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His feet, well actually, his entire body was throbbing. All the way down to his toes, Hinata’s body was pounding. Flowing in and out of reality...not out of consciousness, but out of beliefs. It wasn’t exactly a pain thing or a system-overload as much as a complete and utter shock.
This isn’t real.
This isn’t real.
This isn’t real.
This isn’t real.
This isn’t real.
This isn’t real.
My wrist doesn’t hurt.
My wrist doesn’t hurt.
Okay, my wrist might actually hurt.
But, only a little bit.
Just a little bit.
Maybe a lot.
Okay it’s hurting a lot.
Why is my heart in my wrist?
THIS IS REAL.
Reality check. It’s real and it’s not stopping. Hinata’s wrist actually hurt, it was throbbing. His vision blurred. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t think. Help me, help me, help me. Screams invoked panic and the screaming that surrounded him as well as he emitted in his head echoed. Each syllable reverberated from every corner and crevice.
Someone take it away. Please.
Kageyama held his other hand, the one not attached to his snapped wrist. The freak accident replayed over and over in his head. He willed it to stop, yet It refused. Although he constructed walls to stop it faster than Hinata’s tears fell, it was to no avail. Made record time building the straw and wood walls, though. Of which were quickly blown down by the big bad reality, however.
“Hinata-kouhai, I need you to breathe. Take deep breaths. In,” He demonstrated, “-out. You’re doing great. I’m going to need you to calm down. Relax,” Sugawara had his shoulder, signaled the tactics, and stood intentionally behind him. Acting as a strong, protective force. His silent promise not to leave the first years’ side was...loudly understood. Hinata’s grip never lessened on Kageyama’s hand and his screams refused to subside.
With the co-captain showing the deep breaths he expected, Daichi stood by and corralled the rest of the team away from the scene. Each cast their own worried glances or chose to look away. Asahi looked sick and Noya was shaking, although he was still consoling the tall Glass Heart. The pinch server’s face found Tsukishima’s shoulder and rested there, as the latter ran a hand through his hair. Daichi could all but keep Tanaka from running over there and doing god-knows-what to help...or not to.
He couldn’t stop screaming. Thoughts, fears, ideas, all of it: pounded his skull.
Hinata was screaming because he knew he couldn’t play volleyball. That soul fact made it impossible to breath, the thought made it hard to think. The idea of a day without volleyball—much less longer—killed him more than his extremity. Heaven forbid the probability of his recovery—
He, the volleyball freak, was going to be taken out of volleyball. No, he wouldn’t give up. If he could work, if he could still hit, dig, return, he would. If he could still jump, he’d jump. He’d use his other hand, he’d lose his hand, forearm, shoulder and still be spiking Kageyama’s tosses. Forever and ever and ever and ever and ever if he had to.
Somebody took him by the shoulders firmly, “Hinata!”
His brain registered it. Barely.
“Shouyou!”
Louder this time. More than an echo.
“Shouyou! I need you to breathe and be quiet!”
Quiet.
Quiet.
Quiet.
Quiet.
Echoes pierced the hearts of the bystanders. ‘Quiet’ sliced the quiet for a few more moments, then died out.
Hinata’s screaming ceased and quiet ensued just as quickly. Each left to their own thoughts, own anxieties. Hinata was once again left to his own thoughts, just merely able to see them bring themselves to fruition in more broad daylight and fuller...peace.
The air grabbed a hold of Kageyama’s throat and hung thick in the air. He felt drawn up, left to expire. He had finally found him. The strength he was searching for. The pillar he looked for so long. Ever since he was promised that someone stronger would come...
A buzzing in the lights paled respectfully, tearfully crying light upon the floor. The light, however, dimmed evermore.
Karsuno’s sun fell more dim.
“Breathe, stupid boke,” Kageyama let go of his tightly wound shoulders and interlocked his fingers with his again, while Sugawara held his small, vulnerable wrist and hand in his palm, examining it frantically. Somewhere in the background, Ukai was speaking to a dispatcher while Takeda notified Hinata’s frightened mother.
That stupid toss. My stupid toss. Kageyama told himself over and over again, squeezing his eyes shut. His forehead tensed—and if Hinata were in better condition, he would've chewed him out for giving himself wrinkles so early on in his life—each time the guilt became too much to hold together.
The setter knew he gave what Ukai would call a hospital-toss. That is a toss which puts the spiker in more stress, versus where he should have set it: a less stressed area of the court. But, who was to blame him for trusting the middle blocker who refused to give less than two-hundred percent at any given time.
Kageyama didn’t have the willpower not to put that same three-hundred percent stock in the five-foot-six ball of energy, jumping power, and decoy ability. Merely, it would be completely wasted energy: attempting to convince himself that he didn't trust Hinata with the last point of a close match, or something of the effect.
Tobio Kageyama hated the word ‘can’t’ more than any other loathsome word of the English language. The compilation of those four letters in simultaneous order to form the contraction of two mere words irked him. ‘Can’ and ‘not’ do not belong together. Never should’ve been combined.
Nothing should ever be assumed impossible. Can and not do not go together because there should never be anything that someone can not ever do. It’s not that they cannot, it’s that they can and should be able to do it.
He didn’t blame them, though. It’s not like they had a best friend in the whole entire universe that made them so much better and want to push themselves beyond their very limitations. Yeah, he’d openly admit they were at a grave disadvantage at life itself, but what did that matter? They’d need to find their pillar and their strength too, just as he did.
They’d just have to be patient enough for the opportunity to present itself. Then, they’d need to find the bravery to reach out and take it themselves.
Cannot never got anyone anywhere, except for backward. Cannot never got anyone anywhere except with the ball touching the floor. If they gave their all, they'd never have to worry about stepping off the court.
To a fault, he believed that nothing could stop Shouyou Hinata. Even if he got shut down billions of times, even if he lost ten points because he trusted Hinata with the ball, he’d still toss to him. However, that’s most likely the reason they were in this mess.
Set: too high.
Set: too close to the net.
Set: too fast.
Set: he’ll never make it to.
He tried anyway. Of course, he did. Kageyama sought to push him to jump even further, fly even higher, spike even more powerfully.
Kageyama pushed too far, too hard, too fast.
Hinata always pushed too far, pushed too hard, and flew too fast. Why was this time any different from the thousands of ‘last times’ there were when he collided with Asahi or fell on the floor or should’ve gotten teeth knocked out by a powerful spike taken to the face? What was the reason that this special time had to be the time? The time when running and jumping and spiking took a toll on his weary, weakened body at last.
And it’d be his fault? Could Tobio Kageyama find it in him to forgive himself from permanently removing Shouyou Hinata from the sport he had come through so much to play?
Could he pick up a volleyball after that? Who would he set to? Who could he find full confidence in? Even fuller-than-full confidence. The most confidence. Shouyou was his as-promised strength. Someone stronger will come. Just be patient. Just wait.
The full confidence he had. That fuller-than-fuller confidence didn’t merely erupt from thin air and would never be easily replaced.
Better yet: that three-hundred percent confidence could never be replaced.
Ever.