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Sumire stared at the boy before her, gasping for breath on the ground as blood flooded from his lips. His green eyes were scared and desperate, haunting her mind as she swiftly crouched down and slammed her hands against the bullet wound in his abdomen, eyes wide and body unresponsive.
He was already on his last reset- Already on his final chance. She knew the one thing about his quirk the rest of the Gekkeiju didn’t, she knew he was dying and took death’s hand every time it knocked to come and greet him. He always fucking answered, alwyas fucking let death come in like some life-long froebd he hadn’t seen in years. But he saw death so often, practically met up with it for coffee every damn morning.
Midoriya ran into death every other day at this point, grabbed its hand and let himself be tagged through each timeline. Sumire knew this, for the boy had told her. He had trusted her enough to share vital information that changed the game, that changed everything that could and wouldn’t ever be true. She wouldn’t let anyone manipulate him like she had done.
He joined because of her mistakes. Her emotional manipulation. Traits and actions she had learned from Kazuo. I couldn’t have stopped it, even if I wanted to, right? I wish I could have. I wish I could- I wish I could have helped you, more, Midoriya.
But this time it had been her turn to visit the afterlife and experience the limbo- And her subordinate, no, what was practically her little brother, jumped right there as soon as the gunshot went off; Getting shot twice and crumbling before he could say anything at all.
Sumire wasn’t a saint, she’d killed so many people and watched the world fall under her hands with every witness. She was a person who had killed plenty of furthermore innocent people, and this boy- The boy on the ground with tears in his eyes as crimson ichor pooled under him and stained his sweater was a person she had valued.
He was innocent, just a boy with a set of throwing cards and knives; Sharp blades and weak smiles. Izuku Midoriya was just a teenager starting his life, barely even reaching the depth of what vitality could give you, and now he was dying right by her; Staring into her eyes and struggling to speak.
He couldn’t speak his peace, couldn’t share what was on his mind. It made all of her dams break, made her wish she was stronger and faster and better than what she actually was. Midoriya was a kid, someone who was efficient at what he did because he was driven by fear and some twisted search for validation and affection. He couldn’t share what was going on in his head right now, and it hurt to think about.
It hurt because this vigilante on the ground, bleeding out with shocked eyes and a lazy smile that was so fucking wrong, this vigilante was her subordinate. Was her friend. Was like her little brother, a sibling she would never have. He was dying and she couldn’t even stop it, and this time, there was no insurance that he would be back.
He fucked up. He and her both fucked up, so very, very bad. He had no more resets left, and Sumire hadn’t been quick enough to take the shot so he wouldn’t have to. She didn’t know if he would wake up again, didn’t know if he let his eyes slide shut he wouldn’t exist to see another dawn. Wouldn't taste strawberries or the sweet summer air during the nicest part of the afternoon.
Izuku Midoriya was smiling, painfully with a dead and hollow expression. His skin was pale and unnaturally warm, the blood from his injuries sticky against her hands as she shook. He is about to die- This is where he dies, this is where my friend dies.
He would never see the sunrise again, never get to breathe in the morning air or go for a run on the tracks that his school hosted for him. He would never graduate, would never get to see his peers and friends throw caps into the air and cheer excitedly. He would never be the hero he wanted to be, not legally, and not illegally either. He wouldn’t get to eat ice cream with Mouse or his best friends, wouldn’t get to save her or anyone else or-
“M-Miura,” The boy choked, and his words were slurred and vision glazed over in the limbo- He was already leaving, already fading away as if he never had existed at all. Her eyes were watering under her mask, but she barely noticed.
The crimson liquid was dying her pale and bruised fingers a cherry red. But it wouldn’t taste sweet if such a thing were to touch her tongue and soak into her mouth. It would be bitter and metallic and sad. So, so, so very fucking sad.
It was sickening against her pale complexion, the hues of fire and death and agony. She had seen many things in her life, dead bodies and bleeding people slipping into what must’ve been the afterlife. And yet, she had never seen a friend die before her, not like this, not when she could have saved him. Could have protected and guarded him, taken the hit and been of more help.
