Work Text:
Objectively, Kirishima knew he was dreaming. He was sitting with a few of his friends next to a huge stone wall--like something right out of a fairytale--and they were just trying to figure out who would be getting who for secret santa. Never mind that Christmas was a month ago, and never mind that Kirishima was pretty sure he’d never seen this place before in his life.
He’d definitely never been to a castle like this, with a moat and everything, but (as it does) his brain easily tricked itself into familiarity. He turned his head and there, in the middle of the moat, was a small island, a few barren trees poking up through the snow. As is the way with dreams, he’d no more thought about the copse before Kirishima was suddenly standing there, water flowing passively by a few feet away on either side of him.
Looking up, he was puzzled to see a kid’s stuffed animal trapped in the crooks of the branches, its once vibrant yellow now muted and sullied with dirt. Without looking, he knew about the wall of water suddenly coming, there was no shock of surprise when he was suddenly floating through dark water. He didn’t struggle, didn’t fight, didn’t try to swim to the surface. He just lay there, letting the current sweep him away--away from the surface, away from the sun, away from his friends. A chill started in the center of his chest, spreading outward and he knew, in that moment, that he was about to die.
And then he was awake, staring at the dark ceiling above him. The chill was still present, flowing like ice through his veins, and he took a deep breath, trying to get it to dissipate and, after several long moments, it did. He couldn’t shake the unsettled feeling it left behind and, with a sigh, Kirishima slid from the bed. A quick glance at the clock told him it was only 6AM, about 3 hours before he could even consider waking up Bakugou. May as well go for his morning jog early.
Kirishima tiptoed over to his dresser, pulling out a t-shirt and some sweats, before walking into the bathroom to pull his hair back into a ponytail and get dressed. Before he knew it, he was slipping out the door and out into the cool morning air.
The sky was starting to lighten, though the sun still hadn’t risen above the horizon, and there wasn’t a cloud in sight. The air was brisk and had him breaking out in goosebumps before he started to warm up and adjust. Maybe he pushed himself a little harder than he usually did at the start of his runs, but he still couldn’t quite escape the paranoid feeling in the pit of his stomach.
He knew what that stuffed animal was, knew what that wall of water was, knew when he chose this career that he wouldn’t be able to save everyone, but that didn’t mean that sometimes he wished he could forget. Forget the empty eyes of the people he couldn’t get to in time, the broken picture frames and toys left in flooded streets. Forget the broken stares of people who had just lost everything, who had nowhere to go and no idea what to do. Forget how helpless he felt trying to get people out, but having to turn people away because the shuttle was currently full. Kirishima always knew he wouldn’t be able to save everyone, but he’d never thought he’d have to look someone in the eye and tell them that.
The tsunami that struck South Japan was three years ago, a normal occurrence in the grand scheme of things. Japan was familiar with tsunamis, it’d been subjected to them for millions of years--one of the risks of living along a subduction zone--yet they never failed to be less than traumatic. Kirishima, along with several other heroes, had been called south almost as soon as the earthquake had struck.
The shorelines closest to the epicenter had at most a few minutes to get to high ground before the tsunami hit, and it wasn’t enough time. It would never be enough time. Japan had one of the best seismic warning systems in the world, and they had worked perfectly. Tsunami warning sirens had begun at the first hint of a tremor, but the earthquake had hit and the disorientation had cost the people precious seconds of running. By the time the shaking had subsided and people had made their way outside, the tsunami was upon them. Even the presence of the sea walls wasn’t enough to protect the people nearest to the shore.
They were told to reassure themselves that this disaster wasn’t as bad as it could have been--that the things they had learned from the disastrous tsunami in 2011 had prevented this event from being catastrophic--but Kirishima couldn’t do that. He couldn’t pat himself on the back and say “it could’ve been worse” because it was worse for some people. People still died, people were still hurt, countless more lost their homes, jobs, everything, and there had been nothing he could do about it.
Kirishima borderline crashed against a railing, panting as he leaned over, staring down at the river below. His knuckles were white as they gripped around the wrought iron and it took all his focus to pry them off, spinning around and sliding down until his back was resting against the guard. This was ridiculous, he shouldn’t be freaking out like this. He wasn’t the only hero that day, he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t save everyone, who saw how destructive the ocean could be. If anything, the survivors should be feeling like this more than him.
Groaning, Kirishima leaned forward and pressed his forehead to his knees, trying to calm his beating heart. He remembered that tree, that stuffed animal--it had probably been a fluffy duck once. He remembered standing there, looking up at it and thinking how no child could have gotten it up there. Gradually, his heart rate started to slow and he leaned his head back, resting against the metal slats behind him. He stayed there until a shadow blocked the light from behind his eyelids.
“You alright, kid?” A voice asked.
