IidaTodo One-shots

~ Holding on for you ~

~ Future TodoIida/BakuDeku ect. ~

   ~ A/N ~ : This is angst and I am sorry 

   ~ Todo POV ~ :    

       If he had had time to think about it later, he would have chalked it up to fatigue.

As his friends faced off with the villains, he and the villain called Fatima started fighting. Her power appeared to be telekinesis, and she was flinging all kinds of things at him from across the room - knives, books, bottles. He could see her growing angrier as he placed ice in front of him, dodging every hit, getting a few punches in, until eventually, she had him cornered at the foot of the staircase near the front door to the building, beneath a big chandelier.

And just like that, as she seized a flying fireplace poker out of the air and flung it at him with superpowered force and a scream of frustration, his powers failed.

He didn't do anything in time.

Despite his long years of practice, the sudden violence of the blow was breathtaking. From one moment to the next he flew back, his back and head striking the wall as one, a sharp, dazzling pain immediately exploding behind his eyes. This pain was mirrored deep in his chest, and for a moment he felt as though he was stuck fast to the wall; before he was pulled suddenly forward as something yanked him free. He staggered, and reflexively, his hand went to his chest, feeling a wet warmness. His eyes darted up as he gasped, winded and unable to get his breath. His chest continued to ache from the blow. As his vision cleared, he blinked up at Fatina who stood before him, just a few steps away. She was very still, the fireplace poker held rigidly above her shoulder as though she had just caught it like a returning spear. Her left hand was up, suspended in the air between them. Her eyes were fixed on Todo's, and Todo saw unexpected regret in her eyes.

Regret, and pity.

He heaved in another shaky breath, in preparation to say something, to perhaps step forward, recommence the attack. But yet again, the breath caught in his chest, a juddering, stuttering catch that flared with a sharp white-hot pain as he took a deep gasping breath, and his vision greyed out as suddenly his knees caved. He collapsed back into the wall like a cradling hand and slid bonelessly to the floor, noting with detached foreboding the vivid streak of red his falling body had left on the wallpaper. A cough forced his awareness again to the deep, aching pain in his chest. And with growing horror, he became aware of the wet whistling beneath his clutching hands, of the copper taste in his mouth, of the oozing tickling of blood trickling down his cheek. His gaze found Fatima's again, looking down at him now as he lay splayed on his side against the skirting boards, and she gave a slight shake of her head before turning on her heel and striding from the room, the fireplace poker clattering to the ground beside him.

Shit.

He tried to drag himself up, but could barely get himself up on his elbows before he was falling forwards, bringing his hands protectively up to his wounded chest. He noted with apprehension that he was lying in a pool of blood that seemed to grow larger with every sputtering, heaving gulp of air. He rolled onto his back and clenched his hands into fists.

Throughout his long life, despair had always been the one emotion Todo could not tolerate at any cost. To despair in the apocalypse was to take a step down a road from which there was no return. To give in to despair would be to jeopardise his mission, and his family, and therefore could not be countenanced.

But now, as he began to shiver with a deep, aching cold that began in his bones, as the pain in his chest burned like a lit flare, as he took shallower and shallower breaths... despair descended on him like a hated enemy. He was dying, in the foyer of a home that wasn't really his, a pale, imitation. He was dying alone while his friends fought for their lives in the other room. He was going to die and leave them unprotected. These last few minutes with them were all he would get.