The red shade of ichor was sticky and smelled of metallic vengeance, a bloody and gory example of what could and could and couldn’t be true. She wished she could beg someone to save this kid, to save him from death and her from grief. Sumire didn’t want to watch another soul be crushed, didn’t want to watch a child younger than herself ever get hurt again.
Midoriya was choking, gasping and smiling dizzily. He was trying to reassure her, but his words were strained and nothing more than a distant echo in her ears. He wouldn’t make it past a few more minutes, no matter how much pressure she put on his injury or how much she screamed internally for someone to fucking help them.
She wasn’t willing to watch him die, but her eyes were glued onto his; A once bright and lively green turned into something honorably hollow and decayed. He was dying, already slipping away and decomposing internally, even if such a process hadn’t actually started yet.
Soon his body would rot and he would be found out dead. His mother would weep at the loss of her son, her one and only son, and everyone who ever even knew Midoriya would be frozen in shock and guilt and such horrific grief- Sumire would lose herself, too, if she was them. Midoriya was a kind soul, someone far too kind for his position in life and death.
He had always jumped between wanting to die to fix everything, and then living because living was what kept him okay. Death wouldn’t cure his issues, only stop them from existing for a few moments of time. She knew how he thought about such a thing, knew that he wasn’t against dying for another person’s survival.
They had been in the elevator going down to the lobby to leave and complete the mission they had been assigned as a team. A duo, a pair. Just them against an enemy, in the gunfire and violence the Gekkeiju often exposed its pawns to. It was supposed to be a simple mission, or at least in those moments it had been planned to be such a thing.
But it hadn’t turned out that way, had it? Because now Midoriya was bleeding out on the ground and Sumire was panicking, truly, truly panicking. She was so terrified right now, holding pressure on a wound that had already taken her friend's life and was guiding him away. She wished she had the ability to slap death for doing such a thing.
“Miura, if something happens on this mission, I’ll take the hit okay?” He had said, randomly. His voice ahd wavered slightly, a piano-key being pressed too early in the midst of practice. A broken sob, probably, in the back of his mind.the hum of a bird that got choked out by a larger predator, a crow flapping frantically only to be killed under a hawk’s talons.
“That would be silly, wouldn’t it?” Sumire had laughed, almost awkwardly, in hopes of trying to dodge the statement itself. It had a knife pressed to her throat in those moments, sharp and shiny and oh so cold. It had made her head spin, her mind click and heard to start turning slowly. Midoriya wasn’t joking around, he had been dead fucking serious, and it had concerned her.
He had looked at her, confusion in his gaze as he tipped his head to the side. She had wondered if he truly meant such a thing, but her doubt had only lasted a brief millisecond before a crushingly heavy weight formed in her chest. He never lied about life or death situations. “But I-.. I would die for you, Miura.”
“I don’t want you dying over me, Midoriya.” She had said after several moments, pausing where she had stood in the elevator. Her gaze had slid over to the boy, wide and suddenly very confused, a slow and meager reaction. She didn’t know what to say, not to him, a child with what must’ve been a strange and twisted version of a death wish. He never really wanted to die, and couldn’t, not normally, but it scared her.
She knew that now, looking back on the odd and nearly stomach-dropping interaction. She had been scared he meant it, and even though he clearly had meant every word, every implication and every honestly sad laughter, she hadn’t ever wanted to admit such a thing. She still didn’t, she really, really, didn’t.
“I know, I just.. I would, if I had to.” He had said, with a gaze casted down at the ground as the elevator took them down several floors. There were only seven floors to the tower, and yet, it seemed to take an eternity to do so much as go down one. It was odd how strange the atmosphere had felt in those moments.