Cracking his eyes open, Kirishima blinked up at the woman hovering above him. She was older, maybe in her fifties, and holding a cloth bag full of groceries. Ah, so on her morning market run.
Kirishima pulled a smile to his face. This, performing to the public, reassuring them, promising everything was okay--even when it wasn’t--this was what he knew how to do. This is what he was good at.
“Yeah, everything is fine,” he said, smiling bright and getting to his feet, “just pushed myself a little too much is all.”
The woman gave him a gentle smile and Kirishima went to open his mouth, about to thank her for her concern, when she interrupted him.
“My wife used to do that, too.”
“Run too long?”
“Hide behind a smile.”
Kirishima froze, and, for the first time in a long time, felt his smile crack. “I’m not hiding anything.”
“Didn’t you ever learn not to lie to old people? We’ll always catch it.”
He felt the cracks spreading, and started to panic. He couldn’t crack, he was supposed to be unbreakable. People relied on him, he supported them, helped them, he was their shield, if he broke, what would happen to everyone he protected?
He felt a thwap against his face. Did...did she just hit his cheek with a leek? Kirishima stared at this woman in disbelief, shock taking over and freezing his panic in its tracks.
“That’s better. Here, take this,” she stashed the leek back in her bag and handed it over to Kirishima, who took it unthinkingly. “Now, you’re going to help carry an old woman’s groceries, and I’m going to make you a nice cup of tea as a reward.”
The woman started walking off without another word, and it took Kirishima a few moments before he tripped over his feet to follow her.
She led him to a comfortable little house along the river, maybe about a half kilometer away. A large maple tree stretched its bare limbs over the yard, and no doubt it would stay shaded and cool once the heat of summer hit. Inside was a bit crowded (Kirishima barely fit through the front door) but homey, and Kirishima kicked his shoes off neatly next to the woman’s as she led him further inside.
“Put the bag on the counter and take a seat at the table,” she said as she started to bustle around the little kitchen, collecting everything she would need for a pot of tea.
Kirishima did as he was told and licked his lips, “I’m-uh-I’m Kirishima. Probably shoulda said that earli-”
“Yuri,” she said without any preamble, “Made my wife laugh at the irony when we first met.”
Kirishima hummed and clasped his hands in front of him, not quite sure what to do with them. A quick glance at a clock on the wall confirmed that it was still early, so he wasn’t really feeling pressured to get home yet, and wasn’t quite willing to be back in public again now that he was out of it.
“So,” she--Yuri--said, turning around after had she set the water to boil, “Why were you out so early?”
“I-uh-I always go for a run in the mornin-,”
She waved off his statement, “Oh I’m sure I’m sure. But what made you run this morning?”
Kirishima looked down at his hands and paused for several long moments before answering quietly. “Nightmare.”
Yuri nodded and turned to check on the water. “People don’t run from bad dreams unless the real nightmares are the memories that prompted them.”
She didn’t bother asking this time, and Kirishima sighed. This woman didn’t seem to accept anything but the truth, and she seemed to have an uncanny ability to figure when he was lying.
“I...failed...a lot of people a few years ago. I helped some, but I couldn’t help enough.”
Yuri just made a small humming noise, and Kirishima felt like a part of him chipped away.
“There were a lot of people killed, and a lot more hurt. I had to look kids in the eye and tell them they wouldn’t be seeing their parents again, and I had to tell parents that we couldn’t find their child. I was handing out supplies and had to look the people in the eye and tell them when we didn’t have anymore left.”
“Sounds like a tough time.”
“Tough doesn’t cover it. I’m...I’m scared, that one day I’m gonna find one of those people I said no to. I’m scared that they’re going to remember me as the one who wouldn’t help them. I’m even more scared that one day I’ll find out that something bad happened after that, and that it was my fault.”
Yuri hummed again and grabbed a couple mugs from a cabinet. “My wife was a teacher. A music teacher,” she smiled a little as she packed some tea leaves into a couple little strainers, “She used to believe more than anything that music was a key to the heart. Used to sing to me when we were young. Every year, without fail, she would have students come through that needed a little extra care, extra attention, and she would come home, convinced it was her role in life to help them.”
Kirishima winced a little.
“The kids would show their need in different ways, but Miyuki was ridiculously good at spotting it every time. Sometimes they were the loud ones, sometimes the quiet ones. Sometimes it was in the things they said, and sometimes in the things they didn’t say. Still, Miyuki was convinced that, if she did things right, offered the right options, that Music could bring these kids some peace, some kind of option that wasn’t there before.”
