Chapter Text
“Is it just me, or are villains getting weirder?”
Mashirao chuckled as his classmates added their opinions to Tohru’s comment. He wasn’t sure this villain was weird, but...okay, maybe he was weird.
The villain looked like something out of Power Loader’s nightmares. His body was fused into a large machine, but Mashirao couldn’t quite figure out what kind of machine it was. It could have been an old-fashioned farming machine—like the threshers he’d seen out in the fields near his hometown, though this one was much bulkier. Those threshers had had rotating blades close to the ground, but this machine had two rotating cylinders with long, heavy spokes on the front. Kind of made him think of a giant egg beater.
The specifications didn’t matter, in the end. What mattered the most, was that this man was tearing up the pavement and crushing everything he got his hands...er, egg beater...on.
“Tailman, you ready?”
“Ready,” he replied, crouching low behind an abandoned car to watch Sero swing in above him. His classmate sent out streams of tape, tangling up the detritus the villain was churning up. The tape twisted between the beaters, so that chunks of pavement and rock got caught partway, grinding the machine’s destructive power to a halt.
“You’re up, Ojiro.”
He didn’t bother to reply, sprinting out of cover toward the machine. As he got closer, Mashirao could see that it was cobbled together from multiple pieces of equipment. Maybe the villain’s quirk let him fuse machines together?
There wasn’t time to study it. Mashirao got a foot on one of the spokes of the lower cylinder. It shifted beneath him, but held tight, and he kicked off to flip up and over the cylinders, aiming to jump his way up to the cockpit and catch the villain.
The cylinder shifted again. With a horrible crunch, it began to twist again. Sero’s tape ripped away, chunks of pavement churned beneath Mashirao’s feet, and he twisted in midair to try to kick away from the rotating cylinders.
Too late. His foot couldn’t find purchase to kick away, and he scrambled for a handhold on the front of the machine, desperate to keep himself away from the giant, twisting thresher beneath him. He slipped, flung out his arm to grab something, and bit out a sharp cry of pain as something yanked back on his tail.
It pulled him down, into the whirring crush of the spinning cylinders beneath him. He couldn’t tell whether he should tense his tail up to try to break his way out, or let it go limp to try to avoid further damage. Heavy metal bars—at least they weren’t blades—thudded against his body, pulling him in deeper no matter how he fought.
He’d watched this thing churn up asphalt like it was nothing. Who knew what it could do to a flesh and blood body like his?
Mashirao fought desperately to pull himself out. For every painful inch he managed to haul himself free, the machine would pull him in another two. It had one of his feet now, and he tried to brace the other against the other cylinder, praying by some miracle he could push them apart.
And then, it just...stopped. The cylinders slipped apart, knocking him off-balance enough that he crashed to the ground. Behind him, the machine was breaking apart in chunks, and Mashirao barely managed to roll out of the way as a long section came crashing down nearly on top of him.
Everything hurt. His tail was the worst, and he lay on the ground panting as waves of pain rolled over him. He didn’t have the strength to check if anything was broken, and he barely managed to get his hands beneath him to try to drag himself away from the broken-down machine.
There was a yell behind him, and Mashirao glanced over his shoulder to see Sero pulling a man away from the machine and wrapping tape around his wrists to bind them together. Tohru’s gloves floated in the air next to him as she helped him subdue the villain.
“Hang on, kid. I’ve gotcha.”
His body relaxed at the familiar voice, and he reached out to grab for Mr. Aizawa’s arm as his teacher crouched beside him. He’d forgotten Aizawa was supervising their patrol today, but he had to admit he was grateful to see him. “Thanks,” Mashirao panted. “Did you take him out?”
The man grunted. Careful hands prodded at Mashirao’s neck and back, then down his right leg to check the ankle that had gotten caught in the thresher. “His quirk was holding it together,” Aizawa explained.
Mashirao nodded. Pain was shooting through his body with every movement, sharp enough to knock his breath away. “How bad is it?” he ground out as he felt Aizawa’s hands on his tail.
“No obvious breaks,” his teacher replied. “You got lucky, kid.”
He wanted to laugh, but just collapsed against the pavement. “This is lucky?”
“You’ve still got a tail.”
Now he did laugh, though it broke off in a groan of pain. He’d strained the muscles in his chest and back trying to keep himself out of the thresher, and he thought he could feel every blow he’d taken to his tail and leg.
“Looks like bruises and deep tissue injuries,” Aizawa finally said. “Can you stand?”
He didn’t want to. He really didn’t want to. But this was still an active disaster scene, and containment officers were already rolling in to take the villain into custody. The sooner he got out of the way—and either back to Recovery Girl or on to the hospital—the better. “I think so.”
“Don’t push yourself,” his teacher warned. “Lean on me, kid. Come on, on your feet.”
Mashirao gingerly wrapped one arm around Aizawa’s shoulders and let the man help him to his feet. His entire body protested, and he had to stop to catch his breath. “Sorry,” he panted. “Um...am I too heavy?”
Aizawa sighed. “Kid, I’m not fragile. I could throw you over my shoulder and sprint back to campus without breaking a sweat. Now, can you walk, or do I start running?”
He started to laugh again, but it faded into a groan as he wrapped his free arm around his chest to cradle his ribs. “Sorry. Walking’s fine.”
“That’s what I thought.” Aizawa held him steady while Mashirao gritted his teeth through another wave of pain. Then they were moving, one step at a time, shuffling their way toward one of the school vans.
Aizawa was talking to someone, but Mashirao kept his focus on putting one foot in front of the other. He could barely put any weight on his right foot, and his ankle just buckled underneath him when he tried, but he forced himself to keep moving. The other option was letting Aizawa carry him, and...yeah, that wasn’t happening. He might be hurt, but he still had his pride.
“Chiiyo says hospital,” Aizawa finally said, and Mashirao glanced up at him in time to see the man tuck his phone into his pocket. “She agrees it’s probably just contusions and maybe some torn muscles, but a few x-rays wouldn’t hurt to rule out serious damage.”
He nodded, breathless from the effort of walking to the van. They finally reached it, and Aizawa all but lifted him into it, letting Mashirao curl up on the floor and breathe through another wave of pain.
“You good to wait while I check on the others?” the man asked, resting a hand on the top of Mashirao’s head. “I get a bulk discount at the hospital if I bring in three or more students.”
Mashirao groaned, curling in on himself. “Please don’t make me laugh right now, Mr. Aizwa.”
Aizawa grunted. His expression was gruff, as always, but the hand on Mashirao’s head was gentle. “I’ll be right back.”
He nodded. “Thanks.”
“You don’t have to thank me.” Aizawa straightened up, staring down at Mashirao for a long moment. “That’s two more gray hairs you’ve given me. At this rate, you’ll catch up to Midoriya by graduation.”
Mashirao spluttered, cradling his aching ribs with one arm as his teacher strode away. “That’s not fair,” he called after the man, as soon as he could catch his breath. “I said don’t make me laugh!”