“Please don’t.” Sumire had mumbled, quietly, her voice form yet bending and bent and crooked. A crumpled piece of papers tearing at the edges. A featherlight voice that belonged to her own throat, a song of a broken girl stuck in a young adult’s body. Blood flowing down, down, down-
She didn’t want him to die, not for her sake, and not for anyone else’s. It was bad enough he was willing to get killed in gruesome manners just for himself and his own long-term survival. And yet, no matter how bad it was, Sumire couldn’t do anything about it. She would never be able to.
So she had stared at him, listened to the jingling of the elevator going down the floors as they waited to reach the lobby. Yamamoto had been tapping away on her computer, checking security like always, but neither of the Gekkeiju members in the elevator had known that until the doors had swung open with a slight creak. The metal entry-way had screeched into a deathly hollow silence, a sound matching the suddenly hollow look on Midoriya’s face.
Sumire wasn’t sure she would ever forget the sudden calculation in his gaze, or the way he bit the inside of his cheek with a small nod; One of disagreement and feigned submission. She wished she had commented on it, just so she could have talked this type of thing over with him one last time.
Talking things over both helped as they did make things worse. For conversations could make things better, just as they could cause everything to go sour and plummet downhill at such a fast rate it was absurd. But that was part of the normal parts of life, always preparing for failure.
Maybe if she had said something, anything at all, he wouldn’t have decided to disobey a simple order such as not taking the pain that belonged to others. Maybe he wouldn’t be dying on the concrete, staring up at her with a clumsy smile and decaying gaze that made sobs wrack Sumire’s body, an ache wrapping around her.
This boy was a child, a child who she wanted to see graduate ab live and have a great life. He craved that above all else, deserved to be happy and gleeful and not be tethered to death by the Gekkeiju or his quirk or her. He looked at her like she was an older sister, a sibling that would always try their best to help him. For fuck’s sake, Sumire would do anything to go back in time and be the sister he had seen her as.
She would march through hell and burning buildings and a land of barren ash and toxicity just to turn back the clock and bare a smile so strained and weak that it would make the dead people far above cry. She wanted to go back, so badly, because maybe if she could, she might’ve had the fucking chance to tell Midoriya how much she cared for him.
He was a teenager with a powerful quirk and a level-head, a gaze made of steel and ice and agony. A pain that was never shared, the burdens of horrific actions never once leaving his head in the form of a breathy plea or quiet sob. He never wretched, not out loud. He never heaved, and even if he did, Sumire would give anything in the world to turn around and hug him tightly.
Midoriya deserved it, deserved to be a boy and a kid. He deserved to forget about being Ace, forget about saving her and everyone else who never seemed to find a way to pay him back for all his kindness. Fuck, dear fucking fuck, this kid was a soul lost to bad luck and discipline that was undeserved.
But she had stared at him in that elevator, her nearly black eyes so confused and perplexed it matched his own calculating expression. Midoriya had opened his mouth once, and then shut it. His gaze was glowed over with something like defiance, but it never boiled. Never foamed up around the edges like real anger would.
“Okay.” He had said, looking at her with a carefully blank expression, picked and displayed from the back of his mind. In that moment, she had known there were gears turning in his head, thoughts clicking together and apologies being spewed but never reaching past the frontlines of his skull, stuck inside his mouth and bubbling through his sore throat.
Midoriya had never lied to her, no, he meant it. He would die for any and everybody, no matter how dangerous such a notion was. If death was to be granted, he would steal its ticket to take the train right to the balance of death and life and the in between. He rode the waves of vengeance and agony because he never wanted another person to feel it.
But Sumire didn’t wnat him to feel it either, for he was a child with a level-head and eyes that had witnessed murder. She wasn’t sure if he had murdered another, or had murdered himself, but she would never dare to ask such a question.
She didn’t have the guts to inquire about such a thing, not then, and certainly not now. She could get the answer herself, could come up with the real reason within a matter of moments if that was what she truly desired. There was no one to spot her besides herself, and she wasn’t about to prevent her own damn hands from putting enough force on her friend's wound. She wouldn’t ask, wouldn't voice such a query.
