something? Experimentally, he closes his eyes, and finds instant relief. The world fades and the voices of Awase and Hatsume fade, and all Sero feels is relief.

When Sero opens his eyes next, his face is pressed up against someone's shoulder. His arms are wrapped around their neck, his long legs dragging on the ground behind him. He recognizes Awase's spiky black hair, poking him in the cheek. Awase has Sero draped over his shoulders, Hatsume keeping pace beside them.

“Sorry for the rough trip,” Awase says, feeling Sero begin to stir. “Best I could manage under the circumstances.”

“You owe me, by the way,” Hatsume pipes in, a bright smile on her face.

Sero weakly turns his head to look at her. He groans out, not trusting himself to speak.

“We could have managed a whole lot more scrap if we didn't have you with us,” she explains. “So next trip, you'll just be my pack mule.”

“Mei, he can barely walk, let alone-”

“Should have thought of that before he ruined my day!” Hatsume slaps Sero lightly on the back, causing stars to flit across his field of vision, and his ears to ring. He hears Awase speak again, but can't make out the words.

“We're here.”

Sero lifts his head, taking in the sight around him. A dirty, trampled patch of earth surrounds an expanse of concrete. A few partial walls stand, built into the foundation, and lengths of rope tied tightly around them. From the ropes hang tarps and blankets, offering several humble shelters. A handful of tents are scattered around, fit in between the broken lumps where other walls once stood. Off in the distance, perhaps 30 feet from the concrete, lays a pile of debris, the remnants of those same walls.

A couple of people stand between the shelters, and Sero stares at them with wide eyes. He'd never known how many people had managed to pull through. His group had never ran into others. He had barely stopped to consider the possibility of other groups, because as soon as he started to think about the number of people who survived, he would start to think about the identities of people who survived. And he had grieved enough.

Awase drags Sero into a tent on the outer perimeter of the camp. A middle aged woman sits inside, sorting through a heavy metal toolbox.

“He needs help. Don't know what, specifically.”

Sero finds himself on an air mattress, one covered by a thick, multi-colored quilt. The woman hovers over him, expression neutral.

“What happened?” She turns and begins to collect items from the toolbox.

“Collapsed building. Bitch that was with him left him to die. Passed out. Wasn't breathing.”

She shines a light into his eyes. When Sero flinches away, she grabs his face, forcing it back towards her. “Chest compressions?”

“Yup. And he passed out again on the way here.”

“How long before you got him breathing again?”

She lifts up his baggy shirt, leaving it pooled around his neck. She slops a stethoscope onto her ears, pressing the cool metal disc to his skin. He breathes in and out, deeply, slowly.

“I'm not sure.” Sero can't see Awase, but his voice is close. “As soon as we head the building go, we ran over. Didn't even realize anyone was in there at first.”

“How long?”

“I don't know! Maybe ten minutes? Maybe less? Hatsume dove right in to scrounge for stuff, and he was sitting right there at the top of the pile so it didn't take long to-”

“Awase” The woman stops, and turns away, lowering her voice. Sero turns his head, and can barely make out the form of Awase, just beyond the doctor. “This boy's lucky to be alive. He may not stay that way.”

“What?” Sero can't believe how rough his voice sounds. The woman's gaze shifts back to him.

“I'll do what I can,” she says, slowly,” but I don't have the tools for this. Oxygen deprivation is dangerous enough on its own, let alone without treatment. I don't know what effect it's had on you.”

After that, she shoos Awase out of the tent, instructing him to return with water.

“I'm going to get you to answer a few questions, alright?” she says. Sero nods. “Do you remember your name?”

“Sero Hanta.”

“Age?”

“Twenty.”

“Date of birth?”

“July 28, 1998.”

“High school?”

“U.A.”

“Year of graduation?”

“2017.”

“Can you sit up on your own?”

Sero does, with difficulty. Bruised ribs? Broken? Who knows. Falling two stories and having a building land on you does that, sometimes.

“Squeeze my hand, please.” The doctor reaches out a hand, her eyes boring into him. He takes it with his right hand, squeezing tightly. She nods. “The other, now.”

He shifts her hand to his left, trying to ignore the shaking in his arm as he does. He presses down as tightly as he can.

“Squeeze it, please.”

“I am.”

Sero can feel it. The lack of strength, the lack of control. The woman drops his hand, clasping hers tightly together. Neither say anything as the minutes pass. She hesitates before speaking again.

“The longer the body spends without proper oxygenation, the greater the risk of, well...” She trails off, unable to meet his eyes. “Permanent damage.”

Sero doesn't reply. She runs through a handful of tests, which pass in a blur. He's damaged. Worse than useless. Who knows what else is wrong with him. Eventually, the doctor excuses herself, leaving Sero along in the tent. Just how it should be.

The next two days pass slowly. Unable to determine if anything else is amiss, the doctor begins Sero with some kind of off-brand form of physical therapy. Exercises focusing on his left hand and arm. Squeezing balls of cloth. They hurt. Sero can't tell if they make a difference. In a way, he'd rather they didn't.

Awase forces him to eat. This camp is smaller than Sero's, with about half as many people. Meals are more community based. Everyone huddles closely together, laughing and joking and telling stories. Sero sits and eats and gazes into space.

“I appreciate all you've done,” Sero tries to explain to Awase,” I really do. But I need to go back.”

Would he really go back to his group once he left this one? Who knew.

“They left you for dead. We both know they don't give a shit about you,” Awase laughs.

“I can't just leave them. It's not right.”

As much as the two argue, Sero finds himself staying just one more night. Then through the day. And then the next night. Every morning, they have the same argument.

“You're not well enough to go on your own.”

“I made it this far. You think a little tumble's gonna keep me down?”

Every night, the same excuses.

“I'll stay just one more sleep. Then I've got to go. First thing tomorrow.”

“If you stay put all night, I'll take you there myself.”

On the fifth day, the tiny camp is buzzing. Sero wanders past the tents, searching for his fellow alumni. He finds them in the center, under the largest grouping of tarps and blankets, where the rest of the camp is gathered.

“You were gone so long! Did something happen?!”

“Find anything good? Food? Chips? Chocolate?”

“Weren't even supposed to go that far! Why can't you ever listen.”

A blonde boy stands in the center of the group, his back to Sero. Awase and Hatsume stand beside him, the others in the camp pressed close around the trio.

“Oh, you know. Just the usual business. Thought I'd go sight seeing a l'il, too. See if I couldn't find anything good.”

Sero knows that voice. He starts to walk towards the crowd.

“Well did  you?”

“Nah, nothin' this time.”

Sero breaks through, elbows making a path between the bodies. He grabs the boy's shoulder with his good hand, spinning him around. He fights back tears as he takes in the face in front of him. Wordlessly, the two embrace, wrapping their arms around each other.

“You never bothered to mention this,” Sero says to Awase, accusatory.

“Wow, rude,” Kaminari interjects, grabbing Sero's shoulders and putting enough space between them to look him in the face. “I actually have a name, and it's not 'this'.”

Sero laughs and hugs him again. “I missed you, man.”

“Ditto. I'm glad you're alright.”

A grin fills Sero's face. One bigger than he's let out in months.

“Still plannin' on makin' a swift exit?” Awase asks. Sero can hear the smirk in his voice.

“You were going to leave?” Kaminari asks, his eyes narrowed.

“No,” Sero replies. “I think I'll do just fine right here.”

First Part