She put the tea strainers in the mugs and poured hot water over, letting the tea steep. “Some of her kids found things in them they never knew they had. They found a passion for music, much like Miyuki had, and went on with their lives, never forgetting her or what she did for them. Others, they just didn’t care. Maybe they weren’t as troubled as she thought, maybe they didn’t want help, or maybe she just wasn’t the right person for the job. Miyuki was one person, with one personality, and one skillset. She couldn’t be expected to be the help every person--with all their different needs and mentalities--needed.”
Kirishima sighed. He knew where she was trying to go with this, where so many people had tried to get him to go before. He opened his mouth to interrupt, but she sat the mug in front of him instead.
“No, don’t say anything. Shut your mouth, drink, and listen to your elders.”
Kirishima flushed, and instantly raised the mug to his mouth, wincing as it burned his tongue.
“Where the hell was I?” Yuri lifted her mug and drank as if it wasn’t the same tea that had just scalded his mouth. How-? “Ah, yeah. Miyuki knew that she didn’t manage to affect more than a fraction of the students she taught. She would watch them grow, see some go down bad roads, some found their passions from other sources, other teachers. Sometimes it got to her, but she would smile, try to cover it up, and I would nitpick at her until she spilled. She would usually cry, too, but sometimes all you need is a good cry. Depends on the person, though.
“Miyuki was a teacher for many years--at one point, I’m pretty sure the students and staff starting thinking about her as permanent (and gnarled) as the old cherry tree in front of the school--but she never stopped trying to help her kids. She realized after a while that worrying about every kid she couldn’t help was making it awfully hard to help the kids in front of her right that moment.”
There it was, the moral of the story. Kirishima couldn’t deny that it made a certain kind of sense, but--
A balled up napkin hit him in the forehead.
“Stop overthinking it, you mule.”
Kirishima was starting to think that Yuri was the real mule here.
“I share my dearly departed’s story and you second guess it. Whatever happened to respect in this generation?”
“I am respecting! But there’s a big difference between a teacher and a h--”
“A what, boy? A hero? You think bein’ a hero is all just punching, or somethin’?”
“No, I--”
“Go head, stick your foot in your mouth some more.”
Silence.
Okay, so maybe she did have a point. Helping people was helping people after all, right? And he was kind of an asshole for trying to imply that his help was more important or something. Kirishima sighed. He probably needed to work on it some more, but at least the uneasy feeling that had been lingering since his nightmare was finally fading away. He didn’t feel so on edge--so close to chipping away. That had to be good for something, right?
“Listen, kid, do you got someone you’re close to?”
Flashes of orange and yellow and copious amounts of swearing filled his mind, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Yeah, I do.”
“Get over yourself and chat with them a bit, yeah? They know you a hell of a lot better than I do. They’ll have a better idea of what you need to hear.”
That was pretty standard advice, and Kirishima knew it, but hearing it now suddenly made it seem a lot more manageable. He wasn’t sure how to start the conversation, he was starting to realize that that was just an excuse, and men didn’t give themselves excuses.
Yuri and Kirishima finished their tea in peace, and Yuri kept telling silly stories about Miyuki and the trouble they’d always gotten up to when they were young (and even later, if Yuri was to be believed).
Finally, a glance at the clock told Kirishima that he should probably be getting home before Bakugou woke up and started getting worried (and grumpier than he usually was in the mornings). Maybe he could stop by and bring him coffee? Yeah, he’d probably like that. Standing up, Kirishima collected both of their mugs and set them next to the sink, before turning and rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.
“Uh, thanks. For like, steppin’ in and all. Not sure how you knew I needed it but, yeah.”
Yuri laughed. “It’s my quirk. I have very good hearing. Can even hear the little skip your heartbeat makes when you tell a lie. I used to be one hell of a lawyer, y’know.”
“Oh.” That...made a lot of sense.
“C’mon kid, get outta my house. You’re so big, I’m afraid you’re gonna hit a wall and send it all crashing down.”
Kirishima laughed and they made their way to the front door. He slid his shoes on and stepped outside, enjoying the feeling of being able to stand fully upright without worrying about knocking into anything. He glanced at the road behind him, and turned back with a smile.
“Thanks for the tea, Yuri-san.” he said, before turning to go, but something made him pause. It was a morbid curiosity, nothing more really, and by no means was it his place to ask, but to his horror, the moment the thought crossed his mind, his mouth was opening to ask.
“Um, Yuri-san, could I ask when Mikyuki passed away?” How long had this woman been alone in a house full of loved, but likely painful memories?
A sad smile crossed her face and she shrugged. “A few years back. She was invited down south to teach a musical workshop for a bunch of kids when the tsunami sirens went off. She stayed downstairs to make sure all the kids got to the roof of the concert hall and got trapped. If I recall, it was one of your boats that came and picked the kids up later. Keep fightin the fight, Red Riot. You’re a good kid.”
And the door closed in his face.