Sumire wasn’t cruel, and she wasn’t one to wnat agony or be tediously shunning to those around her. She was quick, merciful, and tried her hardest not to think about the pain that might follow if a person didn’t die as fast as her attacks landed. She felt pain, felt sympathy and a shared sense of guilt.
It was unfair of her to want to know an answer when it was so bluntly obvious, so straightforward and so diabolically hurtful. Her subordinate, her friend, was suffering in a cage he locked up himself. He had long since devoured his key, swallowed it whole or thrown it to the wolves and violence far below him.
He was a lost and broken being, a ghost, a former shell of what he used to be. It hurt so badly to try and understand what he could have been. It hurt so badly to try and understand why he chose this path and not one of happiness and freedom. One where he wants a vigilante, where he wasn’t dying all the damn time.
Where he wasn’t coughing and sputtering blood with a gaze so faint it looked as if he was already gone. Where he wasn’t trying to smile painfully at Sumire, trying to say he was sorry. No amount of ‘sorrys’ could ever erase this agony from her heart, though.
He could whisper and cough and choke on apologies that were genuine and achingly sad, words that begged for forgiveness and showed regret for not being able to cling onto a life he clearly wanted to uphold, but it would never help her feel less guilty. It made her feel worse, so much fucking worse.
Because she couldn’t save him. She couldn’t save this boy, and certainly couldn’t save anyone else. Sumire couldn’t even lift her own hands in order to temporarily save herself from pain, let alone the permanent agony that came in the form of being Leadfoot.
She would forever be a killer of her own pride, her own life, and so many others’. She would kill and follow orders as a lieutenant, and she had no power to do anything else but obey and give in. Her options were limited, and she didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to die because she was too weak to hold on and make sure everything could at least be taken care of by the heroes.
“Midoriya- Fuck Midoriya d-don’t you dare close your eyes-“ She sobbed, her voice sharp as she pressed her hands into the injury more. He was going to die, and there was no greater being to save him. There was no one who could stop the bleeding coming from his wound, no one able to stop him from falling asleep and never waking up again. If he fell ill to a dreamless sleep, he would neve peel his eyes open again.
A viridian gaze that was adored by many, known by several people and closely watched and observed, would never be sought out again. If Midoriya died, he would be dead, and it would be Sumire’s fault for not being able to help him. That was all she wanted to do- Help him, make sure he lived. Make sure he was alright, that he didn’t die in these moments.
She wasn’t anyone special, wasn’t a powerful being with powers that could heal and forgive and tend to a person’s pain. She was just a human with the ability to manipulate lead and apparently emotionally unstable teenagers into joining a villain organization. She was just a girl, really, trapped inside a mind and place in time that she wished she could leave.
If she had the courage, she would have abandoned everything and left it behind to rot away like her own two hands. She would have given up a long time ago if she had been just a bit more brave, and a bit more desperate. A bit more longing, a bit more scared. Terrified, even.
Maybe if she had just given up earlier on, had let her feet guide her down the street and to a police station where they could arrest her and lock her up for all the crimes she committed blindly to please Sasaki and make sure Kazuo didn’t lash out at anyone else, maybe if she had just done that since day one, things would be different right now.
Perhaps she would be in jail or Tartarus, but that would be preferable than having ever dragged this innocent kid into villainy. That would be so much better than having to watch a boy younger than herself die, on the ground, the puddle of blood under him only growing by the second.
It was a deep red, a thousand shades deeper than what she remembered blood to be the color of. Maybe in another life it would be a neon orange, a vermillion honeysuckle that smelled of sweet pollen and pretty floral scents. Something to soothe the headache pounding in a person’s head, no matter how horrifying such a thing would be. The coppery smell of death was unpleasant in comparison to such a fantasy.
Sumire Miura wasn’t a saint by any means, but she wished she could have been for the vigilante who had died on that Tuesday night, smiling dizzily at her and calling her name as if to reassure her it was okay.
It wasn’t.