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Eri cries silently.
It’s a skill she hasn’t needed to use in a very long time. In fact, she spent years learning not to hide herself away like this, reassured over and over again that it was okay to show her feelings, that it was okay to go to others for comfort.
It was Deku who helped teach her this. Deku who had to learn alongside her, who showed the whole world his heart, who has been lifted up time and time again by the ones who love him, including Eri herself.
But Deku isn’t here right now. Not in any way that matters.
She curls in on herself, biting at her hand. She can just barely see him from here, and she forces herself to watch the steady rise and fall of his shoulders, interrupted every few minutes by a full body shiver or a wet hacking cough.
He needs the rest. If they have any hope of getting out of here, she has to let him sleep. She sees him shift, curling his arms tighter around himself, and she has to hold back a sob.
She doesn’t think she’ll be able to sleep tonight, or maybe ever again. She’s been trying for hours, but every time she closes her eyes she just sees —
Deku stirs, letting out a small cry. Eri can’t help herself and lets out a little sob. She makes a tight fist around the corner of her blanket, squeezing her eyes shut despite herself.
He had held out for so long. And he kept smiling at her, as if to prove he was fine, that it didn’t even hurt, but she knew what it was like to be strapped down, cut apart, rendered down to nothing but a tool to be used and discarded at someone else’s will.
She thought she had healed, put her past behind her, but seeing him like that, covered in his own blood and vomit, reduced to repeating the same phrase over and over, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know —
Eri will never forget the sound of his bones snapping, nor the expression on his face as he tried to hold back his screams. They forced her to watch, and they made sure he knew, as if that would convince him to cooperate.
(There was a much easier way, she knew, and some horrible part of her was terrified that they would realize too. She can’t even think about that. She doesn’t even know what they want, but she knows Deku would give it to them. She knows.)
“Eri…?”
Deku’s voice is thick with sleep, his throat still raw from screaming. She sniffles; how long has she been making noise?
“S-sorry, Deku,” she whispers, pulling her hand away from her mouth and clutching it to her chest. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“It’s alright,” he says. He clears his throat and she sees him start to turn over, careful to use his elbows instead of his hands. He hisses, then holds his breath, shoulders shaking as he slowly comes to face Eri. She can’t quite see his expression in the dark, and worries for a moment that he’s upset with her.
“You need to rest,” she says weakly. “Please.”
He’s silent for a moment as he catches his breath. Then he says, “I’m alright. Really.”
“No,” she says, voice rising above a whisper. “No, you’re — please, Deku, I…”
She closes her eyes again, and sees him on the table, back arched as their captors pull a scream from his throat, the first of many. She slaps a hand over her mouth as fresh tears splatter on the cold concrete.
“It’s okay, Eri,” Deku says softly. Carefully he scoots closer, reaching out with his better hand to cup Eri’s cheek. He thumbs away her tears, and Eri leans closer to him, letting out another choked sob.
“I’m sorry,” she says between breaths, staring at the floor between them. This close she can see the bags under his eyes, the stress lines on his face.
“Don’t apologize. I’m sorry for scaring you, for getting you involved in all this. It’s okay. You’re okay.”
He comes even closer, wrapping his arms around her gingerly. She sobs against his chest, feeling renewedly guilty. He’s the one bleeding, missing flesh and fingernails, with bones shattered beyond repair. He’s the one they’ll come for in the morning, the one they will hurt again and again until they get what they want.
“It’s alright, Eri, you’re safe. I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”
It’s not fair. She wants so badly to be able to promise him the same. It’s not fair. She tries to articulate this, to apologize for not being able to heal him more, for being young and weak and scared, for being used as leverage against him in this horrible, horrible place. All that comes out is a high-pitched squeak and another round of sobbing.
“Go to sleep,” he says, carding fingers through the hair at her scalp. Her head tingles; her body begins to relax, even as her mind spirals. “It’s alright.”
She drifts off into another nightmare, afraid for morning to come.