(Sero POV)
Sero hadn't said a word.
For five minutes, maybe more.
He wasn't ignoring the chaos.
Wasn't zoning out.
Wasn't detached.
No.
He was watching everything.
Jiro, gripping Denki's hoodie like she could force him to stay just by holding on.
Mina, pressing down on his wound with shaking hands, eyes darting to the medics with every second that passed.
Kirishima, jaw clenched, shifting in his seat like he wanted to punch something but knew it wouldn't help.
Bakugo, glaring at the heart monitor, body tense, frustration curling into something dangerously close to fear.
And Denki—
Denki, still unmoving.
Still too quiet.
Still not himself.
Sero exhaled slowly, staring at the cracked metal floor beneath them.
He knew what this looked like.
Had seen moments like this before.
Had seen people hold on too tightly, whisper words like prayers, refuse to let go even when the worst was already happening.
And he hated it.
Not because he didn't care.
But because he did.
Because he liked Kaminari.
Because he was his friend.
Because he was supposed to be laughing right now, making dumb comments, throwing sparks for no reason.
Not this.
Not barely breathing.
Not unresponsive.
Sero, inhaling sharply, thinking again and again:
Denki was going to make it.
He had to.
Because if he didn't—
Sero didn't want to finish that thought.
Didn't want to sit with it.
Didn't want to accept it.
So he didn't.
Instead, he leaned forward, placed a firm hand on Jiro's shoulder, and muttered—
"He's stubborn as hell, Jiro. He's gonna make it."
Jiro didn't answer.
Didn't react.
Didn't even look at him.
She just kept holding on.
And Sero?
Sero kept watching.
Waiting.
Hoping.
Because Denki Kaminari was not allowed to leave like this.
Not now.
Not ever.
(Kirishima POV)
Kirishima prided himself on being strong.
On being dependable.
On being the guy who never froze—who never hesitated when things got bad.
And yet—
Here he was, gripping his own knees so tightly his fingers ached, watching Denki barely hold on, feeling completely and utterly useless.
The truck bumped against uneven pavement.
The hospital was minutes away.
The medics worked, rushing to stabilize him, voices clipped, urgent.
Jiro hadn't let go of him once.
Bakugo was pissed at the speed they were going, his jaw clenched, frustration radiating off him like a damn explosion.
Sero had finally spoken—low and steady, trying to reassure Jiro, but Kirishima could see the tension in his shoulders. And Mina—
Mina hadn't stopped pressing down on the wound.
Her hands were soaked in blood.
Her face was pale.
And for the first time since they had boarded this truck, Kirishima realized—
Mina was shaking.
(Mina POV )
Mina had always been the one who smiled through chaos.
The one who cracked jokes when things got tense.
The one who found the bright side, the energy, the way to keep everyone moving forward.
But right now?
Right now, she couldn't find the words to make this better.
Couldn't do anything except keep pressing down on the wound, keep her grip steady, keep watching that awful slow-moving monitor, keep hoping—praying—that Denki's heartbeat wouldn't stop.
"Don't die, Kaminari," she muttered under her breath, words meant for herself, not anyone else.
Her fingers curled tighter against the fabric of his uniform.
He was warm, but not the way he was supposed to be—not buzzing with energy, not full of stupid jokes and bad flirting attempts.
Just weak.
Just barely here.
Just fading.
Mina swallowed hard, biting her lip.
She refused to let him die.
Not today.
Not ever.
The hospital was so close now.
They were going to make it.
They had to.