Era

20

She was spiraling, and it was made all the worse because she could feel it happening in real time and she knew why, what was causing it. Staying in this white-walled room with its clinical smells and sounds and lights blinking from the shadows... it was crawling up her throat with a slow-burning panic. She needed to leave. Get out of here, remind herself that she wasn't trapped.

Aren't you, though? Grimacing at the thought, Era slipped out of the bed. If you're free to go, then why do you move so quietly? Are you really so naïve, little bird?

Why did those thoughts always have to sound like him. Couldn't she be granted this one solace, a single reprise within the confines of her own waking mind?

Era huffed, picking at the thin hospital gown as she carefully slid the door open and checked the hallway to find it empty. Of course she couldn't. It had been said before and it would be said again: Era was broken. There would be no changing that, not without suffering. And she was too much of a coward to let them fix her like that, so broken she'd remain.

She needed to remember why she was here. What the stakes were, whether she'd completed the bare minimum or miserably failed once again. My fault.

They told her Eraserhead was alive, but heroes lie, over and over and over again they lie. She just needed to see him. Just a quick glance, anything to confirm that he was still breathing, and then she would be satisfied.

Foolish, because you are never satisfied, are you little bird? Nothing's enough for you.

His voice, his voice...

Finding Eraserhead wasn't all that difficult. Aizawa, his students had called him, and it didn't take long for Era to find a door with that name. Dodging nurses and doctors was even easier; their footsteps echoed down the empty hallways long before they appeared, and they were so distracted with their work that they never noticed when she ducked into the shadows or a spare room.

She settled herself as she placed her hand on the doorknob, feeling the cold metal seep into her palm before she finally slid open the door.

This was worse. She should have known, they always told her that ignorance was a blessing but she was always just so greedy, always had to know because the not knowing gnawed at her bones and burned holes in her lungs but it was better, it was always better than seeing it for herself—

Breathe. She tried, she really tried but she just couldn't, not when every gasp was laced with that horrible scent of chemicals and the shrill beep of the heart monitor grated against her ears and she could still see shattered bones matted hair limp bodies my fault my fault my—

He was alive. That was all that mattered, right?

Era entered the room and closed the door behind her, forcing herself not to startle at every errant noise as she crossed over to the bed.

He was alive, yes, but he'd clearly undergone surgery. Extensive surgery. Era picked up the clipboard at his bedside, reading over his treatments and injuries with gritted teeth.

Shattered arms, cracked ribs, extensive internal bleeding, a fractured orbital floor... recovery of sight unsure.

Sight. Eraserhead had a sight-based quirk. Era brought her fist up to her mouth, biting down on her knuckles until she could taste iron. Eraserhead relied on his eyes for his job, for his fighting, for being a pro-hero... she didn't. She could lose a limb, an organ or two, and be absolutely fine. Her head could be crushed to a fine mist and it would be no big loss for the world as a whole. Eraserhead was a hero. He was needed, wanted, would be missed by friends and students and the world as a whole. Era was...