Izuku's Three

unwell unwell unwell

“I don’t need to stay the night,” Izuku yawns. Currently he was sitting up on the sheets of one of the nurse’s beds. Recovery girl was nice and all but this room isn’t home. It isn’t safe. He needs his room, his belongings. His pajamas and patterns and personal items. No, he couldn’t stay in the nurse’s room. Neither would he want to. 

Recovery Girl pursed her lips from where she was standing over a bed, folding clean sheets. “I would prefer to monitor your health for the night.” She spoke carefully. 

Midoriya began scratching the back of his hand again. “But I don’t need to.” He said, feeling frazzled. “I’m not sick, nothing happened.” His gaze was flying around the room, not landing on one thing specifically. Recovery Girl found this notable. 

“I cannot keep you here.” She spoke softly, gaze returning to the sheets. “But I think we can both understand that you’ve felt unwell recently.” 

Midoriya stiffened, breath catching. His gaze stoops wandering and slowly returns to the older lady in front of him. His mind was racing, voices screaming. He could hardly move his body--or at least he felt he couldn't move it. He felt as if cold hands had grabbed his shoulders and were holding him hostage. He could feel the wisps of darkness surrounding him like a confining hug. He felt trapped in his own skin, the layers itching, splitting, begging to be ripped from his muscles and tissues. 

The clock was ticking too loud. He couldn’t find it in himself to look away from Recovery Girl, but he knew the clock just sped up drastically. The hands clenched at his shoulders, nails digging in. They felt as if the sharp edges were dipped in poison. So when the nails broke skin, his blood mingled with the deadly toxins. 

Black wisps turned into green which transitioned from gas to liquid. He could feel the laughter in the back of his head. The cackles of morbid humor surrounding his body. 

He felt his body jerk when the mist gripped at his mouth, pooling into his lungs with a fervor. He was choking next, drowning in the lack of oxygen within his body. He felt his skin ripping, shoulders squeezing, bones bending, throat tightening all at once. Leaving him to feel trapped. 

Some hero, one voice cackled. Can’t even fight back. 

He gasped at the feeling of more hands, this time ripping at his shirt and skin like a flock of bloodlust birds. He was being ripped to shreds and the voices were laughing. Laughing at him. 

Laughing, singing, screaming, dying. 

How will you ever become a hero if you can’t even save yourself? Cooed another sickly sweet voice. 

Midoriya felt chills rake up his spine, altering his vertebrae, leaving the edges to break out of his taut skin. Was his body made to rip itself to shreds? He felt the mist swell, gaining more power as it poisoned him. 

His vision was dimming, colors bleeding into monochrome. The world was slowly losing its life just as he was. He jolted once more, a couple of his muscles spasming even though he was exhausted beyond measure. He couldn’t even feel the movement besides the searing pain that seemed as if it was ripping his body to shreds. He felt deprived. 

Deprived of all his senses. Deprived of all his surroundings, he realized as he suddenly found himself alone. Alone in a dark dark alleyway, struggling to breathe. He felt sick, exhausted, with little fight in himself. 

But he felt a sense of foreboding, where he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. His vision was still faded and dull, much like his body at the moment. He had no energy left to stand up, much less fight or think about what was happening. He scratched at his bloody, scarred hand. And suddenly his breath hitched, pulling in as much oxygen as it could before it completely collapsed in on itself. 

Let’s see if your little keys help you now. One voice purred, their misty hands trailin from his shoulders and caressing his face before slipping away. Midoriya felt so drained he could hardly keep his eyes open, but he did flinch at the voice. He flinched at the sound of rattling from across the room. Or was it a room?

He opened his blurred vision, straining what was left of it to look around him. He couldn’t make out much except darkness and a singular form of light cascading into the room from a dome like structure. A tunnel, perhaps?

And his eyes closed, unable to stay open any longer. He tried to get his body to work, to stand, to walk away to open his eyes and see correctly. But he was trapped in his own bloodied skin. And he was unable to do anything about it. 

“Ah, a perfect meat suit just laying around? Must be my lucky day.” 

He would have flinched again if it wasn’t for his body’s inability to do so.