Chapter Twenty: Just hang in there.

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Hiro felt as though he was floating in a pool of inky black again. Only, unlike last time, he felt every ache and pain from the first moment he realized he was breathing again. Just like before, his world was dark, even when he thought he'd opened his eyes. But there were no stars to shine on him from above, and no sense of falling either.

His body burned with an unquenchable fire that brought both pain and the most uncomfortable itching sensation. He gasped like a fish out of water, a little surprised his ribs didn't scream in protest. weren't they broken? But oxygen did enter his lungs, despite his brain trying to tell him his airways should be restricted. Why would they be, though? He couldn't remember.

It was hot. Why was it so hot? He would smother in that heat, burn up like a piece of paper under a magnifying glass positioned just so. But that wasn't right. Someone who'd been shot shouldn't be burning up. Unless he'd failed. Unless the madman had activated the bombs shortly after shooting him. Or maybe at the same time. Or Wasabi had failed to find and disarm them. Anything was possible.

Hiro coughed as if thick smoke filled the room. It was a phantom room though. A construct of his mind. He would go out at any moment, just another ash cinder on the ground. But coughing still hurt, even if his mind told him it shouldn't. Why shouldn't it again?

Then the pain began to change. And along with it, everything else.

"Hiro?"

Was that someone calling him? But how was that possible? Everyone else should have died in the explosion. He should be dead because of that explosion, even if the gunshot hadn't killed him. They'd been told there was enough C4 packed into the building to send a rocket to the moon and back again. There was no way he could have survived that, let alone anyone else.

"Come on, Hiro. Don't do this to me."

There was something wrong with that logic, though. Why was there always something wrong with the logic? He was forgetting something again as he swam in the inky void. Wait. Was that Tadashi calling him? What was he doing there? Wasn't he dead? Hadn't he burned up in the showcase fire? Or was it from bleeding out on the concrete of the warehouse? Where was that image coming from?

A cold hand caressed Hiro's face, wiping away sweat. But whose hand was that? What was going on? Why was it still so dark? And so hot? Had he gone into the blazing fire too? What was going on?

With that, Hiro opened his eyes, realizing he was lying in someone's arms. Tadashi's arms, to be exact. And Tadashi was carrying him down the stairs. He blinked in confusion, feeling small and helpless and totally out of his element.

His entire body still felt like it was on fire. And it was hard to breathe properly. He felt dizzy, oh so dizzy. He had to close his eyes against the sight of the pictures on the wall as they slid past him. The occasional bump as they went down stairs did not sit well, making his entire body feel like someone was punching him over and over again. Wasn't that was Yama's men had done to him?

Wait.

"Hey," Tadashi said, a slight hint of relief in his voice as he saw Hiro's eyes open. "You're awake."

Pain flared up on Hiro's right side, shooting from somewhere between his hip and navel. "It hurts," he complained through clenched teeth, almost whimpering. It almost hurt more than being shot or pummeled to a pulp. This pain was sharp and throbbing. He couldn't help but close his eyes against it.

Why? Why? Why?

Tadashi paused at the second-floor landing. Hiro could hear the sound of keys rattling and opened his eyes again to see Aunt Cass coming up the stairs from the lower level.

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